The Scarlet Dragon Saga

by J. P. Rice

  A steady procession of heels clicked against the stone floor with all the finesse of a parade of elephants. I perked up my ears and realized it was getting nearer by the moment. It had a hurried, angry pitch as the sharp echo traveled around the open room. When I heard the whooshing of lacy fabric rubbing against itself, I knew that his new family had intercepted the butler.

  My father’s wife, Ella, rushed into the room, followed by her three daughters. The young ladies flanked their mother on her right, creating a wall and blocking the hallway to my father’s room. I hated Lisa, Patty and Viola equally and had trouble telling them apart.

  The women shared the same characteristics, with Ella as the slightly older version. They were all short and angry with unnatural, fake tan skin. Glimmering jewelry in the form of silver bracelets and diamond necklaces covered their wrists, forearms and necks. They all wore their blond hair in pigtails, which suited the pudgy, round-faced bunch. They all stood with their arms crossed over their chests, resting on the silky fabric of their pale pink gowns.

  It was a gauntlet that would drop the most powerful warrior to his knees. This was a strange penance I had to pay just to see my father. I would have visited him as soon as I had returned to Pittsburgh, but I’d put it off because I hated dealing with these vultures.

  I often vacillated between thinking they were tremendous actresses and fooling my father or they were normally nice and only mean to me, someone they saw as a threat to their inheritance.

  Lisa said, “Why do you keep coming back here? He isn’t giving you his money, you know?”

  Before I could answer, Patty chimed in, “At least she’s not almost dead and bleeding everywhere this time.”

  Ella stared at me, her icy blue eyes firing invisible daggers across the room. “I agree. It’s quite a shame she isn’t dead this time.”

  I told them, “I just came to see the King. Why do we have to go through this?”

  “We are only trying to protect our father against questionable women who appear to be going after his money,” Viola said.

  I rolled my eyes. “I can assure you that I have no urge whatsoever to go after his money. I just need to talk to him because he has information that no one else does.”

  Ella’s pursed lips looked like they were about to turn into a black hole and suck in the universe. She said snidely, “Well he’s not here right now, so you can turn around and leave right now.”

  I knew she was lying. My father rarely, if ever, left the house that resembled a medieval castle.

  That was why I’d come directly here after my lava bath. I’d never been so scared, so close to death, so I went to the one person who had always made me feel safe. My father’s doctors had patched me up enough so that I could head down south and recuperate.

  I raised my voice, “I know he’s here. Just let me talk to him for a few minutes and I’ll be on my...”

  A booming call came from down the hall and drowned out my words. “Is that my Junipher?” My father still had the battlefield voice when he needed it.

  The butler reentered the foyer and stood behind the blond fortress. He waved his open hands above the shorter women’s heads to get my attention, and when we made eye contact, he beckoned me over using a windmill motion with his right arm.

  I smirked and made my smuggest ‘Fook you’ face as I strode confidently across the foyer, heading directly for the brick wall of bitches. They sneered and snarled as I approached, whispering to each other about me and giggling. And in the true form of cowardice, they turned and scrambled away in silence when I neared them.

  The butler led me down the hall and pointed to an arched wooden door on the right. “He is expecting you.”

  Thanks, Captain Obvious. I took a deep breath and entered the room.

  The first thing I saw was his proud smile, and it brought tears to my eyes. Gods, I missed that look, which I didn’t get from anyone else.

  “There she is, once again. My little Goddess,” he said, sitting on his recliner with his feet up. He lowered the footrest and went to get up.

  My heart melted from his words. “Don’t. Just stay there.”

  My father’s room was set up like a medieval audience chamber. His emerald recliner served as the throne atop a raised dais, and a step down sat a plush purple couch for visitors. A roaring fireplace off to my left kept the stone room toasty during the harsh winter months and left a pleasant smoky aroma floating in the air.

  The room was immaculately clean. The exact opposite of the nasty foyer.

