by Bryan Davis
Soon a dim light eased through Jason’s eyelids. He blinked them open. The glow of a cloudy dawn filtered into the window, and the comforting sound of rain on tin continued to drum through the cabin. He rose to a sitting position. Elyssa lay next to him, curled in a fetal position with a towel clutched to her chest. Tibalt and Randall now slept nearer the fireplace, though it had lost its heat hours ago.
Jason shivered. Something was wrong, and not just the chill of a rainy morning. Something stalked nearby. An odor hung in the air, an odd smell—foul and earthy. It wasn’t unusual to sense these subtle clues, but they seemed stronger this morning, as if every smell and sound—every sense—had been magnified.
Windblown rain pelted the window and plastered a wide leaf against the glass. A shadow crossed a tree trunk, no more than ten paces from the cabin.
Rising slowly, Jason hissed. “Randall! Get your gun ready.”
Randall struggled to his feet, wincing as he raised his photo gun. “What is it?”
“I think it’s a mountain bear.” Jason nodded at Randall’s shaking arm. “The pain must be pretty bad.”
“I can handle it.” Randall used his thumb to turn a dial on the gun’s grip, watching it expectantly. After a second or two, he shook his head. “It’s not energizing. I have to take it apart and dry everything out.”
Jason drew his sword. “No time for that. Get Elyssa and Tibalt up. We might have to make a run for it.”
Randall crouched and nudged Elyssa and Tibalt. “Why can’t we stay here? That door’s too small for a mountain bear to get through.”
“Trust me,” Jason said. “He can make it bigger.”
Whispering the danger to Elyssa and Tibalt, Randall helped them to their feet.
“A mountain bear?” Elyssa asked. “Jason, how many have you fought?”
“Exactly zero.” Lowering his head, Jason skulked toward the door. “A few weeks ago, Adrian and a friend were in a cave looking for you, and a bear trapped them inside. It’s a good thing they were together. Adrian says one swordsman is no match for a full-grown mountain bear.”
A rough grunt sounded from outside, followed by a loud growl.
“We should escape through the rear door,” Elyssa said, “but which way should we go?”
Tibalt pointed at himself. “I know the way to the boundary from here, but my legs are too old to outrun such a beast.”
Jason nodded at the axes propped on a wall shelf. “Tibber, get an axe for Randall. We can try to wound the bear and then make a run for it.”
Tibalt leaped for the axe and pushed it into Randall’s hands. “Here you go, young’un.”
Randall shook his head. “I’ve never used an axe before. I’m better with a sword.”
“Did you miss axe class?” Jason asked.
“I thought I wouldn’t need it.”
“You thought wrong!” Another growl erupted from outside, deeper, closer. With a glare, Jason shoved the sword at Randall and snatched the axe out of his hands. “Okay,” he said, waving at Elyssa. “You and Tibalt get to the rear door.”
A loud thud shook the cabin. The window shattered. Rain and wind rushed in, brushing back Jason’s hair with a wet slap. He set his feet. Randall did the same, both with double-fisted grips on their weapons.
Another thud sounded, then a crash. The door burst into a thousand splinters. Jason lowered his head to avoid the shards but kept his axe high. A bear stood at the doorway, but only the lower two-thirds of its body were visible. As it tried to squeeze through the door, its powerful body cracked the frame, revealing its shoulders and head.
Jason waved at Elyssa. “Go! Now!” He charged with the axe, ducked low, and swung at the bear’s legs, but it slapped him with a claw. Jason flew to the side and slammed against a wall. The flat of the axe blade struck his forehead and slid down his cheek.
The bear burst through and, still standing on his hind legs, let out a guttural roar that sounded like, “Fool! I stronger!”
Randall raised the sword. “We’ll see about that!”
“No!” Jason shouted. “He’s too—”
Randall lunged, but the bear dodged, knocked the sword loose, and wrapped him up with its massive forelegs. As it squeezed, Randall’s eyes bulged, but he didn’t cry out. He probably couldn’t breathe at all.
Gripping the axe again, Jason stood, but a wash of dizziness made him stagger. He sucked in a breath and set his feet. “Let him go!” he yelled.
