Silver Dragon

by Zoe Chant

  She wound her hand in a corkscrew motion, then. blinked at the mural. For a second the two patterns locked together visually for a moment, taking her breath away. She stepped closer, then it was busy again, patterns and circles striving against one another over the coarse stone.

  But the afterimage remained. She had seen the center of the spiral. Keeping her gaze locked on that part of the rock, she stepped close, then blinked as the figures seemed to jerk and writhe and wiggle. She shook her head, planted her feet firmly, and closed both hands around the lamp.

  “What is it you’re seeing?” Mikhail asked.

  “Don’t you see it, too? The center of the spiral. But when I get too close, I lose it and it all goes jerky on me.”

  Mikhail said slowly, “I wonder if . . . Bird, please take my hand, and look again, at what you call the center. Tell me what you see.”

  Bird gladly clasped his warm, strong hand. She faced the mural, keeping the light steady on it with her free hand. Once again she saw the two spiraling patterns lock together and freeze. She squinted at the central images.

  And gasped. “The silhouettes are grayed out by the chalk ones. What I see is a . . .” She blinked, fighting to hold the image. “It’s a claw, with five talons. Holding a moon?”

  “It’s a pearl, an ancient symbol,” Mikhail murmured. “It’s significant, but how?”

  “Those talons . . .”

  “Five talons is the sign of a royal dragon,” Mikhail said.

  “I didn’t know that. What I thought it represented was a target for a hand. Could you maybe touch it?”

  Mikhail placed his hand in the center of the spiral. She flinched slightly, expecting an explosion or something spectacular and creepy.

  Nothing happened.

  He turned to her. “Would you mind trying? If anything happens, I’m here.” He slid his arm around her.

  She nodded, swallowed as she fought to keep the image still . . . and laid her hand to the cold, moist stone where she knew that dragon talon lay.

  Nothing.

  They both stepped back, Bird looking away. Her head throbbed a little from the effort she had been making to keep the two images locked together.

  Which had only happened when they held hands.

  Wait.

  “We saw it together,” she said. “Is that because we’re mates?”

  “Or because we are human and shifter?” he murmured softly. “That would change a lot of things . . .”

  “Oh!” She tugged him back. “How about if we try . . . this.” She took his hand, lacing her fingers over his. Then, moving together, they pressed all ten of their fingers over that image.

  Abruptly that faint singing note expanded to a chord, as if silver hammers had come down on a thousand crystal chimes. Blue light blistered the dark paint, then sprang out and shot across the cavern to the shadows in the cavern wall behind them.

  They both turned to see what that strange blue light revealed. Bird yanked up the forgotten flashlight in her left hand, hoping it would add its light to that eerie blue light. But the lamp’s beam was too weak. It vanished entirely into the deep shadows on the other side of the cavern.

  “Turn it off,” Mikhail whispered. “I think it’s interfering.”

  He had already turned his lamp off.

  Bird clicked off her lamp. The blue light intensified to a bright glow that not only reached the stone across the cave, but seemed to sink into it like an X-ray. There was . . . something . . . inside the stone, glowing a ghostly blue-white.

  Mikhail let out a soft sigh. “That’s it. But we daren’t—” He stopped, his head tipped as he listened.

  Then she heard it, too. High shrieks, like tearing metal, pierced the air. She stiffened, staring in disbelief as cracks opened up in the walls, glowing a sullen red.

  As she watched in horror, thick gouts of lava seeped out. They formed rapidly into sinuous lizards six or eight feet long, glowing cherry red. These lava lizard charged them, fiery claws upraised, mouths wide with needle-sharp scarlet teeth gleaming.

  Bird froze in terror.

  Mikhail’s grip shifted as he stepped in front of her. He grasped the head of his cane in his right and the length of it in his left, and pulled.

  A sword emerged from the shaft of the cane. The blade gleamed with blue-white light, almost as if water rippled along the steel. He swept the sword through the first creature. It shrieked and vanished in a boiling of acrid-smelling steam.