  King Nuada settled back into the chair, and more tears came into my eyes as his natural scent reached my nostrils. Irish Springs. He never wore cologne and always sported the soapy smell that I associated with my father’s love.

  I saw my father as two side-by-side images. Then and now. The younger version had wild red hair, greased with sweat and glory from the battlefield, hanging proudly to the middle of his back. Those locks were still the same length today, but only a few random bright copper strands remained as faint hints of his former glory. The rest had run silver.

  The former King of the Celtic Gods was still big and strapping, but instead of dripping with muscle definition, he was now flaccid and grandfatherly. He’d exchanged his battle gear for long, light robes that covered his body loosely. On cold days like this, he wore a dark cloak for added warmth. He stroked his long beard excitedly as I approached.

  His sapphire eyes gleamed like the crashing waves just off the coast of Southern Ireland. His irises matched the massive jewel in the golden circlet sitting atop his head, almost floating like a halo. It was the same crown he had worn when he was King of Ireland.

  Despite his aging, he would always be the powerful warrior in my eyes. I climbed onto his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck. I buried my face into his soft shoulder and felt safe again.

  We sat there in silence as my tears spilled onto the silky fabric of the ivory robes sticking out of the collar of his cloak. My father was the only person I could be a little girl around. It felt so nice to let my guard down. To be the vulnerable one.

  I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, when my father spoke, “I love you.” He planted a sweet kiss on my forehead. “What brings you back to Pittsburgh, young lady?” he asked, clutching onto my forearm as older men were prone to do.

  And he was the only one who called me young lady. More tears.

  Yes, okay, at 522 years old, I still needed to sit on my dad’s lap and hear him say, “I love you.” He was the only family I had. The only person in this world who loved me. Sometimes, it was nice to be vulnerable, yet still feel safe under my father’s protection. I didn’t get to experience this warm feeling very often, especially in the cold, dark world I operated in.

  I wished the moment would last forever, but I knew that couldn’t happen so I sat up and gazed into my father’s eyes. They had lost a touch of vibrancy since my last visit, not much, but just enough that I noticed.

  “Honestly, I came back because of the rumors about Lugh’s Spear. I heard this young kid was after it and I was afraid he would steal my glory. I can’t tell anyone else this, but I’m jealous of him. He is the darling of the Gods’ eyes now. He’s been given everything I’ve always wanted.”

  He thought for a moment as his eyelids flickered. “Yes, yes. The Merlino boy. Quite a smashing young wizard, that one. How would he steal your glory?” His voice had gotten softer and raspier over the years and his Irish accent had faded drastically. He barely used Irish slang and phrases anymore. When he had first come to see me when I was twenty-two, I’d barely understood his words because of the thick accent.

  I explained, “Because I’ve been chasing after that thing for so long that if he were to find it, it would make me look bad.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He sighed and said, “Oh, child. You have no one to be jealous of. I failed you as a parent. Your mother failed you as a parent. We gave you nothing, I’m ashamed to say. What you’ve accomplis
hed over the years is nothing short of extraordinary. Did that boy save the Gods at Machu Picchu? Did that boy stop the Nazis from taking over the world?”

  An injection of pride circulated around my body. “No. At least, not that I know of.”

  He tapped me on the nose with his index finger. “That was you. You’ve helped bring peace to a world that was on the brink of destruction on more than one occasion. Not that boy you seem so worried about. Nothing he does changes anything about you. It doesn’t make him better than you by any stretch of your wild imagination.”

  “If they were such great accomplishments, then why didn’t the Gods invite me to join?” I asked.

  “That fickle bunch.” He audibly mimicked spitting on the ground. “I was the leader of that foolish clan until their actions made no sense to me. The pantheon had morphed into some backstabbing political construct that I hardly recognized. They were afraid of your actions at Machu Picchu. Saw you as a powerful threat after that. I also fear the lobbying I did on your behalf may have been more detrimental than helpful.”

