She had been given a single order: swiftly seek out the false king and bring him to bay. Capture him if possible, slay him if necessary. With the might of the dragons behind the Daoine Sidhe, Oberon was certain the majority of the Sluagh Sidhe would lay down their arms if given the chance.
Scouts had returned and reported no sign of any faery within the first few hundred yards. Meanwhile, she had studied the remains of the dome. It was hard and brittle, a pink eggshell. Every now and then, a crash not unlike shards of glass echoed within the forest. She assumed chunks of the dome were collapsing. Faeries and dragons alike glanced at each other with anxious looks. She wondered if Oberon had any idea of this, and if he’d alter his commands if he did.
There was nothing more to be gained by waiting. She ordered the faery scouts in first, with a hong of dragons following just above the treetops in the narrow space below the dome. It would be even slower going if they tried to stay close to the faeries beneath the canopy; the vegetation was too thick. If there was an ambush, she hoped they could force their way through the branches in time to save as many warriors as possible.
It irritated her that the faeries did not fight in carefully ordered units, but by tribe or clan, following their war leader, all of whom did as they thought best unless expressly ordered by the king. Thankfully, Oberon had instructed them all to obey her as they would him, but their lack of organization made her wonder how they’d managed to keep the war going for all these centuries.
None of the war leaders showed any objection when she sent three tribes in behind the scouts. She could not read their faces, now daubed with orange and blue paint, rendering them inscrutable. Many had abandoned their grey-green cloaks that provided camouflage and instead were ready to charge naked into battle, paint providing their only armor. She had to admire their fierceness as they entered their enemy’s domain, something she’d never seen in the Daoine Sidhe before.
She nodded at the rainbow dragon beside her who would lead the hongs from the air, for she would be the only dragon to enter Bruagh-na-Boyne’s forest on foot. The rest of the dragons would skim the treetops, following the first hong in a slow advance. She watched as hong after hong took flight before crossing the Cathaoir River herself, surrounded by the remaining tribes of faeries, and plunging through the enormous opening she’d made into the forest.
The path the scouts led them on north of the scar of the previous day’s battle was wide enough for her to follow easily. The trees and vegetation glowed with a rosy taint, and what little sky she could see was mostly as pink as a field of wild heather. Occasionally, a stream of natural golden afternoon sunlight filtered through an open chunk in the dome. The ground below these gaps was littered with pink dust. No shards, like she’d expected; it seemed that without magic holding the dome together, the chunks were too fragile to survive after breaking off.
Once they were away from the river, a reek began to make her nose wrinkle. It was a rancid, sour odor like an ogre’s carcass left to rot, and the warriors began to mutter. Soon, as her wings would brush against branches or her legs against ferns, she realized the foliage was not only damp, it was rotting, and the moist edges were sticking to her scales.
She glanced up, wondering what her hongs were facing above the trees as Finaarva’s magic disintegrated, if the treetops were as rotten or the air as fetid. How far would they have to slog before ending this war?
At that moment, she spotted a faery scout running back towards her. The scouts, at least, still wore their cloaks.
“Your lordship,” he cried up to her. She wanted to snarl at such a pretentious title, but this was not the time.
“What is it?” she asked as nearby war leaders left their tribes to hear the scout’s news.
“The Sluagh Sidhe have fled. They will not meet us in open battle. What would you have us do?”
I’d have all the Daoine Sidhe flee this forsaken forest and let my hongs burn it to the ground. Damn Oberon and his mercy! But she did not voice her thoughts. She was not allowed to have easy revenge.
“We are to capture Finaarva. Which way is his palace? He’s sure to hide there like any rat.”
"It’s to the north, your lordship.”
She squinted at the pink sky. The dome distorted the sun’s location enough that even in this afternoon light she could not be certain which way was north. Uncertainty caused her gullet to rumble.
A fireball would feel so good right now, she reflected. Her gullet was going to ache instead. No dragon should have to creep through a diseased trap like this!
