by Lee Roland
Flor said nothing, but Maeve could feel terror radiating off her. They had to get Raymond and get out of town.
Harriet led them to a shabby warehouse area. The harpy wove her way down a deserted alley, then stopped and hovered at a door set in a sheet metal wall. The chain and lock that had once secured that door lay broken on the ground.
When Maeve entered the abandoned building, she knew what had happened. A deep funk odor like rotten oranges filled the room. “Shit. Dragon’s Bane.”
Raymond lay naked on the dirty concrete floor. He coughed. Blood sprayed from his mouth and nose. Droplets spattered the floor like speckled paint. Small furrows where his fingers had gouged the concrete floor bore testimony to his agony. His human shape made fewer demands on his body, but he could barely raise his head. His eyes glittered, wide with fear and pain.
“No!” Grief and anguish seized Maeve like a giant claw. Death hovered over her lifelong friend, her dragon. She reached for him.
Flor had other plans. She shoved Maeve away, gathered Raymond in her arms and held him tight. She pressed her face to his and breathed into his mouth. Flor sang to him. Maeve understood none of the words, but each note, came out filled with magic. Maeve knew magic. Raymond’s eyes flickered, and then closed.
“He’ll sleep for a while.” Flor drew deep breaths, as if she had given him her actual life breath. “I think I can heal him, but not here.”
They carried him as gently as they could and laid him across the back seat. As they did, Maeve’s finger brushed across his hip. A dart needle, thick as a nail, protruded a half-inch from the skin. She pinched it tight between her fingers and drew it out. The flesh around the dart’s entry point had already become black and spongy.
A regular dart wouldn’t pierce a dragon’s hide under any circumstances. The fact that it did, meant a witch had spelled the weapon and the needle. Casting spells on organic matter was easy, any witch, including Maeve could do that. To enchant an inanimate object like a dart gun required incredible skill. Only a handful of witches in Elder had that ability and level of expertise.
Maeve drove while Flor held Raymond in her arms. She made her way out of town as she whispered silent prayers to the Earth Mother, Inaras. Taking no chances, she prayed to Mersin the Dragon Lord and the Great Master of the Universe, too. Maeve reached over and stroked Harriet’s head. “Honey, I know you’re tired, but do you think you could try to find a place big enough to hide us until I can get another car. A patch of thick woods might do it.”
Harriet launched herself out the window. In fifteen minutes, she came back.
“Found place,” Harriet gasped.
“Is it big enough?”
“No. Power place. To heal.”
“Take us there!” Flor grabbed Maeve’s shoulder. Her fingers gripped so tight Maeve had to shake her loose.
Harriet took wing and led them to a dirt road, winding into sparse grassland. Half a mile from the asphalt, she stopped and hovered over a small mound.
“Oh, yes,” Flor threw open her door. “Hurry.”
Raymond woke as they carried him to the mound and carefully laid him on the grass. Flor kissed him and then ran back to the SUV.
“What happened?” Maeve asked. She dropped to her knees and smoothed silver hair away from his face. At least the bleeding had stopped.
“Man,” Raymond whispered. “Gun.”
Harriet landed beside them. She covered Raymond’s face with gentle kisses.
Flor returned, carrying Immal’s box in her arms. “Tell me about Dragon’s Bane.”
Maeve grasped Raymond’s hand. “It’s rare, only grows in sacred groves, mostly in the tropics. Easy to find because it smells so bad. Once a dragon gets his fire, it won’t touch him. Raymond is too young to have fire.” Did their pursuers know Raymond personally, or at least of him?
“Maeve?” Raymond’s voice barely a whisper. “My lifestone…please…take it…” His head dropped to the side as he lost consciousness.
“What’s a lifestone?” Flor asked. “If I’m going to heal him, I don’t need any surprises.”
Maeve bit her lip. She had sworn on her life that she would never reveal certain secrets, but Flor was right. If her magic was to work, she needed to know. “Every dragon has a lifestone somewhere in their body,” she explained. “It carries their soul. When they die, the other dragons take the lifestone to a secret place. That’s what Raymond told me. It’s a personal thing. I’ve never seen one, not even his.”
