Treasurekeeper
Page 20
Jonathan, who’s on his feet and at the other side of the boat immediately, spits some blood from his mouth. “You’re going to regret that,” he hisses.
“I doubt it.”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
“Oh, I think I know exactly what you’re capable of.”
“What is wrong with the two of you?” When I finally find my voice, it sounds high and a bit hysterical. I wave a finger at Gunn. “Have you lost your mind? Why would you even do that?” When he doesn’t say anything, his face like a stranger’s, I turn to Jonathan. “And you! What was all that even about?”
“Some people can’t handle hearing the truth,” Jonathan sneers.
“You know nothing about me.”
A short, mocking laugh. “I’m a Pendragon okay? I understand illusion better than anyone in the world, and I know when—–”
“Your magic is broken! Sick and corrupted. You know nothing.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’m the corrupted one here.”
Gunn moves so fast that I literally don’t see what happens next. All I know is that the one moment he’s sitting opposite me and the next he’s got Jonathan by the throat at the other side of the boat and he’s punching him in the face, elbow raised high in the air before his fist smashes down with a sick thud.
“Gunn!” I scream, running towards them. “Stop!”
But there’s nothing I can do except get out of the way and try not to fall overboard, because Jonathan has somehow gotten loose from Gunn’s grip and they’re rolling on the floor, fighting with the snarling, focused intensity of alley cats.
Now, Gunn has taught me self-defense for years, so I’ve always known he can handle himself. But this is different: he’s lashing out like a man possessed by demons, and despite Jonathan’s lightning-fast reflexes—–so fast I can’t even follow all the moves he makes—–it soon becomes clear that he’s being overwhelmed by Gunn’s sheer viciousness. There are low, guttural cries and desperate lunges and the crunching sound of bone against flesh. And then, somehow, Gunn has Jonathan on his back and he’s slamming his fist into Jonathan’s solar plexus and then, once the poor guy is breathless and gasping, grabbing him by the hair and smashing his head against the floor over and—–
My magic comes to me without any summoning.
The one moment I’m yelling at them like a hysterical girl and the next I’m addressing them in my dragonvoice, fiery and calm and so full of authority that they both freeze immediately.
“STOP.”
They stare at me, their faces still contorted by anger but their bodies now completely motionless.
“GET UP. STEP AWAY FROM EACH OTHER.”
“Okay, Jess. That’s enough,” Zig says quietly.
But I cannot let go of my magic quite yet, for even as the two men helplessly follow my orders, I see that they’re both burning so brightly with the pale-yellow flames of pure aggression that no other color can even be glimpsed.
It is only the power of my firemagic that contains them now. As soon as I release them from the hold of my magic, they will attack each other again. Of that I have no doubt whatsoever.
“THIS BEHAVIOUR IS AN INSULT TO MY PRESENCE. YOU SHALL NOT RAISE A HAND AGAINST EACH OTHER AGAIN.”
They bow their heads, stricken by the purity and beauty of my true voice, the aggression draining from them as my power fills their souls.
After all, what mere mortal man can withstand the righteous authority of a firedragon?
“Jess. Turn back now. You’re going too deep.” Once again, it’s the slayer who addresses me, his voice calm and respectful but completely without fear.
“You dare give me a direct order?” I ask, perplexed by his words. “Do you not fear my wrath, young slayer?”
He makes a curious sighing sound, closer to exasperation than terror. “Right. Guess that ship has sailed.”
“You speak in riddles. Explain yourself immediately.”
The slayer makes that curious sighing sound again as he steps closer slowly, his manner relaxed and fearless, yet carefully deferential.
As it should be.
“Jess. Listen to me. I know you’re in there somewhere. I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder now, okay? I’ll do it very gently, and you can move away at any time.”
“Don’t you dare touch her!” Immediately the spiritfire of my keeper’s grand-nephew blazes with such blinding yellow aggression that I turn my back on him, uninterested in anything he can say to me now. Men cannot think when consumed by so much raw anger; he is of no use to me in this state.
Instead I turn back to the slayer, confused by his outrageous request. “Why would I allow you such unthinkable liberties? You ask the impossible, and yet you seem remarkably confident. Do we have an agreement which I cannot recall, trapped as I am in this limited form?”
“Yes. We do have an agreement. Of a kind.” He reaches out a careful hand towards me. “You want me to do this, I promise.”
The slayer’s spiritfire is as beautiful as I’ve ever seen: a breathtakingly brilliant metallic gold, completely untainted by any baser color.
There is no subterfuge here.
I nod my head once, allowing this extraordinary request. And then he puts one hand on my shoulder and
I am Jess.
“Holy crap,” I say slowly as I take in the boat, the forest around me, the two bloodied men, Zig’s hand on my shoulder. “How bad was it?”
“You were only gone for a minute or so,” Zig says. “It should be fine.”
“Are you kidding?” Jonathan cries. “She was shining so bright every keeper in the world must’ve felt it!”
“Maybe. But nobody will be able to locate the exact source of the power within such a short amount of time. At most they’ll be able to trace it to within a couple hundred miles from here. And everyone knows she’s in the rainforest anyway.”