  He scratched his beard, deep in thought and stared at the fire as he spoke, “I left forty years ago and haven’t been back once. I barely even think about it with my new life here in Pittsburgh. You can do yourself a great service and stop worrying about that nonsense. I realize it is much easier said than accomplished, but that is the best advice I can give regarding the Gods.”

  “It just doesn’t line up with all the other decisions. Especially after I lost my husband.”

  I tucked some of my father’s locks behind his ear so they wouldn’t obscure his face. He told me, “Your actions can be righteous without the stamp of the Gods. Don’t rely on them to judge your character, odd as that may sound. We both know you’ve made some mistakes in your past, we all have. But it’s in your eyes. I can see it. You’re yearning to be a better person. That is all you can control, my dear.”

  “Speaking of my husband, have you heard anything about Darabond?” I asked casually.

  His silence spoke volumes. He didn’t need to shake his head, but he did anyway.

  I asked, “Be honest with me. Do you think I should give up on Darabond?”

  “What do you think?” He turned it around on me.

  I took a few shuddering breaths and contemplated the question. “I don’t know. It’s been so long. So long. I mean, maybe he’s out there, but if so, why hasn’t he come to see me?”

  “These are answers I cannot give you.”

  I tossed my head around as I continued, “I just. I don’t know. I feel like if he was dead, I would have felt it in my heart. Or somebody would have heard of it. How could his entire unit disappear without a trace? Deep down, I still think he’s alive. And for some crazy reason, I think I’m going to find him one day.”

  He squeezed my forearm a little harder. “Then so it shall be. Giving up is much easier than keeping hope alive. You are a strong soul to keep that belief after all these years. Perhaps he is on an epic journey, the likes of Odysseus.”

  My father shifted around, and I decided to get up. He groaned and arched his back as he winced in pain.

  I told him, “You need to go see Goibniu. Drink some of his elixir.”

  My father waved a hand in front of his face. “Oh no. Not anymore. My dear, I’ve cheated death for far too long. It’s time for me to live out the rest of my life naturally and embark on the next journey. I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon, but it’s past time for this. Your mother is doing the same.”

  I chortled. “Yeah right. She’s probably just lying to you, so you stop drinking the elixir. Let me guess, she stands to gain something if you die.”

  “You know I won’t jump in the middle of this beehive. I’m allergic to their stinging, after all.” He grinned, and it softened my anger toward my mother. He always knew what to say to calm me down, which was why I cherished these brief moments that we infrequently shared.

  He cleared his throat a few times, and through his fingers covering his mouth, he whispered, “And don’t tell anyone I said this, but I love you more than her.”

  I leaned down and hugged him again, planting a loving kiss on his rosy cheek. Those words meant everything. It was as if my entire life had been validated by one sentence.

  “Are you going to ask me about Lugh’s Spear? I know you want to,” he teased as his eyes widened, causing his forehead to wrinkle deeply.

  I tried to act casual. “If you know something, sure. You know I can’t get it out of my head.”

  He stated bluntly, “I’m told that Arawn and Maeve have it.”

  “Last I heard, Arawn was living in Ireland.”

  My father sat up straight in his chair. “Was is the key word there. He and Maeve have set up a compound in Seattle. They are cross-breeding creatures from Fae worlds. Orcs with faerie wings and ogres that can breathe fire are just a few of the examples I was alerted about.”

  “And they have the Spear?” I asked.

  He nodded confidently as he stroked his long beard. “As far as I know. They are cloning these creatures to create an unstoppable army. Once they have that and the Spear, they won’t lose a battle. Quite a scary proposition. If only there were somebody out there that could possibly prevent it...”

  I smiled. “You don’t need to tempt me.”

