by JD Cole
Devon’s natural Dragon form replaced the young human surfer. Sixty feet long from nose to tail, he was smaller than T’rsing, but built formidably, and the sunlight gleamed from his blue, glass-like scales. Each of his four muscular legs was armed with clawed hands. He reared up like a horse, his foreclaws spread wide in front of him as his fifteen-foot long neck lunged to attack. He spread his quartet of enormous shoulder wings wide and high. The two smaller wings on his haunches folded back as he leapt forward. Devon whipped his powerful tail, sweeping up an incredible amount of snow and dirt into the air. He didn’t know how to weave ether clothes, but saw no need for them in this form, anyway.
T’rsing curled his lip into a smile that was half snarl as Devon landed on him. The blue Dragon crushed all of his weight onto the red Dragon, and the battle began. T’rsing twisted the front section of his body so that he was lying on his back to grapple against Devon with his foremost wing-claws, while his four remaining legs were still firmly planted in the ground. The two Dragons snapped at each other, their jaws sometimes ripping at each other’s necks, the wounds immediately healing. But Devon learned something new; Dragons could hurt each other. “Jharakh” must be their version of boxing. His neck bites stung like crazy, and T’rsing was curling the rear sections of his body forward so that his free legs could scratch and tear at him, as well. T’rsing had too much leverage for Devon to keep him pinned like this, and the red Dragon soon tossed him viciously into the ground.
Like a giant caterpillar, T’rsing reared up on his hindmost legs, his jaw opened wide, and the air began to heat before him. Devon had never seen Dragon fire, but considering all the legends he’d heard of, it wasn’t hard to guess that T’rsing was about to fry him. Just as the blue and violet stream of flame erupted from T’rsing’s throat, Devon wove an ethergate in front of himself. The column of magic fire roared through the gateway, exiting into the air behind T’rsing to light up his own backside. The red Dragon screamed and rolled over into the snow, sending the remnants of his fire stream into the sky as he did so.
Devon got back up on his feet, shaking piles of snow off his neck and wings. “Sucking guy! I don’t know how breathe fire!”
T’rsing quickly spun back over onto his feet. “Well done, hatchling. That surprised me. I hope you have more surprises, because that one will not work again, and we have only just started.” With that warning, he launched himself forward, alternately spreading and folding his wings to thrust forward as his body spiraled toward Devon. Devon tried to evade, but found his hind legs restrained by thick vines that had seemingly sprung from nowhere. The red Dragon collided with the blue Dragon, and T’rsing swiftly coiled himself around Devon.
“You realize I am holding back?” T’rsing sneered. “I have not even begun to cast real spells yet. Where is your hubris now, young one?” Lightning breached the sky, striking Devon in the head. The young Dragon cried out in literal shock. Using one of his claws, T’rsing gripped the top of Devon’s throat and forced his head backward through the snow and earth. Devon struggled, using all of his titanic strength against the old Dragon, but he was no match. He began to suffocate on dirt and wet foliage, and panic overran his thoughts as T’rsing taunted him.
“This is no fight! Even a hatchling should know more about magic than mere ethergates!”
Devon was choking, and nearly passed out before remembering that one of his earliest attempts at teleporting had taken him beyond Earth’s atmosphere. For that matter, Bennett was in outer space! Dummy, I don’t have to breathe!
He fought the urge to take and hold his breath, forcing himself to simply not breathe. His body went slack in T’rsing’s python-like grip, and Devon wondered if the old fart thought he had fooled him into suffocating himself. Devon waited for several more moments, primarily because it was hard to get used to not breathing. T’rsing did not seem content with Devon’s immobility, however, and began to carve into him with his claws. “Still awake, hatchling?” Devon could hear muffled through the dirt. He began to squirm and struggle once more at the growing discomfort from the Dragon-inflicted wounds. The urge to shapeshift into a human to escape this powerful coiling trap almost swamped Devon, but he fought it. T’rsing would literally squash him in that form. He cried out again as he felt Dragon fire burning two of his wings, and he began trying to teleport in the same manner they’d arrived here.
