Dragonseed da-3

by James Maxey

  "I know," Jandra said, biting her nails once more.

  "Will you free me from my vow?"

  Jandra wrung her hands. "Do what you have to do," she said. "But he may not have the genie. He's probably hidden it somewhere. If you find him… it… it's possible that…"

  "I know how to bleed a dragon of his secrets," said Bitterwood.

  "I… I don't think Hex is evil," she said, her voice trembling. "He… he thinks he's doing the right thing. He thinks he's making the world a better place."

  Bitterwood looked toward the burning tower. "You'll sleep better after you give up that hope."

  Shay rose up onto his knees. "Jandra, if you have books inside you, I'll do everything in my power to bring you back your genie."

  "You have no power, boy," said Bitterwood. "Hex would eat you for supper."

  Shay wished his shotgun were nearby. It hadn't been by his side when he woke up. He would gladly demonstrate this power for Bitterwood.

  "I think we should go back to Jazz's underground kingdom," said Jandra.

  "Why?" asked Bitterwood.

  "Hex and I left in a hurry, since we wanted to get back to the Nest to help in the aftermath of Blasphet's atrocities. We didn't search her island. I might find another genie there."

  "You wouldn't survive the journey," said Bitterwood. "That kingdom was held together by her will. Now that the goddess is dead, many of the beasts she cared for will be hungry."

  "I can't believe they'd still be alive," said Jandra. "That whole ecosystem had to collapse once the artificial sunlight went out."

  "I won't go with you," said Bitterwood. "I rescued you as a favor for Zeeky; I don't plan to make a career of it."

  "So what will you do?"

  Bitterwood pulled an arrow from his quiver. "The goddess gave me this bow and quiver. The quiver constantly refreshes itself, growing new arrows. The arrows are living things, twigs straight and true, with leaves for fletching and a thorn for a head. This bow, which is strung with a braid of the goddess's own hair, is the most perfectly balanced weapon I've ever used. It, too, constantly renews itself. When the bowstring frays in the heat of usage, it reweaves moments later. I've scuffed the bark of the bow and watched it heal itself. I don't know how long this magic will last, now that she's dead."

  "It could last a long time," said Jandra. "Bio-nano is resilient stuff. As long as your quiver gets sunlight, it should function for years."

  "How do plants grow with no water?" Shay asked. "Or no soil, for that matter."

  "Orchids and other epiphytes don't need soil," said Jandra, "Bitterwood is probably supplying the quiver with all that it needs. The human body sheds moisture and nutrients, like dead skin cells. The quiver grabs those for fuel, I'm guessing. After you work for a while on the nano-scale, you get used to thinking of dust as a resource."

  "Perhaps," said Bitterwood. "But I'm used to thinking of dust as the fate of all men. My days on this earth are numbered. Watching this endlessly renewing quiver has brought many things to mind. I think I died in that cave above Big Lick. You brought me back, Jandra."

  "Oh," she said. "That. Your heart was only stopped for a minute or two. You were in a state of cardiac arrest, but you still had brain activity."

  "If I were in a similar state now, you couldn't save me," said Bitterwood.

  "Not without my powers, no," said Jandra.

  "You asked me why I didn't kill Chapelion. Why I didn't simply leap into the fray and take on fifty dragons at once. The truth is, despite the fact that you've restored me to full health, I'm growing old, Jandra. Zeeky has no relatives, save for her missing brother, Jeremiah. If I die, who will care for her?"

  "What are you saying, Bant?" asked Jandra.

  "I'm saying that I'm giving up my life as a dragon hunter." Bitterwood looked up toward the sky, at the few stray stars visible through the smoke that veiled the night. "If I stumble across Hex, I'll kill him, but I'm not hunting him. I'm going back to the mountains to search for Jeremiah. Once I've found him, I want to return to the life I once lived as a farmer. I'd like to raise Zeeky and the boy in an environment as close to peace and stability as an old fool like myself can provide."

  Jandra's jaw slackened. "You're retiring?" "I've killed more dragons than I can count. I've rid the world of Albekizan's family, save for Hex. There are no sun-dragons who legitimately claim the bloodline of the ancient kings. The sun-dragons are fracturing politically. They can fight among themselves for a while. Let Kanati and his rebels at Dragon Forge deal with the survivors."

