by Ann Gimpel
Katya
Katya felt like she should do something. Her beast was pushing hard against the end of her tether. She wanted to take a stand next to Y Ddraigh Goch. She didn’t care the god had lied. He was in trouble, and she aimed to protect him. The power words made her ears ache, but that pain was nothing compared with the agony that dug deep into her soul.
Dragons didn’t destroy other dragons. They did everything possible to salvage them. She expected Y Ddraigh Goch’s power word to flatten the First Dragon, but he didn’t even sway on his feet.
Where had he been? What had happened to him that resulted in all those burns? Most of his hide was covered in scars that had formed on top of other scars. She almost felt sorry for him. He’d suffered terribly.
“Don’t waste your energy,” her beast said sternly. “He was given more chances than he deserved.”
The second power word might have had a slight impact. Maybe. The dragon god gripped the First Dragon with his talons. Because the First Dragon’s scales didn’t do much of a job protecting the flesh beneath, Y Ddraigh Goch was able to dig his claws in deep enough to draw blood. Rather than red, it spurted black and thick, smelling much like the serpents’ poison.
She remembered how the sea-serpent venom had burned when it landed on her skin, how much damage it had done, and how much power it had taken to neutralize it. She still had a scar from the suppurating hole with blackened edges that had formed almost instantly.
Bellowing, trumpeting, and blowing smoke and fire into one another’s faces, the dragon god and his first son ripped into each other. The third power word was so harsh it made her bones ache. The First Dragon shook his head and kept on slugging.
Behind her, the noise of ice scraping against itself seemed odd and out of place. On the surface near the headlands perhaps, but not down here. A quick glance told her the lake was well on its way to being frozen. Serpents were scrambling to leave the rapidly expanding ice, but Gwydion and Ceridwen barked spells of their own. Using a combination of power words and more standard incantations, they held the serpents in place while the lake froze from end to end.
Phantoms took shape at the far end of the body of congealing ice. Oberon on one side, Titania on the other, and Earth in the middle. The land wore the same guise she had earlier, but the reddish streaks cutting through her garments were fainter. The king and queen of Faery each had an arm around Earth. The trio seemed to have moved past the bad blood that had marred their interdependency.
Katya puffed smoke and ash in approval as more serpents were herded into the icy slurry the lake had become. Primal ice was in play, but in a far more localized manner than their original plans. Would any serpents remain once this was over? They’d have to wait and see.
An agonized howl brought her back around in time to see Y Ddraigh Goch clutch a spot where his shoulder had caught fire. How was it possible? Dragon scales were impervious to flames.
“This is what you condemned me to,” the First Dragon shouted. “To burn and burn and burn, and then to burn some more. Did you have any idea what you were doing? Why didn’t you just kill me?”
Y Ddraigh Goch didn’t answer. Fury streamed from him, adding a reddish tinge to the air. The fire that had been consuming his shoulder winked out abruptly. Below Katya’s extended wings, the shifters and their gods were herding the remaining serpents into the slushy lake. A series of notes trilled up and down the scale, repeating themselves. The song was compelling, so much so she might have followed the serpents into the lake were it not for her beast who fanned its wings away from the hypnotic music.
“It reminds me of a children’s tale,” Johan told her.
“Children followed a flautist to their doom?” Katya asked.
“Not precisely. A town in Medieval Germany hired a piper with a magic flute to lure rats out of their town. When the townspeople refused to pay him, the piper turned the same magic that had lured the rats on the town’s children. They cheerfully followed him out of town and into a cave and were never seen again.”
“Not a happy story,” Katya said.
“Not happy at all. I believe three children were spared. One was lame and unable to walk fast enough. One was deaf and could not hear the piping. The third was blind. According to legend, they told the townspeople what happened.”
He angled a wingtip toward Y Ddraigh Goch, locked in what was clearly mortal combat with the First Dragon. “Should we help?”
“I don’t know,” Katya replied. “He was clear at the beginning this was his problem.”