“That’s good to know,” Flor said. “But he is not going to die.” She knelt beside Raymond, opened Immal’s box, and gathered a small handful of dust, then motioned for Maeve to take the box away.
Flor rose, paced a circle around Raymond, and chanted in her odd, sharp language, stopping at the four compass points—north, east, south and west. At each, she released grains of Immal’s dust. Then she knelt again and gathered Raymond in her arms.
Ghosts rose from the ground. Ghosts rarely surprised her, Maeve. Da, her uncle, died not long after she was born, but he hung around the house for years. These ghosts were strangers, though. They’d probably never met a dragon—or had they? Didn’t matter because they seemed willing to help. The group—she counted seven—swirled around Flor and Raymond. They dissolved and reformed, a whirlwind raising a sphere of power, weaving spectral webs of remembered lives as they answered Flor’s prayer. Nothing’s free though, especially not magic. It always required a sacrifice and the more personal that sacrifice the more energy was released. Flor’s eyes remained closed and her chanting never ceased. What price would she pay to save her lover?
Maeve backed away, Immal’s box in her arms. Harriet landed on her shoulder. “Scared.”
“Me too.” Maeve and the harpy silently waited while greater powers decided Raymond’s fate.
Chapter Five
The ghosts seeped back into the earth. Raymond and Flor were unconscious, but they both seemed healthy. Maeve wished one of them would wake up because she had to drag and load them into the back seat.
Harriet went out again, looking for a hiding place. This time the harpy returned with word of an abandoned barn. It was too close to the road, but the front doors were closed and the entire rear wall missing. All Maeve had to do was drive around and go in.
Flor woke up soon after.
“You okay?” Maeve twisted around. She jerked. “Great Mother Inaras.”
“What’s wrong?”
Maeve reached for the rearview mirror and positioned it for Flor to see.
Flor leaned forward. Her once dark, native eyes gleamed as silver as Raymond’s hair.
Raymond groaned, and Flor helped him sit up. He froze when he glimpsed Flor’s eyes. A trembling hand touched her cheek and brushed her lips. “Mine,” he said, and wrapped her in his arms. His mouth locked on hers, and Maeve decided to take a walk.
The barn soaked up the day’s heat and gave it back in a musty scent of old hay and dry earth. An old airplane propeller hung from one wall, so the building must have been an improvised hanger at one time. That explained the missing back wall. Harriet perched in the rafters near the door. She might sleep, but Maeve thought it more likely she watched the road through a hole where a board had fallen off. She could count on Harriet, for all her capriciousness and volatility, when circumstances required her to act.
A few cars passed as the day wore on. After a while, exhaustion caught up with Maeve, and she went back to find Raymond and Flor asleep, locked in each other’s arms. She let the passenger seat back a little and tried to rest. Just before dark, Harriet flew down and said she was going out to scout.
Maeve woke Raymond and Flor. “As soon as it’s full night, we’ll head out. They’ll know this car, so we need to get another ride soon.”
Harriet appeared at the window. “Cars,” she chirped. “At mound.”
Who were these people and how did they keep finding them?
“Raymond, do you think you could change and—”
Maeve bit her lip and tried to think. The barn was only three miles from the mound. Anyone could come along and spot where they’d crossed the ditch to enter. She started the engine. “Okay, Harriet, try to lead us around them. We need to get back to the Interstate.”
Fortunately, harpies had dark-sight because Harriet led them on an elaborate path. The four-wheel-drive helped, too. They cut across the countryside twice following the little harpy. She led them over bumpy fields, through gates, and down dusty dirt roads. Just before midnight, Maeve parked behind a closed convenience store across the road from a mid-sized I-40 truck stop.
“Wait here,” she told them.
Maeve crossed the road and searched for a familiar rig. She prayed again, and this time someone answered her prayer. When she climbed up and slapped her hand on the window, Joe Don Parrish jerked his head up. He grinned. Joe Don was one of her favorites, one she considered a true friend. An hour later, Joe Don drove his rig across the road and stopped in front of the store. Both Maeve and Flor had to struggle to help Raymond up into the cab. Harriet huddled on Flor’s lap. Because most magical creatures couldn’t be seen by ordinary humans, Joe didn’t know she was there. They still had to be careful. If he touched her, he might see.
