Blood of the Dragon

by Jay D Pearson

  “I am guilty of your charges, but I beg you to hear me out. You have already killed Morvyn and Kelwin, two of my chief lieutenants, without listening to their message. Twice before I have tried to speak with you, but you were so bent on vengeance that I could only flee. Dozens have perished today simply so I could have this chance. I feel the weight of their blood. Do you not also? Will you allow ten minutes’ worth of mercy? At least then, any action you take would resemble justice rather than vengeance.”

  She stared at him for a long while. Blood still oozed from the wounds in his arm and thigh, causing his black clothing to glisten. He was defeated, but his spirit was not broken, and his accusations stung. He was right about her lack of mercy. She remembered the two faeries who had not attacked, one in the ruins of Babylon and the other atop the rubble of Carthage, well away from any humans unlike the other changelings. They had tried to speak with her, but rage had overtaken her both times, and her fireballs had not left even a cinder of their bodies. For the first time in centuries, she knew sorrow for her own actions, and her belly cooled.

  “What is it you wish, changeling?” Her voice remained harsh. It would do no good to allow Tigano any sense he might escape justice this time.

  He bowed his head in acknowledgement, then said, “I wish for mercy. Those of us who have repented of Finaarva’s evil are outcasts, doomed to live in a frigid cavern below the glaciers of Mt. Sun-a-do. Only the might of the Ancients protects us from the king and the evil of Månefè. We are hunted by the rest of the Sluagh Sidhe anytime we forage below the tree line, and so dwindle in number. It is a slow death, Wu Zhao, and we have become as poor as any human on earth.”

  “What is that you wish, changeling?” she asked again, allowing impatience to creep into her voice. “I cannot—and will not—set you free from your prison.”

  “I do not wish freedom for myself. My crimes against both dragons and the Daoine Sidhe are many, and I know what I deserve, as do the changelings who remain loyal to me. There are a couple of hundred innocents, however, whose only crime is to have been born to those who followed Finaarva in his rebellion. My wife’s father perished from the cold last winter, like so many of those who’ve repented. Those who remain suffer needlessly for the sins of their parents, including my wife. Those are the ones for whom I beg you to save.”

  “Save? You want me to forgive faeries? Faeries killed my family! Faeries are why I have been forced to live as a human for four centuries!”

  Tigano dropped to his knees, setting the rapier on the sand. “I only ask for a few drops of your blood, enough to allow my family to return to Faery or, at the very least, to move to Eire.”

  “You ask a very great price, Lord Changeling.” She sneered his title, making it a mockery.

  “The blood of a dragon is the only magic that can free us, Wu Zhao.”

  “And what price are you willing to pay?”

  “My life. It is all I have to offer you.”

  She studied him for some time, considering. Half of her heart wanted to grant the mercy he begged for, but it warred with the other half that demanded retribution.

  “What is this place?” she asked suddenly, waving her cutlass. “What is this magic?”

  He smiled. “It is a gift of my wife. I betrayed her once, the greatest sin of my life. We might have escaped to Oberon if I had not done so. I deserved neither her love nor her forgiveness. She chose to forgo her resentment and granted me her magic to step into this reality for a short time, a reality where only those with magic can exist. As you can see, none of the humans who follow us have magic, or you would see them. Very few humans do. Without dragons and faeries on this world, magic has faded from the blood of mankind.”

  She watched him closely as he spoke for any hint of betrayal or deceit but could see none. If he was indeed truthful, the outcast faeries might be worthy of mercy. That suffering was why she had chosen Jacquotte Delahaye as her persona, why she had given a bag of gold to the real woman, who had chosen to suffer for the sake of her brother. In all her guises over four centuries, she had always sought opportunities to help the poor and the weak among the humans. She had never considered doing the same for faeries. Could she do the same now?

  “I do not have the Dragon Pearl. It is in a safe place where no faery can find it.”

  His eyes flickered as soon as she mentioned the pearl. She was certain it was his wanton desire for the stone, and rage soared through her, certain that he meant to betray her. Her belly glowed, even in this human body. His eyes widened and he leaped to his feet, grabbing his rapier.

