Witchbreaker (Dragon Apocalypse)

by James Maxey

  Zetetic sighed and poured himself a glass of wine. “Some other time I’ll puzzle out what the hell it is you’re trying to say to me. Right now, I’ve got too much of a headache to focus on your riddles.” He took a long drink, emptying his glass, then poured himself another.

  “What’s your second theory?” asked Sorrow.

  “About what?”

  “The painting. How you got into it.”

  “Oh. Right. My second guess is that I’m a lunatic.” He downed the second glass of wine. “Do you know that a few weeks ago I walked into the interior of the sun and talked to the ghost who lives inside?” He ran his finger along the rim of the now-empty glass. “I’ve a dragon for a houseguest. I’ve danced across stone stripped of all truths to stare into the eyes of dead gods and witness the end of the world.” He let out a long sigh. “Now I’m drinking wine that I’ve lied into existence. Does any of this sound sensible?”

  “I can think of few situations where drinking wine isn’t exquisitely sensible,” said Equity, raising a glass.

  “True. But what if my sanity is so far gone that everything and everyone I experience are merely figments of my imagination? I can’t devise any possible test that could determine what’s real and what isn’t.” He threw his glass against the wall, where it shattered into shards. “Did that just break? Did I dream it broke? Was there a glass at all? Perhaps if I clapped my hands forcefully enough, I’d wake myself. Everyone here would vanish, fading as my true life returned.”

  Sorrow inhaled sharply as Zetetic swung his hands toward one another. With his palms an inch apart, he snapped to a halt. He sat for several seconds, staring at his barely separated fingers. At last, he lowered his arms, and everyone let out their breath.

  He grabbed an apple from a nearby bowl. “Now would be a poor time to test my theory. I detest dining alone.”

  “If you’re done scaring us,” said Bigsby, “what about Slate?”

  “What about him?”

  “You said you thought you might go back in time to wind up in the painting. Why’s Slate in it?”

  “Oh.” Zetetic chewed his apple thoughtfully. “I suppose he could also travel through time with me, and become Lord Stark Tower. Or perhaps he’s the original Tower, and has somehow managed to sleep all the way into our time.”

  “Why don’t I have any of Tower’s memories?” asked Slate.

  Zetetic shrugged. “Perhaps you aren’t him after all. Avaris was a master bone-weaver. If she ever got so much as a hair from the true Tower, she could have grown an exact duplicate.”

  “How can I discover the truth?” Slate asked.

  Zetetic shrugged. “Today I carved equations into my bare flesh with the thorn of a screaming cactus while sipping wormwood steeped in dragon’s urine. It tasted like doubt and despair, but I swallowed every drop so that I might glimpse one hair-thin aspect of truth.”

  Brokenwing narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been collecting the contents of my chamber pot?”

  Zetetic waved away his query. “Anyway, Slate, I’m sure Walker would be happy to ply you with various pharmaceuticals that would lift you above the confines of ordinary life in order to look down and see the larger patterns. Or if you want to know what Avaris has done, you could stop bothering me and just go ask her.”

  “That’s easier said than done,” said Sorrow. “I’ve been searching for her for years. The letter that brought me here says she retreated to an eastern island, but beyond this I know nothing of where she might be, or if she’s even alive.”

  “Of course she’s still alive,” said Zetetic. “At least, she was alive three years ago. I studied a full month in her walking castle.”

  “You know her?” Sorrow asked.

  “In every sense of the word,” said Zetetic. “She required I make love to her three times every night between the span of two full moons.” He eyed Slate. “I recommend a diet high in protein before you seek her out. You look like just her type.”

  Sorrow slowly lowered her fork to her plate.

  Equity studied her face and said, “You look absolutely mortified.”

  “Avaris was a great champion of women. I can’t believe she’d trade knowledge for sex.”

  “Sexual energy is a vital component of bone-weaving,” said Zetetic. “Without capturing procreative energies to animate her creations, Avaris would just be sewing meat together.”

  Sorrow felt the blood drain from her face. “I suppose I won’t be learning bone-weaving.”

