The Dragons Return
Page 1
Tales from the New Earth: Book 1
The Dragons Return
By
J. J. Thompson
Text Copyright © 2014 J. J. Thompson
All Rights Reserved
And the dark gods looked upon the Earth from Outside and said:
Now Is The Time For Vengence
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Links
Chapter 1
The young man crawled slowly out of the rubble; bits of plaster and rock cascading around him as he moved. He pushed the last of the burnt timbers from his path and a large cloud of ash covered him. He sneezed explosively.
He clapped a hand over his nose and mouth, too late to stop the sound that echoed around him in the dimly lit building. He waited, not daring to breathe. Nothing. He waited a few more seconds but there was no sign that he had been discovered. He lowered his head and rested it in his hands for a moment. Then with a quiet sigh of mingled relief and exhaustion, he pulled himself out of the rubble and stood up.
Looking straight up, he could see the early morning sky dimly lit by the first pink glow of the dawn. The sky was framed squarely by the four walls that surrounded him. The upper part of the walls had collapsed but they still rose at least fifty feet above his head. He looked around at what remained of the Peace Tower and remembered the first time he had seen it as a little boy, along with his classmates, on a school outing to Parliament Hill to see the Prime Minister and his cabinet in session. He shook his head. Another life and another time, he thought. All of that was gone. The Canadian government had been destroyed along with the Parliament buildings and only this tower, so much like the original Big Ben clock tower in England, remained.
That building had also been destroyed, he assumed. But then, news from Europe no longer reached North America. Well, not Ottawa anyway. Perhaps down south in Toronto they were doing better or further south in New York City. Somehow he couldn’t believe that the tough New Yorkers had been beaten down as quickly as they had been in this city. Wishful thinking, he thought. But you never know.
He flipped back his hood, bent over and gave his head a brisk shake. Then he ran his hands through his hair, watching as a cloud of dust and ash drifted to the floor. He pulled his hood back up and lightly slapped his chest and the rest his body, shaking his linen robe to get out the worst of the debris. He tapped the handle of the dagger that hung on his waist to make sure that it was still securely seated in the sheathe, adjusted the straps of his canvas backpack and then carefully made his way to a break in the nearest wall and peered out, looking for any movement.
It was still quiet as he stepped out of the building and on to what was left of the asphalt driveway that had led up to the Parliament Buildings. He took a deep breath of the cold morning air. Dawn. It was his favorite time of day
“What the hell are you doing here, Simon?” he muttered.
He had come back to Ottawa yesterday evening. It had been a long ride from his home, west of the city. He winced at the thought of the ride back again. His butt was still aching from spending all that time in the saddle.
The better part of a day, he thought wryly. That's how long it had taken. In a car it was less than two hours away. But there were no more cars now. No more machines. But on horseback, he could at least travel through the forest and use the trees as cover.
He spared a thought for his mare, let loose to graze in the woods about an hour’s walk from the city’s edge. She was trained well enough that he knew she would remain in the general area where he had left her, but there was always the chance that some animal would come along and attack her.
Oh well, he thought. She was quite capable of taking care of herself. And worrying about it wouldn’t help her. He had to stay focused on the job at hand. He looked around again and wondered what he was really doing here.
He was back, not because he really needed anything here, although he was always on the hunt for supplies, anything that could be useful. No, it was sentiment that had brought him back. He had wanted to say good bye to this old town; the city of his birth.
Stupid, he thought. Stupid to believe that the beast would not occasionally return here to look for those like himself, drifters drawn to a destroyed city for whatever reason. He had seen it, high overhead last night, just before dark. That was why he had spent the night buried in the rubble of the Peace Tower, hiding, trying to mask his scent in the smell of the destroyed building. Apparently it had worked. He was, after all, still alive. But he remained cautious.
The beast wasn’t stupid. Oh no, it was at least as smart as humans, if not more so. But even its kind had certain tendencies. The humans that survived did so by learning what those were and using that knowledge to live on despite the devastation that had virtually destroyed the entire race. And one of those tendencies was that the beasts rarely flew at night. Not that they couldn’t. He was quite sure about that. Just that they rarely did. And he had used that knowledge last night.
Unfortunately, other things did move around after dark, and Simon had stayed hidden all night as he heard the shuffling and sniffing of…something wandering around his shelter. It was gone with the break of day and he could finally leave his hole.
He glanced around again and began to walk south down the gentle slope toward what was left of downtown Ottawa.
A sharp breeze made him shiver. It was late April or early May, by his calculations. He wasn’t sure exactly. Calendars were another part of the past that meant nothing now. He lived by the seasons and it was the middle of spring. That was what mattered. The snow was gone and, while the air was still crisp and cold in the morning, he had already begun his spring planting.