  He cocked his head to the side and shrugged. “Yes, well, where’s the fun in that for me? I’ll gather all the information I can and have Danforth send it to you. We’ll get in touch with Johnny Tango. I believe it might be good for you. Although this brand of quest is always fraught with peril, I can see in your eyes that you need an adventure. Something to soothe your soul.”

  The fire cracked right on cue, signaling that I needed to do this. “You’re right. I convinced myself that the past decade has been relaxing, but really, I feel like a caged lion, ready to pounce. I enjoy the danger and excitement.”

  He stared into my eyes and said, “Yes, I fear you may have gained that from me. I’m too old to carry on like that anymore, so I need you to do it for me. You already have my spirit and it will join you vicariously on every mission you attempt. Don’t hide from who you are. Embrace it. But use it to make the world a better place. And with that, perhaps the Gods will take notice. And if not, they can piss the fook off and you can simply be happy with yourself.”

  I blamed my mother for this deficiency. I was constantly concerned about what the Gods thought of me. It had become an infatuation. A child desperately trying to get needed attention mirrored my relationship with the Gods. All my actions were an ill attempt to get them to notice me, praise me, love me as a child of the Gods. But one couldn’t control the actions of others. Not without torturing them, of course.

  My father was correct, as usual, and so was the Hound of Pittsburgh for nudging me to get over here. I needed to hunt down the spear for me. For my father’s spirit.

  Fook the Gods and screw my mother for judging me incorrectly for so long. The bitch still hadn’t admitted to anyone that I was her daughter. It was as if she were ashamed of me. And even though my father hadn’t publicly announced I was his daughter, his love made up for it tenfold.

  I still couldn’t understand why it was such a big secret. Originally, my father had stated that because they were both married to others, it would bring shame to Brighid. Why couldn’t they have said I was her husband’s child? Why had they sent me to Sleepy Willow to be raised by a village of elves? Why wasn’t I born with magical ability?

  After all these years, I still couldn’t get straight answers out of my father. I really wanted to know why it needed to remain a secret after five hundred years. I’d stopped pressing him about it many years ago and appreciated our relationship for what it was. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a burning desire inside me to get the answers to all my questions surrounding my birth and upbringing.

  Why were they ashamed of me? Why had my father first visited me when I was twenty-two?

  Instead of wallowing in m
y sadness, I needed to dust myself off and get out to Seattle. I would feel better if I went with someone. I had the perfect travel partner in mind, but his phone number had changed, so I hadn’t been able to get a hold of him.

  This called for the random stop by.

  Chapter 10

  I needed to stop at my house and grab my friend Owen’s address that I’d written on a scrap of paper. As I walked toward my front door, an uneven breeze was wreaking havoc on my hair and kept blowing it into my eyes. Seemed like a storm was brewing despite the stringy ivory clouds dotting the sky. I took off my gloves and stuffed them into the pockets of my black jacket so I could fix my hair.

  I swept my ginger locks aside and opened my purse when a mighty scream from above rumbled the earth. My shoulders tensed and the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. As I turned to the sky, I shielded the sun with an open hand, and through an opening in my fingers, I saw two black dragons streaking through the air.

  Dragons in Pittsburgh, huh? I’d heard the stories from Tyr, but I still couldn’t believe my eyes. Tyr had revealed two possible scenarios. When King Ballistar had ransacked Pittsburgh with his dragons, nobody knew if he had left some behind when he retreated hastily to Sleepy Willow.

  Another situation involved Mike Merlino using a return potion in Sleepy Willow that had sent a Sphinx and two black dragons to Pittsburgh. Either way, I gazed at two dragons spitting fire across the blue backdrop. They turned abruptly and headed east. Within a few moments the vision had disappeared, but where were they headed?

  As I went to put the key into the deadbolt, I froze. Something wasn’t right and the chili I had for lunch churned in my stomach. The door started to open from the inside. Someone had broken my repellant charms and protective wards that I had set around the house. It had to be a powerful entity. The heavy aroma of olive oil flowed out the crack, and it could only mean one Goddess.