by J E Feldman
I turn the blade over in my hands, examining it. “The iron blade that killed my mother,” I say in amazement. “I recognise it from the visions.”
Malanima smiles viciously, playful mischief and murder in her eyes. “I retrieved it the day your mother died,” she says. “I thought there may come day when you might want to see it buried hilt deep in your father’s back.”
I glance up, a wicked smile upon my own face. I throw my arms around her and embrace her tightly in gratitude. “Thank you,” I say. “For this, and for saving me that day. I will make you proud, I promise.”
On that note, clutching the instrument of my revenge, I swim away into the welcoming dark, triumphant; smiling to myself as I hear Malanima whisper from her abode.
“I know you will, my little mermaid,” she says. “I have foreseen it.”
Vonnie Winslow Crist
Biography
Vonnie Winslow Crist is author of The Enchanted Dagger, Owl Light, The Greener Forest, and other award-winning books. Her fiction is published in "Amazing Stories," "Cast of Wonders," Killing It Softly 2, Dragon's Lure, Potter's Field 4 & 5, The Great Tome of Dragons and Draconic Lore, Best Indie Speculative Fiction: 2018, and elsewhere. A cloverhand who has found so many four-leafed clovers that she keeps them in jars, Vonnie strives to celebrate the power of myth in her writing. For more information, visit her website at http://www.vonniewinslowcrist.com
What Lies Below
Vonnie Winslow Crist
To view the town beneath the man-made lake, Amber was willing to hike alone if need be. But wandering deep into the woods around Loch Raven Reservoir, especially during the day in the middle of the week, seemed an unsafe thing for a single woman to do—so she asked a friend to come with her. As long as he could fish for a while, she knew Vernon Dotson would agree to keep her company and help her locate the underwater town of Warren.
After Vern parked his beat up sedan alongside Warren Road, Amber and he pulled out their knapsacks. Vern grabbed his fishing gear and a small cooler too before they entered the forest at the Warren Road Bridge Trail Head.
“Beautiful day,” commented Vern as he navigated the path ahead of Amber. “But it looks like there haven't been many hikers on this trail since hunting season.”
“Makes sense,” she replied. “On this side of the reservoir, the map marks the lands: Hunting. On the other side, it says: Safe. I expect most hikers choose the trails to the east of Loch Raven. But it's not hunting season, so we are probably safe from being mistaken for deer.”
On cue, a doe and two fawns bolted across the path in front of them in a whirl of last autumn's leaves. Without so much as a glance in their direction, the graceful trio dashed down the hill toward the lake.
“I didn't even see them until they moved,” said Vern as he took off his baseball cap, wiping his forehead before securing it back on his head. “Makes you wonder what else is watching us.”
“We probably don't want to know.” Then, unable to resist a chance to tease her co-worker, she added, “Maybe wood elves? Or trolls?”
Vern rolled his eyes, before continuing along the path again.
While her companion trudged in front of her, Amber noticed the late spring woods around them. Wide awake now, the forest was teeming with life—mosses had greened, fiddle-heads had unfurled into fern fronds, tree branches were filled out with new leaves, mushrooms had sprouted in the rich soil, and insects scurried across debris. The sunlight streaming through the canopy highlighted spider webs strung from saplings to tree trunks to sticker bushes. It also revealed the clouds of insects buzzing nearby.
Vern slapped the back of his neck. “Gnats, mosquitoes, and other biting bugs are out today,” he observed. “We should have put on some insecticide.”
“I did,” answered Amber. Though she did not mention it was an all-natural, herbal bug-repellent. Friend or not, Vern was sure to snicker at her attention to not harming nature.
“Nice. So only one of us will be a smorgasbord for biters,” Vern said as he swatted the air in front of his face.
Before she could respond, the tap-tap-tap of a woodpecker echoed through the woods.
“Look,” Amber said while pointing to a deadwood tree to their right. “About twenty-five feet up. Can you see it?”