  With three swift strokes he dispatched the other three creatures, then took Bird’s hand.

  We must leave, and seal this chamber. His voice in her head was as clear as speech.

  With shaking hands she threw her flashlight into his gear bag. She shoved her backpack behind her, then grabbed his gear bag and clutched it against herself so that his hands would be free.

  He moved toward the crevasse, murmuring, “Come, Bird. Time to exit.”

  She scurried after him, slipping on stones in her haste. She nearly tumbled down the rubble pile as they emerged from the great crack, but Mikhail caught her and pulled her back from the brink.

  More of those harrowing metallic shrieks echoed from the other caves. Mikhail slammed the sword back into the sheath, then took something from one of his jacket pockets. He snapped it into the great crevasse. “This ward is far stronger. It’s from the empress herself.”

  “Empress?”

  “You will meet her,” Mikhail smiled over her shoulder. “But first . . .”

  He ripped something glittering from another jacket pocket, bent to touch it to the ground and then threw it high into the air. Brilliant blue light flashed and snapped into a thin, coruscating band of light.

  Then a horde of those lava creatures oozed out of the cracks in the caves overhead, in the walls, and the floor.

  The lava creatures charged them.

  One got close enough for Bird to feel withering heat before Mikhail pulled his sword again and swept it through the creature, turning it into steam. Two, three, four charged him all at once. He leaped down from the rubble and slashed in a complicated pattern, turning them into vapor with such speed she could scarcely follow that glowing blade.

  More came from below, above, the sides. He scythed his way through the lava creatures, Bird hovering close behind him as he advanced step by step.

  What could she do except stay out of his way—and try to keep from being burned by those scary lava things? Her heart hammered against her throat as she dashed after Mikhail, his gear bag pressed to her stomach. His sword whirled and slashed, sending clouds of acrid-smelling steam boiling around them as he fought his way toward the entrance.

  “Mikhail . . .” she began.

  Talk to me like this, came his thought, as though far away.

  He’s concentrating, she realized. Whatever sent them was probably listening through them.

  She concentrated on talking without using her voice. Can you change to your dragon?

  Not in here—it’s too confining. They seem to know it. Which I find very troubling.

  His internal voice came taut and distant, and she knew he was concentrating.

  So don’t ask stupid questions, she scolded herself. She had to find some way to help!

  Unfortunately it took all her concentration to keep close to his back, to pivot when he did, and scramble when he leaped and turned so as not to foul his arm. But as she did, she looked more closely at the sword. It was a bright blue white, as if made out of ice.

  Ice? He’s a creature of water and air, Bird thought. And these things clearly don’t like water . . .

  As they inched their way toward the outer chamber, more of the things seemed to appear, until the chamber was hot, the air nearly on fire, thick with that acrid burning-rock stink.

  I’m . . . going to . . . create a diversion, came Mikhail’s strained inner voice. Run!

  She wanted to argue, to stay by his side, but inside the cavern she knew she was only a liability—she could do nothing here. She
glanced in despair at the cave entrance, beyond which the morning sun shone benignly, as if there was not a battle to the death going on here.

  Mikhail’s sword flickered even faster, and through the steam a cold fog shimmered.

  Now, my mate!

  She ran, almost stumbling in her haste. The fog dissipated around her—but not before she shot through the entrance into the sun. She skidded on a mixture of sand and gravel, and fell flat on her face. Spitting sand, she forced herself to her hands and knees, aching all over. Bird looked back at where the evil red glow seemed to swarm around the blue flickering blade.

  Desperate, she cast her glance around, and spotted the rest station! And an idea hit her.

  Maybe it wouldn’t work . . . but she was going to try.

  She put her head down and pounded through the sand the fifty feet or so to the rusty piping. There, she dropped the gear bag and her backpack, and with frantic, shaking hands, grabbed the coiled hose that fishers used to rinse their boats and fishing equipment.

  Dragging the heavy hose with both hands, she toiled back through the sand. The hose stopped about fifteen feet short of the cave entrance. Grimly she hit the control at the end of the nozzle, and then braced herself.

