The Saint of Dragons

by Jason Hightman

  “May I take my pipe? It eases the pain in my throat from talking so much.”

  “No, stay where you are,” said Simon, but the little figure frowned, then reached over to a table and picked up his long, long pipe.

  “We must hide, or the evil forces would hunt us down and destroy us. You see, we have two enemies: you hunters, like your father lost in the labyrinth behind me…” Simon was surprised he had figured that out. “…and the Dark Dragons as well.”

  “You haven’t done much to stop the Dark Ones,” countered Simon.

  “You don’t know. You don’t know,” muttered the Black Dragon tiredly. “We have done much. The world would be much more tattered and pained if we had not. I told you, we work in secret. No one knows what we do. There was a time recently when the world nearly chewed itself up in warfare, and…May I have a stool for my feet?”

  Simon moved in closer, knocking a stool toward him, without really thinking.

  The Dragonman put his feet on the stool and continued. “The world would have gone to war with itself with a violence never seen before. The dark Dragons have built up so much hate upon hate in human minds that people were ready to bring death to themselves on a tremendous scale. My magic, and the magic of others like me, saved the earth from a terrible fate.”

  “From here? From this little place, you did all this?”

  “Yes, and from many places like it. May I have some soup before it gets cold?”

  Simon got the soup for him without even noticing that he’d done it, as the friendly creature went on. “Deep in the earth, we work. It is not a nice way to live, but we do it. We do it for the good of all things.” The Peking Dragon sipped the soup, satisfied. “You should have some,” he told Simon. “It will give you pleasant daydreams. A long time ago, I had tea that came from the tears of a whale. Quite exquisite daydreams from that. This was ages ago, when it was safe to go outside. People were not afraid of unusual creatures, like me, walking among them.”

  Simon found that he was now sitting beside the little animal, drinking his own cup of soup. Everything about this tiny individual seemed frail, brittle, and peaceful. The Dragon, no more than five and a half feet tall, was not in any way like the others he’d seen.

  “If all you say is true,” said Simon, “there are a lot of things left to explain. I overheard a conversation between three Dragons who said they were coming here to find you. They said you were the last link in their plans to destroy every human city on earth.”

  The Black Dragon shuddered. “I was foolish to think they would not find me.”

  “Why do they want you?”

  “They are coming to kill me,” said the Dragonman. “They are coming because I am the most powerful of the Light Dragons, and with me out of the way, the dark forces will have the upper hand.”

  Simon could not help but feel pity and fear for the Black Dragon; the evil that was coming for it seemed vast. Undefeatable.

  It was like trying to battle the wind.

  “I am very old,” said the Black Dragon. “My magic is strong, but it is hard to shape. It does as it wishes. I carry it wherever I go, and wherever I go, it hurts people. I know those who live above me are made to suffer from it, but I cannot end their suffering no matter how hard I try. The powers I can control are concentrated on keeping the Dark Ones from gaining more strength.”

  The Black Dragon exhaled blue smoke that drifted all about the room. “These side effects of my magic will call the other Dragons to me. They will take my life in terrible ways. I would prefer it if you were to kill me.”

  Simon looked into his eyes. Destroying this Dragon would not be easy.

  “I’m not sure…what I’m going to do,” he said.

  All of a sudden, with a flutter of wings, the tiny canary flew from its open cage and alighted on the Dragon’s shoulder, startling Simon. The old Dragon smiled at it sadly.

  “If only my body were strong enough to leave this place, I would go,” said the Black Dragon. “I am comfortable here. I find this tomb to be a perfect place for me, though it causes problems for the people in the city above. I wish more than anything I could be on my old boat. It sits in a harbor waiting for me, but I could never get to it.”

  “We could get you out, perhaps,” said Simon quietly.

  “You and your father?” scoffed the creature. “He would burn me to a crisp. His quiver of arrows would be empty in half a second’s time. From what you’ve told me, he is obsessed with destroying us.”

  “No, he’s a good man.”

