by Otto Schafer
Goch did wait. In fact, to Jack’s surprise, he withdrew altogether. “What did I tell you about using your power on me? If it happens again, I will kill you.”
“But you didn’t kill me. Which means you want something. What do you want from me, Goch?” Jack asked accusingly.
The dragon appraised him for a long, uncomfortable moment.
“If you didn’t need me, I would be dead,” Jack said, pulling himself up from the thick jungle undergrowth. “So, what do you want?”
Goch’s forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air. “All the young dragons are dead, and Garrett has escaped. I need you to tell Queen Azazel and the dökkálfar what you have witnessed.”
“They won’t believe you?” Jack barked out a laugh. “You need me to back up your story?”
“No human has ever been blood marked! I would not have believed it if I had not seen it myself.”
“And what do I get out this?” Jack asked.
“You get to live,” the dragon said, exhaling smoke through both nostrils.
That wasn’t enough, but he knew that was all the dragon could offer. The rest would be up to this queen and the Apep guy. Then he thought of one thing Goch could do in exchange for his alibi. He nodded to himself as the plan hatched, and then he smiled at the ballsiness of it. “One more thing.”
“Speak,” the dragon said, growing impatient.
“I’m thirsty. I need water.”
“Done.”
Jack nodded at the dragon. “Also… you have to carry me on your back.”
“That is two things, human.”
“It’s my only condition, Goch, and it’s the only way I am going with you.”
“No,” Goch said evenly.
Jack set his jaw. He needed Goch to agree to this above all else. “I won’t fly in your talons like some fish snatched from the river.”
“Then I will kill you and take my chances.”
“Then I guess we fight to the death,” Jack said, not backing down. He’d had a habit of this back in Petersburg too. Not fighting to the death, but picking fights with much bigger guys. Some of ’em were grown men, and sometimes it didn’t go well at all. Still, it never stopped him from finding the biggest guy and fighting him anyway. When he wasn’t busy writing checks his ass couldn’t cash, he would give it to the small little punk kids at school because… well, because he could, and that was enough.
He knew this was different. If he lost, there would be no walking away from this one. Someone was going to die. “Well, Goch, what’s it going to be?”
The dragon stared Jack down, and he could almost see the big guy’s wheels turning. How bad you think he needs us, Danny? “It’s just a ride, Goch, and then I’ll tell your queen whatever you want me to.”
Several hours passed as they flew high over Central America and into South America. The confidence and power of a full-grown dragon beneath him was far different from riding one of the juveniles with all their sporadic flapping and unsure demeanor. He’d love to see a city burn from atop this beast, but he dared not press his luck by asking anything further of the dragon. He didn’t want to risk irritating him and lose the gains he had made. And what had he gained? Well, hell, he’d pulled off the greatest lie in history… but only if he could keep the trick from being found out.
Once they got going, it didn’t take Jack long to figure where they were. He recognized a giant concrete river cutting horizontally below them. It must have been miles wide, but what really gave it away were the several locks and all these big cargo ships just sitting there. Plus, he had just seen an ocean to his left less than an hour ago, and now he was seeing it to his right. Geography wasn’t Jack’s strongest class. In fact, he was failing it, along with a bunch of others, but he remembered Mr. Brewster going on and on about the Panama Canal and how ships moved through. He still failed the quiz on Central America because who gives a shit about geography anyway. He wasn’t even sure which ocean he was looking at, Pacific or Atlantic, because he always got the two confused. He figured since he had never been to either ocean, what the hell did it matter their names?
Below them was a strange, grey-looking desert floor that rose up to eroded mountains of dry rubble. Then he noticed the odd holes lined with stacked stone all down the sides of several of the ridges. The holes were large and must have numbered in the thousands. It was weird to see mountains where nothing grew, covered in holes, but the oddity didn’t hold his gaze long. Instead, his attention went skyward, to a sky filled with dragons.
Soon, young dragons were flying all around him, hissing, growling, and roaring. Dozens flying this way and that, but none attacking. They reminded Jack of curious cats snooping in close and then startling away. But cats were worthless except for tormenting, and these weren’t cats.
Atop the mountain, several large dragons were gathering. Goch descended, kicking up such a great cloud of dirt that Jack had to pull his jacket up over his face just to breathe. As the dust settled, Jack discovered Goch was standing in a circle surrounded by five other large dragons. One dark blue monster was even bigger than Goch. Immediately, he understood which one was the queen. She wasn’t the largest or scariest looking, but there was something about the way she held herself and the way the others regarded her.
From beyond the circle, a man in a long duster and a weird hat approached, but as he drew closer, it was obvious the man wasn’t a man at all. He looked like a man, but his skin was dark blue, his eyes swooped in a strange sideways S shape, and his ears were pointed at the tips. He was tall. Probably the tallest person Jack had ever seen not on TV. At least seven feet, he guessed, and muscular too. And the funny hat wasn’t a hat either, it was a crown pulsing with all sorts of colors. It was only when the thing spoke Jack understood who he was looking at. The voice hadn’t changed since that night in the alley.
The thing coming toward him was Apep.
