“Size doesn’t mean everything, old hoss” Flick said. There were a few good-natured cheers, and a few calls of, “depends what you got, Flick!” Flick ignored them all and tossed his card lazily onto the table. A huge fire giant—the biggest I’d ever seen—climbed from the card, immediately making a lie of his words. The creatures sparred back and forth, getting more and more aggressive as time went on, but eventually my salamander was pummelled into a fleshy pulp. It was close but I’d lost.
“Fuck,” I yelled, leaping to my feet and stalking away from the table. I took a few calming breaths and then returned, my heart pounding in my chest. My stomach was squirming with anxiety and I wondered if I might throw up. I still thought I had this in the bag though, even if the last round hadn’t gone as planned.
“Looks like this is getting interesting, no?” Flick said, rubbing his hands together.
I shrugged. “Well, I didn’t want it to be too easy. People would say I’d robbed you.”
“Robbed?” Flick barked that laugh again. “You sound confident.”
“I am.”
He picked up his glass of liquor and took a sip, surveying me over the rim. “Confident enough to up the stakes?”
“No,” Poole immediately interjected.
I held up a hand to him, silencing him. “What’s your bet, Flick? What could you possibly want more than our cards?”
“You, of course.”
The silence in the room was absolute for a full ten seconds. Then sound crashed in around me so loud that I actually flinched from it. A wave of self-consciousness went through my body so cold that I froze. I stared at him blankly, my expression cold and stiff. It wasn’t often that I was taken by surprise. “Me? What are you talking about?”
Flick was studying my face. “Come on, old hoss, you might play men’s games but we can all see that beauty you try to hide. That fiery beauty,” he breathed.
“What . . .” Then I shut my mouth with a snap. My blood ran cold when I realised that I’d been set up. Flick had deliberately goaded this challenge, had deliberately risen the stakes, to drive me to this point. He knew that I wouldn’t turn down the challenge.
“If I win the next round,” Flick continued, oblivious to my thoughts, “then you become my wife.”
I cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at him, as if my stomach wasn’t twisting unpleasantly. “And if I win? What on Earth could you offer me that would tempt me to make such a ridiculous wager.”
“I’ll not only give you all my cards but you can have every last penny of my wealth too.” He held up his credit-stick, the device that held all his wealth. Not many people were so rich that they had to use a credit-stick. Most people, like myself, traded in food and fuel. On the rare occasion we had coppers, we didn’t have them for long. A credit-stick like that would have pounds and pounds on it. My mouth practically watered at the sight.
But I made myself act cool. “You think I’m going to believe for one second that you’ll hand everything over to me?”
His tone turned to ice. “I’ve just publicly declared that I would. And I always keep my word.”
I bowed my head, as if thinking about his offer, but I knew in my heart that I’d already made up my mind; of course I would take the wager. I always took the wager. And this was the biggest one of all; my life. This would become legend.
“Don’t be stupid . . .” Poole mumbled, his breath wafting down my neck. “Don’t even think about it.”
I lifted my head. “Deal.”
ONE LAST ROUND. One last card.
Neither of us studied our cards. At this point, we both know what our strategy would be. We’d known it from the first moment we agreed to the wager. The first two rounds were warm ups only. It was this one that counted.
The room was so tense now that no man talked. All eyes were on our table, on our faces, trying to read whether they had bet on the right horse. But the books were closed. There could be no backing out now.
For anyone.
With a quick glance at Poole, I reached into my breast pocket and withdrew my wildcard; the artefact. It was the only artefact I’d ever seen first-hand, though I knew of people who said they’d had them and sold them on for staggering profit. I’d kept hold of mine, after being gifted it from my salamander years before. It seemed fitting that I use it in the battle where I’d lost my favourite card. This precious gift could only be used once but it would let me combine two cards together. I’d have twice the strength. Twice the defence.
Twice the power.