As the sound of baying dogs drifted in on the rainy breeze, the bear let out a throaty laugh and a new sequence of growls that sounded like, “Or what?”
Jason glanced at the open rear door. No sign of Elyssa or Tibalt. Would the dogs track them down? He trained his stare again on the huge beast. “Or I’ll crack your skull open with this axe.”
The bear’s forelegs clamped down. Randall’s face turned from red to purple, and his legs dangled limply. “My prisoner,” it growled.
Jason glanced from Randall to the bear, to the sword next to its foot, to the rear door, then finally to one of the shelves. Maybe he could throw one axe and attack with the other. He scanned the shelf, but the other axe was gone.
A scream pierced the air. The bear lurched forward, an axe protruding from its back, the blade deeply embedded. It dropped Randall to the floor, and, as it roared and staggered around, it swatted futilely at the axe handle.
Jason leaped up and hacked at a foreleg, but the bear spun away and slapped him again, sending him flying toward the broken doorway and into Elyssa’s arms.
With water dripping from her hair, she propped him up. “We have to help Randall!”
“I’ll get him!” Tibalt called from outside. He slipped past them, grabbed Randall’s ankles, and dragged him to the doorway. Randall sat up and leaned against the wall, groggy but apparently okay.
The barking drew closer, probably only minutes away. While the bear continued to bellow and reach for the axe, Jason picked up the sword and shouted, “I can relieve your pain in one of two ways. If you agree to help us, I will remove the axe and help you bind the wound, or I can stab you through the heart and end your suffering forever.”
The bear stopped and glared at him. His growl-speech seemed clearer now. “What help do you need?”
“Get the dogs off our trail. Take our clothes and drag them on the ground to a place far from the creek.”
With blood dripping down its back, the bear studied Jason for a long moment before nodding. “Pull axe.”
“Can you trust a bear?” Randall asked. “He could just turn on us.”
“Trust the bear!” Tibalt said. “They’re mean, ornery, and bloodthirsty, but they’re as honest as the day is long.”
Jason nodded at Elyssa. “Get another bandage ready.”
She scurried past the bear and scooped up a towel and the remaining bandages from the shelf. As she tied the strips together, the bear dropped to a sitting position.
Jason grasped the axe handle and yanked it out. The bear let out a wordless roar. Blood drained in a network of channels down its hairy back.
Elyssa pressed a towel on the wound. “Jason, hold this here while I tie it in place.”
As he held the towel, Jason listened to the approaching dogs. They were definitely getting louder. “Better hurry.”
“We have to make sure this fine bear survives,” Elyssa said as she stretched the bandages around the bear’s chest. “I think he came here looking for shelter from the storm and assumed we were hunters.”
The bear looked at her. “Woman not hunter. Men hunters.”
“Not these men,” Elyssa crooned. “The man with the dogs is the real hunter.”
A menacing growl emerged from the bear’s throat. “Hunter die.”
When she finished, she wadded the discarded clothes and set them in front of the bear. “If you rip these and drag them away, perhaps the hunter will think you killed us.”
The bear picked up the clothes in his nimble forelegs, rose to his hind feet, and walked thro
ugh the door. Blocking the wet breeze for a moment, he looked back and nodded but said nothing.
As soon as he left, Jason sheathed the sword and grabbed both axes. He gave one to Tibalt. “This might come in handy. I’ll carry the other one.”
Elyssa helped Randall to his feet. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“He has no choice,” Jason said. “He’s a warrior. He can handle it.”
Tibalt raised a finger. “Shall I lead the way?”
Jason glanced at his chest. The battle had opened his shirt, revealing the glowing patch of skin. “It’s completely red now. Does that mean I can find the gateway?”
“Maybe,” Tibalt said. “I’ll take us to the boundary. From that point, it will be up to you and the litmus finger.”
All four hurried out of the cabin. To their left, the creek surged in the opposite direction. Higher and faster than before, it drowned out all other noises, even the tracking hounds.