Something was blocking his access to the etherways, however, and the red Dragon laughed. “I told you that wouldn’t work. I’m cancelling your spells, but countering me should be an easy task for you. Do you not have any kind of skill? Time for another surprise, if you’ve got one! Or perhaps you should just yield? This is proving less amusing than I thought it would.” His statement was punctuated by another firm shove, pushing Devon’s head further underground.
As a matter of fact, Devon thought, he did have another surprise, and it was something Krin Ahgl had so kindly pointed out to him back in the Faery Realm. Devon’s body burst into napalm now, just as it had during the battle at Boston when he fought those armored androids. Devon was not merely a shapeshifter, able to look like something else; he could assume the physical properties of virtually anything he wished, though he was still learning to master this ability. He chose this fiery form because he actually knew how to mix homemade napalm. He had to have some basic knowledge about the creation of something before he could adopt its characteristics, and through experimentation he realized the deeper his knowledge, the more genuine his transformations could become. More importantly, shapeshifting was a physical skill, not spellcasting.
There was nothing for T’rsing to cancel out.
If Krin had been telling the truth, no other Dragon could do this. Something about Devon’s human blood had given him, and possibly his brothers, a unique power. As an insubstantial, flaming gel, Devon quickly slid free of T’rsing’s grip, burning right through him. The now fiery young Dragon, his blue scales traded for white and orange flames, stood behind curtains of steam as snow and ice melted around him. He took a step forward, pleased to see T’rsing respond by taking a confused step in retreat. Devon flapped his wings once, spraying droplets of fire across the battlefield. His red eyes bored into T’rsing, almost daring him to say something.
“Interesting,” the old Dragon offered, turning to lick at the last of his swiftly healing burns. “Very interesting.” With a great boom, T’rsing jumped into the sky, his legs spreading into wide, powerful wings.
Devon leapt after him. “Dogfighting! Now it’s party time!”
Devon considered himself an excellent flyer, but quickly learned that his pride was misplaced. T’rsing was so agile in the sky that Devon moved like a paper airplane by comparison. The red Dragon’s body weaved like a snake, but at incredible speeds, and the motion of his wings helped him spin and dart in seemingly random directions, almost like a ribbon caught in a gust of wind. But this ribbon moved with purpose.
Even in a body composed of homemade napalm, Devon found that T’rsing’s Dragon flame could still hurt him. For his size, Devon could move impressively well, and in a straight line actually flew faster than T’rsing seemed able to. But the red Dragon circled and angled about, lancing his opponent with streams of magic flame. He could practically turn in one hundred eighty degree angles at high speed, completely outclassing Devon’s maneuverability. Soon it became obvious that Devon was struggling to keep himself aloft. He hadn’t been able to score a single hit on T’rsing, who was content to pummel Devon with fire and occasional lightning strikes. Weakened, Devon reverted to his normal, blue-scaled appearance and dropped heavily to the battlefield island, looking upward and doing his best to dodge the fire that rained down from above.
He barked heavy breaths, hopping to avoid one fireball, then another, before remembering that his strength was not determined by oxygen supply. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a group of walruses watching from the edge of the island. Devon almost began to visualize what this crazy event would look li
ke through a natural photography lens, filming them all for some wildlife-channel documentary. He forced those frivolous thoughts away, concentrating on devising a strategy. He was outmatched, there was no way around that. He did not doubt that T’rsing was holding back, and could probably unleash Armageddon on Devon if he wanted to. Impress me, the old Dragon had said. That could mean anything. How do you impress an omnipotent immortal?
The last several minutes of the dogfight swirled in his mind until he realized something critical. He had not had a physical form; he’d been a pile of molten pudding flying around. There was nothing aerodynamic about him, yet he’d been flying as if he were subject to physical laws because that’s what felt natural to him. Instinct! I’m at least as powerful as T’rsing is!-
T’rsing was heading right for Devon now, his body straightened out behind him so that only his head and wings were visible to the blue Dragon on the ground. In less time than it took to blink, Devon once again became the fiery napalm Dragon, but vanished from his chosen plot of ground in a gold streak that fired out into space… right through T’rsing. The red Dragon all but burst into flaming pieces as Devon came to a halt, high in Earth’s orbit. He then raced right back to where he’d been, hitting T’rsing once again before the red Dragon’s remains could fall into the ocean. The flames around Devon died away as his blue scales returned, and he resumed flying the way he was used to.
