by Dima Zales
Though I wish she’d focus on the road, she has a point—“essence of a second” is a pretty nebulous concept.
“Right.” Nostradamus takes on a professorial tone. “Time perception is key to this—which makes the skill very personal. You have to get at the core of what the time slice in question feels like to you. How it passes. What it means. Things like a seer’s age and state of being play an important role. For example, a child will perceive a month as a very long time, yet for an ancient like me, a month is a triviality. It’s the little blip before I must get a new haircut.” He runs his hands through his messy locks.
“I think I understand,” Lilith says.
“You have to also consider your emotional state,” Nostradamus continues. “When you’re having fun, time flows faster, but when you’re waiting for a letter from a lover to arrive, time can slow to a crawl.”
A paper letter? He is ancient.
“So,” I say. “If I want to know your future in a day’s time, I’ll need to dwell on your essence and the essence of the idea of a day?”
“Put crudely, yes,” he says. “Just bear in mind that the day in question will be purely from your perspective, not mine.”
“Huh?” Lilith furrows her perfect brows. “Isn’t a day twenty-four hours for everyone?”
“Not if the vision target is in the Otherlands,” Nostradamus says. “Or, hypothetically, if they’re flying at the speed of light.”
“Relativity,” I say uncertainly.
“Exactly,” he confirms.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s pretend I’m on Atlantis—a world where time goes so fast that a day here is ten years there.”
“Right,” he says.
“And let’s also assume you targeted my future in a day for you.”
“Sure,” he says.
“So, if I understand you correctly, you’d actually see my future in ten years from my point of view, but a day from yours, right?”
“You’re close,” he says. “What you say is almost true, but would get much more complicated if I decided to go visit you on Atlantis.”
“My head hurts,” Lilith says. “I’m glad we’re almost there. Remind me never to be in a car with two seers again.”
“I think I get it,” I say, ignoring her. “I probably need to experiment with this to really understand.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Nostradamus says. “Why don’t you try it now?”
Why don’t I indeed?
I’ve been itching to check up on Nero, and now I can do that and test out my new skill—assuming I can get it to work.
Evening out my breath, I leap into Headspace.
Chapter Nineteen
No scary shapes surround me this time, which means Lilith’s driving isn’t going to kill us.
Hopefully.
Getting right to my task, I focus on Nero’s essence—something I can do in my sleep.
Probably better in my sleep given all the wet dreams he gives me.
Now for the hard part—the essence of the concept of a day.
Usually—back when no one was trying to kill me every five minutes—a day, at least a weekday, was a rather boring and slow-moving chain of events in my life. Okay, maybe not all of it. The morning routine would fly by, but the ride on my Vespa would feel longer sometimes—probably because I had to pay attention to the road. Research for Nero would usually drag, then the trip home would mimic the ride to work, and my evening routine would be fast also—especially if I did something fun, like read a magic book.
Today, though, my day has been very different. With all the torture and losing consciousness repeatedly, it’s felt more like a month.
A new set of shapes shows up around me.
Hopefully, this is my meditations on the concept of a day bearing fruit.
Choosing one, I grab it with my ethereal wisp and fall in.
Nero is standing in a tent surrounded by a group of people who look to be generals in his army. They include an underwear-model-hot guy of the strongmen variety, a giant, a massive centaur, and a thin man who must be the cockatrice leader.
To the side stand Colton (the smallest giant), Vlad, Isis, Kit, and other Cognizant from Earth.
They’re all staring at a beautifully hand-drawn map on the floor.
“Just one more battle and a day’s journey before we finally face the usurper,” Nero says. “Like the last time, our goal is not to just defeat them, but to also spread the word of my return throughout the continent.” He gestures at the enormous landmass that’s the centerpiece of the map—a supercontinent that reminds me of Gondwana, which was South America, Africa, Antarctica, Australia, the Indian Subcontinent, and Arabia smooshed together. “To that end, any humans who lay down their arms today are not to be killed. I will talk to them just like the last time and unveil the usurper.” His fist flexes at his side.
So this place also has humans—and they must be the bulk of the ground troops. I guess that would have to be the case if the dragons want to retain their powers on this world. Sounds like the humans let dragons rule the world—and are aware of royal bloodlines on top of that.
“Yes, sir, no killing humans after they surrender,” Kit says in a mocking tone, then turns into Winston Churchill for some reason. In her own voice, she asks, “What if some dragons surrender this time?”
“I will personally decide the fate of dragons,” Nero says, his expression darkening and his limbal rings expanding.
Everyone looks down at the map—or anywhere but Nero’s face—and I can’t blame them for that. Nero looks kind of scary—and to me, quite hot.
Tearing my gaze away from him, I scan the map.
All the landmarks are in a strange, barely readable form of Cyrillic, but I can make out some of the names. Easier to follow is the red line. It starts at a place marked by circular symbols and labeled “Ворота”—which is Russian for “Gates.” From there, the line loops around a giant mountain ridge drawn with silver paint, and continues in an s-shape to a city marked as—if I read it right—Godiva.
No one comments about the delicious-sounding destination. Their expressions are grim.