“Yeah. It's a woodpecker.” Vern barely glanced at the large bird drilling into the wood.
“It's a pileated woodpecker. You can tell by its size and the oval holes it is pecking in the tree trunk.”
“Come on,” said Vern. “It's just a bird.”
Amber followed in silence—a silence which allowed her to hear the various bird calls filling the June air. She recognized blue jays, cardinals, robins, and sparrows. Suddenly, the chatter of squirrels drowned out the birds' twittering.
“Well, somebody doesn't want us here,” laughed Vern. Even he could not resist the antics of the half dozen grey squirrels positioned overhead who seemed determined to let every creature within miles know a couple of humans wandering the forest.
“I think you are right,” answered Amber as one of the noisy squirrels looked her in the eye before leaping to a branch farther up the tulip poplar tree on which he was perched.
“You know they filmed some of the scenes of The Blair Witch Project in these woods?” said Vern as he adjusted one of his backpack's straps.
“Really?” The woods were certainly remote enough to inspire fear in those not used to being outdoors. “Just the forest or some of the ruins, too?”
“I don't know,” answered Vern. He pointed to a crumbling stone house. “I guess it could have been either, but most likely both.”
The ruined building was not the first they had passed on their way to a finger of land jutting into the waters of Loch Raven. Amber hoped the last scary scene of the movie had not been filmed here, even though it was all imagined evil.
“Finally,” said Vern as they reached a nice fishing spot with a clear view of the town lying somewhere beneath the viridian waters. “Warren should be here, but I don't know if you will be able to see it.” He gestured at the lake. “I'm going to find a nice spot a little farther down the trail to relax and toss a line in. Maybe I'll catch a sunfish or bluegill.”
“Maybe a catfish,” added Amber with a grin. She knew he was not a fan of catfish. If he caught one, it was sure to get tossed back into the water rather into the cooler he had lugged along. Which was just fine with her.
“Don't jinx me.” Still holding the fishing pole, he crossed his forefingers in a warding sign. “I will be over there,” said Vern as he pointed to another sliver of land past a tumble of rocks. “Yell if you need me.”
“Okay,” answered Amber as she made her way to the edge of the lake.
Though no botanist, she spotted a few plants she recognized: wood sorrel with its little yellow blossoms, May apple umbrellas, the purple flowers and heart-shaped leaves of sweet violets, and gill-over-the-ground. There were plenty of other plants she didn't know the names of, but she was sure she had seen them before.
Once she reached the water, she scanned the surface for signs of the drowned town of Warren. It was not the only town swallowed by the waters of the reservoir when the city of Baltimore decided to build a second dam on the Gunpowder River. Hoping a slightly different view of daylight striking the water might better illuminate what was secreted beneath the surface, Amber moved several meters to her left.
“I can see something down there,” she whispered. Only the birds perched in the chestnut oaks and Osage orange trees above her head answered.
Then, she heard it—a church bell ringing from deep in the lake. I suppose it is possible, she thought. If the current is moving the bell's tongue enough and forcing it to strike the cup, I guess it could still ring.
As abruptly as it had started, the muffled ringing stopped. The birds and insects quieted. Even the rustling of the leaves silenced. All Amber could hear was the lapping of the water at her feet.
The hairs on the back o
f her neck prickled as she felt the eyes of an unseen someone or some thing studying her.
Rather than shout for Vern, Amber whispered, “Hello. Who is there?”
She was answered by a splash in the nearby water as a great blue heron flapped skyward, its long legs dangling below it's beautifully feathered body.
“Oh, my gosh.” Legs feeling like jelly, Amber sat down on a rock to wait until her heart stopped racing. Not usually skittish when in the woods, she hoped the insects would feast upon Vern for mentioning that a horror movie had been filmed there.