“Thanks, Joe. This means the world to me.”
Joe didn’t seem quite so happy, but crowded as they were, he did find a place for Flor’s suitcase and Immal’s box. “That’s a mighty fine vehicle y’all left back there. You in trouble again, girl?”
“Sorta, but not the kind you think. We’ll get out and let you go as soon as we can.”
“No problem, babe.”
Maeve hugged him.
****
The men loaded Alex in the Jeep’s backseat after they left the emergency room. The Commander had ordered two of them to take him and make sure he wasn’t seriously injured. The pain pills helped, but they left him groggy and in desperate need of sleep. He had a sprained shoulder and fractured elbow. Possibly a minor concussion, too. The small cuts on his head were nothing, or the local anesthetic they used when they stitched him up hadn’t worn off yet.
Just before dark, they drove into a field. Alex forced himself not to moan, when the Jeep hit a deep rut—several deep ruts—before it came to a stop. Taggert drove this time. Alex could see him in the rearview mirror. The man grinned.
They didn’t stay long. The Commander walked to a slight hill, knelt, and touched the ground. Then he rose and ordered them to drive to I-40. Before sunset, they stopped at another motel. This time, they checked in. The Commander gave orders that they were to rest and leave at two a.m.
Alex was almost blind with pain. One of the men had to lead him into a room. He staggered into the bathroom, washed his face, and cupped water in his hands to swallow more pain pills, a task made difficult by having his arm in a sling. He went back out and sat on one of the beds. He did manage to get his shirt and shoes off before he fell back and closed his eyes.
When he woke, the pain had lost none of its deep rage.
After a few minutes, he carefully rose and placed his feet on the floor. Water, he needed water. He raised his head when he heard a sound. The Commander stood at a table and poured him a glass. He brought it over, and Alex carefully wrapped his hands around it. He forced himself not to gulp.
The Commander sat on the other bed across from him. He studied Alex with an odd intensity. “I wounded the dragon. Don’t think I killed him, but he shouldn’t be able to fight for her now.”
Alex slouched, his eyes half closed. The dragon, so beautiful. He’d thought he’d seen them at a distance, deep in the valley. He wasn’t sure. They might have been birds.
The Commander leaned forward, all his attention on Alex. “You don’t like that, do you? Me shooting the dragon. Were you trying to save my life? Or trying to keep me from getting off another shot?”
He was too tired and in too much pain to lie. “Both.”
“Why?” The man leaned forward, his eyes alert and a rare smile on his face.
Alex churned inside. Ah, the drugs loosened his tongue. He said what he felt. “A dragon is too beautiful to kill.”
“You could have let that car hit me.” His voice carried more curiosity than arrogance.
Alex closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. When he opened them, The Commander was still focused on him. Damn the man. He couldn’t challenge him, but he could be himself. “I won’t let anyone die if I can help it. And if you go down, Taggert and the others would kill me before I could get away.”
The Commander leaned back. He laughed softly. “Now you’ve hurt my feelings. I thought you liked me.” His facetious, mocking voice grated across Alex’s nerves. “Get some sleep, Hania. We have to get to Oklahoma. I’ve made…arrangements.”
The Commander lay back across his bed. “As for the Dragon, remember what I said, Hania. It comes down to choices and heroes—and dragons—don’t always win.”
Alex forced himself to stand, then made his way to the bathroom. When he came out, the Commander was sitting up again, staring at him.
He sat on the bed, carefully cradling his elbow.
“What’s that on your back, Hania?”
Alex gave him the answer he always gave. “A tattoo.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s the Thunderbird.”
“Thunderbird?”
“A spirit protector. Most of the Native American tribes have a myth.”
“Tribes? You’re not…?”
“Yes, I am. I had a single, Swedish, great grandfather along the way, and somehow, all of his genes ganged up and dumped on me. My parents, grandparents, were much darker. We were Walkandja. A tribe too small to rate official recognition or a reservation.” Alex silently groaned, blessing and cursing the drugs at the same time. Too late though. He’d managed to get the Commander interested.