“Listen,” Nero says, his face smoothing out. “You all fought hard. You all fought well.” He gives everyone an approving once-over. “Those who did it to repay a favor”—he looks at the members of the Council when he says this—“should know that not only will we be even after this, I will owe each and every one of you a great debt.”
Everyone except Kit looks dumbfounded—even the usually calm Vlad. It’s hard to tell if they find it frightening that Nero will owe them a favor, or it’s just a boon they didn’t expect in a million years.
“Those of you who are fighting for glory, riches, and power”—he looks at the generals—“the humans you faced in battle will tell legends of you for many millennia. You’ll be known as dragon slayers. No matter where you are, your powers will grow from this worship.” He turns to the strongman guy. “The battles we’re about to face will overshadow what happened earlier. They will be something you’ll tell your grandchildren’s children about.” He looks at the cockatrice leader. “The riches you are about to gain are beyond your wildest imaginings, and your biggest problem will be how to transport your obscene wealth.”
As I listen to Nero’s rousing speech, I can’t help but envy my boss and mentor for his oratory skills. When he talks at Wall Street conferences, he’s good. Here, though, he’s outstanding. I bet if he put his mind to it, he could become Alexander the Great of the Otherlands.
Concluding the spiel with something that reminds me of the “they may take our lives” speech in Braveheart, Nero adjourns the meeting, and everyone leaves the tent with a bounce in their steps.
Everyone except Kit.
She walks over to Nero and turns herself into Rasputin. In his voice, she says, “This is the last battle we’re guaranteed to win, isn’t it?”
“The last one he foresaw, yes.” Nero’s face turns inscruta
ble. “Rasputin ran out of power before he could see how the battle at Godiva would play out, so I would understand if you want to leave after this. I’d still owe—”
“Leave?” Kit turns back into herself and winks at him mischievously. “The next battle is when things are really going to get fun.”
“I hope you realize that just because a seer saw me win today, it doesn’t mean you survive. Or anyone else for that matter.” Nero walks toward the tent exit. “So if uncertainty makes things more fun for you, today should also be a blast.”
“I didn’t think of that,” Kit says and grins even wider.
As they step out of the tent together, I wonder if Kit has replaced her addiction to sex with a similar craving for violence. They do go together for some people.
In the next moment, however, I catch a glimpse of the outside, and the sight takes my nonexistent breath away.
We’re in a Manhattan-sized clearing of a gargantuan forest that’s mostly made up of pine-like trees with needles that are not just green, but also purple and pink.
The ground under everyone’s feet is covered by some similarly colored fungal-like growths that remind me of snakes (or giant worms) but made out of a coral reef-like material. The longest of these tentacle things pull away when someone steps anywhere near them, while the budding growths usually fail to do so and simply crunch under feet and hooves.
On the two sides of the clearing, at the very edge of the forest, are the two armies.
The human portion of the enemy army is nearly three times that of the one in my earlier vision—and the number of dragons is about double.
On Nero’s side, there are noticeably fewer forces.
They took serious losses in the last battle.
I’d estimate there are now twenty enemy soldiers to one of Nero’s—and the ratio of dragons to Nero, Kit, and the cockatrices is even worse.
Did Rasputin lie when he predicted Nero would win this battle? Also, even if they do win by some miracle, will there be enough of them left to help Nero when he gets to Godiva?
On the plus side, the size disparity doesn’t seem to affect Nero’s army morale in the least. In fact, the newly psyched generals giddily rush to their respective troops and attempt to do for their soldiers what Nero did for them in the tent.
On his end, Nero starts taking off his clothes, and his abs, along with other parts, steal my attention from the rest of the goings on.
If he had more females in his army, this bit would be pretty motivational.
Before I find a way to drool without a mouth, Nero turns into a dragon, flies to a nearby hill, and roars incessantly.
A large enemy dragon roars in a similar fashion and flies to join Nero.
This must be a parley chat, like the last time.
When they assume human form and start speaking, I see that I’m right.
The newcomer demands Nero leave or else.
Nero demands Claudia or else.
Just like the last time, the guy says he doesn’t have the authority to give Nero Claudia, and that someone with an army as puny as his doesn’t get to make demands.
Unlike the other guy, at least this dragon doesn’t break the spirit of the parley by attacking. Instead, he says grimly, “I’ll meet you on the battlefield.”
“It’s your funeral,” Nero retorts before turning back into his dragon form and returning to his army.
With the parley done, the enemy forces mobilize and begin to advance, but Nero’s army doesn’t move as he rejoins their ranks and turns back into his human form. Tensely, they stand by the forest edge, readying themselves for something.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think them scared to attack.
Not that they could be blamed if that were the case—the enemy horde looks even more formidable now that they’re advancing on Nero’s army with fierce determination on what seems like millions of faces.
The enemy dragons roar and fly slightly ahead of their ground support. When they’re about midway through the clearing, Nero yells, “Now!”
With a hoorah, Nero’s allies rush forward.
Seeing this, the enemy dragons speed up and start breathing their Napalm-like fire—scorching the ground where Nero’s troops are headed as a pretty effective psychological deterrent to the attack.
