by Bryan Davis
After a few seconds of silence, Bonnie moaned softly. “Ooooh!”
“Sorry, I guess the peroxide burns; it’s not supposed to. You have one long cut just above where your left wing goes into your back, but it’s hard to tell how deep it is. It looks like there’s also a wound of some kind on that wing, too, but I don’t think it’s broken.”
“I think you’re right. It feels more like a bruise.” Both ladies were quiet for a few seconds until Bonnie spoke up again, her tone more upbeat. “Mr. Bannister, what’s all that cargo you’re carrying?”
Billy wanted to look back to remind himself of the payload contents, but he remembered to keep his focus ahead. He assumed Bonnie was trying to get her mind off the pain, and he hoped his dad would comply. He hadn’t been very talkative, his secrets apparently keeping him in deep thought, and even now he seemed hesitant to answer.
Billy pictured the cargo area in his mind. Merlin’s back half had its seats removed, leaving plenty of room for almost anything, while still providing seats for six passengers and two crew members up front. He visualized the paneled boxes in the rear, unmarked and stacked neatly in rows.
“They’re crates of Bibles,” his father finally replied. “I’ve been collecting them for months. I was going to fly them to Atlanta tomorrow, and from there a missionary society will pick them up and smuggle them into a closed country.”
“Oh, then you do follow the Bible,” Bonnie said. “My mother told me you didn’t.”
Billy waited for an answer, but none came. He noticed his father’s face turning red, but his only reply was a warning to get ready. “Is everyone buckled? We’re going to take off!”
“All set back here!” Billy’s mother replied. “Bonnie’s covered again. I’ll put her wings back through the holes when we’re cruising.”
The Cessna picked up speed, rolling down the runway as smoothly as any luxury car on an interstate, and then lifted effortlessly into the air. Billy had flown dozens of times, but the exhilaration of takeoff never failed to suck his breath away. The force of the seat on his body and the unsteady feeling of increasing space between himself and the ground made him grip the armrests a little more tightly and made his heart pound just a bit faster. Although there was inherent danger in every flight, it was certainly more comfortable sitting here, even with the bumpy climb through the cross breeze, than dangling precariously from Bonnie’s arms.
After a few moments of silent ascent, Billy’s father spoke up, raising his voice to compete with the buzzing propellers. “Okay, we’re on our way to Huntington.”
“Huntington?” Billy asked. “Why Huntington?”
“Because I don’t have any pilots there, so it’s not a likely place for me to go. And I’m not comfortable with taking Bonnie out of West Virginia. I’m not sure what the laws say about transporting someone else’s foster children, but we don’t want to end up with kidnapping charges. Anyway, it’ll be far enough to give us some time together. We have a lot to talk about.”
“I’ll say!” Billy agreed. He grimaced at his own words. He didn’t mean to sound like he was provoking an argument, but it did sort of come out that way.
“Okay, then,” his father said. “You go first.”
Billy proceeded to tell their story, with his mother’s occasional interruptions to fill in the gaps, and he downplayed his own role. He especially didn’t want to mention the fire, but, of course, his mother brought it up.
“So, it’s progressed to fire breathing, has it?” his father asked.
“Yes, and it really hurt, too.”
Billy’s father grabbed a penlight from a tray on the console. “We’re cruising now, so I can take a look. Open your mouth and lean over here.”
“Okay.” Billy opened his mouth as wide as he could and even stuck out his tongue and said, “Ahhhh.”
His dad flicked on the light and pointed the beam into his mouth, murmuring as he moved the light around. All Billy could see was his father’s wandering eyes and the shiny silver pen waving back and forth. After several “hmmm’s” his father pulled away and tapped Billy’s chin to signal that he could close his mouth again. “It looks like you’ve started forming scales, but they aren’t fully glazed over yet.”
Billy licked the sore insides of his mouth. “Is it supposed to hurt so much?”