Snow and ice blew violently across the island as Devon beat his wings, cushioning himself for a landing. Upon touching down, his wings folded and he turned, looking out over the sea. There was steam rising from a patch of churning, bubbling water where T’rsing had fallen. “Surprise,” Devon said with no little sarcasm. When the red Dragon resurfaced in the next several moments, however, Devon feared the look on his face. He was pissed.
“You have earned your passage,” T’rsing rumbled, and there was nothing pleasant in his voice. “But you did not win this contest.” There was a deafening crash as dozens of serpents, all the size of T’rsing himself, were formed in the waters surrounding the island. All of them attacked Devon at once, and Devon screamed as he fell, trying to fight them off. Moments later, giant eagles composed of fire began raining down from the heavens to attack with the watery serpents. Not long after, these were joined by lightning bolts and hail stones the size of cars. Great stone bears formed from the earth beneath Devon’s body, finally overwhelming the blue Dragon.
“This was most unexpected,” T’rsing declared, but Devon was in too much pain to wonder what he was talking about. His attempts to shapeshift failed over and over again, his mind unable to focus. The creatures tore and ripped at him with fangs and claws, and for every one he destroyed, three more seemed to take their place. He was in Boston all over again, and equal parts of anger and terror swamped him as he fought. He was on the verge of passing out when the elemental creatures began to crumble and splash away, released from T’rsing’s magic. Devon lay motionless in the snow, letting his body mend itself. He blinked weakly, watching as the tiny, red-robed mystic walked toward him, arms once again folded like a serene monk. Steam erupted from Devon’s snout as he released a heavy breath; he was too tired to focus on not breathing anymore.
“Get up,” T’rsing ordered, “I did not hurt you that bad. We might as well get going. I’ve had all the excitement I can stand for the next thousand years.”
Devon shapeshifted into his human form, remembering to use his power to actually shapeshift parts of himself into clothing, since he hadn’t yet learned how to weave ether garments for himself. He stood, wobbling on weak knees and still breathing hard. “You’re an asshole,” he told the mystic. “You like picking fights with people who cannot fight back?”
“It was a game,” T’rsing answered, “and as you’ll learn, games are your family’s forte. Some while ago Krin Ahgl was known among humans as Poseidon, and several of us joined him in playing his games with the mortals. The mortals have known me as Mars, Ulhajak, Ares, and many other names. Not since those days have I indulged in wanton magic use, or goading another with fear and anger. I did not expect you actually capable of harming me the way you did. Despite my taunts, hatchlings are not able to use magic however they choose. Your power did indeed surprise me.”
Devon’s strength was returning, and he stood straighter, forcing down his emotional trauma as he towered over the mystic, fighting the temptation to kick him like a football. “So what happens now?”
“Now, we go home, young one. It is time for you to learn your heritage from your own kind.”
“I have stuff I need to do. I need to see Krin.”
“You will. You might even be the determining factor in his fate.”
“What?”
“The elders are in the midst of deciding whether or not he is Illeyark.”
“Illy what? What is that?”
“This is not the place for conversation.” T’rsing closed his eyes and began murmuring words that Devon did not understand. The mystic knelt and stretched his hand out, somehow causing the snow to melt beneath him. He began to sink into the ground until finally coming to rest on solid rock. Devon watched as the mystic’s little hand formed into sharp Dragon claws, and T’rsing began engraving odd, but beautiful runes into the stone. Each one began to glow as he finished carving them. Thunder boomed across the skies above, but Devon did not see any storm clouds or lightning.
Without warning, the ground and sky began swirling around both Dragons. Like a curtain rising and falling, the sky, sea and earth traded places above and below them with increasing speed until Devon almost began vomiting from vertigo. Taking a cue from the spellcaster before him, Devon closed his eyes and knelt. Immediately he regained control of his stomach, and he began to feel something against his skin. It was warm, almost like sunlight. He chanced opening his eyes in a squint, but quickly widened them to take in the scene. Devon stood, disbelief etched into his face.
