The Saint of Dragons

by Jason Hightman

  He tried to get some sleep in the back of the airplane, hidden behind a beaded curtain, though the music and partying never really ended, continuing all day and into the night. There was always some part of the crew awake enough to sing. Frustrated, he pulled out some of the English-language newspapers he’d taken from Moscow, which held further evidence of the work of the Dragons.

  Whatever the creatures were uniting for, the effects were already apparent: whales beaching themselves worldwide; rat populations out of control; mass infestations of insects from one end of the globe to the other—people were being swarmed by thousands of wasps, while crops everywhere had been gobbled by locusts. Tensions between countries had suddenly risen tremendously, with former allies now seeking war. There were cases of plague in some areas, entire cities ground to a halt, hospitals overrun with the dying. No matter where they were, people were weak and sickened, losing their hair, complaining of sleeplessness. Trees were dying by the thousands, entire forests gone barren, flowers wilted, great vasts fields of them.

  Simon felt overwhelmed. The road ahead seemed hopeless. Two people alone could not defeat a union of the three most powerful Serpents on earth.

  He began to wonder if there was another way to deal with the beasts. Was there ever a way to negotiate with them? To make a truce?

  The only bright light he could see was that it seemed possible there might be reasonable Dragons among those listed in the White Book. If the humans could make some kind of bluff, perhaps the Serpents would fear a fight and would agree to a draw. At this point, Simon would settle for just going back to the way things used to be.

  Aldric had been silent for a long time, and when he finally spoke, he surprised Simon. “You suppose she’ll be all right out there? Alaythia?”

  Simon gave a sigh. “I don’t know. What’s the point of thinking about it now?”

  Aldric answered his own question. “She’s probably roaming around New York trying to find her own apartment. A bit rattly, that lady is.”

  Simon thought about it. “So she’s different. So are we. She’s a…there’s just something good about her,” said Simon. “And I definitely thought she was pretty, didn’t you?” he prompted.

  Aldric looked out the window. “I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he said. “More trouble than she’s worth.”

  Resentment burned in Simon. “Well, don’t blame me for pushing her out,” he said, moving away from the rear of the jet, and back toward the gypsy party behind the curtain. “You just can’t handle anything normal in your life. I spent so much time thinking about what you would be like…and you are so much less than anything I pictured.”

  There. It all came out, and Simon was done with talking.

  So was Aldric, for he said nothing. He made a half-turn, looking out the window, in a daze.

  Not knowing what to do, Simon went out past the beaded curtain and left his father alone.

  Sitting in the shaking, shuddering plane, Simon took out the Dragonmap and traced his finger over its glowing runes. Now all over the world, the waves of Dragon magic were rippling, spreading; covering Europe, Africa, North America, South America, Asia. The map was a visual record of chaos itself.

  And something occurred to him.

  Aldric came out from behind the curtain to say something or other, but Simon was fixated on the little map. It looked very different to him now.

  “Underneath all of this chaos, there are all of these rings drawn in here,” he said. “It’s showing something new—it isn’t the world as it is, it’s the world as it will be. I think these are rings of fire. Burning away the earth.”

  He looked up at Aldric and saw grim recognition in his eyes.

  Simon didn’t want to finish his thought, but he did.

  “This is a Doomsday Plan.”

  Aldric’s face told Simon he was probably right. The Dragons somehow aimed at destroying civilization completely.

  The jet noise soon overtook his thoughts.

  It would be a miracle if they got out of this airplane alive.

  Eventually, however, the jet shook and rocked its way to a landing in the Chinese countryside. The crew waved good-bye to Simon and Aldric, promising to wait for their return. Simon hardly believed them. They were too drunk to remember anything, least of all a promise. The only thing that tied them to the land was the possibility of a good time, which they quickly went to work on. Chinese shepherds had already joined them in drink.

  “Alcohol is a Dragon’s vice,” said Aldric. “You must never be tempted by it.”

  They set out on foot until they found a truck headed to the city, and secretly hopped aboard. They would travel to Beijing half buried in piles of wheat.

  As the truck rumbled along old roads, headed to the massive metropolis, Simon pondered what the Dragons had said.

  “They used the city’s old name,” said Simon. “Peking. You think it’s an old Dragon?”

  “There’s almost no other kind, Simon. Dragons are rarely born—since Dragons hate each other’s company, it’s hard to make new ones. This Serpent is likely two or three hundred years old.”

  Simon’s mind reeled at the idea of living so long.

  “He will know a lot of tricks,” said Aldric.

  Simon had never seen such large crowds in the streets. Nothing existed in Beijing unless it was part of a crowd. Huge masses of people, in buses, and cars, and trucks, and bicycles, all moved past him.

  Crowds of factories spewed black smoke into the sky, blotting out the sun.

  Stray cats passed Simon’s legs, and he shuddered, gripping the sword under his long coat. He was ready for anything.

  His eyes were crowded with wonders. But this was not a time for sight-seeing.

  The city was an impatient gray wonderland that wore its ugliness well; there is a point at which industry and gloominess become nearly artistic in their own way. But the shield of gray smoke hid a vile secret.