26
One Hundred Years
Thursday, April 21 – God Stones Day 15
Rural Oaxaca State, Mexico
The colossal cypress, El Tule, moved with surprising speed, but from her position high up in the canopy, Breanne couldn’t see the ground directly below them to understand how the tree was moving so fast. Looking out at the other trees wasn’t much help either. Once in a while, trees would separate enough to allow her to see the forest floor, but she was so high up that even then she couldn’t be sure. It looked like they were pulling themselves by their roots. Not above ground but through the ground, churning up the dirt around them as they went. She didn’t think the roots were pulling up all at once and then reaching back in because there was no jerky start/stop to the movement.
No, despite the vibration in her bones, they were gliding. She couldn’t be sure, but she imagined the tree roots stretching forward dozens at a time and pulling, while simultaneously dozens more reached for the next pull. Maybe their roots were alternating, sort of like spider legs? One leg goes forward and steps down while the next goes into motion. No, they were moving too fast for that too, she thought. Think bigger… think centipede big. No, bigger still. Why only alternate a hundred roots when you have thousands? Thousands of roots constantly reaching, grabbing, pulling, only to reach, grab, and pull again.
How fast were they going, anyway? That too was hard to tell, but it was faster than one could walk and, she thought, faster than a bike could pedal. Faster than a car? She didn’t think so. So where did that put their speed? Twenty miles an hour? Thirty?
She noticed something else too. First, she thought the constant sound of splintering wood, creaking, and breaking branches was coming from the movement of trees, like maybe movement itself was just noisy. But then, as the terrain ahead dipped low into a valley, Breanne saw what was really happening, though she didn’t understand. As El Tule and the mass of trees around them moved through the jungle, other trees were being uprooted, pushed over, and destroyed. Why didn’t they just move out of the way? How did demolishing other trees make any sens
e?
Any luck with cracking their language, Gabi? Breanne asked, sitting back down next to the girl. They had been moving all day, and as an ancient sun collapsed into sunset somewhere far to the west, the panorama of moving trees blended to shadows. It was also getting cold, and without the warmth of the sun it would be unbearable.
No, but I can clearly hear them talking. Not just talking in their minds. Haven’t you heard her shouting out loud? I think she is shouting orders.
Breanne shook her head. Out loud? I haven’t heard any shouting.
You have to listen close – through the creaks and groans of the trees there is another sound, almost identical, but it has a pattern or, I don’t know, a tone to it. That’s the same sound I hear when she speaks telepathically to El Tule. Also, sometimes I hear someone from far away, but only when all the trees stop. Did you notice that – that sometimes all the trees stop moving?
She had noticed them stop twice for only a moment, but she figured it was to clear something ahead or change course.
The shouting isn’t at El Tule either, because she is rooted to him. She doesn’t need to talk aloud to him. It’s the other trees around us. Sometimes I think I am catching them shouting back.
Breanne looked over at Jurupa, who had been standing with her back to them for hours, unmoving. She looked at the creature’s feet, but she didn’t see any roots like she had before when they were on the ground.
Look at her hand, Gabi said.
She did. Jurupa stood near the edge of the platform with one hand wrapped around a branch the size of a baseball bat. El Tule’s branches were narrower this high up, as they were almost at the very top of its canopy. Gabi was right. Roots from the back and presumably the palm of Jurupa’s hand wormed out into the branch of El Tule.
I will keep trying. But, Bre? It’s so cold. And I need to go to the bathroom.
Gabi was right, it was too cold. They couldn’t survive days on this platform. She had to do something.
“Jurupa?” she called out across the platform.
The tree woman didn’t move.
Breanne stood and walked over, stopping short of striking distance. She didn’t want to get hit again. She still had her pistol and had thought a lot over the last few hours about shooting the thing in the back of the head. But then what? Even if Jurupa fell over dead, what then? Besides that, it hadn’t worked the first time she used it, and the fact Jurupa didn’t take it away from her made her wonder if there was any way to the kill the tree woman. Of course there was – there had to be – but it wasn’t going to be with a gun.
“Jurupa!” she said a little louder.
Jurupa removed her hand from the tree branch and looked back at Breanne. “Speak.”
“Where will we sleep? How will we stay warm?” Breanne asked.
Jurupa didn’t answer.
“We are humans, not trees. We require bedding or we can’t sleep. Something soft to lie on and a way to stay warm! We need shelter too. What if it rains? We will freeze. If you can’t provide better than this, we won’t live to see your queen!” she said, crossing her arms.
Jurupa turned toward Breanne and lifted her hand. At first she thought the tree woman was going to strike her again, but then her hand began to glow with the same emerald light Breanne had seen when she shot her with the pistol. She waved her hand and said a strange word. At the edge of the platform, small branches sprouted and grew until they reached about head high. More branches grew, and then still more. Soon, walls formed and a ceiling too. The branches twisted around each other, then grew together, becoming tighter and tighter until soon the walls were solid. Foliage sprouted over the shelter, covering its three walls and ceiling in a dense green canopy of large leaves.