Expecting relief to soon wash away the prickly neck sensation and fear of a stalking something gawking at her, Amber rubbed her eyes with shaky fingers and studied the water at her feet. From below the surface, large eyes stared up at her.
Perhaps it is my reflection, distorted by the lake's wavelets, she told herself.
But the face moved sideways, before a long-clawed paw broke the surface of Loch Raven.
Amber gasped and moved spider-like away from the water. Before she could call out for Vernon, the creature reached forth its scaly front foot and touched her lips. Amber found herself unable to speak.
Hush, child, said the beast. At least, Amber thought it spoke aloud, though it could have been talking only in her mind. I am not here to harm, only to enlighten an inquisitive young woman.
The creature crawled farther out of the lake, exposing the front half of an enormous, sinuous body covered in iridescent scales. It stretched its snaky neck and tilted its head to get a better look at Amber.
You have come to my lake seeking to understand what lies below. Have you not?
Still unable to speak, Amber nodded.
I can tell you over a hundred years ago, men stopped the flow of a river. The river backed up, beginning to swallow the land and all of her creatures. Barns, homes, roads, even mills were flooded by the rising water. At first, the lake was too shallow for my kind, but as the months passed, the water level rose. Deeper, deeper, even deeper Loch Raven became until it was perfect for dragons.
The reptile smiled, a most terrifying sight of dagger-like teeth. But I waste words when I can show you more clearly the wonders of Warren and the other towns hidden beneath the lake, said the creature as it wrapped its neck around Amber.
Grasp my neck, climb onto my back, and hold on tightly like your life depends on it.
Too scared to disobey, she climbed onto the dragon's back, holding fast with her hands and legs.
Do not let go no matter what you see, warned the beast as it twisted around and dove beneath the water.
Afraid she would drown, Amber held her breath as the dragon plunged into Loch Raven. When she thought her lungs would burst, she finally gave up and opened her mouth, fully expecting to die. Instead, she found herself in a bubble of air, surely of the dragon's making.
I'm safe, she thought. Though I have no idea how the dragon is creating this air bubble.
Must you know the “how” of everything? came the response.
This time, Amber was sure the reptile spoke through her mind.
How long were you listening in on my words and thoughts? she asked.
Today, since your feet touched the ground at the beginning of the trail, responded the dragon.
That is creepy, thought Amber. You are like a stalker, spying on unsuspecting hikers.
You suspected something was watching you from the first so my appearance could not have been a surprise, answered the reptile.
Seeing a dragon is always a surprise.
The creature seemed to consider that statement as it swam to the bottom of the deepest part of the lake.
But further comment was not required since ahead of them stretched not only the stone ruins of the town of Warren, but additional structures built by non-humans. The otherworldly architecture had wide, round-arched doors. Many of the buildings were little more than sleeping quarters. Some were occupied.
Dragons! thought Amber. There is a colony of dragons in Loch Raven.
More than one, answered the dragon on whose back she rode.
It occurred to Amber she didn't know what to call her dragon to distinguish him or her from the others.
What is your name?
The dragon paused before answering. I am female. My true name is a secret, since to share it would give you a bit of power over me.
Well, you looked greenish to me so...
I altered my color to match the water. I appear whatever color, pattern, and texture will help me blend into the background, explained the dragon.
So you use camouflage like a chameleon…I can call you Chameleon, if you'd like, suggested Amber.
Chameleon will do, answered the dragon as another of her kind swam nearby.
Who is this? asked the other creature. And why have you brought her below?
She is the girl I have talked about for years, said Chameleon. She finally came to find me.
The other dragon twisted its neck so its face was inches away from Amber and studied her with its huge silver eyes.
She looks no different than all of the other female humans I have seen, though I suppose you would know if she is yours.
Then, quicker than a lizard darting away from a child's hand, the other dragon swam into the dark waters closer to the upper dam.
I only met you today. What did you mean when you said you have talked about me for years? asked Amber.