  “Why not, dear?” asked Vigor.

  “I learned the truth of what lies in the hearts of men when I watched my father hang my grandmother. I’ve never felt the slightest inkling of physical desire for a man.”

  Equity nodded. “I have my own father-issues. But you needn’t turn to men for sexual energy. You have other options.”

  Sorrow crossed her arms. “This discussion is pointless. At the moment, I don’t even have genitals.”

  “Not human genitals,” said Vigor. “But reptiles aren’t lacking in reproductive organs. I can train you on their function.”

  Sorrow grimaced, feeling an urgent need to change the subject.

  “How would we find this walking castle?”

  “It’s on Podredumbre, but you can’t find it,” said Zetetic. “It finds you. Luckily, once you know that the castle feeds on souls, it’s not difficult to trick it into appearing. I murdered an old woman from a village on the edge of the swamp to summon it.”

  “That’s reprehensible!” said Sorrow.

  “She wasn’t long for this world,” Zetetic said. “She was too weak even to scream when I stole her from her bed.”

  Sorrow stared at him, her jaw slack.

  “Human sacrifice seems a bit extreme,” said Brand. “Is there no other way?”

  “There is a way that doesn’t require you to harm another,” said Walker. “If you’re bold enough to risk it.”

  “I’ve my failings, but a lack of boldness isn’t among them,” said Brand.

  Bigsby looked puzzled. “Why do you care if Sorrow finds Avaris? Shouldn’t we be more focused on clearing our names?”

  Brand shrugged. “When we sailed into the Silver City, I thought I was about to be trapped in a life I didn’t truly desire. I’ve learned to enjoy my time as an adventurer. Hunting for an ancient witch seems like a more entertaining goal than waging a war with our-step mother over who is going to oversee the manufacturing of barrels.”

  “I admire that you understand your priorities.” Walker chuckled as he stared into the young man’s eyes. “I shall meet you all on Podredumbre. Who am I to stand in the way of your goals?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MAMA KNUCKLE

  PORT HALLELUJAH WAS much as Sorrow remembered it. She’d been fifteen when she came here, a young witch hungry for knowledge, impatient for power. The bay was surrounded by rolling hills where white brick houses with red tile roofs stood atop one another in a chaotic jumble. It was evening, and the tropical air was thick with the haze of a thousand lit stoves as the town prepared dinner. The wind smelled like charcoal, bringing with it the sweet scent of plantains roasting and the savory aroma of oysters cooked in their shells.

  The Isle of Podredumbre had been conquered by the Brightmoons two centuries ago. Everywhere she looked, Sorrow saw the spires marking places of worship for the Church of the Book. In the Silver City, grand cathedrals could welcome tens of thousands of worshippers under a single roof. Here, two hundred years of colonization hadn’t quashed the lingering tribalism of the populace; you couldn’t gather a hundred people under a roof without at least some of the members attempting to kill each other over ancient grudges. Thus the hundreds of smaller chapels, each offering services to a few families.

  “We’ve got company,” Sage announced as a launch approached the Circus.

  “Tax collectors,” Gale explained. “They’ll make a show of searching our ship, then slap a tax on our cargo.

  “We don’t really have cargo,
” said Brand.

  “That won’t matter. They’ll inform us there’s a tax on the wasted space in our hold, or fine us for having excess barnacles on the hull. No ship escapes free of charge.”

  “Should we be nervous that these are representatives of the king?” asked Brand. “There’s been time for word to spread to be on the look out for us.”

  Gale shook her head. “The main law here is the law of the greased palm. After we make a show of protest over their fees, we’ll slip the inspectors a few moons and a bottle of rum and they’ll be on their way. There’s an art to these things.”

  Sorrow interrupted their conversation and said, “While I’m certain that bribes can handle this situation, before they board I’m going to slip off the ship. I’ve got an old friend to visit.”

  “You have a friend?” Brand asked. He winced as soon as he said it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so surprised.”