Jason looked at his fellow travelers. Elyssa walked to his left in silence, while Randall limped to his right. And out in front, a strange old man marched confidently forward with the axe propped against his shoulder, a self-proclaimed liar who made many odd claims that had yet to be proven.
Again Jason glanced at the red glow on his chest. At least this part wasn’t a lie. It had changed color, just as Tibalt had predicted. Saving Randall’s life in the creek and risking his own neck while fighting the bear had apparently pleased the litmus finger. But by what method would it guide them? And how would an inanimate object know how to find a secret gateway that had remained hidden for decades?
Marcelle’s words came back to his mind. I meant no insult to your brother. I made this bargain to save his life.
What could she have meant? What dangers awaited them? And where were his brothers now?
He settled into a more relaxed gait. The answers would come soon, maybe too soon.
Nine
Koren walked slowly back to the Basilica’s gate, quoting Lattimer’s words in her mind, words of philosophy and mystery that might capture Maximus’s interest. The night keeper’s strategy seemed simple enough—try to charm the dragon and enter the easy way, and if that didn’t work, go to the rear of the building and find a rainwater drainpipe that led to the roof. She would recognize the correct pipe because of the cornerstone next to it. The stone bore an inscription with the building’s construction date, “Starlight—2465,” five hundred thirty-four years ago.
As she drew close to the gate, the dragon’s eyes trained on her. Her legs trembled, and her arms wilted along with her confidence. She stopped in front of the iron bars, well out of range of a burst of fire. Using the sweetest voice she could muster, she called out in the human language, “Good evening, great Maximus. You are certainly the most magnificent dragon I have ever seen.”
Maximus peered at her between the bars, his head bobbing. A low growl permeated his reply. “A flatterer’s tongue is one to be torn out, and its bearer flogged and made to eat it.”
Steeling her muscles, Koren took a step closer. “Is it flattery to give a sincere compliment?”
“It is not, but the flatterer’s tongue will deny its own intent.” His eyes flashed bright red. “The tongue wears a mask, yet pretends its face is bare.”
“Well spoken.” She took another step. “With such wisdom guiding your discernment, how would you ever know if someone bore a true compliment in good will?”
“I would not, and I care not. It is better to decline an honest compliment than to be deceived by a flatterer’s guile.”
“Ah! I see why they put you at this station. A dragon who cannot accept a gift of love will never be deceived. He sacrifices love for vigilance. It is a sad exchange, is it not?”
Maximus thumped his tail on the ground. “It is most reasonable to reject love when you have learned that it is a myth. A fool believes that his lover is self-sacrificing. He always learns later that loving gestures are all pretence, ploys to receive something in return, usually something greater in value than what was sacrificed. Vigilance is the only answer, the only life to live. No one has ever been wounded by being too vigilant.”
Koren eased her foot forward again. “Oh, you are so right, Maximus. When we guard our hearts, they are never wounded. But, alas, the consequences are devastating, for a guarded heart is never believed.”
“Never believed?” He snorted a jet of flames. “You are within my range now, you silver-tongued witch. State your meaning quickly and begone, or feel my wrath.”
Again forcing her muscles to obey, she slid forward another step. “A heart with a closed door is protected from pain, to be sure, but anyone who raises a shield blocks not only deception that tries to enter, he blocks sincerity that tries to escape. A heart that is not vulnerable is never believed, because it wears a mask of its own.”
“Then, pray tell, thou of the fiery cap and glib tongue, how can one see the intent of the heart, even an unguarded heart? For words are the most talented maskmakers. Every word is a potential lie.”
“So true, Maximus.” She added a gentle laugh. “What would your superiors think if you merely told them that you were a most excellent guardian of the Basilica? Should they rely on your testimony?”
“Of course not. The great Magnar respects only deeds, not words. He knows well the deceitfulness of the tongue. Deeds remove all masks.”
Koren stepped forward again, so close the dragon’s breath warmed her cheeks. She locked gazes with him and eased into her silky, storytelling voice. “Have you ever seen me before, dear dragon?”
His brow bent low. “You do look familiar. Your red hair and green eyes are quite distinctive.”