Inside the small shelter, the floor glowed green as a million tiny sprouts grew into a thick emerald carpet of moss. Near one end, small green vines grew, weaving themselves into a blanket to cover the moss bed. From the front of the shelter stretched thick palm leaves that draped over the opening.
“Will this suffice to keep you alive, Breanne Moore?” Jurupa asked.
It would suffice, and in fact looked like the most comfortable place she had seen to sleep in since her camper on Oak Island. Breanne nodded. “It will do, but we need a bathroom too, or you need to take us down from here so we can go.”
“No. There will be no stopping until we reach my queen,” she said, waving her hand again and speaking another strange word. Gabi, that word she is using is a word of power – it’s a God Stone word. Mr. B told us about the gods’ language. We need to try to remember it.
Okay, I’ll try, she said.
Near their new shelter, against one of El Tule’s branches, vines grew again, weaving themselves into rope to form an even smaller room. Inside, a thick branch grew in such a way to shape a lavatory. Above the room, the branch changed shape and water started seeping down the branch to wash through the lavatory. One wall of their new bathroom filled with leaves that appeared to be soft, like felt.
“Does your survival require anything else, Breanne Moore?” Jurupa asked evenly.
Breanne didn’t want to push her luck, but Jurupa had promised them food. “It has been hours since we have eaten anything.”
With another wave of the hand, more plants sprouted near the small pool of water. Within seconds they grew tall and bushy. As Breanne watched, fruit formed and ripened to a deep red – a season passing in an instant on the vine. These were about the size of apples or tomatoes, but they were neither. Breanne pulled one from the vine, then another. She handed one to Gabi, and they both took a bite. Juice gushed into her mouth, lighting up her taste buds with a sweet nectar unlike anything she had tasted.
“Do you require anything else to ensure your survival, Breanne Moore?” Jurupa asked again.
“No,” Breanne said with a mouth full of the fruit. She hadn’t realized just how starved she really was.
“Very well,” Jurupa said, turning to walk back to her former station by the branch.
“Wait!” Breanne said before she could stop herself.
“Something more?”
“No, I just have a question. Why are you killing your own trees?”
“What?” Jurupa asked, her tone changing to one of irritation.
Breanne knew she should have stopped, but it was too late now. “I saw below you are mowing down your own trees. Why? Why don’t they just move out of the way? You claim to care so much about your kind, yet you’re killing them by the hundreds just to get wherever it is we are going.”
“You know nothing. Silence your face, or I will,” Jurupa said with a cold certainty.
“Sure, I’ll be silent. I just think it is hypocritical for you to complain about forest being cleared when you are doing the same thing. I guess maybe we should thank you for making plenty of new space for our cows to shit.”
Jurupa lunged forward, grabbing Breanne by the throat, lifting her, and spinning her to hang over the side of the platform. “I am going to drop you!”
Breanne! Gabi screamed in her mind.
It’s okay! She won’t! At least she didn’t think she would.
Breanne’s throat constricted in Jurupa’s wooden grasp. She tried to pull in breath but could not. Instantly she knew what Jerry had felt in the final moment when Apep dangled him over the Oak Island Money Pit. She also remembered with a much too vivid recollection what it was like when poor Jerry hit bottom. She was way higher than Jerry had been. Nearly twice as high, if she were to guess. Breanne pleaded with her eyes.
Jurupa turned back to the platform and threw Breanne. The momentum carried her tumbling across the platform until she finally came to rest against the wall of their shelter.
“If the trees could move, we would not push them out of the way, stupid human. You only see a giant swatch of barren land where we have traveled, but that does not mean we killed all the trees. Many can, and do, move. The ones who cannot are a sacrifice to our cause.”
Breanne held her
throat, trying to swallow. She had been choked twice in as many days. She looked up at the too-tall woman. Risky as it was, it had worked. Breanne had bullied Jurupa into talking by insulting her and thereby forcing her to defend her actions with words – forcing her to tell Breanne something she didn’t know. She couldn’t stop now. Swallowing painfully, she cleared her throat. “What do you mean? Why can’t they all just move?”
“They are not old enough to ‘just move,’ human!”
“So, trees have to be a certain age? How old?” Breanne asked.
“One hundred years, give or take.”
“But some trees don’t live to be a hundred years old,” Gabi said.
Breanne’s eyebrows knitted together. “For the power of the God Stones to bring consciousness to trees, they have to be at least a hund—”
“Not consciousness! We have always been conscious!” Jurupa snapped.
“Sorry, animation then,” Breanne said.
Jurupa shrugged. “A simple explanation for something beyond your understanding. Perhaps consciousness on a different level of existence would be more apt.”
Breanne nodded up at Jurupa, her mind wondering how many trees on this planet were over a hundred years old. “Trees must be one hundred years old to obtain the higher consciousness.” It was more thinking out loud than a question meant to be answered, but Jurupa responded.
“Not just trees.”
“What does that mean – not just trees?” Breanne asked, climbing to her feet.
Jurupa stepped close, towering over her once again. “Enough questions, Breanne Moore. Insult my kind again and I will remove that foul tongue from your mouth.”
That is enough, she thought, for now.
27
The Wicker Basket