  Instantly, the world shifted, the colors returning to normal, but it was too late for her. She dared not stop the transformation, not with a fireball this big. Her pirates screamed at the sight of her true form. They had often told each other tales of sea serpents, but to see an actual dragon spouting flames and to hear it roar was too much for most. But their screams saved them, as well as the faery.

  She shot the fireball skyward, an explosion that could be seen for miles, maybe even in Tortuga. Despite her rage, she knew she would incinerate the pirates if she unleashed it within the courtyard.

  Glancing down, smoke billowing from her nostrils, she saw that Tigano was Commodore Johnson once more. He rushed at her, brandishing his rapier. She raised a hind leg to squash him. He twisted, his blade glancing off the scales of her belly. Her foot missed, but one of her talons raked his face. He howled in agony and, through the wreck of his face, she saw an empty socket where she’d torn out an eye, leaving a deep gash from forehead to cheek.

  Despite his wound, he still held his rapier, swinging once more, this time at her leg that had struck him. Somehow, the sword dug sharply along her calf, then sliced upward.

  She had shed her scales before. All dragons had, but those scales were dead. Never, however, had she had a living scale cut from her body. The torment was excruciating and she howled. Any thought of vengeance fled. All she wanted was to escape and she beat her wings frantically. As she lifted, gunfire sounded. Musket balls struck her over and over. Most bounced off but a couple burrowed their way between scales. Acute pain ripped agonizingly through her body. Finally, her wings lifted her off the ground, but as they spread, more balls pierced the membranes and she faltered.

  Somehow, enough clarity remained that she could reach for her ascendancy. Both pirates and sailors yelped as she disappeared from their sight. She struggled to rise, but her wings finally beat strongly enough for her to lift above the musket fire. Even as she fled northward, she glanced down. Tigano gazed up as if he could see her, her scale in one hand and a bloody sword in the other.

  For hours she flew north, resting only in the desolate remains of native villages that had succumbed to disease. Her wounds were beginning fester, but she did not know the spirits of these natives. They were too weak to help her anyways as European maladies ravaged their peoples. She needed magic—powerful magic—to heal. There were few places of such strength remaining. The closest was Ireland. She could feel it calling her, or she imagined, and wondered if delirium was stealing her mind.

  Time blurred as infection spread. Her ascendancy failed and she was seen as she passed New York and Boston, then again over Greenland and Iceland, although only as a shadow framed against the moon. The call of Irish magic saved her, a beacon in her subconscious promising refuge, giving enough life to her wings that she did not falter.

  An emerald glow seemed to emanate from the Isle of Eire when it appeared beneath a red-gold sunrise, swathed in fog. The magic beckoned her still, and her leaden wings beat until she could smell it, a rich earthy scent, and finally she landed in a field waiting to be tilled.

  There was a small farmhouse to one side and an old stone church or abbey on the other, but no one within sight as she stumbled through the field. Magic flooded into her wounds, wrapping around her like a cocoon, and reason returned, at least in part. She drew on her own magic, transforming herself into a Irish teenager with red hair and green eyes
.

  She knew she should have clothes, but her mind was too muddled. She needed a place to hide, where the changeling would not find her. The abbey. A faery could not go there. She picked herself up, stumbling across the field and over a rock wall. Her wounds ached, especially on her calf where her true body had lost the scale. Blood trickled, the scab broken on her human leg. She wondered if Tigano had stolen enough of her blood to free his people, or if he would use it to hunt her down.

  As she lurched through the green grass of the cemetery towards the abbey, its front door opened, and a short, round nun ran towards her, one hand hiking up her habit. Wu Zhao collapsed to her knees. She knew the nun would help her.

  “You poor child!” cried the woman in a thick brogue, wrapping broad arms around her. “What has happened! Dear lord, you’ve been shot! Let me help you inside.”

  Even though she stood nearly a foot taller, she leaned on the woman, allowing herself to be half carried to a rear entrance and through the kitchen, where the warm scent of fresh baked bread was almost as soothing as the kindness of the nun. The woman led her to a room beyond where a fire crackled warmly. Soon she lay on a bench, her long legs dangling over one end. The nun draped a blanket over her and she allowed her eyes to close as weariness engulfed her. Then she heard another woman’s voice that was deep, gentle, and soothing. It took effort to focus on her words, but finally she understood.

