by Ann Gimpel
“It was fairly glowing,” Johan jumped in excitedly. “I could feel magic pulsing from it halfway across the room.”
“At first it made me nervous,” Katya admitted.
“Wise of you,” Ylon muttered. He, too, had walked to where the book lay and was examining it without touching it. “Have you ever seen it before?” he asked Konstantin. “Because I have not.”
Kon looked up, a puzzled expression marring his perfect features. “Yes. If it’s the same tome, I remember it from Mu.” He lifted a page or two, taking exquisite care as he laid them to the other side. “Give me a few moments. I want to be certain before I pronounce it the exact same book.”
He settled into a cross-legged sit and gently placed the book across his lap. His fingers glowed with magic as he riffled through pages. I caught the scents of poorly tanned leather from the binding and goat from the vellum pages. Interesting I could sort those smells, but not the blood I assumed had been used for ink. I supposed the author could have used any number of dyes to achieve that red shade, but why not write in black and have done with things?
“I thought those of us who left emptied out Mu’s library,” Katya said, “which is why I was so distrustful when I turned around and the book was just there.”
“You two are talking in riddles,” Johan said. “If the book is what you believe it to be, was it part of the library in your home world?”
“Yes,” Katya replied. “A very unusual part. The books and scrolls that dealt with the most sensitive—and private—magical topics were kept in a special vault. It was temperature-and-humidity controlled to preserve the ancient documents.”
“I believe this is genuine,” Konstantin said. “Which means it was penned by Y Ddraigh Goch and the First Dragon. It covers the origins of our magic, and why our power is different from that of other magic wielders.”
“Fascinating,” Ylon murmured. “We have—or had—a similar book. It is long since lost to the vagaries of time, distance, and our nomadic lifestyle.”
“But you’ve been on the first world in the Fleisher system for a long time,” Konstantin said.
“Yes, but far from forever,” Ylon replied. “What does the book say about your origins?”
“I don’t know,” Konstantin said. “I have never read it. Katya?”
“Johan and I were working our way through it,” Katya replied. “He’s a faster reader than me, but we didn’t get very far.”
“Should we gather the other dragons?” I asked. Ylon cleared his throat, and I added, “And dinosaurs.”
“Not yet,” Kon answered. Magic still played around his fingertips, lending them an incandescence as he turned pages.
I was half expecting the dragon god to show up. If the book was the real deal, who else could have plopped it into our hands? But there wasn’t any sign of him. I rebuked myself. I was looking for someone to bail us out, when the reality was we had to save ourselves. I’d done the “hunting for a savior” thing a time or two as a young surgeon when I’d gotten in over my head.
Most surgeons are men. They’d rather die than admit they might have bitten off more than they could chew. I suffer from the same malady, but I didn’t have it as bad as they did. Even though I knew I’d catch crap for it, I asked for assistance in time. Before the combination of my ineptitude and hubris killed the unconscious human lying on my table.
My mind was wandering. Badly. I moved close enough to Konstantin to read over his shoulder. He must have been absorbing material magically because I’d only work my way through a sentence or two before he moved to the next page. Not that the book was arranged in sentences in any alphabet I’d ever seen before. These were runes, but I understood them well enough.
Time passed. I have no idea how much. The book had its own draw. After a time, I couldn’t have looked away if I wanted to. If it held danger, my bondmate would have pulled me back, or maybe she was as mesmerized as I was.
The swirl of turning pages stopped long enough for me to finish an entire page. This one dealt with fire and dragons’ use of it.
“It’s definitely the same book,” Konstantin said. “Though how it got here is anyone’s guess.”
“Y Ddraigh Goch?” Johan asked. His question mirrored my earlier hypothesis.
“No. He would have showed up with it, told us which parts he wanted us to pay attention to, and left us with a list of instructions.”
“If not him, then who?” Johan persisted.