  “This city was once home to many great sorcerers, all of them fine hunters,” said Aldric. “The great Red Mandarin, the Phantasia Imperial, they’re all gone now. We are on our own.”

  But it took the Knight and his son only a few hours, even in so vast a city, to locate the Dragon of Peking.

  There was simply no mistaking it. His part of the city was overwhelmed with supernatural events.

  Simon and Aldric first noticed a one-block area of rainfall; a thick, dirty, oily substance falling on car windows, greasing the sidewalk, and dripping off umbrellas in fat, slimy droplets. People ran for cover as the rain of black oil spattered their faces and spun off the rolling bicycles.

  The oily rain made Simon’s skin go numb, until Aldric pulled him under a metal roof. The smell was like burnt chocolate, and it stung the nostrils, but after a time the rain stopped.

  And the birds came out.

  Simon saw them at a distance and thought at first they were just large black birds, but as several of the dark shapes fluttered closer, he began to realize they were all vultures. The birds were looking for death, looking for the harvest the rain had brought.

  Their eyes were small and black, mindless and doll-like. Their bodies were huge, with a wingspan of five feet or more. Their beaks were long and sharp, their claws ready for business. More and more came, plummeting out of the clouds.

  It seemed that people on the street had seen this before, and learned to live with it. The birds swooped down on people’s heads and were swatted away with umbrellas or newspapers.

  The people in the neighborhood were themselves an interesting lot. Having lived so close to the Dragon for so long without knowing it, they had grown sick and distorted from prolonged exposure to the effects of magic. Many of the people were misshapen, sometimes with one overly large, lumpy arm, or an assortment of too many fingers or too many eyes. It was an unnerving sensation to see them rushing about, in the shadows under the rooftops, fearing more rain.

  Somehow Aldric found a young Chinese man from Boston who could speak English
. He could help track down the source of all this strange misery. Through him Aldric began questioning a woman in the crowd, and Simon saw that as she gestured and moved, the people around her moved also. He kept studying her, until he spied a thick piece of flesh that connected her to a man next to her. She was a Siamese twin, he realized. Then he noted that the man on the other side of her was also linked to her, and that there were two or three people who seemed stuck to his arms as well. The entire crowd was linked together!

  Gasping, Simon showed his father. “Yes,” the woman said in Chinese, “slowly, day by day, walking on this street, we have grown together. Now we are all one person, a face in the crowd forever….”

  Evidently the Dragon’s magic had become dangerously out of control over time.

  But where exactly was the beast?

  There were no beetles and insects to trace, so Aldric reasoned the Dragon lay underground. As he and Simon parted from their translator and searched the area, they came upon a strange-looking streethole cover, large, square, and marked with Chinese letters. It had the appearance of a doorway built into the ground.

  Aldric immediately tore it open, and down they went.

  They found themselves in an ancient crypt beneath Beijing, standing in a wet, dripping tunnel, poorly lit by dim electric lights. But the St. Georges knew what lay ahead. The smell gave it away.

  They began walking forward.

  “They’ll be together now,” worried Simon. “We’ll have to take them all on at once.”

  “I will take them on, Simon,” his father said seriously.

  “What do you mean? What will I do? I came to help.”

  “You will stand guard here. Have your crossbow ready and your arrows at your side. If anything comes down this way, it means I’ve failed. Shoot it.”

  “You can’t do this alone!”

  “I can, and I will,” said Aldric.

  “I knew this would happen. You’re too afraid for me to let me fight. I came to help you.”

  “You will help. From here.”

  “Don’t leave me—”

  “Our record so far isn’t very good,” said Aldric. “We’ve gone up against three Serpents, and each one has gotten away and gotten stronger. Maybe I have less of an edge when you’re with me. Maybe you’re unlucky. It doesn’t matter. We’ve got to stop these things, or the world will know it.”

  “I can do more than you think.” Simon burned with anger.

  Aldric calmed himself. “I have work to do in this place. There’s no use for immature boys here. Just stand firm and do what’s called for, if you’re needed. But you are staying here. And I am going in.”

  He turned and walked into the darkness. Simon watched him leave, and gripped his sword as if it would protect him from the blackness itself.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  THE BLACK DRAGON

  ALDRIC WAS GONE, OUT of the light. Simon could not even hear his footsteps. Only the dripping of water echoed through the tunnel.

  Time moved slowly. Simon lost track of how long he stood there, but after a while he became aware of a kind of whistling noise behind him.

  He turned. Nothing came at him.

  Perhaps this was worth investigating. He stepped forward, and saw that the tunnel did not end behind him as he had thought, but rather turned at a sharp angle, and kept going. The whistling came from somewhere back there.

  He walked on, reaching a hole in the tunnel wall just large enough for him to fit through. Through the hole he could see a birdcage with a small canary inside. The canary was twittering softly.

  He crawled into the hole. His crossbow was tight in his hands.

  The birdcage sat on a table, and now he could see beyond it to a quite nicely arranged kitchen. The stove held a soup pot that was burbling quietly.