  “To humans, he is good. But he made up his mind about the race of Dragons long ago. Nothing will change that. I sense it. And you know it. I am trapped between him, and the forces of darkness. It is only a matter of time before one or the other comes in here and sends me to my death.”

  “I can save your life.”

  “Why should you pity me?”

  “I don’t know,” said Simon, searchingly. “But I don’t want you to die. I haven’t decided about you yet, I guess.”

  “If you helped me to leave here,” said the Black Dragon, growing hopeful, “I could show you the world of the Light Dragons. I could take you to see them. You would see the work we do for the good of all.”

  “You would trust me?” said Simon, his eyes narrowing.

  “In return for your trust.” The creature nodded. “And for one other reason: my own self-preservation. Sooner or later, your father will hunt me down. If you come back to him and show him proof, proof that the spells of the Light Dragons are made to serve the natural order, then perhaps he’d give up his quest and spare my life.”

  Somewhere back in the darkness of the tunnels, Simon heard his father approach, the drain water sloshing under his feet.

  “Let me speak to him,” whispered Simon.

  “If he knows of me, he will terminate me,” pleaded the Dragon, “you know he will.”

  Simon felt a desperation building in his head, a choice needing to be made.

  The Black Dragon closed his eyes. “I will not fight him. If my time is now, it is now.”

  Simon heard Aldric coming nearer.

  “I can use my magic to get us to the street above,” the Dragon said hurriedly, “but I cannot go much further.”

  The clang of his father’s armor echoed behind them. The Knight pulled himself through the hole in the tunnel wall, tearing down decayed bricks as he came. Simon saw him now the way the Dragons must see him: a fierce and relentless warrior.

  Aldric’s gaze was fixed on the Dragon. Nothing would stop him.

  “No—he’s not what you think!” cried Simon.

  But Aldric had already launched a fiery arrow, which struck the Black Dragon in its side. The creature’s roar of pain shook the room.

  “Father!” called Simon.

  Aldric had notched another arrow instantly. He raised his crossbow.

  “USE YOUR MAGIC!” screamed Simon. The Black Creature closed its eyes, and a warm blur engulfed him and Simon as well. A wall of black-red fire flew up between Aldric and Simon, and the boy ran with the Black Dragon through a secret passage and up a stairway. Aldric could not see them, and they vanished from the tomb before he could react.

  The Knight was in turmoil. His son was gone. He had rushed the room, and all he had seen was the ferocious Black Dragon preparing to swallow Simon. He had acted as quickly as possible. But he was not fast enough.

  Simon was gone.

  In the streets of Beijing, the Black Dragon and Simon St. George came out from the underground labyrinth on a bustling corner near old pagodas. The Black Dragon seemed, to all those who saw him, as nothing more than an elderly Chinese man wrapped in scarves, an old Oriental coat and robe, and wearing a traditional hat. His yellow canary twittered on his shoulder.

  “We must move quickly,” said the Black Dragon. “I need rest. We will need a bicycle cab to get us to my ship.”

  Simon could hardly believe what he was doing, but he got them a cab, and the cyclist pu
lled them away into the ocean of people. The crowd closed in around them, forward and behind, and Simon could no longer tell where he was. There was no going back. No time to explain things to Aldric.

  Simon was leaving his father behind.

  He had no idea if what he was doing was right.

  “Be calmed,” said the wounded Dragon, rubbing the slash in his stomach from the arrow’s point. “It will all turn out for the best.”

  His soothing voice was all Simon had to cling to.

  He was on his own.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A CHINESE DRAGON’S SAILING SHIP

  THE BLACK DRAGON CONTROLLED the pain he must have been feeling from his wounds, hardly making a sound as he and Simon finally made their way to a port. Simon watched the Black Dragon closely. But he saw nothing to fear in its eyes.

  The creature was delighted at seeing his ship again. Simon wondered how long it had been since the creature had been out of his cave.