“I have no idea. It doesn’t have any serpent taint at all, so—”
“Give me some credit.” Katya blew out an exasperated breath. “Do you think I’d have let Johan touch it unless I was certain it wasn’t a velvet-coated snare?”
“Lower your hackles, Sister.” Konstantin placed the book on the floor next to him. It continued to glow, and it drew my attention whether I wished it or not.
“What magic is it imbued with?” I caught Kon’s eye.
“The dragon god’s and the First Dragon’s. Because he was first, Y Ddraigh Goch wasn’t certain exactly how to construct his ability.”
“If he was anything like the First Dinosaur, he was strong as sin,” Ylon said.
“Exactly,” Konstantin concurred.
“What is it about the book that feels like the Pied Piper of Hamelin is playing his flute?” I asked.
“Huh?” Konstantin stared at me.
“What she means,” Johan said, “is the book is shedding power, almost as if it is calling her. And me. When I am near the book, it is difficult to think of anything else.”
“It was written in the First Dragon’s blood,” Konstantin murmured. “Sometimes I can still catch a whiff, but it’s faint. He was unbelievably powerful. The attraction you feel comes from remnants of his magic.”
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“He was too strong for his own good. Y Ddraigh Goch sequestered him on a borderworld somewhere,” Katya replied. “And then killed him.”
“Seems kind of like a one-trick pony,” I mumbled. “Anything goes wrong, he sends the problem to a borderworld. Good thing there are lots of them.”
“What do humans do to deal with problems?” Kon glanced my way.
“We have an entire legal system. Judges. Juries. Prisons. Parole. Probation.”
“How does that work?” Kon was still looking at me.
I shrugged. “Hit and miss.”
“I always favored sending those who misbehave to an intergalactic prison colony and letting them duke it out for who was going to run things.” Johan chuckled. “Of course, such things only exist in fiction.”
A rush of intense magic, complete with the sunbaked clay and herb scents of dragon shifter power rolled through the room. Pages crackled as they turned of their own accord. Konstantin straightened and watched the book, still ensconced in his lap, until it quieted.
My eyes had widened at the spectacle. Magical books that pointed out precisely which part was meant for you were hard to accept. I could see where they’d save a whole lot of time. If this book was anything like the other magical tomes and scrolls in the library, it wasn’t indexed.
I’d asked Kon how the hell you found anything. His response had been that the books ensured you had access to the knowledge you required. At the time, his answer had seemed so absurd, I’d discounted it. I could have used books like that in med school. Ones where I didn’t waste precious time hunting stuff down.
Konstantin held up a hand. “I have a feeling this is important. Perhaps why the book ended up in our possession in the first place.”
“Read the passage out loud,” Katya told him.
He cast a beleaguered look her way. “I’ll summarize it once I’m done.” Magic pulsed from the crumbling pages, casting his face in an ever-changing wash of blues and greens.
“Maybe I’ll read over your shoulder,” Katya said.
“Not a good idea.” Kon bent his head over the book. His forehead was creased in thought, and one hand hovered over th
e page in front of him.
Katya started toward her twin, but the colors changed to red and the power spilling from the tome developed a threatening note.
I have no idea how I knew enough to interpret any of the book’s antics. I could be way off base, except the magic spoke to me at a bone-deep level, one that bypassed filtering mechanisms in my brain.
Katya stopped in her tracks. “I don’t get it. The book didn’t protest when I was looking through it.”
Johan wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. “Perhaps the tome tolerated us because we were the only game in town, eh?”
“It’s possible,” Katya mumbled.
“But how could an inanimate object know who’s touching it?” I asked.
“That one does,” Ylon replied. “Look. The colors have shaded back to blues and greens.”
Something with long, sharp claws crawled down my spine. I didn’t trust what I couldn’t understand. If the book was powerful enough to identify who touched it, what else was it capable of?
“I’m not sure we want to find out,” my bondmate said quietly. Clearly, she’d been observing from her vantage point within me.