  Shay felt his anger rise again. "I can't believe you won't go to help the rebels. You're famous throughout the kingdom as the greatest hope of humanity. Why turn your back on us now?"

  Bitterwood walked toward Shay, who was still on his knees. Shay turned his face as Bitterwood bowed down to his level. The old man's hot breath washed over him as he whispered, "Hope has never caused a single arrow to fly from my bowstring. Hate is the only cause I've fought for. Hate is like a fire in a man's belly, feeding him when all the food in the world cannot abate his hunger. I've lived with this hate for twenty years, boy. If a man's soul burns long enough, eventually nothing is left but ash. The fire fades once all the fuel is spent."

  Bitterwood had two voices. There were times when he was relaxed and spoke like any other man. But other times, in more poetic language, he spoke with a low tone cold as a winter wind. If the damned in hell could speak, they must surely possess voices like this.

  Shay blurted out, against his better judgment, "I don't know who these children are that you speak of raising, but I have pity for them."

  Bitterwood chuckled. "I'm not a fit father for a normal child," he admitted, sounding human once more. "Luckily, Zeeky doesn't require a father so much as a taller person to get things for her off shelves. She really doesn't even need that now that she has the long-wyrm."

  "Long-wyrm?" asked Shay. "I had a dream after you knocked me out. We were on the side of tower, riding on a copper-colored serpent with a hundred limbs as sky-dragons darted all around."

  "That wasn't a dream," said Jandra. "Long-wyrms only have twenty-eight legs, by the way. It just looks like more."

  "There weren't that many sky-dragons either," said Bitterwood. "I think my reputation may have kept the full aerial guard from turning out… or perhaps they were busy with the fire. I couldn't have shot more than twenty-three before the sky was empty."

  "But… were we sideways on the tower? Why didn't we fall?"

  "Hyperfriction," said Jandra.

  "What?"

  "Gravity isn't that hard a force to overcome. The Atlanteans know how to craft material with exotic properties, and the saddles are made of a type of plastic that exhibits something called hyperfriction. You could sit upside down on one and not fall off unless you struggled. It doesn't take much energy to break the hyperfriction's grip, but it's more than strong enough to resist gravity."

  "I don't understand anything you just said to me," said Shay.

  Jandra shrugged. "Sorry. Working with nanites, I'm used to dealing with surface tension and static. A sticky saddle is useful for a mount that can cling to a ceiling. I can see why Jazz invented it."

  "Then… if I didn't dream the long-wyrm, where is it? And where's Anza? And Lizard, for that matter?"

  "Skitter spooks the horses," said Bitterwood, "Zeeky took him down to the river. Anza went with her, and so did Lizard."

  Shay was surprised. "Lizard never lets himself get more than a few yards away from Jandra."

  "Zeeky has a way of winning over the loyalties of beasts," said Bitterwood.

  "Lizard isn't a beast," said Jandra. "He's a child. A dragon child, perhaps, but he's not an animal. Young dragons aren't that much different than young people."

  "You know nothing about earth-dragons," said Bitterwood. "They're far more animalistic than men. They're instinctually tuned to both respect and fear older, bigger dragons. They respond to being bossed around. Once they get bigger than the dra
gons who boss them, however, they're quick to test their position in the pecking order. You see a lot of earth-dragons with scars, missing claws, or tails bitten off at the end. They aren't earning these injuries in battle with humans. They inflict these wounds on each other in their constant need to test their position in the hierarchy. Once Lizard puts on another fifty pounds, don't be surprised if he tries to test his strength against you, probably when you least expect it. Even little, his beak is sharp enough to take off a finger if you're careless. Give him a year, and it might be your hand that winds up missing."

  "It doesn't have to be that way," said Jandra. "Lizard has a sweet nature. He's responding to my nurturing."

  "Believe what you want," said Bitterwood.

  Shay agreed with Bitterwood, but there was no way he was going to admit it. He leaned back against the barn wall and looked off toward the distant fire. Another large section of the tower crumbled. Long tongues of flame leapt up and licked the smoke above. Sparks swirled until they vanished in the darkness. In truth, there was something mystically beautiful about the sight. When Shay talked with other humans, he'd never been able to fully explain the magic of books, the sheer illumination and heat that came from crisp, lyrical prose revealing some hidden aspect of the world. Now, at last, here it was, revealed for all to see: the hidden energy of books released, a torch to vanquish the night.