  “Your name, child. What’s your name so we can find your family?”

  The tenderness of her voice brought a glimmer of clarity, enough that she could form an excuse. She opened her eyes. A tall, slender woman with a large wooden cross about her neck kneeled beside her. Instinctively, she knew this woman to be the abbess.

  “My family is dead,” she whispered. “My name is Maeve.”

  Chapter 25

  The Truth

  The world shifted again. Miguel nearly fell over. What had he just seen? He peered at Balor, realizing that the missing right eye and the scar matched Commodore Johnson’s wound almost perfectly. Then he glanced at his mom. The red haired girl in Ireland who seemed to have also been a pirate captain and a dragon—a dragon!—had said her name was Maeve. He’d never seen a picture of his mother as a teenager, but that girl looked like she could have been a younger version of his mom.

  Nausea roiled through him. That couldn’t have been Balor or his mom. It had been some trick of his mentor’s magic.

  “Oh!” said Eduardo brightly, interrupting his thoughts. His dad was looking at his mom then Balor and back again. “Do you two know each other?”

  His mother was silent, staring at Balor.

  “Maeve? Honey? Are you okay?” asked Eduardo. Miguel tensed, wondering if his mom had also seen the vision. If she had, did that mean she really had power like his?

  Then Balor laughed. It was the first genuine laugh he ever remembered coming from the one-eyed man and he was suddenly aware again that his mentor was his girlfriend’s father. His eyes shot to Aileen and then her mother.

  Aileen was rolling her eyes while her mother looked sadder and wearier than… He started as her large dark eyes met his. She knew. She’d seen it too. But that meant that she…

  “Oh yes,” Balor was saying. “I lived in a town very close to hers in Ireland when we were younger. I’m sure seeing me again after so long is a bit of a startle. By the way, have you met my wife, Aibell?”

  His dad smiled broadly, extending a hand towards the dark-haired woman, which she shyly accepted.

  “We’ve chatted briefly a couple of times when my son and I have brought Aileen home. It’s good to see you again, Aibell. How’s the yard coming?”

  Finally, as the dads introduced the moms to each other, his mother managed a quiet hello. He’d never seen her so slow to greet anyone before. He glanced at Aileen. She appeared almost as confused as he felt. Had she seen the vision, too? Or was it just her dad’s suddenly outgoing behavior?

  His dad and Balor continued to chat as if nothing unusual had happened. His mother mostly stared at Balor with a hint of fear. Aibell’s eyes bounced nervously from the ground to him to Aileen and back again. His girlfriend stepped next to him, grabbing his arm like a crutch. It was the first time she’d ever shown vulnerability and, for a moment, he enjoyed a rush of pleasure as she relied on him for support. Then the world shifted yet again.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  He stood atop a tall cliff, a pastel grey-green ocean stretching out below him, small whitecaps sparkling atop each wave. A mid-morning sun shone in the cloudless periwinkle sky, and a warm, gentle breeze blew his hair. He’d only seen an ocean in person once before and marveled even though he knew the colors were muted in Balor’s alternate reality. There was little vegetation of any sort beyond the thick grass he stood on and a few stunted trees. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the tangy, moist air so different from the dry heat of Tucson.

  A soothing, repetitious crashing sound floated up from the beach and he glanced down, quickly realizing it was wave after wave rolling against the rocky beach and how high above the water they must be. White-grey gulls cried, wheeling above the edge of the distant waves while fat black-and-white birds with strange orange beaks fluttered near the cliffs below him—puffins, he thought. Some disappeared into the cliff and he suddenly realized there must be caves of some sort.

  Then he spotted bones among the rocks on the beach, bleached whiter than driftwood. That he could see them at all from this height meant that some massive animal had died there, or several animals. At first, he thought they must be from a whale, but quickly realized at least one set of bones formed a broken wing. The frame was more like a bat than a bird, and he suddenly recalled the dark winged shape he’d spied from his bedroom window on Thanksgiving night.

