Dragon Maid

by Ann Gimpel

“Okay. Got it. Sorry.” Jonathan shook his head, feeling like an idiot. “Let’s move this show down the road.”

  “Betimes I doona understand him,” Britta complained to Lachlan.

  He rolled his eyes. “I have the same trouble with Maggie, but I’m getting used to her odd ways of expressing herself. Och, and ’tis time to exit. Kheladin’s trail just vanished.”

  “Focus your power and follow me.” Arianrhod’s voice was stern.

  The walls moved inward as if they were trying to crush them. Jonathan felt extreme compression all along his body. Even the air felt thick and sticky when he struggled to draw it into his lungs. As quickly as it had come, the pressure released. He tumbled through the air, managing to tuck his body into a ball just before he pitched onto rocky ground. “Christ!” he mumbled. “It’s like being spit out of a cement mixer.”

  “Hush,” Britta cautioned.

  Jonathan fanned magic around himself and looked for the others. Everyone had landed within fifty feet of him. He got slowly to his feet, grateful nothing was broken or sprained, and melted into the shadows of a dead tree while he scanned where they’d come out. Britta jerked her chin to one side where Lachlan, Maggie, and Arianrhod had gathered. He nodded and followed her deeper into the lifeless forest. Branches crackled beneath his boots. Jonathan drew data from his magic. It wasn’t only the trees that were dead. Maybe it was just that his power didn’t stretch far, but he couldn’t sense anything alive—not a bird, not even an insect—as far as he could reach. A shudder oozed down his back. Surely this couldn’t be Earth. Things couldn’t have eroded this much in a mere fifty years.

  — •●• —

  Kheladin strained against shackles binding his wings to a brick tower. His shoulders ached. Rhukon, or mayhap his dragon, Malik, had managed to erect a barrier between him and his magic. It was there but tantalizingly out of reach. Tarika was close. He felt her energy. “Where are you?”

  “The other side of this goddess-be-damned tower, fettered to it with iron.”

  Was that what had blunted his power? “Is that why I canna reach my magic?”

  “Aye.” Tarika’s single word held a bitten-off quality, as if she’d chew through her bonds—if she could reach them.

  “Do ye know of any…antidote?” he asked. Tarika was old. If any dragon could get them out of this mess, it would be her.

  A grim blast of laughter rocked him. “Aye, and wouldna we both like such a potion. Do ye think I’d still be here, waiting for that poor-excuse-for-a-dragon slime to return, if I had a way to free us? Mother should have crushed his egg afore he was hatched.”

  Kheladin felt young, naïve, stupid. “I dinna know we were so sensitive to iron. Lachlan often wears a sword, and he always carries a knife. Neither holds any effect on me.”

  “Usually, we are not, but there is an exceptional amount binding us.”

  His next question felt even dumber, but he needed to know. “How could they have transported so much metal?”

  “The Morrigan must have poured power into Rhukon since she canna work with iron, either. Pah! She’s broken the covenant the Celts had with dragons to not make war on us. Och aye, and she was trying to stay in the background, but I felt her presence.”

  The implications sank deep. “That means they canna let us go.”

  “’Tis exactly what it means. The battle crow would have to stand for judgment afore her peers. She’d be exiled—likely to Fire Mountain.”

  Kheladin felt horrified. “Why would dragons get stuck riding herd on her?”

  “Because there is no other place that could contain her. We keep miscreant dragons imprisoned. Why not a Celt?”

  He started to say because reprobate dragons had the decency to be ashamed of their foul deeds, or at least cowed because they’d been irresponsible enough to have gotten caught, but stopped himself. Mythical dragons didn’t matter. What did was marshaling their forces to find a way out of their predicament. He jerked a wing again. Pain shot down his shoulder and foreleg.

  “Ye willna help our cause if ye injure yourself,” Tarika said.

  “Do ye know where we are?”

  “Aye. In the future but only a few years. Mayhap fifty or so.”

  Another unpleasant truth dawned. “Rhukon and the Morrigan want our mages to find us.”

  “Doona forget Connor. Of course they do.” Another bitter laugh. “They know they canna kill us. We’re nothing but bait. The ones they really want are Lachlan and Britta. They canna kill them, but ’twill burn the heart out of them to see their mates tortured and likely killed.”