As soon as I withdrew it, the room oooohhed. Two people actually sighed at the sight of it, as if they’d never seen anything so beautiful when in fact it was just a silver disc, the shape and size of a coin. I flipped it high into the air—two hundred pairs of eyes following it—and then caught it again.
“Name your cards,” Flick said, emotionless. I could almost taste his failure.
I threw my cards towards the table; two high level dragons. As fiery as fiery could be. The cards fused in the air, snapping together as if they were magnets. It fluttered to the table, where it exploded into the most beautiful winged creature I’d ever seen. Its scales shimmered with every colour imaginable, its long, sinewy neck stretched out and breathed flames into the air. It glanced around, sniffing at the air, its ruby eyes searching for prey like a hunter.
“A dragon?” Flick said disdainfully. “A fucking dragon?” He rolled his eyes.
I shrugged. “You wanted fire.”
“I always do, sweetheart.” His eyes locked on mine and darkened. “Okay, let’s make things interesting.” He reached into his own breast pocket . . .
And my entire body froze.
Hell, the entire room froze.
Horrified, I watched as he withdrew his own artefact, flipping it into the air just as I had done. Where his face had been emotionless before, now it fucking quivered with smugness. He met my eyes, “You didn’t think I’d risk losing, did you? With my wealth and a wife at stake?”
“Oh man . . .” Poole moaned. “Oh man . . .”
I swallowed down my rising panic. But even beneath the panic, I could feel my excitement. I would never admit it to anyone but this was it. The big one. Two artefacts. There would never be another round like this one. I swallowed. “Choose your cards.”
He spent a long time deliberating over his cards, first sliding out one, and then another, until finally he tossed his selection down, one by one. “The Hikeshibaba,” he announced as the first one fluttered onto the table.
The Japanese lady who extinguishes lamps.
“And the Metee-kolen-ol. The ice wizards.”
His fusing wasn’t nearly as dramatic as mine but it was more . . . sinister. A puddle that was as black and as viscous as Flick’s drink started to spread on the steel of the table, sending out icy fingers. Out of the liquid came an old, withered hand. The fingers were short and shriven, the nails chewed bloody. It was attached to an even older and more withered woman who climbed from the liquid as if climbing out of a pool. The wizard followed next. He was as short as a dwarf and the shift he wore was grey and threadbare. They were holding hands, their fingers fused with ice.
The dragon saw them and backed up, hissing. Two short plumes of smoke burst from its nostrils like steam from a kettle but it didn’t breathe fire. Flick’s smile stretched further. “We can discuss surrender if you don’t want to lose your cards?”
I shook my head. “Never.”
“Then game on.”
IT WAS SLOW. So slow.
The strange, stoic couple moved towards the dragon, their hands linked, their expressions mild. The dragon continued to back away, hissing and growling like an afraid dog. Its obsidian eyes were so wide that I could see the reflection of the wizard and the old lady staring back at me.
“Dear god . . .” Poole moaned, and for once I barely noticed the warm waft of his sour breath down the back of my neck.
As if at a cock-fight, the room started to cheer, boo, shake f
ists, swear, and scream—hungry for the battle to start.
But still the dragon had done nothing but snort smoke.
“What’s wrong with it?” Poole asked.
My mouth was dry. I swallowed. “I . . .”
“You’ve made it too powerful, wife,” Flick taunted. “It can’t fight because the second it touches my creatures, it will die. Ice on fire will do that. And it can’t use its fiery breath because it’s so strong that it will end up burning itself up right alongside the couple,” he said, pointing to where the couple were still making their slow procession across the table.
Shit, he was right.
The dragon, the most powerful card that was ever created, was powerless.
Agonised, I watched as the dragon took one step backwards for every step the couple took towards it. It hissed, warning them, but did nothing more. Soon, they were going around and around the table, nobody winning and nobody losing. Stalemate.
“Can’t somebody make them fight?” a man to the left of me yelled. He was an ugly man with no front teeth. I wanted to punch what few teeth he did have remaining.
“They can’t do anything on the table,” another man answered.
On the table.