“Ja, well, it is also all of ours if”—Johan hesitated before continuing—“things do not go well.”
Fire licked down one of Y Ddraigh Goch’s flanks. He ignored it and ripped another chunk of bloody flesh from the thing that had been his proudest creation. “I taught you everything,” he screamed.
“And now you shall regret those lessons,” the First Dragon countered. Jaws spread, he showered the dragon god with fire that caught wherever it landed.
Katya flew nearer Konstantin. “We have to do something.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. Divert the First Dragon? Why is his fire burning holes in our god?”
Kon turned his whirling gaze on her. “Same question I’ve been asking myself.”
Y Ddraigh Goch let go, backed up a few steps, and hurled himself at the First Dragon again. Where the burning parts of him contacted the First Dragon, he too caught fire.
Another power word burst from him. This one had an effect. The First Dragon cringed before spewing more fire. Y Ddraigh Goch batted the flames aside and splayed one forefoot across the First Dragon’s misshapen face.
“Die. This is what pity bought me. I shall never make that mistake again.”
“I may perish, old man, but you will burn forever. This fire had no antidote.”
“We shall see.” Y Ddraigh Goch barked more power words. One after the next until Katya clapped her forelegs over her ears. The words were everything harsh and wicked and evil. They were the stuff of endless nightmares. Of spells that blew up in your face. Of vampires sucking the marrow from your bones and resurrecting you to do it again and again.
Kind of like the fire.
Gwydion and Ceridwen spewed their own power words. The First Dragon fell to his knees, wings spread to both sides of him. They had huge rents in them, holes so big she was certain he hadn’t flown for a long time.
Immersed in fire, Y Ddraigh Goch threw himself across the First Dragon’s back. The two Celtic gods changed up the words and pitch of their incantation. Katya blinked in surprise as the fire left the dragon god and sank into the First Dragon beneath him.
Konstantin flew low and wrapped his forelegs around Y Ddraigh Goch, dragging him off the prostrate form beneath him. A low whooshing began deep in the earth just before the First Dragon’s body turned into a pyre. He raised his head and howled, “Finish it this time. I am done burning.”
The compassion Katya had battled before swept through her. Y Ddraigh Goch had been selfish. A clean kill was always preferable to leaving your victim to suffer. Tears flooded her eyes, clattering to earth as a fortune in precious gemstones.
“Stop!” her bondmate adjured. “We have no idea why he did what he did. He is our god, and deserving of our respect.”
Katya did her best to clear her thoughts. Kon and Y Ddraigh Goch had disappeared. “Should we follow them?” she asked her beast.
“No. We will land and add our magic to purging the serpents.”
Katya joined Erin and Johan on the ground. Stragglers were still being herded into the partially frozen lake. Between the Celts and the shifter gods, they scarcely required her magic. She didn’t want the nasty, stinking serpents polluting her lake, but she was being petty. Water could be cleansed. Besides, nothing would hold her and Johan here once this was done.
Except Kon’s link to the land.
She raised her mind voice and addressed her twin. “Where are
you?”
“Third lake. Our liege required water.”
She wanted to protest that dragons didn’t like water. Instead, she asked, “Do you need help?”
“Nay, Sister. We shall return presently.”
The last of the serpents stumbled into the lake, moving like sleepwalkers. She was fairly certain the Celts had ensorcelled them, but the absence of the First Dragon’s magic probably weakened his minions. Had they done away with the other dragon traitors? The ones who’d offered their allegiance to the First Dragon?
She understood better how events must have unfolded. Dragons would never have tendered zip squat to a serpent, but the First Dragon was another story, entirely. Second only to Y Ddraigh Goch in myth, he’d been known for his honor and bravery before arrogance got the better of him.
She swallowed a bitter smile. The First Dragon had been a delight as an only child, but sharing the limelight with siblings hadn’t been on his menu. He didn’t see why the dragon world required any occupants beyond himself and his maker, and he’d acted accordingly.