  Kheladin sagged against his chains. His heart ached when he thought about Lachlan—and Maggie. Maybe this new bond hadn’t been such a good idea. When they’d been forced to use one form or the other, at least they were always together. Maggie wasn’t immortal. She’d be who their enemies would target to shatter the prophecy…

  “Forgive me, youngling,” Tarika said, breaking into his thoughts. “I was in your mind. I am glad Britta isna trapped here with me, nor her new mate. This will give them opportunity to seek reinforcements and free us.”

  “If they’re just walking into a trap, what difference will it make whether we’re all here or arrive separately?” Kheladin heard cynicism in his voice, and bitterness, but couldn’t modulate either. “Besides, none of them knows how to bend the threads of time.”

  “Doona give up, Kheladin,” she crooned. “I have been in worse places. We shall prevail. I feel it in my bones.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Where are we?” Maggie spoke quietly and drew a step closer to Lachlan.

  Britta’s eyes narrowed. “Beyond that, what has happened here? I canna sense a living creature nearby.”

  “’Tis because not so much as an insect or a bird lives in these dead trees. This is but one possible future.” Arianrhod jabbed her index finger at them. “If you doona care for it, you must return to your own time and make certain this doesna come to pass.” She glanced at Lachlan and Britta. “The dragons? You can find them faster than me.”

  Britta closed her eyes. Jonathan felt her weave fire and air into a seeking spell. He moved to her side, ready to help, and opened his mind to hers. The roots of her dragon magic entwined with her own power. He looked for a place to tap into both and joined her. She turned to him, a smile in her eyes. “Ye feel right in there.”

  “I’m glad.” He took her hand in his. “It’s better than you viewing me as intrusive and chasing me out.”

  “Never.” She squeezed his fingers.

  “Tarika is to the west,” Jonathan said and focused his mind to follow the dragon’s unique essence.

  “Aye. Ye sense her too. Her magic is old and powerful, like a beacon.”

  He loosed magic and let it zing along the path Britta opened. An image rose of a medieval-looking tower with both dragons secured to huge irons rings in its sides.

  Lachlan pounded a fist into his open hand. “Damn the Morrigan. Something stymies my magic. I see a tower, yet I canna pinpoint its precise location. The dragons are shackled with iron to blunt their power.”

  “Another reason the Morrigan uses human helpers.” Arianrhod grimaced. “Iron dampens our power as well.”

  “Let’s hurry,” Maggie said. “The sooner we get closer, the sooner we can map out a search grid—”

  A faint wail reached Jonathan. “That sounded nearby. What was it?” he asked. Britta wrenched her hand from his grip. She, Maggie, and Arianrhod raced toward the sound. He locked gazes with Lachlan. “I hope the women aren’t heading into a trap,” he muttered.

  “They’re not.”

  “How do you know?” Jonathan started after them at a fast trot.

  “Because my magic pings back clean.”

  “I thought there wasn’t anything alive when we came out in this godforsaken spot.”

  Lachlan shrugged. “There is now.”

  They broke through the trees into a clearing. Jonathan stopped dead. Twenty people, th
in as scarecrows, dressed in rags, huddled in a tight circle. Dirt streaked their faces; slumping shoulders screamed defeat. A witch stood off to one side, cursing under her breath. So that was why they hadn’t sensed this group of people. She’d apparently shielded them with magic, but she looked so depleted, maybe her well had run dry. Britta stood next to her, soothing her, telling her they were from the past and meant no harm.

  Maggie knelt in the dirt next to two children. One, a boy of about ten, lay still as death. For a moment, Jonathan thought he was dead, and then he picked up the faintest life energy. The girl, a little older, moaned but didn’t open her eyes. “What happened to them?” Maggie asked a woman with filthy, matted blonde hair.

  “What didn’t?” the woman countered. “There’s not enough food. The water’s poison if you drink too much. It’s not as bad for us, but the little ones have a harder time. It didn’t help when a wild boar went after Alfie.” She pointed to the boy.

  So at least some animals are still alive, but they don’t have enough to eat, either, Jonathan thought and gritted his teeth together. If they were really only fifty years into the future, he could scarcely believe how much had gone to hell in such a short time. “Where are we?” he asked the woman.