His father tossed the light toward the console and glanced back at his wife. She was busy helping Bonnie’s wings back through their holes. “That’s hard to say,” he replied. “I don’t have any experience rearing human dragon children, but back in the old days, when the young dragons started breathing fire for the first time, they jumped up and down, yelping like a Chihuahua with a hot foot.” He leaned back in his seat and sighed. “It was a long time ago, but I think it was the same for me.”
Billy placed his hands on his stomach and rubbed it softly. “How can I know when the fire’s coming? I mean . . . I didn’t plan it. It just came out.”
“It’s because you were so upset. When I was a dragon, I couldn’t help spitting fire if I ever got really mad or scared.”
Billy trembled and then laughed to hide his uneasiness. “When you were a dragon? That sounds so weird hearing you say that, especially after all these years.”
His father took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All these years?” he repeated with a sad sort of smile. He then nodded and gazed at Billy. “You’re right. Your few years are everything to you, but they seemed like only a few short days to me. I should have known better than to keep the truth from you for so long. I didn’t realize you’d be exposed to danger.” Everyone stayed quiet for a minute or two, and the loud buzz of the propeller droned in the ears of the passengers while they waited for Billy’s dad to speak again.
“You told your story,” he finally continued. “It’s time for me to tell mine.” He picked a microphone up from its cradle on the control panel. “The engine’s kind of noisy, so this will be a good time to test out the new PA system. Are you ready?”
Billy was accustomed to hearing his father’s dramatic stories, so he leaned back and closed his eyes, ready to imagine the details. “Fire away.”
Chapter 10
MERLIN’S PROPHECY
Billy’s father settled into his pilot’s seat, pulled out Fama Regis, and laid it open on his lap. “I wasn’t there for some parts of my story, so I’m getting a few details from this book. Those parts were written by a squire you’ll hear about very soon.”
After clearing his throat, he spoke with a deep, storyteller’s voice, his characteristic resonance playing through the speakers and carrying throughout the cabin. “Once upon a time, over a thousand years ago, during the days of King Arthur and his noble knights, an aging prophet named Merlin ascended the crags of a steep hillside.”
The old man climbed the rocky bed, lithely passing over the rough, steep incline. He moved like one much younger than he appeared, more like a yearling mountain ram than an ancient, gray-headed sage. His long robe, a blunted scarlet in the dimness of the night, scarcely troubled him in his ascent as it flowed passively around his legs. After steadying his feet on two stable rocks, he set down a large leather saddlebag and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hail! Clefspeare!”
Motionless and barely visible, the man on the rocks stood and waited for an answer. His long, spindly shadow rested on the face of the cliff, a ghost in the full moon’s glow. Above him and to one side, another dark shape yawned as if stretching to swallow the old man’s silhouette; it was the entrance to a cave that held the caller’s attention.
“Hail! Clefspeare!”
The old man waited again, but there was no response. He turned his head and looked down the rugged slope. Another man stood on a smoother path below, a somewhat younger, sturdier gentleman dressed in the finest of riding array. Although there were no horses nearby, he seemed ready to mount and dash away at the slightest provocation.
“Come, Your Majesty,” the older man said, holding out his hand to ai
d his fellow traveler. “We must enter the cave.”
The king, using both hands and feet to find his way, slowly but steadily climbed the rocky embankment. His broad shoulders expanded and his rippling forearms strained to lift his body. As soon as he approached the old man’s level, he grasped the outstretched hand and pulled himself the rest of the way up. “Master Merlin,” the king said, “your strength amazes me.”
“I have climbed many hills in my time,” Merlin replied.
The king wiped his hands and bowed in reverence, his gray-streaked golden hair falling forward to cover his ears. “I have always respected your courage, Master Merlin, and I vowed to trust you tonight no matter what befalls us; but I did not expect to walk into the mouth of death, for I can hear the monster’s breathing even from here.”