  The large junk bobbed before them in the water with a humble dignity. It was very old, its sides worn, with a look of obvious abandonment.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” said the old Dragon, leaning on Simon’s arm to help him walk. “We must get aboard at once.”

  Up close, the junk was no prettier than it was from a distance. Dust. Rust. Rot. The one saving grace of the dilapidated ship was a faded, painted Dragon on the sides of the cabin.

  “What are we going to do now?” asked Simon. “I can’t leave my father long. He’ll never forgive me. He’s probably worrying himself into a coma.”

  “He is well,” said the Dragon, closing his eyes. “I see him now in my chambers. He is afraid for you; he fears he has failed you. But if we do our work quickly, we will find him in good health when we return.”

  “I wish,” the Dragon added, collapsing onto an old chair on deck, “that I myself should be in such good health.” He rubbed his side, and Simon saw what looked to be liquid fire dripping from the wound Aldric had made. Thin strands of burning water slipped through the Black Dragon’s fingers and fell to the deck with a hiss.

  “Fireblood,” he explained weakly. “Your father is quite skilled. Serpentfire-tipped arrows are a fearsome weapon. Fetch some water, there.”

  Simon turned, finding a bucket full of rainwater. He tossed the water onto the small flames the blood had made on the deck.

  “Forgive me,” said the old creature. “I should be able to put out my own fireblood, but I am saving my energies. I am not well.”

  Simon came closer, to see the wound.

  “It looks bad.” The boy winced. “Can you survive it?”

  “I don’t know for how long. I hope we can make our journey before my strength leaves me.”

  A sobering thought lifted itself in Simon’s head, of being alone on the sea without his father or the Dragonman. What happened to a Dragon when it was dying, anyway? What if its magic burst out of it, and it wasn’t safe to be near it? He remembered the death of the White Dragon.

  The Black Dragon coughed. “The wound is worse than I thought. The arrow pierced my solar magensis.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It is not my heart, but the heart of my magic. It is the organ which generates magic, feeding off the sun. Dark Dragons feed off the moon. It means, Simon, that my time is very short, and that my magic will be more erratical than ever. It could be dangerous to be near me.”

  “I’ll stay,” said Simon. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, tell me.”

  “My own life is of sad little importance,” said the Black Dragon, “but if we do not get to the Light Dragons and warn them of the danger ahead, the world will be ripped apart by the Dark Draconians’ power.”

  Simon felt desperate. “I left my father behind for you. Don’t let it be for nothing. Tell me how to help you. Would this…” He rummaged in his satchel for the red elixir bottle, the magician’s salve. “Would this do any good?”

  The Dragon tilted his head, startled.

  “It may. It may,” he said.

  Simon poured the viscous fluid onto the wound, which glowed like embers as it repaired itself.

  The Dragon seemed astonished at Simon’s generosity. “That will seal and hold the fireblood in. My strength will return to me.”

  Simon leaned back against the cabin, worried.

  The Dragon kept looking at him in disbelief, as if he were a puzzle of some kind.

  “You have done me a kindness,” said the Dragon. “All I have for you is a path through great danger.”

  Simon pulled his crossbow into his arms, still wary. “What does that mean?”

  The Black Dragon looked seaward. “Our path is set. We will find our way together. Where the Light Dragons are meeting. Across the world…”

  “Across the world?”

  “To London, boy…to London…”

  The Dragonman closed his eyes. A great ruckus sounded as the sails on the junk burst to life. They swung into place. The wind laid its hands on them. The ship had set sail by the Black Dragon’s magic.

  Simon looked around in amazement. The junk was seaworthy. The old vessel still worked!

  He put his face toward the wind, closing his eyes. Praying for luck.

  He took a deep breath. He’d done it. He’d proven…useful.

  The junk rolled over the waves, pressing toward the city of London, an ocean away.

  Deep in the heart of the Black Dragon’s home, Aldric was examining everything he could find about the old creature. Perhaps there was a clue as to where they had gone. As he paged through yellowed scrolls of Chinese writing, and books that breathed as he held them, Aldric’s mind focused on one problem only: getting his son back.