She paused at the thought.
“Your lordship?” one of the war leaders asked, confusion clear in his voice.
“A trap!” she said. “Finaarva has not fled. He has…”
Bloodthirsty howls ripped the air near the front of her forces as naked faeries dropped from trees or leaped up from the ground, throwing aside whatever vegetation they’d been hiding under. Their bodies were covered in wild swirls of luminous red and green paint, and they charged, swords and spears raised twirling above their heads. The Daoine Sidhe shrieked, rushing at their enemies with abandon.
For several seconds, the terrifying clashes of weapons striking and faeries screaming in agony echoed. Before the remaining tribes could join, however, the ground beneath the melee exploded. Clods of dirt and rocks flew into the air in every direction. Debris crashed in front of her, some of it striking the war leaders. Some of the detritus, she realized, were dead faeries, or pieces of their bodies.
Her ears rang. Sound was muffled. She glanced towards the battle.
A raw crater greeted her, ragged and pocked. The only signs of movement were clouds of smoke and dust. Above the crater, blue sky shone.
Within fifty feet, however, trees were blazing torches, sending gouts of flame spurting into the dome’s remains. Dragons screamed even as they fell, their bodies wreathed in fire. One by one they crashed into either trees or the crater and lay still.
Then she heard the maniacal laughter, a mad banshee that rose out of the ruined crater. It tapped at her skull like a woodpecker. She shook her head, trying to clear her senses, then noticed the faeries around her. Many must have fled, but others writhed on the ground, the insane chortling clearly driving them mad.
She needed to fight back against the veiled enemy. Her gullet churned as a fireball swirled. There was only one place to release it. She roared, the burst of flame exploding in the middle of the crater. Her roar continued, a haze of heat filling the air about her until her immediate fear burned itself out.
The howling had stopped, although she did not know if it had been her fireball that had ended the spell. It did not matter. She must save those she could.
She glanced about. Most of the faeries sat or knelt on the ground, some sobbing, others just looking dazed. In the area around the crater, dragons were landing. She recalled Ao Shun’s admonition.
“Get up!” she roared, and both faeries and dragons flinched. “Mourn when we return to the valley. Aid survivors quickly, then retreat. The war does not end today.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Wu Zhao glared sullenly at Ao Shun and Oberon, neither of whom would meet her eyes, or those of anyone else. Other dragon and faery leaders were also gathered around the circle of mushrooms. They glanced at the three or each other, their faces full of chagrin. She regretted her outburst, or how she’d lost her composure anyways. Her words of blame, however, had been truth.
The echoes from her accusations were slow to fade in the narrow valley. It seemed empty now with so many faeries and dragons slaughtered in the unearthly blast, although there was still no room for privacy. Those who were not caring for the wounded were consoling each other. Only those who sat in the circle had been denied a chance to mourn their dead.
Night had fallen, but neither moon nor stars lit the valley this night. Acrid smoke besieged the encampment, held back only by the magic of several faeries. There was nothing they could do about the stench; she could tast
e the smoke and diseased vegetation.
Colorful fairy lights floated like tiny effervescent bubbles, filling the valley with a gentle light, but they could not hide the angry orange glow northeast where Bruagh-na-Boyne burned. Scouts reported that Sluagh Sidhe could be seen using magic to prevent the fires from spreading further, but half the island was engulfed. At least Finaarva’s forces were spread too thin to worry about any counterstrike until the fire burned out.
Wu Zhao barely noticed. All she wanted was to lash out again and again, but guilt hung on Oberon and Ao Shun’s faces like heavy chains. The crags on the faery king’s aged face were deep canyons now, the sparkle of his sapphire eyes lost to sad weariness as he sat hunched on his throne of branches. Meanwhile, the First Ascendant’s whiskers drooped limply, the tips brushing the grass, his eyes downcast and dull like his scales. Her parents had looked the same on her final visit.