Nodding, she folded her hands at her waist. Maximus was ready. She ached to glance at Lattimer who watched from the shadows, but she dared not break the stare. “Since you say,” she continued in her alluring voice, “that deeds remove masks, perhaps you remember my deeds and what I was doing when you saw me.”
“Refresh my memory. I am listening.”
“But if I merely speak of my deeds, I would be like a guard at the Basilica telling Magnar of my vigilance with no ability to prove it.”
“You make a valid point. Do you have a solution?”
“I do, Maximus.” She spread out her hands, allowing her sleeves to ride up and expose her forearms. Her slave’s brand, a series of seven black characters in the dragon language, revealed her family line, and an eighth character would tell Maximus that she was an orphan. “When my parents died, I was sent to the orphan pool and soon thereafter to the cattle camps…”
As she told her story, she visualized every detail—the rocks, the pails, Wallace, and every strike of the whip that drove them harder. With every twirl of her skirt, the images appeared around her, each one moving independently as her voice brought them to life and infused them with animation. Taking one-eyed Wallace by the hand, she knelt with him and begged, reaching out to ghostly passersby who ignored them more often than not. One old lady even spat at them and kicked dust in their faces.
Maximus jerked, and his eyes flamed as a low growl emanated from his snout.
Koren brushed the dirt from Wallace’s face, kissed his cheek, and waved him into oblivion. She rose and faced Maximus, her hands again folded at her waist. “So you see, mighty dragon, my heart is open. It is vulnerable. It wears no mask. If I protected it with the shield of vigilance, you would never have seen the deeds or the passion behind them.”
Maximus stared at her. His eyes had glazed over. With a low voice, he murmured, “What do you seek from me?”
“Passage.” Koren offered a respectful bow of her head before regaining eye contact. “There is no guile in me, Maximus, so I speak only the truth. I seek passage into the Basilica so that I may seek further truth. Surely you can see that I am not a danger.”
His murmurings transformed into an echo. “Not a danger.”
“So this orphan begs you to heed my words, believe m
y sincere heart, and open the gate.”
“Open the gate.” Maximus blew a weak stream of fire at the lock, altering the flames’ color and width in a coded sequence. Something clicked, and, as if jolted by the sound, Maximus shook his head. His eyes began to clear. As Koren reached for the gate, the growl in his throat deepened, and words in the dragon language rumbled forth. “Why am I letting you in?”
She swung the gate open, curtsied, and replied in his guttural language. “Because I asked you to let me in.”
“You did?” His eyes clarified further. “This is strange.”
Koren switched back to the human tongue and her silky voice. “I am an orphan, and you saw my deeds played out before you. I have requested access to the Basilica, because I wish to learn the fate of one of my friends, for she is frightened of the future. You approved, I assume, because of compassion and sympathy for those weaker and less fortunate than you.”
His eyes turned glassy again. “Proceed.”
Shifting her gaze to the ground, she walked slowly by the dragon’s hot snout, careful not to make any sudden moves. Once she had passed, a tingle crawled up her back. Would he suddenly snap out of the charm and roast her? Her legs begged to run, but that would surely wake him up. Just slow and easy. If she could keep from jumping out of her skin, this would work.
She walked under a yawning arch, high enough for the biggest dragon to fly or walk through, and a shadow covered her body. Ahead, a dim lantern glowed in a massive circular chamber, perhaps a vestibule that would lead to other rooms.
“Come back here!” Maximus roared.
Koren broke into a mad dash. She tore into the vestibule, knocked over a lantern sitting on a stone table at the center, and ran into a dark corridor on the left, one of eight that exited the chamber. With the lantern extinguished, darkness prevailed, the walls blocking the barest glow from the moon. She tiptoed. Even a sliding of her foot might give her away. Maximus had also quieted, likely wanting to keep his position hidden as well.
Keeping her hands in front of her, she continued forward on her toes. The sound of a crackling fire came from somewhere ahead, but there was no light. A tingle rode up her spine again. Something was behind her, something hot and angry. Was Maximus really there? Could he see her? Or was it her imagination conjuring up ghosts again?