  He wasn’t even concerned about the world anymore, or the location of the wicked Serpents. He just wanted his son. If the world ended tomorrow, at least they would be together.

  The Black Dragon’s magic had lingered behind. Flickering ash drifted around the room. Beetles crackled under Aldric’s feet as he explored the chambers. In one room he found an aviary, where black canaries twittered in cages and never saw the sun.

  Deeper in, he found a small, beautifully carved wooden table that held wine chalices and dirty plates. Many guests had dined and drunk with the old Dragon. Not long ago.

  And then he saw something that gave his heart a chill.

  All around the base of the ceremonial table were medallions.

  Medallions from other Dragons.

  Dozens and dozens of them.

  He could see the mark of the Water Dragon of Venice, of the Russian Dragon, of the Dragon of Paris—they had all been here. They had spoken with this Peking Black Dragon, and they had left tribute. Tokens of friendship. Many tokens.

  How many more Serpents were a part of this? Evil was flooding the earth. His boy was out there with a creature of profound darkness.

  When Simon awoke, it was night. Stars gleamed in the black velvet canopy above him. The face of the Black Dragon was staring down at him. It was dark, but for just an instant Simon thought the Dragon had an expression of distaste, of disgust…

  But it was just an instant, and he might have been mistaken.

  “You should eat,” said the Black Dragon politely, and he handed the boy a plate of noodles. Simon took it gladly.

  “I am feeling better, for the moment,” said the Black Dragon. “It pleases me to see I can still manage some of my own magic. I heated the plate myself.” He paused. “You are supposed to be impressed.”

  Simon gave it a try. The food was good.

  The Black Dragon dined with him, feeding his canary bits of noodles. At the reptile’s clawed feet, beetles roamed about.

  The Dragon explained that it couldn’t be helped; even gentle Dragons drew insects to them. At sea the effect was less severe than on land. Tonight, only a small cloud of butterflies managed to trail the ship, fluttering above its white wake. Moonlight glittered on the blue winged insects.

  Simon’s thoughts wer
e still of his father. He tried to shake the notion that he had betrayed him. It felt terrible to leave him behind, no matter what the reason. Maybe in the end, Aldric would see Simon’s actions as brave. It took courage to act against a father’s wishes.

  It was possible, he had begun to think, that the Black Dragon had helped him find that courage. Perhaps there was something in the soup. The pipe smoke was strange, as well; perhaps the smoke had burned his eyes and made him see things differently.

  The Dragon was smoking the pipe now. Nothing was strange about it here. I’m just thinking like my father, Simon realized. Distrusting everything.

  “How old are your years, son?” said the Chinese Dragon.

  “I’m thirteen. No. Fourteen,” he realized, startled. “Fourteen today. Not that anyone cares…” He had forgotten his own birthday. He wondered how that was possible, but days had been passing like wild horses lately. He hadn’t been thinking about himself.

  “Is that so? Fourteen years of age? You do not look so old as this.”

  Simon nodded unhappily.

  The Dragonman went on, “And your father takes you into battle at such an age? Does he not realize the dangers of a Serpentine?”

  “He realizes it. He doesn’t trust anyone else to protect me.”

  “If I had a son…I would not send him out in battle. I would protect him from warfare no matter what the cost. No matter what his age.”

  Simon looked at the Dragon.

  “I suppose I should not speak. What do I know of these things? I am old; that does not make me wise. I will tell you, though, that I regret having no children,” said the Dragon.

  “Maybe one day with a Light Dragon, you’ll have a child.”

  The Pyrothrax looked at him oddly, maybe just sadly—Simon wasn’t sure.

  “Perhaps,” he said, finally. “Perhaps there are as many wonders that lie ahead as there are terrors.”

  Simon considered this for a moment and said, “None of those terrors will come from you, I hope.”

  The Dragon lowered his head and peered over his tiny eyeglasses. “Still you do not trust me?”