As much as she had blamed Oberon and Ao Shun for the holocaust, however, she knew Finaarva was the one truly at fault. Whatever black magic he’d used, he’d killed just as many of his own people in that unholy blast. The longer she waited for a response, the more her anger shifted to the Usurper. The decision to capture Finaarva that day had been ill-conceived, but not evil. They had not killed her brothers; only one faery was responsible for that.
After several long, uncomfortable minutes, Ao Shun lifted his snout and gazed sadly at her.
“I am so sorry. I dragged you into this. I dragged all of you into this war that is not yours. You should be traveling the stars, not fighting another’s battle.”
She shrugged, a half-acceptance of his apology.
“It’s our battle now,” she said, unable to hide her bitterness.
Oberon roused himself at her words, sitting up straight, one hand clenching his staff for support.
“If we continue,” the king said, “we can destroy Finaarva, but there may not be any faeries or dragons left.”
“And we are too few to launch any sort of successful attack against a glen with such magic as the evil one possesses at Bruagh-na-Boyne, your majesty,” said Ao Shun. “But if we do nothing, the vileness of his deed today will draw out every wicked ogre and imp to his aid. Even if his dome of magic is no more, we lost too many to win if we cannot defeat him decisively within the next few days.”
“An impasse, then.” The king’s features sagged. “Barring a miracle or a magic greater than what we possess, this war cannot be won.”
Silence filled the circle again, and even her anger began to fade. Then Ao Shun rose, and his long whiskers twitched.
“There is the possibility of such a magic. The cost is high, yet not as high as what we suffered today, nor as high as what we will suffer in the future if nothing is done.”
Everyone shifted, a glimmer of optimism in all eyes.
The king looked closely at the ancient dragon, brows furrowed. “What magic do you speak of, First Ascendant?”
“The Longzhu—the Dragon Pearl, your majesty. If used, it will diminish dragonkind, yet it will also remove the evil one and all his changelings from Faery, hopefully forever.”
Wu Zhao felt something besides rage stirring in her heart. Hope, maybe?
“The Dragon Pearl?” asked Oberon. “You mean, the magic that brought us here from Eire centuries ago? But it died when you did so.”
Ao Shun nodded. “Yours was the last race we brought here from our journeys among the stars. We saw how the Romans persecuted you and wished for others of our own world to join us. Saving the faeries used up the magic my grandfather Ao Guang and the Yellow Emperor of China made together, and the pearl became just another stone.”
“It’s not a myth?” asked Wu Zhao. Her father had shared the tale of its making, of course, but none among the colors had reported seeing it for centuries. Most of the young guardians doubted its existence.
“The rainbows have kept it safe for such a time as this. Its magic can be revived but, just as the original transformation required the willing blood sacrifice of my grandfather and the Yellow Emperor, a dragon who is willing to sacrifice all is required, as is your majesty’s blood. Once the Dragon Pearl’s magic is restored, a single dragon may use it to take all who are within Bruagh-na-Boyne to another place that is not Faery.”
As Ao Shun spoke, she wondered what he meant, then abruptly realized this might indeed be her opportunity for revenge. Her gullet churned and there was a sudden pounding in her head. Fear and nerves now battled her will. Could she be the willing blood sacrifice?
“What are you saying, First Ascendant?” asked the king. “Can the Sluagh Sidhe be destroyed with the life of a single dragon?”
“Not destroyed, your majesty. Removed. Sent from here to another place. But only those of the Sluagh Sidhe who are within Finaarva’s glen when the spell is completed.”
Understanding shone in Oberon’s eyes. “And when will so many of the Sluagh Sidhe be within that accursed glen than now when the evil one needs their magic to rebuild his wall? Yet who would be willing to do so?”
“Only one who willfully relinquishes this life, to travel to another world, and seal the portal behind so that neither Finaarva, his changelings, nor the one who travels is able to return.”