Simon had to detour around mounds of rubble, bricks, metal beams and glass. Lots of glass. Most of it had been melted and then hardened again. It lay spread across the ground in grotesque pools and jelly-like lumps and hinted at the intense heat that had rained down on the city on the Night of Burning.
He smiled slightly as he realized that he had actually named the night of Ottawa’s destruction. Well, he thought, it was appropriate. From a hill near his home almost a hundred miles away, he had seen the reflection of the flames in the night sky, making the clouds glow red and yellow. Occasionally something would explode and the sky would flare brightly for a moment, and then return to the flickering colors of destruction. All night, from first dark until dawn’s first light, the fires had lit the sky.
Perhaps that was why the beasts no longer flew at night, he thought. There were no more cities to burn, no more towns to raze, no more enemies to attack in their sleep. But that was foolishness. By the time the monster had rained fire down on the city, there was no way for the people to fight back. Planes no longer flew, guns wouldn’t shoot and cars wouldn’t start. There was nothing for the citizens to defend themselves with and no way to escape, except on foot. They would not have gotten far, he thought grimly.
He walked past several burnt-out cars; just hulks now and rusting from several years of exposure to rain and snow. There was no lo
nger any smell of the fire. In fact everywhere he looked, small sprouts were growing from between the cracks in the pavement. And there were many small trees, just budding in the early spring, that had appeared through the rubble. Nature was reclaiming the city. In a few decades the entire area would probably be choked with weeds, grasses and trees.
But there was something wrong here. Something missing.
Simon stopped and thought about it for a moment. Then he realized what it was. There were no remains of people anywhere. He turned slowly and examined the entire area. Nothing. Oh, there were burned out buildings, the remnants of the attack…but no skeletons, no bits of clothing or pieces of jewelery, no evidence that anyone had died here. But they had; he knew they had. It just didn’t make sense. Another mystery to add to the pile, he thought as he started walking again.
He reached what had once been the National War Memorial. He remembered watching the television every eleventh of November as the veterans matched past the soaring cenotaph with its majestic metal angels looking down on other statues of soldiers from World War One.
The monument was just a heap of slag now. The statues had melted over the rubble of the cenotaph and encased it in a sullen bronze cap. The metal shone dully in the weak spring sunlight. He walked over to the remains, stepping on top of and around loose pieces of asphalt. He put his hand lightly on the metal, slightly warmed from the sun, and closed his eyes a moment. Then he turned around with a sigh and slowly continued his journey south down rubble-choked Elgin Street.
It took another hour to get to his destination. He finally arrived, breathing heavily, on what remained of Somerset Street. Before the burning, this area had been a mixture of new and old houses, some a century old or more, and small businesses, many of which had converted the stately homes into discreet storefronts. Now of course, like the rest of the city it was just rubble. Many of the homes had been built mostly of wood and nothing remained of them but gaping holes where the structures had collapsed into their basements.
He stood in front of one particular ruin and remembered when it was whole, before the Burning.
It had belonged to his friend Daniel. It had once been a great hulking barn of a place, over a hundred years old. Daniel had inherited it from his grandparents, along with enough money to keep the old structure repaired and the taxes paid forever. And the inheritance had been large enough that his friend had never had to work again. It had allowed Daniel to pursue his real passion.
He loved to research old books, manuscripts and writings of all kinds on the occult. Any and all legends, stories and myths about witchcraft, voodoo, wizards and magic aroused his interest. He loved playing online fantasy games as well. They both had that in common and had spent many an evening battling monsters and demons over the Internet, playing from two computers in Daniel’s large study.
Simon stood staring at the remains of the home for a time, and then sat down slowly on the cracked pavement, brushing some dirt and stones out of the way. He was tired from the hike from Parliament Hill. Once he had had a lot of stamina and a walk like that would not have bothered him. But now? Now was another matter.
He opened his backpack and pulled out a package wrapped in linen cloth. Handy stuff, he thought. I can make clothes from it, bedding and even wrap food in it. He hoped that the several bales of linen cloth he had stored at home would last because there was no way to make more.
He opened the package, took out some dried fruit and started eating while he stared at the ruin in front of him.
A small shimmer caught his eye and he looked down to his left. A tiny puddle, probably created from morning condensation, had rippled in the light breeze and reflected the sunlight. He leaned over and caught a glimpse of his reflection. He stared at himself for a moment, this stranger, and then snarled and slapped his palm into the tiny puddle, emptying it onto the surrounding pavement. He still did not know that face, although it had stopped changing about a year ago. And this body belonged to a stranger as well. He could not get used to being so weak and frail. Not when, for most of his life, he had been a heavy-set, burly man who had never been afraid of anything. But that was before he had Changed.
Daniel had known. Somehow he had known this was going to happen to me, Simon thought. And when all my friends and colleagues had abandoned me in fear of what I was becoming, Daniel was still there.