Before him was an alien landscape, dark and uninviting. T’rsing was already walking toward a set of hills and stone buildings in the distance. Devon stepped to catch up. As he looked around, he realized that the colors and shades were what made this place different; it looked like Earth, but the light was different, almost like he was looking at film negatives from the kind of high-priced, old-style cameras professional photographers used. Devon gazed up at the night sky, where the moon hung menacingly as a light green orb, shrouded by a bluish white aura; the stars were mostly shades of red and orange. Back on the ground, trees were white, with leaves of many subdued colors. All of the vegetation looked this way. The dirt and rocks were many shades of gray, sometimes sinking into light blacks or dark reds.
“Where the heck are we…” Devon breathed.
“Welcome to Strenovia, spawn of Daknanyx. Welcome home.”
« CHAPTER 8 »
Separated by Stars
Sorvir knocked at Kelli’s door, holding a platter of food for her late dinner. “Come in,” he heard her voice answer. The sprite prince stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and walked to the balcony where his queen was standing under the night sky, her silver hair swaying gently in the mountain breeze.
“I have brought you some dinner, Highness.”
She did not turn, but kept her gaze locked on the stars above. “Thank you.”
Sorvir moved to the edge of the balcony. “It must be hard, being apart from him.”
“I just keep staring at the sky, wondering why even with all my new power, I can’t tell him I love him.”
“He knows,” Sorvir assured her.
“That’s not enough for me. Saying it isn’t enough. Love is action, doing.”
“A touch, a kiss?”
She shook her head, looking out over the forest. “It’s more than that. He’s all alone out there. Love is carrying someone through all the nasty stuff, taking as many arrows for them as you can. Even if they never thank you for it, and especially when they’re driving you nuts-”
“He is a Dragon,
Highness…”
“Yeah, I know, and taking arrows for an immortal would be kind of pointless. But that’s not what I mean. I’m being figurative.”
“I know, and I did not mean to slight you.”
“I really don’t have to explain it to you, do I? Even if Bennett stopped loving me for some reason, I’d still sacrifice everything for him. But the fact that he does love me just makes it all the more stronger inside me. I’m so lonely, Sorvir. But I’m even more worried about what he’s facing. It’s the universe, for crying out loud! We don’t have any clue what’s out there, what crazy things he’s gonna have to face! I should be there with him.”
“You should not focus on the negative,” Sorvir offered. “As you say, it is the universe. There is a lot out there. Why would most of it be evil?”
“I guess you’re right. I just wish I could share in it all with him. Good and bad. I wonder what he’s doing right now.”
Sorvir shook his head, causing his long, silver bangs to swing away from his piercing green eyes. The queen still had her back to him, now staring out at the forest and villages far below for short periods before returning her gaze to the sky. She did not seem to mind his presence, and his heart went out to her. He had never himself been in love, but had seen the emotion in others around him often enough to deduce it was somehow wonderful and awful at the same time. Sprites seemed to handle it better than most; they never argued or quarreled as passionately as the other races. It was not in their nature. Disagreements abounded among sprites, to be sure, but the emotions never heated to the point that they became angry, or murmured words of hurt that they would later regret.
But sprites did die, and the loss of a spouse, especially in battle… there did not seem to be a worse experience for a sprite than to be robbed of the presence of one they loved. Looking at Queen Kelli now, Sorvir did not envy her emotions in the least. It was bad enough that she was separated from Ben at this moment in her life. How would she deal with learning that the man she loved was the one person she could not be with? He wondered how in the world they were going to explain this to her. Sorvir hoped to avoid being anywhere near Kelli when the truth came out. Being nearly twice her height, he stared down at his Queen from the balcony entrance; beauty, fear, power, and courage, all wrapped up in that small, fragile human frame. He suddenly felt a ridiculous urge to curl himself over her, somehow shield her from what was coming. He didn’t think he could bear to see that kind of hurt in her eyes.