As Ao Shun spoke, she knew in her heart that he meant her for this purpose, but she had to willingly make the choice to sacrifice herself. Her chance was now, this moment. If she hesitated, it would not come again, and another would take her place. Briefly, she resented Ao Shun for putting her in this position, but she knew no one else, not even the First Ascendant, would be a better choice. Her rage and the breaking of her heart at the death of her brothers so soon after the brutal murder of her parents had given her a strength that would allow her to not only do this, but to survive whatever should happen, as well as to ensure Finaarva and his changelings would never return to Faery.
“Who is there among your kind who could do this?” asked Oberon.
Her time was now. Boldly, she announced, “I will. The sacrifice must be me.”
Ao Shun regarded her closely, eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”
She nodded once, firmly, before fear could allow her a chance to back out.
“There is no return,” warned Oberon. “You will be alone, without allies.”
“I am alone here, your majesty. And I would do this even if it was a death sentence. I will see my family avenged, and our races saved.”
“Then prepare yourself, Wu Zhao.” She could hear pride in Ao Shun’s voice. “The Dragon Pearl must be brought here, and you must have your strength if you are to survive the journey, for it is your blood we will take to remake the Longzhu. Go now; we will call you when we are ready.”
“Wait!” said the king. “I wish to give you a gift, Wu Zhao of the dragons.” She turned to look down at the king, surprised, and sensing similar wonderment from Ao Shun.
“You sacrifice yourself for not just dragonkind or the Sidhe, but all of Faery. Such a selfless act demands a response, or our honor is lost.” He raised his arms, hands spread apart. “Bend down close and put your head between my palms.”
She hesitated, but Ao Shun leaned close and whispered, “Do it, child. He is giving you a gift greater than any dragon has ever received.”
She obeyed, lowering her long neck until the king’s hands, tiny in comparison, could touch her on either side of her face next to her whiskers. The hands were cool and tingled slightly. Oberon spoke in the Celtic faery tongue, and her mind somehow understood the blessing even if her ears didn’t.
“May the deep magic of the running wave clear your path.
May the deep magic of the flowing air speak to you.
May the deep magic of the quiet earth sing to you.
May the deep magic of the shining stars light your path.
May the deep magic of the infinite peace belong to you.”
A bauble of fairy light, green as an emerald, flared briefly in front of her eyes, then floated into her snout. A jolt raced through
her and she could feel the bauble tumbling back into her head before plunging down her gullet. It rolled up one side of her belly, then swooped back to race up the other side until it found her tail, where it swirled as if flowing down a whirlpool until it exited the tip. Her wings began tingling, starting at the joints before rapidly racing through her membranes. The prickle expanded and the green light of the bauble enveloped her body. Her insides danced—a simple country frolic—as if they were being rearranged somehow. She looked at the king questioningly. He held her head for several seconds more, his eyes willing her to hold still.
Finally, the tingle shrunk to a single itch in her gullet, then rolled up her throat and down her snout, popping out as a green bauble of light once more, and Oberon finally released her.
“Invisibility you already gained when you ascended,” the king said, “so journeying where you wish in our old world will not be a problem. Companionship, however, cannot be had when you are a dragon in a world that no longer remembers you except in legend. However, should you appear as a human, you will not have to forsake all fellowship.”
“What do you mean?” She understood none of what the king was saying.
“You have made her a…a changeling?” asked Ao Shun in a hoarse gasp. She had never heard such awe in his voice, and then the realization of what he’d just uttered hit her.
“Aye,” answered the king, and all of those in the clearing gasped. “Not, however, like those who serve Finaarva. They merely shift space to fool the senses. You, Wu Zhao, will be able to truly transform into any creature of your choosing, large or small. When the First Ascendant led us from Eire, the humans hunted us for sport, and already dragons were but myth. Appear there now, and you too will be hunted.”
Blood of the Dragon Page 18