Had Y Ddraigh Goch tried to reason with him? She’d never know, and it probably didn’t matter.
The Celts were mowing through the serpents, killing one after the other. The North Wind batted foot-draggers their way. Better the Celts than her. She’d lost her heart for mindless slaughter. Even if the victims deserved killing.
“You are a dragon,” her beast reminded her.
“Does that mean I have no heart?” she countered.
Her bondmate had no reply, and she was grateful not to be drawn into an argument with her. The pyre that had been the First Dragon was winding down. Still burning, but not as high as it had been. The king and queen of Faery had joined the Celts. Earth was nowhere to be seen.
Katya wasn’t sure what dew her attention back to the portal. It should have been destroyed after the First Dragon surged through, yet no one had viewed it as a priority. She started toward it but stopped as Surek slithered through.
“Kill him!” she shouted, her earlier thoughts about compassion vanishing in the space between two breaths. Andraste and Arianrhod notched arrows aimed at the serpent’s head.
Surek raised his gray, scaled form off the dirt until about a meter of him stood tall. He tossed his head back. “I request clemency. If you release my serpents, you have my word, we shall never bother this world or any others again.”
“Ha!” Gwydion sneered. “Where will ye bide? The space between worlds?”
“We would return to the world where Y Ddraigh Goch put us. And there we shall remain. The only reason we left was because the First Dragon lured us with promises of freedom and glory. Of gaining retribution for being banished.” His forked tongue flicked from his mouth as he took a breath. “We deserved exile. What we did to our god’s children was inexcusable.”
“He is only saying that because he knows he is beaten,” Andraste cried.
“I’m not so sure.” Katya projected her voice. “He did not have to enter our midst. He was safely away from this place.” She twisted to face Surek. “Are other serpents on the surface?”
He nodded. “Aye, perhaps fifty of us. They would leave as well.”
“It pains me to say aught on his behalf, but he speaks true,” Ceridwen said.
Surek barked something that might have been a laugh. “Spouting lies in the midst of gods and goddesses would be pointless. And stupid.” He bowed his head. “May I leave with my serpents? A few in the lake are not yet dead.”
Katya started to say yes, but it wasn’t her decision to make. She looked from one Celt to the next, and then to Anubis, Bast, and Thoth.
“Ye have caused much trouble,” Anubis woofed. “Several of my shifters died this day.”
“For that, I am truly sorry,” Surek said. “My losses exceed yours, but I accept them. We were the aggressors because we were stupid and misled.”
“’Tisn’t an excuse,” Ceridwen told him tartly.
“No, it’s not, but it is the best I can offer.” Surek shook his gray triangular head. “That one”—he jerked his chin at what was left of the First Dragon—“was very hard to say no to. He shared his blood with me. And his madness. I am thankful he is dead.”
Katya clacked her double rows of teeth together. It explained why the First Dragon’s blood had been black. He’d dabbled in the worst kind of sorcery, the type where you bent others to your will.
Arawn, god of the dead, tossed his dark hair over his shoulders. “I would impose a condition on ye leaving.”
“Anything,” Surek said.
“Ye will transport your dead to my halls where I will keep them from further ill deeds. No one will be able to reanimate them. Once that task is done, ye will tell me where ye will reside. If at any time ye leave that spot without first letting one of us know, ye will be fair game for us to finish what we began today.”
“Agreed.” Surek didn’t even hesitate.
Katya was glad he and his people had been offered a second chance. Somehow it made the carnage more bearable.
Konstantin and Y Ddraigh Goch flew into their midst and touched down near Surek. “I heard some of that,” the dragon god said.
Surek lowered his body until he lay in the dirt. “Forgive me, my liege. I shall do better.”
“I believe you will. Katya asked if serpents bided above. She did not ask about dragons. Are there more who were corrupted by…” Y Ddraigh Goch’s voice faltered, but not for long. “By the First Dragon?”
“I do not believe so, but I am not certain.”