  He watched as a small, dark, stooped figure limped into the kitchen, leaning on a cane. The figure went to the pot, poured a tiny cup of soup, and picked up the cup and saucer with a shaky, elderly grip.

  As the figure shuffled away, its hands were shaking so much that it dropped the saucer and cup, which shattered on the floor. It regarded the mess sadly.

  Simon could see that it had the reptilian skin of a Dragonman, but it was black, with heavy black eyebrows, a long, drooping mustache, and a mane of braided black hair that stretched down its back. It had the narrow eyes of the Chinese, protected by tiny eyeglasses on the end of its smallish nose.

  At the loss of the cup, it made a hurt little sound of regret.

  Turning, the creature went back to the stove, pouring a new cup of soup. The soup smelled delicious. The warm spices tickled Simon’s nose.

  The little figure grunted happily, anticipating eating.

  Simon skirted behind the rocky, half-shattered pillar to see more safely.

  The second cup was dropped as well.

  This time the black figure whimpered more loudly. It reached out its small, furry, hands, trying to sweep the ruined cups away by magic. The china pieces shivered a bit but were not swept away.

  Then the diminutive creature looked up and saw Simon.

  It shuffled back in fear.

  In fear.

  Simon was caught off guard, but he came out from behind the rocky wall with his crossbow aimed. He was actually able to keep his own hands from shaking.

  For a second, the two just looked at each other.

  Then the Black Dragon smiled.

  “Would you like some soup?”

  Simon just stared.

  “I’ve never seen one quite like you. Usually when I get beggar children in here,” creaked the kindly voice, “they are Chinese. I help them same as I’ll help you. Are you hungry?”

  “I didn’t come here to eat,” said Simon. He hoped his voice sounded firm.

  The Black Dragon looked perplexed. “What did you come here for?”

  “I would think that’s obvious,” said Simon.

  The little Dragonman leaned forward now and squinted, lifting his eyeglasses to see the boy. “Ahh,” he said, seeing the crossbow. “My eyes are not what they used to be. You’ve come here on a mission. I thought all of your kind was gone.”

  “You were mistaken.”

  “I see that now.”

  Simon did not even notice that the creature spoke passably good English.

  The Dragon let his hands fall to his potbelly. “Would it be possible for me to eat a little something before you do whatever it is you came to do?” he asked.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Simon responded. “I’ve heard you can’t be trusted.”

  “From who?”

  “My father, for one.”

  “Your father, who is who?”

  “Aldric St. George.”

  “Does he know me?”

  “I don’t think so, no.”

  “Then why does he have such a bleak opinion of me?”

  “A Dragon is a Dragon.”

  The Dragonman’s eyes went wide at this remark, and he clucked his tongue. “Would it be possible for me to take a seat before I tell you the error of this thinking?”

  “No. Don’t move.”

  “You trust me so little that I cannot rest my aged legs?”

  “I don’t trust you at all.”

  “Please can I be seated? My bones are very old.”

  “I should bury this arrow in you right now,” said Simon, wondering why he didn’t.

  “You wouldn’t give a moment’s thought to destroying a creature that has lived for over two hundred years?”

  “I seem to be giving it some thought,” said Simon.

  “You came here alone?”

  “My father is somewhere behind me. He’ll find his way here soon.”

  “Your father, Aldric St. George. And you are who St. George?”

  “Simon St. George.”

  The little creature smiled. “Simon, have you seen many Dragons in your short life?”

  “I’ve seen enough of them.”

  “I
wonder if you—” The Dragon interrupted himself. “Simon, I am going to sit down.” He shuffled over a few paces, pulled out a small chair, and sat with a weary sigh.

  Simon watched him tensely.

  “I wonder if you have seen enough Dragons,” the creature went on, “to decide what you think of all Dragons. How many have you known?”

  Simon thought about it. “Four, I suppose.”

  “Four. And from that you know them all? I wonder if it is possible to say that all men are evil from knowing only four? What if the four men you met were criminals? Wouldn’t that be a mistake on your part?”

  “We aren’t talking about men.”

  “No, but can you say, for example, that all Chinese are evil? All Americans are evil? All Dutchmen are evil?”

  “No.”

  “Can you say that any species is altogether evil? Can you say that, Simon?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, do you think all dogs are evil? Or all birds?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not. Not even all snakes are evil. Some are very beneficial. Do you agree?”

  “I suppose,” said Simon.

  “Then if no creature on earth, neither man nor beast, can be said to be totally evil, doesn’t it stand to reason that perhaps not all Dragons are evil, too?”

  Simon said nothing, and the Dragonman went on, “Could it be, perhaps, that you have seen only the worst of us?”

  “The worst of you are pretty awful,” said Simon.

  The creature turned sorrowful. “On that you are absolutely right. That is why many of us are fighting back against the evil ones.”

  “Many of you?” Simon’s curiosity swelled.

  “Certainly,” said the Peking Dragon. “There is a whole world of Light Dragons who are working to stop the spread of evil.”

  “That’s very interesting, because I’ve never seen one.”

  “Of course not. We’re in hiding. It simply shows how well we’ve concealed ourselves, that you know nothing of us.”

  The boy considered this. “Why do you have to hide?”