“You must continue to trust me. Come. The path is easier just ahead.” Merlin hoisted his bag and continued the climb for a few more yards before stopping to wait again. Within seconds the king joined him, and the two proceeded on level ground, Merlin again leading the way. After passing a few bare, stunted trees, the travelers faced the entrance of the cave. They felt a breeze coming from within, and then, seconds later, the breeze reversed, and the cave drew the air past their bodies, swallowing it deep into the darkness.
“The cave breathes,” the king remarked, his yellow mustache twitching, “but I smell no rotting flesh.”
“Nor will you,” Merlin replied. He cupped his hands once again to address the cave’s occupant. “Hail! Clefspeare! It is I, Merlin, Prophet of the Most High. With me is His Majesty, King Arthur.”
Again they waited but received no response. Merlin turned his gray head to the king. “He must be in regeneracy.”
“Regeneracy?” the king repeated. He peered into the shadows, his gold circlet gleaming in the moonlight.
Merlin walked forward without looking back again. “You will see,” he said before disappearing into the darkness.
Arthur hesitated. The full moon’s light cast the cave’s interior in shadows, but the prophet’s courage washed over the king, beckoning him to follow. After a few steps into the cave’s arching influence, his eyes adjusted and he could see Merlin, waiting again, well inside.
“We must hurry,” the prophet warned. “The others will be assembling very soon.”
“The others?” The king quickened his pace. He was able to see quite well now. A strange light from deeper in the cave illumined the path, dimly at first, but ever more brightly as he proceeded.
When Arthur caught up with Merlin, the two passed together through a large archway and into a brightly lit interior chamber. In the very center, the source of the light took shape, a huge cone of swirling luminescence that pointed toward the cave’s ceiling, its circular base resting a few inches from the rocky floor. It was a shimmering, inverted funnel of pure light. Yet, it was more than light; it seemed to have substance, as if you could scoop it up with your hands and carry it home in a saddlebag. And within the cone, a dazzling array of flashing glitters flew like buzzing bees from one side to the other, bouncing and dancing until they happened to strike the focus of the cone, a huge, heaving body that rested in the very center.
“Master Merlin,” the king cried out, “tell me what it is that I look upon! If it is accursed I shall turn my head and pluck out my eyes rather than look upon it again; but if it is holy, I shall bare my head as well as my feet and fall now to my knees.”
Merlin placed a strong hand on the king’s shoulder. “My king, your colorful oaths are out of place. This light is neither accursed nor holy; it is a natural process I have called regeneracy. It is how a dragon prefers to sleep. Have you ever seen a creature like this in full flight?”
“Yes. Just several days afore this, I saw a dragon in battle with Sir Devin.”
“And did you notice how his scales shimmered in the sunlight and how his eyes flashed while in flight?”
The king nodded ardently, his gaze fixed on the form before him. “Indeed I did take note. A frightful sight, to be sure.”
“Yes, frightful if you are not aware of the reason. His scales and eyes breathe the light as you and I breathe the air. He absorbs energy and expels the light he does not use. If a dragon were subjected to darkness for a long period of time, he would be overcome by weakness. Without at least a candle to feed his body, he would eventually die.”
Merlin set down his bag, approached the glowing dragon, and stretched out his hands over the cone as if to warm them. “At night he rests on a bed of silver and gold, and the power of the day flows into his bed. The energy grows into a shroud of luminescence around his body, and he reabsorbs the light as it passes over his scales.” Merlin pointed to the base of the dragon’s bed and then moved his finger around as if stirring. “Intermixed in the precious metal pieces are polished gems. They reflect the light, making it rebound within the shroud, so that more of the light strikes his body.”
The king listened with complete attention and took a step or two closer, emboldened by the prophet’s familiarity. “You say that he is asleep?” The creature’s heavy, rumbling breaths made the king stop once again, and he instinctively placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Merlin walked back to join the king. “Yes, he is asleep.” The prophet grasped Arthur’s forearm just above his sword hand. “You have nothing to fear, good king.”
Arthur returned the grasp but kept watching the dragon. “You say he is sleeping, but it appears that his eyes are open.”