“What the hell, Jess!” Jonathan's tongue sounds thick in his bloodied face. “You promised you wouldn’t draw on your power, and the very first chance you get, you light up like a fucking nuclear reactor.”
“So now it’s my fault? What was I supposed to do, sit by quietly while you two beat the crap out of each other?”
“Yes! There was no need to interfere. You said—–”
“I said I wouldn’t use my magic to fight the Skykeepers, and I only said it because I thought I could trust you guys to handle it. But honestly, after seeing that sorry little display, I wouldn’t trust the two of you to tie your own shoelaces!”
Gunn fixes his gaze on Zig’s hand resting on my shoulder. “You clearly trust him though.”
“And what if I do? Do you know how much it means to me, knowing there’s a way to control my magic? Maybe I’d have trusted you more if you ever got around to mentioning that it’s possible!”
He exhales sharply. “It was a difficult call, Jess. We thought you were dealing with enough: that if we told you the shine was yours to control, and you couldn’t control it, you’d have blamed yourself if people got hurt. At the time you were barely hanging on. You couldn’t have handled that burden as well.”
“I am so sick of you deciding for me what I can or can’t handle! Open your eyes, Gunn! You’re the one who’s struggling to handle the situation, not me.”
I expect him to argue but he just stares at me for a few seconds, grinding his jaw, before releasing another harsh, pent-up breath. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right. I’m sorry.”
The moment I recognize the man I’ve known half my life, I sag with relief. “Freaking hell, Gunn. What was that?”
He wipes some blood from a jagged cut on his cheekbone as he steps away from Jonathan, still watching him from the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry. I lost my temper.”
“But… You never lose your temper.”
He opens his mouth to say something before changing his mind mid-breath. In the end he shakes his head. “You don’t understand. These men are not your friends.”
&n
bsp; “I know, okay? But right at this moment they’re not my enemies either.”
“That’s exactly where you’re wrong.”
Jonathan interrupts before he can say anything else. “You have crossed a line today, keeper,” he hisses, his face a red, raw mess. Even from here I can see that his nose has still not stopped bleeding—–I’m pretty sure it’s broken—–and his one eye is completely bloody and half-way shut. “And I swear to God, you will live to regret—–”
“Shut up.” Zig’s voice is like a cold, hard slap. “For once in your life, just shut your mouth.”
“How dare you—–”
“You created this situation and you know it. So don’t make it any worse for yourself than it already is.”
“He’s the one who started it. And if he thinks—–”
“You’ve never been the brightest of the Pendragons,” Zig interrupts again, calmly, “but even you can do better than this. Think. There is only one dragon left on this world, and she has but two keepers, one of which just beat the shit out of you. Do you really want to antagonize him any further?”
“He’s not a proper Dragonkeeper! I can smell it on him.”
“Shut up and think. Do you want to have this conversation now? While we’re rushing across continents with Waymond’s ward, who also just happens to be the only person on earth who can help save your mother and sister? Why, in the name of all that is rational and reasonable, would you want to make an enemy of Waymond now, when he’s the only thing standing between you and certain disaster?”
“It’s not his help I need. It’s hers.”
“One does not deal with the dragon. One deals with the Dragonkeeper.”
“She’s different.”
“Don’t kid yourself. It’s the Waymonds who are different.”
“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” Gunn tells Zig, grinding out the words between gritted teeth. “I can handle him on my own.”
“I’m not looking out for you,” Zig says. “I’m looking out for her.” His eyes flick to my stunned face, then back to Gunn’s. “It might have escaped your notice, but a few moments ago your childish behavior almost pushed her so deep into her shine that she might not have been able to get back without my help.” He gives a pointed look at the hand still resting on my shoulder.
“So what does that make you? A fucking hero? Do you think I don’t realize what you’re doing?”
“You need to sort out your shit and you need to do it soon.”
“I’m sure as hell not taking advice from you.”
“We’re stuck in this together, whether you like it or not.”
“Like hell we are.” Gunn clenches his fists again, his dark blue eyes blazing with a murderous rage I’ve never thought him capable of. “You’re playing your little game and he’s playing his. You’re both taking advantage of her innocence and her ignorance, and I’ll be damned if I let you get away with it.”
“Really?” Zig says coldly. “I’m the one taking advantage of her innocence and her ignorance? You sure about that?”
“Yes.” Gunn leans over until his face is mere inches from Zig’s, every muscle in his body tensed. “So take your hands off her. Now.”
“I’ll do it when she’s ready.”
“You’ll do it now.”
Zig doesn’t move his hand but he does lean back a bit, his carefully relaxed, almost lazy pose fooling exactly no one. “My grandfather fought alongside your grandmother, years ago, in the final battle against the White Witch. He told me that he’d never met a braver woman, or one more deadly, and that the last keepers of the Black Clan are to be respected by my family.”
“My grandmother died after that fight.”