  CHAPTER TEN:

  SCARECROWS

  ZEEKY SAT ON a boulder on the river bank as Anza slipped out of her buckskins. Anza's breath hung before her in clouds as she contemplated the deep, slow-moving water before her. Skitter had already slipped into those waters and was slithering about unseen beneath the surface, no doubt feasting on fat and drowsy catfish in the predawn stillness. Skitter was always a little nervous; the smell of smoke from the burning library, combined with the attack of the aerial guard, had left him especially high strung. A swim in the dark, ice-cold water was just the thing to calm him, Zeeky knew. No doubt, Anza had similar motivations. But where Skitter had slid right into the river without hesitation, Anza stood with her arms crossed over her breasts, looking as if she might be on the verge of changing her mind.

  "It's best just to jump right in," said Zeeky. "It won't be so bad once you've taken the plunge."

  Anza cocked her head and looked at her with challenging eyes, as if she was daring Zeeky to prove her assertion.

  "I'm not the one who wanted to swim," said Zeeky. "And I'm not the one who's standing here buck naked. Go on and get in the water before you corrupt my pig."

  Anza and Zeeky both looked at Poocher. Poocher was staring at Anza with something akin to a leer. Poocher was almost six months old, on the verge of pig puberty. His front teeth had recently begun to push from his mouth as tusks, giving him a somewhat threatening appearance even when he was perfectly content. Poocher was also starting to get really big; the sweet little runt that Zeeky could cradle in her arms was long gone. As a piglet, Poocher had been sweet, completely open to Zeeky's mothering. Now, Poocher was more standoffish. He was pushy and grabby with food, and could become sulky and sullen if denied something he wanted. Poocher had become more assertive around the time that he'd helped kill the goddess, charging her from behind and knocking her from her feet at a pivotal moment of the battle. Something had changed in the pig's self-image. He was no longer Zeeky's cuddly friend. He was now a young warrior boar with an attitude.

  Anza stepped to the edge of the flat stone and started to stick a toe in the water. She stopped, balanced above the dark surface. Her face hardened as if some voice in her head had suddenly won an internal argument. She crouched and sprang, shooting out over the water, her long black hair trailing behind her in a perfect arc. With her hands held like an arrow before her, she sliced into the river with barely a splash.

  For a moment, there was only the faint outline of her body moving beneath the surface. Her head burst back into the air as she sucked in a deep gasp. She bobbed in the water as her teeth chattered.

  "I'm curious," said Zeeky. "Why don't you ever talk?"

  Anza raised an eyebrow, as if she found this to be an absurd question.

  "When the goddess kidnapped me, she said she'd changed my brain before I was born. She said I was the harbinger of a new kind of human, able to communicate with almost all animals. Most people aren't aware of all the things around them that are talking. Dogs talk, pigs talk, birds talk. And people especially talk even when they aren't using words, even when they don't know they're talking."

  Anza sank lower in the water, hiding her lips beneath the surface. "I know more things than I tell Bitterwood," said Zeeky. "I'm the only one who can hear the whispers that come from my magic ball. The villagers inside tell me things; they don't always make sense. And half the time, they get stuff wrong. But knowing the future half the time ain't bad."

  Anza continued to stare. Beneath the surface, her arms traced serpentine paths as she gracefully held her balance.

  Zeeky looked around the riverbank, making certain they were alone. She reached into her bag and pulled out the heavy cotton towel she'd taken from the goddess's abode. She unwrapped it, revealing a sphere of flawless crystal, about the size of a large orange, with a faint rainbow flickering in its center. Gazing into its surface here in the darkness, she once again caught a glimpse of the tiny tornadoes that bubbled into existence around the rainbow then just as quickly vanished. Wormholes, Gabriel had called them. They were shaped like trumpets, tinier than gnats. The angel had explained it was through these trumpets that her relatives trapped in underspace could speak to her. She listened closely, tilting her head as she tried to pull words out of the constant ghostly murmuring.