“What do you mean?” I tried for private telepathy. No one gave me the stink-eye, so perhaps I succeeded.
“Any item created by our god and the First Dragon”—she named her ancestor with reverence—“holds enough magic to blow up worlds. Or save them.”
A numinous shrouding had formed around Kon as he read. Protectiveness surged. I couldn’t let anything hurt him. What if that shiny tent-thing spirited him away, and I never saw him again?
I edged nearer, watching the lightshow very carefully. At the first hint of any alteration in it, I’d stop and wait for it to settle down. I’d moved about a foot when the misty veil turned to glowing streamers that dissipated.
Konstantin shut the book and set it aside before getting to his feet. I tried to read the expression on his face, but it contained so many elements—wonder, worry, delight, despair—I gave it up for a lost cause.
“Well?” Katya had even less patience than I did.
“I’m gathering my thoughts,” her twin replied. “Right now, they’re shooting in so many directions, I don’t quite know where to begin.”
“Take a stab at it, anyway,” she urged.
I wanted to go to him and gather him close, but he didn’t require comfort.
Breath tinged with smoke rattled through Konstantin’s teeth. “Don’t ask me how because I do not know, but the book has a full account of Y Ddraigh Goch banishing the serpents. And of their eventual escape from exile. If the book is correct, and I see no reason to doubt it, the sea-serpents only settled two places: Earth and the Fleisher borderworlds.”
“That’s a relief,” Katya sputtered. “Someone needs to tell Y Ddraigh Goch.”
“What makes you think he does not already know?” Johan asked.
“Let me finish, and then we shall talk about what this might mean,” Konstantin said.
Katya nodded. “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”
Kon drew his index finger downward and then in a crosswise motion. Spreading two fingers, he continued a downward trajectory another foot or so. “The runes split into two distinct timelines,” Konstantin went on. “In one, we battle the serpents for months. Earth sometimes assists but mostly sabotages our efforts. In the end, we leave Earth to the serpents with disastrous results. I didn’t read all the way to the endgame because I had a clear enough picture, but, once we depart, the sea-serpents will be well positioned to make a grab for enough magic to cripple the rest of us.”
“If that’s true, why did we leave?” I blurted, followed by, “Sorry. You said not to ask questions.”
“We left because we were losing.” Kon turned grim eyes my way.
“What is the other path?” Ylon asked. “Before you answer that, though, where do you suppose the last batch of hybrids came from? Those bee things. We wiped out the breeding farms.”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Johan said.
Konstantin’s nostrils flared, and ashy smoke streamed from his mouth. “I must have missed a location when I was destroying the warren of nests sprinkled through the Fleisher worlds. I was in a hurry.”
“Unless an army of hybrids materializes,” Katya said, “I’m not too worried about them. They die easily.”
“They must require an infusion of magic,” Johan broke in. “If we keep the serpents busy enough, I would think the hybrids would wither.”
“Moving on”—Konstantin glanced at Ylon—“I am not at all certain we have enough magic to manage the second option, particularly given we were losing against the serpents. The book suggested the gods would have to help.”
“Which ones?” Ylon raised his shaggy brows in question marks.
“That was the interesting part. All of them. Including the Celts.”
Katya whistled, long and low.
“That unusual, eh?” Johan murmured.
“Very,” she told him. “Go on,” she urged her twin. “What exactly is this second option?”
“We cast the mother of all spells,” he said. “One that will swath Earth in magic-imbued ice so thick it will immobilize the serpents. They will be trapped where they swim, unable to move or to cast spells to free themselves.”
“But that will kill off a whole lot of humans,” I muttered.
“Can’t be helped,” Ylon told me. “Besides, it’s better than all of them being eaten by serpents. Where would we be during this mini Ice Age?”
“Dragon shifters could wait it out here, beneath Antarctica,” Konstantin told him. “You and your dinosaurs would be welcome to join us.”