  Sorrow ignored the slight. “After you buy provisions, leave the city along the western road. When you arrive in the village of Two Mile Ditch, ask for Mama Knuckle. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

  “Got it,” said Brand.

  By now, the inspectors had pulled alongside the Circus. Sorrow slipped over the other rail, which was on the shadowed side. She’d not gone swimming yet with her new body, but instinct kicked in once she hit the water. Even weighted down with her glass armor, her powerful tail had no difficulty propelling her across the calm bay. The setting sun painted the ripples spreading out from her in colors of flame. If anyone spotted her monstrous body swimming toward the river that fed the bay, they failed to call out an alarm. By the time it was dark, she was well up river and able to slither out of open water into a long, marshy field of reeds.

  Even though the moon was only a sliver, she had little problem finding her way among the canals that cut the landscape into a neat patchwork. In most farmlands, the canals would be for irrigation, bringing water to parched crops, but in Podredumbre, the canals were used to drain water from old swamps, leaving behind spongy black soil. Most of the cotton traded in the Shining Lands came from these fertile fields, and other parts of the island were famous for rice. All dry land was officially the property of King Brightmoon, meaning the workers here were trapped in permanent poverty, eternal squatters living on shacks build atop stilts in marshes and other marginal lands unfit for producing profit. The king made a show of generosity, keeping any able-bodied person who wanted work busy on the farms or working to reclaim new lands. He paid just enough to avoid the abject misery that might stir his subjects to rebellion, but not enough for them to have excess money they might save to escape to a better life.

  It was well past midnight when she slithered into Two Mile Ditch. The landscape seemed unchanged from a decade ago. A few shacks lined the western road, next to the ferry that crossed the eponymous ditch, nearly two hundred feet across. She followed the ditch toward the oaks in the distance. Such old, tall trees were actually a rarity in Podredumbre, outside the most treacherous depths of the swamps. Most trees that could easily be reached had been felled to provide firewood and building materials. But thickets stood here and there, protected by various quirks of geography, fate, and luck. This particular patch of trees was lucky enough to be home to Mama Knuckle. No one who knew that name would ever touch the timber.

  Sorrow squinted as she looked into the shadows of the gnarled old oaks. There were corpses sitting against the tree trunks, their arms limp by their sides, their crow-picked eyes turned in her direction. Sorrow bowed and said, “Uncles, I’m grateful you watch over this weary traveler. Do not rise from your rest; I’m a friend.”

  The corpses said nothing.

  Sorrow slipped past unmolested, which was a much less interesting arrival than her first visit here, when she’d barely escaped the clutches of Mama Knuckle’s guardians.

  Though it was late at night, there was a soft glow from the window of the shack sheltered by the trees. Mama Knuckle kept nocturnal hours, working throughout the night, sleeping through the day.

  Sorrow slithered up to the house, preparing to knock, but the door swung open on her approach. She crouched to slip through the doorframe.

  “Come in, girl. As much of you as will fit, anyway.” Mama Knuckle stood in front of a wood stove, stirring a large black pot. A monkey skull bobbed in the bubbling broth, which Mama pushed under with a heavy wooden spoon.

  She wiped her hands on her cotton apron and turned to Sorrow. Her dress looked out of place amid the spooky hut, with its furniture all formed of twisted wood and wired bones. The fabric was a pattern of bright red flowers against a field of blue, slightly threadbare, but clean and well mended. Mama had lost much of her hair in the last decade. Only a few threads of pure white lay across her leathery scalp. Her eyes, failing when Sorrow had trained here, were now twin white moons. Though the cataracts had certainly robbed her of all ordinary sight, she smiled and said, “I never thought I’d be so happy to have Sorrow cross my doorstep.”

  “Did you know I was coming?” Sorrow asked.

  “Girl, you’re crawling around on Rott’s own tail. Ghosts are gonna talk.” Mama’s dead eyes scanned the length of Sorrow’s body. “I wasn’t sure I believed ’em. The dead get a little stupid after their brains fall out. But it’s true. You’ve got two souls inside you now. You’re half-dragon. It’s what you always wanted, I guess.”