“Yes.” He glances at me. “And so did hers. But it wasn’t the sword of a slayer who killed that dragon; it was the stench of deathmagic. I think you tend to forget that at times.”
“Take. Your hands. Off her.”
In contrast to the lazy calm of Zig’s lean frame, Gunn’s huge body is just about vibrating with suppressed anger: his shoulders are tensed, his fists balled, his jaw locked, his eyes burning.
There’s clearly no getting through to him right now, and Zig must realize it too, because he gives a little sigh before he turns to me. “You ready?”
“I think so.” But then I catch a look at Jonathan’s bruised and bleeding face. His right eye, especially, looks terrible, as if he’s been in a car crash rather than a brawl. “Only, maybe I should quickly heal Jonathan first? I’m worried about his eye.”
For the first time in my life I look to Zig rather than Gunn for advice.
“You’re right,” Zig says. “It looks bad. But make sure to use as little magic as possible. You know you can’t rest.”
“Don’t do this, Jess.” Gunn’s voice is taught with emotion.
“I’m just cleaning up your mess,” I snap, before closing my eyes and drawing my earthmagic to me.
The healing takes a couple of seconds. The organism isn’t damaged, the stream of life unaffected. All that is needed is to speed up the natural process of a healthy body repairing itself.
When I’m finished, I look at Zig. “It is done.”
“Aren’t you going to heal that too?” He nods at the scratch on Gunn’s cheek.
“No.” I’m so angry at Gunn that I can’t even bring myself to look at him.
“Are you ready for me to let go?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”
When he lifts his hand there’s a slight sensation of freedom and gladness, as if a butterfly has been released from a cage. But that’s all.
“Thanks, Zig,” I say. “I’m really grateful for what you did.”
He nods once, not quite meeting my eyes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have said he looks a bit shy.
But then his face hardens, and just like that the old Zig is back. “I’m a patient man,” he tells Gunn, “but you need to get a hold of yourself, and soon. This kind of behavior is beneath you and everything your family stands for.”
“I won’t be judged by you.”
“If you can’t control yourself, you need to get away from her while you still can. That’s all I have to say on this subject.”
And then there’s more glaring and a silence so tense that I feel a headache coming on within minutes.
Chapter 20
Howl ye, for those who have harbored the Horror shall be brought to ruin. Their houses shall become heaps of stones, the bodies of their children shall be dashed to pieces, the earth shall open its mouth to swallow them, and owls will hunt in the places they once dwelled.
The Old Words: Verse 9:11-14
We arrive hours too late.
It’s clear that something’s gone badly wrong the moment we get to the Pendragon compound: the guardhouse is deserted, the gate is open, there’s not an armored vehicle in sight, even the electric fence seems to be down. All of which is pretty ominous, but not half as ominous as the fact that something just smells wrong. And I don’t mean this in a metaphorical way either.
“What’s that smell?” I ask as we drive up the long driveway towards the house.
Jonathan, who’s sitting next to me in the backseat, gives no indication that he’s heard me. He’s so pumped up and ready for action that he’s shivering slightly, tapping his thumbs against his knees and unconsciously humming to himself, a low, tuneless sound of distress.
“What smell?” Gunn asks, distracted, his eyes on the road and his hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel.
“That smell,” I say, wrinkling up my nose in disgust.
“I don’t smell anything.”
I’m about to question Gunn’s faculties when I catch Zig’s eye in the rearview mirror. He shakes his head quickly, his eyes darting in Jonathan’s direction, a clear warning on his face.
Okay. This is bad.
The fear rises up in my throat.
As we walk past the black marble fountain where a great stone dragon is still endlessly spewing a stream of water, our footsteps crunch loudly on the gravel. The sound echoes in the thick silence around us. And then we all freeze.
The front door is standing wide open.
When Jonathan rushes ahead into the darkly paneled entrance hall, nobody tries to stop him. None of us believe that this is an ambush.
Inside the house, that awful smell is even more overpowering.
I move closer to Zig. “Can you smell it too?”
His voice is low, his eyes scanning every inch of the place. “Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Death.”
And with that he runs ahead, disappearing behind Jonathan into the depths of the mansion.
We find Jonathan’s grandfather in the room with the buffalo head and the huge fireplace where I almost burned Jack Pendragon alive a few months ago.
This time there’s no fire in the grate. The room is dark and cool and empty, apart from the lonely figure of Jonathan’s grandfather who’s sitting hunched over in a big armchair, staring off into nothing.
“What happened?” The dread in Jonathan’s voice mirrors my own.
George Pendragon’s eyes flick towards his grandson before he continues his vacant staring. He doesn’t say a word.
“Tell me!”
Silence.
Jonathan grabs his grandfather by the shoulder. “What happened?”
“It’s over.”
“What? What’s over?”
“Everything.”
The old man’s eerie calm only makes Jonathan more frantic. “Talk to me!” he cries, shaking his grandfather. But the only response from the old man is a coughing fit, a ragged, guttural sound that leaves him breathless and wheezing and unable to say a word.
“Well. Isn’t this a surprise.”
That clipped, cool voice can only belong to Ingrid.