  The hose stiffened into a heavy, live-feeling thing that threatened to rip out of her hands as water shot out, straight into the cave entrance. She braced her feet apart, and held on with both hands as she directed the jet of water into the cave.

  Shrieking voices rose in a howl she knew she would hear in dreams. The cave became a billow of steam. She held the hose steady, her jaw aching as she gritted her teeth.

  A tall figure surrounded in shimmering blue light emerged from the steam.

  It resolved into Mikhail, dripping wet and with horrible blackened patches on his clothes, through which she could see raw, red burns. But he was smiling.

  Bird dropped the hose, which promptly began wriggling as wildly as a mad snake. She bent to try to catch it. Mikhail put his foot on it. She scrabbled at the nozzle to turn the water off. Then she collapsed to her knees.

  “Mikhail! You’re hurt!”

  He shook his head, water flying off his hair. “It’ll take me longer to dry off than it will to heal,” he exclaimed, laughing, and threw his arms around her. “A shifter benefit. Oh, my darling Bird, you are so clever!”

  Bird hugged him fiercely, wanting to never let him go.

  TWELVE

  MIKHAIL

  Mikhail could feel Bird’s whole body trembling. Her heartbeat was frantic against his ribs. She was so soft, so warm, so very brave. They stood there together on the bright sand, and he breathed in the scent of her hair, never wanting to let her go.

  But she stirred, and he loosened his clasp instantly. She frowned at a burn on his arm. “That must hurt. We should get you to Dr. Tranh.”

  Mikhail could not remember when anyone had fussed over his wounds. He found it delightful. “Shifters really do heal fast.” Already the throbs from the burns were lessening.

  He watched her scowling at the one on his bicep. Her knit brow eased, then puckered in wonder. “I need to make sure,” she breathed.

  Quickly she checked him over, her small hands deft and light. He stood still under her ministrations just for the pleasure of her touch. Everywhere she laid her hand bloomed with heat. He knew he was essentially unhurt, but he allowed himself, and her, that moment.

  When she stepped back, her relief plain to see, he said, “Let’s go.”

  “I have so many questions,” she began.

  “I will answer them all. But I think we ought to first get off this beach. The lava wyrms won’t manifest on the beach in full sight of any humans, but I’d rather not test it.” And it was not them he was concerned about.

  Bird peered anxiously into his face, eyes wide. “Why couldn’t you turn into a dragon in there?”

  “The cavern is too small for me to effectively maneuver in there,” he answered as he led the way up the beach. “I’m able to partially shift, which helps me to move in tight quarters, but in such a state I am partially insubstantial. I couldn’t fight effectively.”

  And something—someone—knew it.

  “What did you call those things? What were they? They looked a little like the silhouette figures in that mural.”

  “Lava wyrms,” he said. “Ah. No one in sight. Let’s get away from here.”

  “My place?” Bird asked.

  Mikhail shut his eyes, scanning on the mythic plane. His dragon was also scanning, his reach much farther when Mikhail was in human form.

  No watching eyes, his dragon said, disgruntled. We are being watched, but from a distance. I do not like this.

  His dragon wanted to hunt. But not until their mate was safe. They both extended their senses to make sure no one would be able to follow them to their mate’s nest and threaten her safety.

  Satisfied that no one was about, Mikhail bent to retrieve the hose. They carried it back to the old rest station, coiling it as they walked.

  Bird silently retrieved both their bags. As she bent, she sent him a round-eyed look of wonder. “My knee doesn’t hurt! It has arthritis—it always hurts.”

  “It shouldn’t anymore,” he said. “I forgot to tell you that one of the benefits of mating with a dragon is that you share in some of my abilities. Not shifting, but you’ll be stronger and heal faster. And live longer. I can’t make you young again, any more than I can myself, but we will have many good years together.”

  Her expressive eyes gleamed with tears, sparkling in the morning sun. “I’m still getting used to the idea that you want to be with me. I hadn’t let myself begin to think about how long.”