Merlin turned to look. “They are open. His eyes are the gateway to his mind. Through his scales he gains physical power. Through his eyes he gains both physical and mental prowess. They, too, must absorb the light.”
“When will he awaken?”
“This I cannot predict. I do not yet understand the process completely, but the light eventually fades and then the dragon awakes.”
“Is he vulnerable to attack while he sleeps?”
“I do not know. I believe we are the only humans ever to see a dragon in this state. Many have come upon dragons in their lairs, but a dragon can sense danger and always awakes. Since I am his friend and you have come as his new ally, Clefspeare senses none. But I must awaken him now.”
Merlin unfastened a string from around his neck and used it to pull a strangely shaped object from beneath his vest, a pendant stone dangling at the end of the string, small enough for his fingers to fully envelop.
“This is a candlestone, a kind of anti-prism,” he explained. “You see, a normal prism bends light and splits the colors. This stone does the opposite. It arrests fractured light and straightens it out. The light passes into it as excited energy and passes out as a simple light beam. If I place it at the base of Clefspeare’s shroud, it will interrupt the circuit and disperse his shield.”
Arthur gazed at the stone in awe. “It is no wonder you are called a wizard, Master Merlin. I have understood none of your words, yet I am enchanted by your explanation. A magic stone like that could make you very powerful.”
“I am not a wizard, Your Majesty, and there is nothing magical about the stone. It simply uses a reverse refraction to interrupt a dragon’s photorespiration, and therefore his energy flow. It can actually absorb light, and with it the life force of his body.”
“Energy and life force I understand. Then could it be used as a weapon against dragons?”
“Most definitely. I wear it around my neck for defense against the evil, fallen dragons. I believe I am the only one who knows how to use it, but after today it will matter no more.”
Merlin placed the stone on the ground and slid it into the base of the shroud. Instantly the dancing light radiated toward the candlestone, and a brilliant, steady beam poured forth from its opposite side. The shroud vanished, but the candlestone kept glowing, giving light to the chamber.
After a few seconds, the sleeping dragon stirred. With a great stretch and a mighty yawn, Clefspeare rose to sit on his haunches, his enormous tail acting as a balance be
hind him. With his yawn came a belch of smoke mixed with flying sparks, and the king drew back, once again placing his hand on his sword.
Clefspeare spied his two visitors. His deep gravelly voice erupted and echoed in the cave. “Master Merlin!” He yawned and stretched again. “I have been expecting you, but I did not expect to see the Sovereign.” Clefspeare did his best to attempt a formal bow. Although dragons are graceful in the air, they are sometimes clumsy on their feet. He nearly fell on his face, but with a flap of his wings, he righted himself quickly. “Master Merlin, would you be so kind as to remove that accursed stone from my sight before I become violently ill?”
Merlin bent over and picked up the candlestone, covering it with both hands. “Are you sure the stone made you lose your balance, or are you still overcome by sleep?”
“I assure you that my eyes are clear. I recognized the king, did I not? Now please put that wicked jewel under a pile of rocks by the far wall. Covering it with your hands merely blunts its evil effects.”
Merlin walked carefully to the cave’s edge, guided by a dim, flickering light on the wall. He found a flat rock and placed the candlestone underneath.
With a great snuff from Clefspeare’s nostrils, a stream of flame erupted and flew toward an iron stand on the wall, reigniting a rag-topped torch. “Aaah! Now we have better light.” He looked back at Arthur and this time merely bowed his head. “Your Majesty. Welcome to my humble abode.”
King Arthur bowed in return, much more gracefully than did the dragon, but his voice betrayed a slight tremble. “I am honored to meet you, Great Dragon.”
Clefspeare nodded his appreciation and then turned to the prophet. “Master Merlin, am I to understand that your presence signals the coming transformation?”
“Yes, Clefspeare.”
“How many are assembling?”
“I’m not sure. The slayers have been busy, so very few, I’m afraid. Hartanna is gathering the dragons who still honor the code.”