You have known about me since you were a child, replied Chameleon. Every time you rode in a car over the Warren Road Bridge, what did you think?
That I heard a dragon roar, but it was only the sound of the car wheels on a rough metal bridge, answered Amber.
No, I did roar when a car carrying you drove across because I heard you thinking about me.
She considered what Chameleon had said, deciding it had the ring of truth to it.
What did you call that bridge then? And even now, as a woman, you still use your pet name for it, thought the dragon.
The Dragon Bridge, answered Amber.
So I have been waiting for you to come find me all these years and now, you are finally here! Chameleon did a little twirl in the water to emphasize her happiness.
But I cannot stay, thought Amber. I guess I can visit you once in a while, but a reservoir is no place for a human.
But we must stay together. You are meant to be my--
Whatever Chameleon meant to think next was swallowed in Amber's scream.
Swimming parallel to them, just a couple of arm-lengths away, were the skeletal remains of men, women, and children. Amber looked from side to side. Dozens of animated corpses were closing in on them.
Who are these people? she asked, her heart racing and throat tightening like it did just before she cried.
The long-dead, answered the dragon. You see, there were graveyards in Warren and the other towns flooded by the construction of the Gunpowder River's second dam. When Loch Raven started to fill, there was barely time for the people who had lingered to get out of their homes safely. No one thought to exhume the graves and move the dead. Instead, the gravestones, graves, and bodies they contained now lie at the bottom of the lake.
Why are they chasing us? The finger bones trying to claw her and the chomping teeth in the closest skulls seemed more personal than anonymous restless spirits.
They do not tolerate living humans very well, but I thought because you were with me, the dead would leave you alone, mused the dragon.
That's why there are “No Swimming” signs posted everywhere around Loch Raven. And why anyone who swims away from the public areas ends up drowning, though their bodies are not usually found for months. The ghosts or haunted skeletons or undead remains or whatever you call them drag the living to the bottom, thought Amber.
They will not get you, Chameleon assured her.
I don't know. The undead look determined. I'm not sure you can out-swim them, thought Amber.
Then we will go ashore. They cannot leave the water, yet, answe
red the dragon as she paddled to the shallows, climbing up onto a weedy embankment at the edge of the lake. We are far from the populated areas here so no one will spot us.
“Look at the dead,” whispered Amber as dozens of skinless hands dug into the dirt at the bottom of the embankment. In silence, she observed several skulls pop up from the surface, appear to look at her, then duck below the surface.
It seems I have underestimated the bitterness of the undead who reside beneath the surface of Loch Raven, conceded the dragon. She sighed. The land below the lake was their resting place before it became home to my kind. They do have prior claim.
“I don't think there are any laws or legal rulings in any court hereabouts concerning land-usage and water rights between uneasy ghosts and dragons,” joked Amber. Though the situation was far from funny.
Even as she spoke, she noticed Chameleon's actual size and current coloration. Though winged and shaped somewhat differently, the dragon's body was the size of a large workhorse, like a Belgium Draft or Clydesdale. Of course, when the long tail and neck were added, Chameleon was much longer than a draft horse. While resting on a weedy bank beside Loch Raven, Chameleon's skin now looked like a mishmash of green and brown weeds with a few darker thin sapling-like vertical stripes crawling up her sides.
“Do you have to tell your skin what to look like or does it just change on its own to match surroundings?” Amber inquired.
It just happens, responded the dragon. Therefore, I never have to think about it. Chameleon's eye ridges lowered into a dragonish frown. But my skin isn't our problem. What to do about the undead and the necromancer is.
“Necromancer!”
Of course, said the dragon as she examined the claws on her front feet. A necromancer is required to reanimate the dead. A simple haunting would not include bodies which, even if you tear them apart with your teeth, come back together and continue wreaking havoc. Chameleon sighed before speaking again. Truth be told, Amber-who-believes-in-dragons, we need a human to destroy this human who calls forth the dead—before things get any worse.