  The warmth he felt deep inside ignited to the heat of desire. It was just as well that he wasn’t a young, reckless dragon anymore. Mikhail had to fight back the nearly overwhelming desire to kiss her into mating right there on the beach.

  She is right, his dragon said smugly. We have a lifetime of being with our mate. No more of that twilight years talk. But we must get her to safety, and then we hunt.

  Soon.

  He checked again. No one’s attention was on them, either in person or in the mythic realm. He wrapped himself in sea water and air, and became a dragon. His beloved Bird gave him a smile bright as dawn, and, moving more easily than she ever had before, swung a leg over his back.

  He didn’t hurt, either. The burns were all almost completely healed. He flew them to her cottage, enjoying the wind along his body and the warm touch of Bird’s hands on his back.

  At the cottage, Mikhail enjoyed watching Bird as she checked the water in the roses he’d given her. He didn’t know what she’d done to them, but they were blooming even more lavishly than before, as if they, like he, thrived on her gentle touch.

  “Shall I make tea?” She took a jug of filtered water from the refrigerator, then stood in the middle of her kitchen, her head tipped a little as she sloshed the water gently back and forth.

  “What is troubling you, my mate?” he asked. “You are safe now.”

  “Before we go back, I’m going to find out from Doris where the kids get those super soaker things, that look like big plastic guns. They squirt streams of water. I’ll tote one over my shoulder and another at my hip like a gangster.” Her head tipped the other way. “No, I think I’ll get three.”

  How was it possible to love someone so much after only three days?

  “I’m sorry,” he said, though he really wasn’t. There was no chance he was letting her anywhere near that cave again, now that he suspected its real nature. “Alas, such water toys are not likely to be effective. Whoever sent them won’t use such simple forms as lava wyrms again.”

  “Forms?” Bird set down the water jug and turned to open a cupboard. He saw a small number of tea canisters there. From the way she touched them, she hoarded them carefully.

  That was something he could give her right away. “Here,” he said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a pretty jar. �
�Would you like to try this Ti Kuan Yin?”

  Bird whirled around, face shining with wonder. “I’ve heard of it. But of course I could never afford it.” She waved her hands. “No, no, put it back. Thank you, but I don’t dare, in case I brew it badly, and it’s far too precious to waste.”

  One day soon he would take her to the Tian-Long palace, and treat her to this tea prepared properly according to Gong Fu ritual, using miniature Yixing pots, cups and tea pets. He looked forward to sharing all the tea rituals with her because he knew she would adore them.

  But for now...

  “The leaves are very forgiving. You can reuse them several times. After our exertions, we deserve something refreshing to join the rest of these pastries, don’t you think?” He retrieved the somewhat wrinkled bag of Linette’s delicious pastries.

  “I’ll warm them up for a minute or two in the oven,” Bird said, taking the bag.

  Her fingers still trembled. Guilt stabbed him to the heart. He had badly underestimated the danger of the cave. There was no chance he’d risk taking her again.

  “Though my oven is almost as old as I am,” she said. “It takes a while to warm up.”

  This nest is too small, his dragon said, sounding disgruntled. Our mate deserves a palace.

  She might not want a palace.

  “I’m happy to eat the pastries as they are,” he said.

  Bird slid the pastries onto a plate and brought out a cobalt blue teapot that she carried with both hands, which he suspected was her best.

  He knew he must go hunting, but for a moment he allowed himself the pleasure of watching her hands as she carefully pinched up a small amount of the fragrant, richly colored brown leaves, then poured the water over it.

  She set the tea and pastries on the table, then brought out two small porcelain cups, one white and gold, the other shades of blue. It was clear that though they did not match, she cherished them.

  She sat down and fixed him with her serious gaze, her curly hair still tousled from falling in the sand. “I think I have my questions ordered in my mind.”

  “Please, ask them,” he said, as she poured out gold-red tea, which filled the shabby kitchen with a familiar scent from his early years.