“For how long?”
“That’s just it,” Kon answered. “It might be as much as five annums, but probably not quite so long as that. While the serpents are frozen in ice and time, the gods will finish what Y Ddraigh Goch should have done eons ago. Once they are done and the serpents are dead, the ice will gradually melt.”
“We did a fair job clearing serpents out of the Fleisher borderworlds.” Ylon spoke slowly. “Food will be a problem here. It might be better for us to return home.”
“I’m grateful for as much or as little assistance as you are willing to offer,” Konstantin said.
“What would happen to the sea life?” Johan asked.
“Assuming the land cooperates, she would hold them in a state of suspended animation, and they would rejuvenate once the ice retreated,” Konstantin said. “Another option would be to freeze localized sections of ocean—the places serpents have congregated, but it’s risky. What if we miss one or two?”
“If even a few gods are involved, that shouldn’t be an issue,” Katya said. “They have ways of locating evil.” She exhaled slowly. “I like that version better because we could move other ocean-dwellers to safety and not have to rely on the land to keep them alive.”
“It would be easier on the humans too,” I mumbled. I shouldn’t still care as much as I did, but I couldn’t argue my way out of it.
Konstantin rolled his shoulders back. “Ylon is correct about food being a problem. The lakes down here hold fish, but not enough to feed all the dragon shifters for years.”
“I’ve seen places where you used to grow crops,” I said.
“Used to being the operative term,” Katya cut in. “What we brought from Mu failed.”
“Immediately?” Johan looked at his mate.
“No. It took a few years.” A slow smile illuminated her face. “A few years is all we need. We could find seeds and try again.”
“The Polish base supports an extensive greenhouse system,” Johan said. “It has the relative advantage of being close, and we could transport their growing beds.” He stopped. “Um, can you use magic to move inanimate objects?”
“Of course,” Katya told him.
“We’re getting ahead of things,” Konstantin said. “First off, there are many unknowns. Absent assistance from the gods, none o
f this will happen.”
“We can’t worry about that,” his twin said. “Not until it’s apparent it’s not going to materialize.”
“What are our next steps?” I asked. After all my shillyshallying around about mating Konstantin, I longed for some time alone. We had other tasks facing us, though.
“Locating Y Ddraigh Goch should be first,” Kon replied. “He’s our god, so it makes sense to begin there. If we run the primal ice plan by him, and he laughs in our faces, we’ll know it will never work.”
“I would like to talk with my dinosaurs,” Ylon said.
“Please let them know everything,” Konstantin told him. “The other shifters too, if any of them have returned.”
“They may not.” Ylon bit off the words. “You and I covered that ground.”
“Yes. I know, but I gave them permission to leave.” Kon nodded brusquely. “I have a feeling if some of their gods join the party—Anubis. Thoth. Various Celts—they’ll change their minds quick enough. All who wish to lend magic to this cause will be welcome. It’s an enormous undertaking.”
I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around what it would take to bring on the next ice age, particularly in the midst of a climate that had been swinging the other way for at least the last century.
But what did I know?
“We’ll be back in a bit.” Katya leaned into Johan.
“Where are you going?” Kon asked.
“To Arctowski. Johan’s idea about, erm, borrowing their planter beds was most excellent. May as well get to them before they die from lack of attention.”
“Bring back seeds as well,” Konstantin said.
“We will,” Johan replied and looked at me. “Want to come along?”
“Do you need a third person?” I didn’t particularly want to plop into the middle of a spate of the dead and dying. Not when I couldn’t do anything to ease their misery shy of killing them outright.
“Not really,” Katya said.
I tried not to look too relieved. If I’ve learned anything through the years of my life, it’s to carry my own weight.
The air around Ylon developed a liquid aspect just before he vanished. Katya and Johan left next. Konstantin walked to me and wrapped me in his arms. “I’m selfishly glad Katya didn’t take you with her.”