He sat there, lost in thought until a small sound, like a shuffling step quickly muffled, made him turn his head quickly to the right. Nothing was there but more rubble. The wall of another house blocked his view of the rest of the street. Somehow, instead of collapsing, it had slid into the street, standing precariously across the road. But he knew he was being watched by someone. He stood up slowly.
Another sound, like whispers, made him turn around and look behind him. Again there was nothing. Just more rubble, piled high and concealing whomever was watching him. A third sound now came from directly in front of him, from the remains of Daniel’s house. But except for the collapsed walls and piles of bricks and cement, nothing moved.
He stood still, making no sudden moves. This was a bad place to be attacked. He realized now that except for the way he had come, this was a dead end, the perfect trap. He had a few surprises for anyone who decided to attack, but the advantage was theirs. He was obviously out-numbered and they were on their home turf. He shook his head slightly. How could he have been so careless? To sit here, reminiscing and let himself be cornered? There was no excuse for it. And no way out unless they let him out. So he simply stood and waited.
The minutes ticked by but the sounds weren’t repeated. The breeze had died down and he was standing in the sun. He felt the sweat trickling down his back, both from the heat of the sun and his fear.
“Whatcha doin’ here, mister? Huh?” a child’s voice asked.
Simon jumped and looked around yet again. A child? Here? He cleared his throat and answered.
“I’m just visiting for a few minutes. Then I’ll be leaving again.”
He waited, but there was no reply. It sounded like a child, a little girl. He was sure of it. But there couldn’t be children here. Not possible, unless…. Unless they were Changelings.
He felt chilled despite the sun’s heat. Changelings. He had not seen one in person. They had been all over the news about a year before the Burning. But once the televisions and radios had stopped broadcasting, he had heard nothing more about them, officially. There were just rumors and second-hand accounts from friends; until he had begun to Change as well. Then there was only Daniel, who had his own ways of getting information.
He didn’t know who had first used the term Changeling. It was probably some reporter looking to punch up his story with a catchy word. But the term had stuck. Some children, not many, perhaps one in a hundred thousand was the figure he remembered hearing, began to change or mutate physically into something…else. And there was no consensus from doctors and scientists as to the cause. Perhaps it was because very few of the mutations were the same between children. The youngest children seemed to change the most, at least physically. Features such as eye color and skin tone changed first. Then the extremities were affected. Some ears became pointed. Fingers grew longer and slimmer or fused together, leaving the child with two or three fingers and a thumb. Toes did the same. Some of the children who were old enough to talk seemed to forget their native languages and started speaking in what people thought was gibberish, until researchers claimed that the sounds mimicked the patterns of normal speech, leading them to conclude that it was actually a language of some kind.
He recalled seeing several before and after pictures of a few of the Changelings and he had been shocked at the transformation. The kids had literally changed into different people, if they could even be called people anymore.
Another young voice spoke from behind him. He didn’t even bother to look this time.
“Why you wanna visit ruins, mister? No one is here no more. Just us and we don’t know ya.”
He hesitated a moment. How could he explain to children about saying goodbye to a city? He barely understood his own reasons for returning. But he had to answer. They might only be children but if they were Changelings, he was in danger. The changes they went through weren’t only physical. They had somehow developed powers, whether mental or spiritual or even magical no one knew, but the news reports spoke of people being hurt or killed by some of the Changelings.
He sighed. “I grew up in this town. After the Night of Burning, I decided to wait until it was safe to come back. I wanted to see what was left and…say goodbye to it.”
“You came from here?” the voice behind him sounded skeptical. “So how come you’re still alive, eh? All the adults got burned that night. Most of the kids died too.” There was a moment’s hesitation, then the boy said “Even our parents died. We’re all that’s left. And you lived? I think you’re lying to me, mister, that’s what I think.”
Simon answered quickly. “No, I’m not lying. I wasn’t in Ottawa that night.” He gestured at the ruins in front of him. “My friend, who used to live here, warned me to leave the city. He knew, somehow, that something bad was going to happen. So I left, a few weeks before the end. That’s why I’m still alive.”
There was silence again. He waited, knowing that the one behind him was thinking over his answer.
“How’d he know, huh?” the boy spoke again, his voice laced with suspicion. “Nobody knew. That’s why they all died. Everybody was sleeping. And then, boom! It happened. So how did this guy know?”
Simon shrugged. “I asked him the same thing. All I can tell you is what he told me. He said that a darkness was about to cover us, all of us on Earth. He said…” He thought about it, trying to remember Daniel’s words. “He said ‘You have to run, Simon. Now. You’ve been Changed for a reason and if you stay, that reason will never be realized.’ So I left. He had never told me anything that wasn’t true before and so I trusted him then as well. I’m glad I did.”