Adrenaline poured through my entire body, setting my nerves on fire. Had it ever been done before? Had anything ever broken through the shield? It was that dragon’s—and my—only chance. I leaned forward and brought my fist down on the centre of the shield. Immediately I got a zap of electricity, not enough to hurt me but enough to make my fingers tingle. I did it again and again. The only time anyone could touch the shield was to lock in and start the round. But my action did the trick, the dragon saw me pounding the shield and started to rip at it with its claws.
“You can’t do that,” Flick roared, jumping to his feet.
“I bloody well can,” I answered beneath my breath. Then, louder, “I’m not marrying you. Not for anything.”
The shield was starting to lose power now, and was flapping around like a sheet on a washing line. It was then that I noticed the couple sneaking up on the dragon, linked hands outstretched. “Watch out!” I screamed.
But it was too late. Their clasped fingers lightly brushed the base of the dragon’s tail. The dragon threw back its head and roared, sending a giant plume of flame into the air. The shield was so weak now that most of it got through, though it dispersed like smoke through lace. The heat was instant. Choking. Two people on the front row screamed and dropped to the floor, thrashing around in an attempt to put out the flames that burst to life on their clothes.
The dragon itself wasn’t too badly harmed. The scales that had been touched by the strange couple had turned stark white, like frost burn, but I thought the damage was no more than fifteen or twenty percent. It’s still had most of its XP remaining.
The dragon recovered swiftly from its agony. It looked around, locked eyes with the strange couple, opened its mouth and then . . .
Oh god.
The heat was intense. So intense that it took my breath away and the temperature in the room skyrocketed. Those of us nearest the table stumbled backwards, away from that burning wind. Through squinted eyes, I saw the angry fiery cloud envelop everything beneath the shield and then burst through it, shattering the forcefield as if it was glass.
I couldn’t breathe! The one gasping breath I took burned the inside of my throat and lungs, and I started to cough, clawing at the skin of my neck. Through the choking smoke I could see several silhouettes scrambling away from the table. The fire raced up their arms, up their necks, consuming everything there was to burn. The smell of crisped hair—of crisped skin—hung cloyingly in the air.
The chair I was on suddenly melted beneath my weight and I crashed to the floor. I lay there, dazed for a moment, unable to breathe, wondering distantly if I was going to die, when a pair of arms wrapped around my chest and hauled me upright. “Move!” And I knew from the sour stink breaking through the smoke that it was Poole. I’d never been so glad to smell his breath in my life. “Move, goddammit, before we all crisp!” he yelled.
He half carried, half dragged me away from the table and towards the door at the back of the room. The entire place was engulfed in flames. Something swooped through the fire and dove at me, roaring. I felt something leathery swipe at my ear and I knew it was my dragon; it was free and it was angry.
Overhead, the lights shattered in the intense heat, sprinkling glass down onto the chaos, but it didn’t matter; the room was lit by spears of ferocious flame jetting at the people over and over again. I heard screeching and wailing, so high pitched that it was impossible not to imagine the agony. I’m glad that I couldn’t see through the acrid smoke. I’m glad I couldn’t see the terror.
“Oh god . . .” I heard Poole almost sob.
I coughed. “W . . . what?”
“The door . . . it’s too . . .”
I felt Poole slide to the floor next to me, his feet tangling with mine. I could hear him choking and gasping but there was nothing I could do to help him. I grasped at the door, desperately trying to find the handle. As soon as my fingers touched the burning steel I hissed and snatched my hand back. The handle was so hot that I was sure I’d left half of my flesh melted to the steel.
“Oh god . . .” I was sobbing now. I sank to the floor besides my friend, knowing I was going to die. There was nothing in the world except unimaginable heat and smoke. And the smell of burning flesh. Gasping for breath, I rolled onto my side and watched as the world burned.
WHEN I NEXT opened my eyes, I saw nothing but a greasy film that had settled over my eyeballs. I had to blink once, twice, and then a third time before it cleared and I could see the destruction that I’d caused. The entire bar was nothing but a few melted steel beams sticking up from the ground. The stone walls were nothing but dust and rubble.