  “Scotland.” She bared a mouthful of yellowed teeth. “Doesn’t look much like it did, eh? Nothing like forty years of war to wreck a place.”

  Jonathan glanced about. “Where do you live?”

  “Underground. But we have to come out to hunt for food. It was what we were about when the boar attacked us, and then Deirdre,” she pointed to the witch, “said we must be still because others were nearby.”

  “We won’t hurt you.” Jonathan’s heart ached for the scraps of humanity in the clearing. He clamped his jaw tight to keep from screaming his horror and disbelief to the skies and vowed he’d do damn near anything to make sure this particular future never happened.

  “I’m a doctor.” Maggie ran her hands over the children’s limp bodies. The girl, who looked about twelve, moaned again, and Jonathan recognized it as the same sound that had gotten their attention in the first place.

  “So?” A dark-haired man with a deeply seamed face stepped forward. “I don’t see your bag or any medicines.”

  “She’s a witch, that one,” the resident witch, still standing next to Britta, said. “Maybe she can do more than you think.”

  Maggie worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She rotated her body so she looked at Lachlan. “Go. Get the dragons. Come back for me once you’re done. I’m afraid if you wait—”

  “Are ye sure?” Lachlan strode to her side and bent to kiss the top of her head.

  Maggie nodded. “My magic’s good for healing. I’d just be in the way where you’re going.”

  “Good call.” Arianrhod nodded approvingly. “We should be off. We may still have the element of surprise.”

  “Tarika knows I am here,” Britta said.

  “Aye, Lachlan’s dragon likely does, too, but would they be so stupid as to alert their captors?” Arianrhod shot back.

  Britta bristled. Jonathan loped to her side and put an arm through hers. “She didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “I heard that.” Arianrhod laughed. “Nay, those like me were born abrasive.” She gestured toward Maggie. “Pay attention, witch. If I call for you, ye must drop whatever ye are about and come immediately.”

  “I understand.” Maggie held the boy in her arms and began a low chant over him. The small body relaxed against her. “He’s the worst. If I can save him, surely I can mend the girl too,” she murmured. Magic rose around her, rich with the soothing scent of lilacs; the cadence of her chant soared.

  “Cast your invisibility spell again, witch,” Lachlan instructed the woman standing outside the small group. “See my mate remains safe.”

  Deidre nodded. Black hair, chopped off at shoulder length, bobbed around her weary-looking face. For the barest moment, Jonathan saw a gleam of life in her green eyes.

  He walked toward Arianrhod with Britta; the spell to transport them enclosed him immediately. “We don’t want to come out on top of them,” he cautioned.

  “’Tisn’t likely since we doona know exactly where they are. What is it with all of you? I scarcely require instructions,” Arianrhod muttered angrily as Lachlan joined them.

  No, I don’t suppose she does. Jonathan glanced sidelong at his mother.

  •●•

  Britta kept breathing. Being afraid for Tarika was a new experience. The dragon had always been the stronger of the two of them, and Britta had difficulty understanding how she’d allowed herself to be captured. Arianrhod’s spell spit them out on a bleak, barren-looking plain. It was a very different British Isles than those she knew. Their green, verdant aspect was gone. Had it stopped raining? The woman in the clearing said the water was toxic, so it must have worsened substantially from Jonathan’s time.

  “Look what that bitch of a crow has done to our lands,” Arianrhod exclaimed, shaking her head angrily.

  “She’d like it this way,” Lachlan said. “The less likely a place is to support life, the better it feeds into her plans to turn Earth into one big battlefield where she can stalk from one corpse to the next, tasting their blood.”

  “If she kills off everyone, there willna by any more battles to feed her bloodlust,” Arianrhod snapped.

  “I’ll make a point of telling her.” Jonathan’s sarcasm didn’t temper the fury heating his blood. The mostly-healed wound down the side of his face still burned from the slash of her beak.

  Arianrhod laughed grimly. “Sure, and that will make all the difference.”

  “Och,” Lachlan muttered. “I am sick to death of this. First Kheladin and I were swept into a sleeping spell. Once we wakened, ’tis been a constant attack on us—or Maggie.”

  “And now Tarika and I,” Britta cut in. “We must take this in stages. Once the dragons are free, we can figure out what to do with Rhukon, Connor, and the Morrigan.”