  There was a soft splashing sound as Anza rose from the river and walked up the rocky shore. Zeeky tossed her a white cotton towel. Anza's skin had looked almost snowy beneath the water, but against the white of the towel it was brown as a pecan shell. Her lips were tinted blue as she drew closer to Zeeky. She stooped to study the crystal ball while she used the towel to dry her hair.

  "Listen," said Zeeky. "Do you hear them?"

  Anza leaned closer, holding her breath. A long moment passed before she let the air slide between her lips. She looked disappointed.

  "I thought you might hear them," said Zeeky. "Even though the goddess didn't change your brain, you've changed your brain yourself."

  Anza cast a quizzical gaze at Zeeky.

  "The villagers told me I would meet a girl with a stone in her throat. You can't make the same sounds most people can; you can whistle, make tongue clicks, and some other sounds, right? If you'd wanted to communicate by sound, you could."

  Anza pursed her lips, as if she wasn't ready to reveal her secrets.

  "You also found out at an early age that by not talking, you were better at listening. You hear and see things other people don't; you can smell and taste and feel things better too. I'm right, aren't I?"

  A hint of a smile flickered across Anza's lips. She lifted a finger and made a shushing motion.

  "Your secret's safe with me," said Zeeky. "But I was told something by the villagers before we left the cave. The stone is going to be taken out of your throat. You'll be able to talk normally if you want. Would you like that?"

  Anza narrowed her eyes and curled her lips downward, a look somewhere between disgust and skepticism.

  "'We shall all be healed,' they whispered," said Zeeky.

  Anza tilted her head.

  "I don't know exactly what it means either," said Zeeky. "I wanted to tell you before you leave us tonight."

  Anza's eyebrows rose again.

  "How did I know? According to my crystal ball, you're going to leave us to go recover the shotgun Vulpine stole."

  Anza nodded, looking impressed.

  "I wish I could tell you more," said Zeeky. "But the villagers say that talking about the future runs the risk of changing it."

  Before they could discuss the matter further, there was a rustling sound in the nearby forest. Anz
a leapt like a doe back to her clothes on the rock, the white towel fluttering in the air where she'd released it mid-leap. She had her buckskins up over her shoulders in the span of seconds, though they gaped in the front, unlaced all the way down to below her belly button. She grabbed her sword and spun to face the rustling leaves.

  Lizard scampered out from the woods. He skipped toward Zeeky, his fists full of fat white grubs. More grubs-or at least grub parts-spilled from his turtle-like beak as he chewed on his newly discovered treat.

  He squatted before Zeeky and held out his treasure. "Good eat, wise boss," he said.

  Zeeky shook her head and pointed toward Poocher. "I'm vegetarian. Fat boss would enjoy them, though."

  Poocher grunted happily at the offering. He gave a snort as he rose and waddled over. Lizard looked at Poocher with an expression that conveyed awe-and also hunger. As Poocher's skillful lips and tongue snatched the grubs one by one, Lizard chewed his own grubs more slowly. Zeeky knew what Lizard was thinking. It was almost cute that the little green turtle-monkey was seriously weighing his odds of making a meal out of Poocher. Almost.

  "Don't even think about it," said Zeeky. "Poocher knocked a goddess onto her butt in the last fight he was in. You wouldn't stand a chance."

  Poocher sneered at the little dragon.

  "And don't you go getting too cocky, Poocher," said Zeeky. "Bitterwood says we're retiring after we find Jeremiah. Your fighting days are almost over."

  Poocher narrowed his eyes and snorted.

  "Yeah, you're scary," said Zeeky, scratching the pig's bristly neck.

  THEY FLEW THROUGH the night. Vulpine led the way, with Sagen and a squadron of fifty Aerial Guards at his back. Vulpine kept a pace that no doubt tested many of the guards, though most were a third his age. He wished he could fly even faster. A blockade should have been in place within hours after the rebels took the fort. Come the dawn, this strategic error would be rectified.

  They were roughly forty miles from Dragon Forge. They'd veered south slightly to follow the river that flowed past the town. Sagen increased his speed and drew beside Vulpine. Vulpine admired Sagen's power as his son's finely chiseled muscles pumped in his breasts and shoulders to overtake him. Truly, the Matriarch had chosen well in pairing him with a valkyrie a quarter century earlier. Sagen was a fine specimen; if his intelligence was equal to his physique, the future success of the sky-dragon race was assured.