“So you got this…tattoo? Why so large.”
Large? An understatement. The Thunderbird’s outstretched wings went from shoulder to shoulder and its tail dropped below his waist. “I’ve always had it. My parents must have had it done when I was young. I don’t remember. Don’t understand. It seems to have grown with me. They died when I was four.”
“Thunderbird. Tell me more.”
“The Great Spirit created the Thunderbird to protect the native tribes.” Alex gave him the textbook version. “It’s a giant, powerful eagle-like creature who affects the winds, creates storms. It rides the lightning, thunder, and rain.”
“Like an Elemental?” The Commander’s intense interest surprised him.
Alex frowned. “Elemental? I don’t know what that is.” His shoulders slumped, and he hoped there would be no more questions, but a deep urge, probably the drugs, forced him to speak again. “Alexander was my Swedish great grandfather. They gave me his name. I guess because of my hair and skin. Hania is supposed to mean spirit warrior. I’m the last Walkandja. Or, as Grandfather would say, the first of the new people.”
“Your grandfather, was he a spiritualist, a…Shaman? Did he teach you?”
Alex glanced up in surprise. Why was the man interested in his life? “Yes, he taught me, but I’ve forgotten most of it. I told you. I’m the last of my people. Whatever I learned will go when I die.”
The Commander laughed. It sounded so genuine, though Alex wasn’t sure what he said that elicited the mirth. In all the time he’d been with the man, all of the Commander’s laughter seemed directed toward his appreciation of cruelty. This wasn’t the same. “Get some sleep, Hania. Tomorrow will be rough.”
****
Two days with little sleep caught up with Maeve. Resting her head on Joe Don’s muscular shoulder, she fell asleep as they followed the headlights east, toward the dawn. By late afternoon, they’d made four, time- consuming delivery stops and crossed Oklahoma’s panhandle. Forty-five minutes later, three lanes of hi
gh-speed interstate traffic came to a halt. Joe cursed, then shrugged. Maeve knew there was nothing he could do.
Flor let her window down, and Harriet jumped out. She came back in seconds and hovered outside the window. “Police. Lots,” she chirped. “Search all cars.”
Was Maeve assuming too much? They could be searching for criminals or…intuition said no. Who had enough power to shut down an interstate highway to catch them? The biggest question was still why?
“Joe, it’s been nice, but we gotta go.” Maeve kissed him.
“You can’t get out here. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
He was right. This part of Oklahoma stretched dry and flat—almost desert. Maeve sighed. “I know, but you don’t want to be caught with us. I don’t want you hurt.” She knew how they would fight if cornered. Joe needed to be protected from a battle between witches, evil men, and a dragon. She turned away as Flor opened the truck door.
Joe grabbed her arm. “No. Stay. I’ll fix things.”
Maeve saw his eyes and realized he loved her. He wasn’t the first. She cared for him, loved him as much as she could, but knowing what she was, she couldn’t love or stay with any man who wasn’t magical in nature.
Bigger trucks ran the road, but Joe’s rig wasn’t a pick-up. Somehow, in less than twenty minutes, he managed to slowly bully his way from the center lane to the inside median, make an illegal and damned near impossible crossing, and head back west. Maeve suspected Flor had magically firmed the median ground under them, but she said nothing.
****
Alex sat in the Jeep beside the highway. The Commander sat behind the wheel. State patrol cars massed around them, lights flashing. Interstate 40 had slowed to a caterpillar crawl as state troopers, armed with Maeve’s photo, scanned passengers in each eastbound vehicle.
“Yes, Governor,” the Commander said into his cell phone, “we appreciate your help in this matter.” He rambled on with platitudes.
Alex’s pain had finally eased. The salve the Commander had gently rubbed into his shoulder and elbow helped. Odd stuff, and it smelled funny, but it worked. He kept the elbow in a sling and tried to move as little as possible. Still on pain pills, he couldn’t drive yet. The Commander drove himself rather than let one of the others take the wheel. Alex wondered if the man preferred his driving or his company.