“We will check,” Konstantin said.
“I will do that,” the dragon god said. He looked haggard. Fire had stripped divots across both flanks. Katya remembered the First Dragon’s prediction and wondered if Y Ddraigh Goch would bear permanent scars.
The ice cracked and cracked again. A few sea-serpents slithered out of the lake and hurried to Surek’s side. “We have a task,” he told them. “We must move our dead to Arawn’s halls.”
The god of the dead made a sweeping motion with one hand. A black-and-gold edged gateway took shape. “Through there,” he said. “My realm has infinite entry points.”
Surek and the serpents started with the nearest corpse. A combination of magic and brute force moved the carcasses—some human, some serpent—through Arawn’s portal. Waves formed in the lake, washing bodies onto the shore.
Katya figured it was Earth’s doing, and she was happy for the land. After a rough beginning with Konstantin, Earth was beginning to believe in her nascent power again.
Johan lumbered next to her and shifted back to his human form. She did the same. No reason to be dragons, and it would be easier to talk. “I am glad we did not kill the rest of them after Surek asked for mercy,” he said quietly.
“Me too. This had a better outcome than I expected.”
“I wonder.” Johan looked toward Y Ddraigh Goch. The dragon god was helping move serpent bodies through Arawn’s gateway. “Do you suppose he will ever forgive himself?”
“Probably.” She blew out a long, jagged breath. “When you live forever, it’s impossible not to do things you’re eventually very sorry for. You find ways to keep going.”
The corners of Johan’s mouth twitched. “Doesn’t appear to bother the Celts.”
“They play by different rules.”
“How so?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I’m talking out of my ass. I’ve obviously never been a Celtic god, so I have no idea how they view the world or how they deal with decisions that backfired on them.”
“How about you?” Johan speared her with his dark eyes.
“How about me, what?” Katya hedged, understanding his meaning well enough.
“Do you have things you’re sorry for?”
A corner of her mouth quirked into an enigmatic smile. “Of course, but leave a gal her secrets.”
Johan tipped his head and smiled softly. “I love you. No matter what you’ve done. Or not done.”
The shifters were clearing out. Ylon and Yle, back in their human bodies, walked close to her and Johan. “We are returning to our borderworld,” Ylon said.
“Hold a moment,” Katya told him. “Let me grab Kon. I’m certain he’ll want to thank you.”
“Brother!” She employed their private mind speech.
Konstantin trudged to her with Erin next to him. He shook off his dragon form. When shifter magic stopped glowing around him, he was human again. Erin took longer to shift, and he waited until his mate was done with her transformation before he nodded solemnly to all of them.
“We did a good day’s work.”
“Many days,” Yle said. “We cleared serpent contamination from our worlds as well.”
“Who would have thought the First Dragon was behind all of this?” Erin rolled her eyes. “I mean, I’ve heard of outrageous offspring, but cripes. He would have laid waste to every world he touched.”
“Feeling wronged has deep roots,” Konstantin said. “I’m just glad this is over.”
Katya wondered if he was right or engaging in wishful thinking. Surely, one or two serpents and dragons would escape their net.
Thoth, Bast, and Anubis joined them. “We will be on our way.” Thoth bobbed his head.
Konstantin bowed low. When he straightened, he said, “Thank you so much for heeding Y Ddraigh Goch’s call. And for offering your shifters to fight by our side.”
“Ye would do the same for us,” Anubis woofed.
“Yes,” Kon said, “we would indeed. I am forever in your debt and am as near as telepathy should you ever have need of me or my dragons.”
Power surged around the three. When it cleared, they were gone along with their assorted shifters. Oberon and Titania trooped to Konstantin’s side. “We are returning to Faery,” Oberon said.
“Aye. Please join us in our realm. Now that our misunderstanding with Earth is cleared up, the Dreaming holds sufficient magic to power Faery forever,” Titania said.
Konstantin bowed again. “Thank you for lending your warriors to our cause.”