  “What is this place?” his mother said and he spun. She stood a short way behind him. He was even more startled to see his girlfriend’s parents standing there as well. There was no sign of Aileen or his dad.

  “Don’t you recognize it, Maeve?” asked Balor.

  “This was cruel, husband,” snapped Aibell, her voice surprisingly stern. “You did not need to bring any of us here.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “But time is short. We can’t afford niceties.” Miguel was certain his mentor’s apology was sincere.

  “Why have you done this to me?” his mother hissed, fear oozing like pus from a wound. Instinctively, he reached an arm around her waist. She was trembling. What made her so afraid?

  “Are we in Ireland, mom?” he asked, knowing there had to be some connection between this place, his mother, and Aileen’s parents. Nowhere else made sense.

  “He is just a boy! You cannot do this to him!” his mother whispered harshly.

  “Miguel,” said Balor calmly. “Happiness.”

  His reaction to the sudden order was instinctive. His stomach rumbled briefly, just long enough for him to turn away from the others before his magic burst out. The tall, pale green grasses bent over, giving way to the blast that rushed along the cliff’s edge away from them. Embarrassed, he dropped his arm and moved away from his mom. He looked up at her. Tears were forming in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, mom,” he said. “I couldn’t stop it.”

  She did not seem to have heard him. Instead, her fists were balled and she stared intensely at Balor. He had never seen such anger in his mother, and it frightened him.

  “What the hell have you done to my son?” she said slowly, her voice an icy vortex that sucked all warmth from the air.

  Balor took a step back. For the first time since he had met the one-eyed man, fear showed in his mentor’s face. Determination quickly joined the fear, however.

  “It is time for the truth, Maeve. Thunderbird has been away for so long that Raven has grown bold. He defies Bear and the others, and helps our enemies weaken their prison. If you do not return soon, they will be free.”

  Miguel frowned. Thunderbird was a Native American myth, and Balor had spoken of bear and raven l
ike individuals, not animals. He glanced at his mother. She was tight-lipped, but there was no confusion on her face. She knew who Thunderbird and the others were. His stomach rumbled with the realization. Somehow, those names were tied to his magic.

  “Why did you bring us here?” his mother demanded. Heat was slowly rising in her voice. “What have you done to my son?”

  Aibell stepped forward, laying a hand on his mother’s arm. Maeve flinched, but did not shake it off.

  “When they break free, Maeve, do you think it is only my people who will suffer? Who will they pursue first? Do you not think they will risk all to destroy the one who imprisoned them? They know they cannot defeat you, so it is your children they will hunt, yours and mine, once they learn of Aileen.”

  At that moment, Miguel understood her reaction to this place Balor had brought them to.

  “This is where you grew up, isn’t it, mom? Where in Ireland are we?”

  The adults all fell silent. His mom and Balor glared at each other while Aibell looked away out over the ocean. More pieces of the puzzle slipped into place.

  “This is where your family was murdered,” he said slowly. “Isn’t it?” He glanced about as if half expecting to spot their skeletons, or at least their graves.

  “This is not Ireland, boy,” Balor murmured softly.

  “But, you said…” He wasn’t certain who he was asking now, if it was his mother or Balor.

  “Maeve,” said Balor. “If you will not tell him your truth, I will tell him mine.”

  His mother glared at the man. For a moment, he thought he saw her shirt glow near her stomach.

  “You are a liar and a deceiver,” his mother snarled. “There is no truth in you.”

  “And a manipulator and a murderer,” Balor calmly added. “Although, for a very long time, manipulation has been my only art.” He turned to Miguel. “That’s why my daughter despises me, boy. She is very smart, especially for a human, but she does not understand why I do what I must do. However, Maeve,” and he once more faced Miguel’s mother, “Regardless of my part in their demise, I did not murder your family, although that is about all I do not regret from my former life. I brought you here to plead one more time for an alliance. If you had agreed at Freebooter Republic, you and I could have succeeded alone. Our powers are no longer enough, however, which is why Miguel is here as well.”