I was so weak. I raised my head, wincing as the boulders in my skull rolled around, to see a few others lying on the floor, some still unconscious, some awake and moaning. Of the few hundred that were in the bar, I could see maybe eleven or twelve still alive. The rest were blowing away on the warm summer breeze.
“Wh . . .” My voice came out as a hoarse whisper. I licked my lips and tried again. “What?”
“You’re alive then, are you?” Poole said from beside me, his voice as hoarse as mine. I rolled my head to look at him; he looked as bad as I felt. What little clothes he had left were burned and hanging by threads. The skin on his face had blistered and melted until I could see the white bone peeping through. One arm had completely burned off, the other hung useless at his side. He was as bald as an egg, his hair crisped away.
“I guess . . .” I swallowed the painful burn in my throat. “The dragon?”
“Gone.”
I nodded, expecting nothing less. “The old couple?”
“Gone as well. We released monsters into the world just so you could . . .” He coughed. “Just so you could win your fucking bet. Take a look around. Take a look at what you did. Was it worth it?”
FLICK WAS ONE of the first to die. Witnesses say he was still clutching the credit-stick when the dragon’s flames enveloped him. Though nobody saw anything other than a great plume of fire, I can’t help but imagine his clothes combusting and his skin melting from his bones. I can’t help but imagine him drawing in a huge breath to scream but inhaling nothing but fire. I see it in my dreams.
Later, when the dust of the burned bodies had settled and the Night of the Dragon Cards became legend, I had to ask myself whether I knew what would happen when I combined those two cards together. I’d like to say categorically not. I’d like to say that I was doing nothing but playing the game, raising the stakes. Placing the ultimate wager.
But a part of me wonders.
I defeated him in the end. I am unbeaten. The ultimate card player. I hold the title and I doubt anybody will ever take it from me now.
Who will challenge me, knowing the lengths I will go to win?
A Girl, Ablaze with Life
Claude Lalumière
WAVES OF HEAT radiate from her belly; waves of sweat slither down her skin. A diffuse and fiery pain seeps deep into her bones, as though they were all about to shatter—but they never do. Instead, as she endures this cyclical ordeal, her skeleton eventually acquires a spongy quality, as if it were melting and making her body as malleable as that of her children.
The new one is coming. Flames burst through the pores of her skin and envelop her but do not consume her. She must fight the temptation to wholly surrender to these incandescent sensations; the process of creation requires her focused will, her engaged imagination. Her loins burn as her child tunnels its way into the world. At the precise moment of the explosion between her legs, all pain is extinguished. Creation leaves her weak, yes, but her body is resilient, and she remains the same as ever, bones unbroken, skin unsinged. Her body never deteriorates, never betrays any evidence of aging.
Her newborn hovers unsteadily above her, its fiery multicoloured wings flapping awkwardly to keep it aloft, its barbed tail snaking through the dawn breeze. The wisps of flame that tease out of its nose and mouth bespeak its fiery origins. Even its eyes are ablaze. After a few moments, the girl’s offspring gains confidence in its ability to navigate the air, and it flies away, never having given a moment’s notice to its mother. It will find others of its kind; all of them will be considerably older. It has been many births since she shaped one of her children into a dragon.
The girl—the only human on Earth—sits up and settles into a lotus position, facing the water. The silky sand luxurious against her skin, she basks in the view and scents of the sea. She spends all day like this, ignoring the occasional pleading whimpers that escape from the dogs who not so patiently wait for her at the edge of the beach. Finally, as the sun sets and the temperature drops, she shivers. She gets up and walks toward her retinue of hellhounds. The dogs spring to attention, their tails wagging, the breath of their triple heads aflame with excitement and anticipation. There are so many of them. Unlike her other children, hellhounds never leave her side. Sometimes their ceaseless company is a burden, but other times it is her greatest source of comfort.
Fire: Demons, Dragons & Djinns Page 15