Nero shouts some new command, and a small squadron of giants walks out of the cover of the pine forest.
Interesting.
I thought they’d been killed in the last battle, but seems like they were just hiding out.
Their enormous muscles bulging, the giants carry minivan-sized wooden contraptions. Steam-powered and as creaky as a wooden rollercoaster, the machines look like distant cousins of harpoon guns, only made for, well, giants. Out of each mouth of the weapon, familiar-looking spears stick out—the ones with those diamond/adamantium tips that can pierce dragon hide.
Ah, yes. These weapons must be Itzel’s design. After my vision cut out, she must’ve figured out a way to make something work on this technologically challenged world, and Nero had his troops build the machines on the way to this battle.
The dragon squad also notice the problem, and their limbal rings expand—only it’s too late at this point.
“Fire!” Nero roars.
The giants aim and pull on ropes sticking out of their weapons.
The guns boom, and a cloud of spears torpedoes forward, blocking the sun as they fly in the air.
I’m glad I don’t have ears right now because the roar of injured dragons is so loud it would cause permanent damage.
Looking like pin cushions, the dragons try to scatter, but the giants reload and fire again, then toss the contraptions aside and rush forward, rejoining the rest of the army.
The spears reach their already-wounded targets, and the new roar is just as deafening as the last.
As if waiting for this, the cockatrices turn into their lizard forms and take flight, but without the strongmen this time—which is not good for the enemy ground troops because said strongmen are leading the army instead.
Also not good for the enemy troops is Vlad’s new role in the fight. Instead of riding on Kit or Nero’s back, the vampire is running shoulder to shoulder with his former students, the lethal gate sword in his hand.
The battle cries intensify as Nero’s army clashes into the enemy forces, cutting through them like a hot spoon through ice cream.
Though they’re still horrifically outnumbered, Nero’s allies’ sheer ferocity gives me hope.
As the strongmen and the giants decimate enemy troops using their superior strength, the strongmen look to be enjoying themselves. They must like ground battle more than being carried by cockatrices. There’s almost creepy excitation on their faces as they make mincemeat of the enemy forces.
Still, the strongmen have nothing on Vlad, who’s death personified for the enemy soldiers. Each swing of his deadly blade takes two, three, or four lives at a time, while not even the most skilled soldiers can so much as land a blow on him. Like an army unto himself, he cuts through the enemies, leaving his allies far behind. As he goes, he spills so much blood that a decent amount ends up dripping into his mouth—and when it does, he greedily swallows it, his fangs fully extended.
Nero’s other allies get busy as well. Councilor Albina incinerates whole squadrons with her power, and the maybe-elf guy shoots enough arrows to stand in for a hundred regular archers. At the same time, the cockatrices hunt wounded dragons in the sky, using their deathly gazes to finish them off, and the centaurs decimate the enemy cavalry, their lances butchering everything in their path.
With a roar, Nero and Kit take to the skies. She joins the cockatrices, but Nero flies over the enemy army.
Arms shaking with fear, the enemy archers shoot at him, but their arrows don’t even scratch his scales.
Roaring his disdain, Nero spews fire at the back of the enemy troops—melting people and their armor into puddles and demoralizing an already-shaken army.
Mea
nwhile, Kit leaves the cockatrices and flies for an enemy dragon that’s not currently surrounded by anyone.
A large green dragon with at least a dozen spears stuck in his body.
“You’re not even a true dragon,” the roar of her opponent seems to say as he breathes fire at her.
Kit dives below the flames, then swats at him with her claws.
That is a mistake, though. The green dragon dodges her swipe, and before she can recover, he rakes his claws through Kit’s shoulder.
Kit roars in pain.
Seeing an opportunity, a wounded red dragon joins Kit’s enemy.
Oh no.
If I had a mouth—and a loudspeaker—I’d tell the cockatrices or Nero to go help, but I don’t and they’re too busy fighting their own battles to notice.
Seemingly undaunted by the fight on two fronts, Kit uses her tail to swipe at the red newcomer just as she bites the green dragon’s scaly wrist.
Her opponent roars so loudly that some of the cockatrices—and more importantly, Nero—look that way and see Kit in trouble.
A lot of trouble, as the green dragon rips into Kit’s other shoulder with his unbitten claw.
Nero and the others rush to help Kit, but they’re too late.
Using the distraction his green ally has created, the red dragon slams Kit’s head with his tail, over and over, leaving her stunned. Then he performs an aerial maneuver that ends with those giant claws raking deep gashes in Kit’s back.
Letting go of the green dragon’s wrist, Kit plummets toward the ground in a spiral, like a shot-down airplane.
With a heart-wrenching splat, she lands on top of a small squadron of enemy soldiers, crushing them to death, and lies there unmoving.
Chapter Twenty
No.
This can’t be.
Kit can’t be hurt or worse.
I refuse to accept it.
Despite what Nero said earlier, I can’t believe Rasputin would call something “a victory” if it involves a friend of mine dying.
The enormous werewolf and Colton, the small giant, join the other troops in an effort to keep the enemy soldiers away from Kit’s body. Vlad starts to make his way back to her also, but he’s too far to do any good anytime soon.