  “Ye doona give orders here.” Arianrhod’s gold and silver gaze pierced Britta. “The reason I dinna bring the crone-witch along was she would have challenged me at every turn.”

  “Fine.” Britta bit off the word. “Battles united under a single commander have greater chance of success. What comes next…goddess?”

  A winged shape took form on the horizon, flying toward them. “We’re about to find out.” Arianrhod planted herself, feet apart, hands on her hips.

  The Morrigan fluttered to the ground a few feet away and shimmered into one of her human forms. She looked like a hag, with stringy black hair, sunken black eyes, and a shapeless body swathed in black robes. “You!” A surprised look washed over her face.

  “Aye, ’tis one of your fellow gods,” Arianrhod sneered. “Ye have broken the covenant betwixt us and the dragons. I am come to bring you to justice.”

  A crafty look stole into the Morrigan’s eyes. “The other Celts will let me go.”

  “We doona know that,” Arianrhod said. “I canna remember the last time a Celt imprisoned a dragon. It may never have happened afore.”

  “I’ll free them.” The Morrigan tried for a bright smile. She rubbed her hands together. “We can pretend this never happened.”

  Lachlan grunted something, but Arianrhod held up a hand. “Free the dragons, and we shall talk further.”

  The Morrigan narrowed her eyes, sensing a trap. “Ye must give me your word, Celt, afore I loose them.”

  “Really?” Arianrhod cocked her head to one side. “Ye’d ask me to break the covenant right along with you?”

  “Um, aye. Equal guilt and all.” The Morrigan grinned, displaying badly stained snaggle teeth.

  Arianrhod blew out a breath and tilted her chin up. “I doona know when ye decided ye could play sovereign over the rest of us.” Power crackled from her outraised hands. The Morrigan’s robe began to smoke; she batted at it. “The way I see it,” Arianrhod continued, “your only chance at clemency is to cooperate.
Ye’ve already been caught.”

  The Morrigan shifted her gaze downward and studied the parched earth intently. Britta could almost feel her mind working. She chafed at just standing, talking, though she recognized Arianrhod’s wisdom. It might take hours to unravel whatever magic held the dragons, particularly since iron was involved. Time passed. Finally, the Morrigan gave a terse nod. “I have just instructed my…comrades to unshackle the dragons.”

  “No!” Lachlan strode forward. “Britta and I will do that. Drop whatever magic ye’re shielding the precise location of that tower with so we doona waste as much as a minute hunting for it.”

  Tarika burst into Britta’s mind. “Hurry, bond mate.”

  Jonathan must have heard because his expression softened. He caught her eye. “I’ve missed her too.”

  Lachlan raised his arms skyward in anticipation. “Kheladin may be young and untried, but I love him. He is a part of me.”

  “See what mischief ye’ve done,” Arianrhod told the Morrigan.

  “Aye.” The crone’s smile broadened. “All this misery. I love it. It feeds me.”

  Britta rounded on her. “What an unnatural creature ye are. Even Arawn, god of the dead, holds respect for living creatures. Dragons are beasts out of legend. How could you—?”

  Lachlan beckoned to her, face grim. “I’ve found them. The Morrigan must have complied with my request.”

  Britta leaped to his side. Lachlan managed the magic to transport them. Seconds later, an enormous, crumbling stone tower came into view. She heard someone shrieking, realized it was her, and raced forward, intent on Tarika, straining against thick chains. “By the goddess,” Britta swore, revolted by the sight of her dragon suffering. “How could anyone have done this to you?”

  “Take care!” Lachlan shouted as he hurled toward Kheladin. “We doona know for certain that the Morrigan hasna left us a few unpleasant surprises.”

  “Stop!” Kheladin’s voice rasped as if he were in pain. “There is a barricade afore ye can unlock the chains.”

  Britta screeched to a halt, digging her heels into the hard earth. She sent power skittering outward and found a huge barrier circling the tower. Beginning at ground level, it was at least twelve feet high, constructed of multiple bands of intertwining magical ropes thicker than the chains binding the dragons. She stared at it, thinking, and then walked closer. The nearer she got, the weaker her magic became. Britta slapped her forehead with a palm, turned, and put some distance between herself and the fell magic circling the tower.