  Sorrow shook her head. “I never wanted this.”

  Mama smiled faintly. “The day you first came here, girl, you were all about power, power, power. You were gonna overthrow kings and topple churches. If you’re only goal is to make things fall down, it’s only natural that you partnered with Rott.”

  “I don’t consider this a partnership,” said Sorrow. “I consider it an unpleasant side-effect. I was hoping you might know how to reverse it.”

  “Have you considered taking that sliver of Rott’s tooth out of your brain? I’ve got a good salve you can put on afterward. Armadillo fat. Seals up any wound.”

  “If I remove the nail, I lose the power,” said Sorrow. “There’s no guarantee my body will return to normal.”

  “No, but you won’t lose any more of your human bits, that’s for sure.”

  “Those I have lost will have been lost in vain. I’ll be no closer to saving the rest of you from the systems that oppress you.”

  Mama Knuckle shook her head as she placed a lid on the pot. “Girl, I’d hoped you’d outgrow such talk by now.” She took a cane from beside the stove and used it to steady herself as she crossed the small room to a rickety rocking chair. The chair creaked as she lowered her bony frame into it. “It’s natural to be angry at the world when you’re young. Anger’s just part of the blood then. But it should have boiled out of you by now.”

  “How can you not be angry? You live in a country where a foreign king has stolen your land and reduced your kin to little more than slaves. A church that no one truly believes in imposes its tithes and forces women into lives of subservience.”

  Mama Knuckle shook her head. “Girl, ain’t no church did that to women.”

  “I’ve seen how free women are among the Wanderers. They’re treated as equals, not house servants.”

  “Wanderers are different,” said Mama. “The men and women are stuck together on the same ship along with their kids. It’s easy to divide up the duties. But in the rest of the world, the men labor outside the house all day, or are sent to the ends of the earth as soldiers. Women stay at home to raise the children not because they’re oppressed, but because they’re the only ones who can be trusted to do it right.”

  “There’s no reason it has to be this way.”

  “Once you carry a baby around inside you for nine months, you see things different. That child is your flesh and your future. It’s no burden to dedicate yourself to being a mother.”

  “But—”

  “It’s nature girl. Haven’t you opened your eyes a single day in this world? It’s not a human invention that
mothers care for their children. The lion, the eagle, the alligator... the females take care of the babies. It’s the great wheel of life, girl. I’m sad for you that you haven’t decided to ride it.”

  “This conversation isn’t going at all like I expected,” Sorrow said, crossing her arms.

  “I suppose not,” said Mama. “Sorry to be scolding you. I just thought you’d learn your lesson after all these years.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me these things when I was here the first time?”

  “I did, girl. Every day! But you only hear the things you want to hear.”

  Sorrow shook her head. “I didn’t know you thought so little of me. Am I truly such an awful person?”

  Mama sighed. “Oh, child, you ain’t so bad. You’re just a little turned around. Your father got you all twisted up long before I got hold of you. You went out into the world thinking you knew something about the truth, and you did. You did. But there’s more than one truth, girl. And if you don’t understand that, then the one truth you do know will turn into a lie.”

  “My one truth is that my father and the system he represents are wicked,” said Sorrow. “Is this a lie? Is it?”

  “Not always.”

  “I thought you of all people would understand.”

  Mama nodded. “I do understand. The world could be a better place. Maybe you can make it so.”

  “I have to try.”

  “You didn’t come here to see me. To the island, I mean.”

  “Avaris is here. Somewhere in the swamps. Why didn’t you tell me? You knew ten years ago I wanted to find her.”

  “Avaris is dangerous, child. She’s got bad things in her heart. Hate and bitterness and pride, poisons of the soul.”

  “She has reasons to be bitter,” said Sorrow. “She was once a queen. She was beloved by thousands of women. The church killed almost everyone who was loyal to her, because they couldn’t stand the thought that there was someone offering a better way of life.”

  “She was a queen, yes. But she ruled by fear. Maybe she started with good in her heart, but she made pacts with terrible powers that turned her spiteful and cruel.”