Bitterwood da-1

by James Maxey

  And reason’s all you know, she thought, but held her tongue, knowing that silence hurt him more. The pain in Jandra’s head paled next to the pain in her heart. Vendevorex would never understand her, and she would never understand him. Bitterwood was right. Men and dragons could never share the world.

  Bitterwood led her away. She glanced back over her shoulder, hoping to see the look on Vendevorex’s face. But her mentor didn’t follow and now turned back inside. As Jandra watched his deep-blue tail vanish into the shadows of the building, a chill ran through her. This might be the last time she ever saw her former mentor.

  “Are you okay?” Bitterwood asked, noticing her shudder.

  “I’m fine,” Jandra said. “‘But I just thought… What about Zeeky? We never found her.”

  “We’ll have to hope she’s okay,” Bitterwood said. “She’s a tough girl.”

  “True. And it’s not like we could take her with us. So. Any ideas on how we get out of here?”

  “Follow me,” Bitterwood said. “I’ve found a rope and hidden it. I know of several places on the wall where we can climb up then use the rope to rappel down. We’ll need to wait for night before we can move safely, though.”

  Jandra looked at the sun high in the sky, the bright light making her head throb even more. “It’s several hours until sunset. Why don’t we scale the walls now? We can cross invisibly then make our way to the castle. By the time we get inside it will be nightfall. That will give us all night to search the records while the biologians sleep.”

  “Invisible?” said Bitterwood, sounding disdainful. “I dislike relying on your witchcraft.”

  “Would you stop that? I’m not a witch. I just happen to have fancier tools than most people. Trust me on this, okay?”

  Bitterwood looked into her eyes for a long moment. “Very well. If I must. Follow me.”

  Bitterwood led her behind one of the empty buildings. He pushed aside a half-filled rain barrel, then pulled up a loose wallboard that the barrel had pinned down. He reached inside the wall and retrieved a long coil of hemp rope.

  Jandra splashed some of the water from the rain barrel onto her face. The cool water helped greatly. Taking a deep breath, she felt strong and calm enough to make them invisible-but for how long? She tore a strip of cloth from her dress and wetted it to dab her brow as she needed it.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Bitterwood asked.

  “I’m feeling better,” Jandra said, trying to make herself believe it. “I just need to keep moving.”

  “If you’re certain. We can go up the wall here,” he said. The alley they were in ran along the outer wall of the city.

  “Let me get ready,” Jandra said, reaching into her pouch. “We’ll still be able to see each other, but we need to stay close if you don’t want others to see you.”

  Bitterwood nodded, then turned the rain barrel over and placed it against the wall. He hopped on and extended his hand to help Jandra up. Jandra activated the invisibility as she stood next to him. But now what? The wall stood twenty feet high, made of logs driven into the ground.

  Bitterwood didn’t share her hesitation. He placed his hands and feet between the gaps in the logs and scaled the wall as quickly as if he were walking across flat ground.

  “Wait!” she said. “You’re out of range!”

  Bitterwood didn’t stop. He placed his hand on the top of the wall and pulled himself up. He straddled the wall and turned around, looking down at her. He cocked his head.

  “You really are invisible,” he muttered.

  “Yes,” she said. “But you’re not. Someone will see you.”

  “Then we should make haste,” Bitterwood said, tossing one end of the rope toward the sound of her voice. “Don’t even try to climb. I’ll lift you.”

  Jandra wrapped the rope around her hand and arm and Bitterwood began to pull her up. She helped him by using her feet to climb the wider cracks when possible.

  “I see you now,” he said as she neared the top of the wall.

  He reached down and took her hand and lifted her the rest of the way. Jandra looked around for guards and noticed a nearby guard tower, but the guards within weren’t looking in their direction. Instead, the guards watched the sky. Jandra looked up and gasped. Sun-dragons!

  “I see them,” Bitterwood said. “I don’t think they’ve seen us.”

  Jandra soon realized this was true. She’d gotten him into the invisibility field just in time. The dragons weren’t headed directly toward them. They weren’t even looking in this direction. They seemed to be heading toward the center of the Free City, to the square.

  Albekizan himself led the way. It had been months since Jandra had seen him. The king was breathtaking in flight, with broad, crimson wings driven by a deep, well-muscled breast. He flew with powerful, precise movements, showing his mastery of the air. Tanthia followed. The queen was smaller than the king, sleeker, and her wings trailed yellow silk ribbons that flashed in the sunlight. If anything, she looked even more graceful in the air than Albekizan. In contrast to the elegant royal couple, Kanst followed behind in his slow, jerky motion. Weighed down by his heavy armor, the great bull dragon beat the air mightily, raising himself higher one flap at a time before holding his wings stiff and gliding down, losing the height he’d gained. He didn’t so much fly as climb and fall through the sky. Zanzeroth lagged even further behind, the stiff movements of his wings betraying his half-healed wounds. Another dragon would have stayed in bed with such injuries, Jandra suspected, but the tough old hunter was too proud ever to admit to weakness. A single sky-dragon completed the procession, Pertalon. Despite his youth and strength, Pertalon trailed behind Zanzeroth, for he carried a burden, a cocoon of white cloth wrapped around what looked to be the body of a man.

  Could it be Pet? Could it not be? She should have freed Pet when she had the chance. Now that Vendevorex was going to fight the king, there was no need for Pet to sacrifice himself. As much as she hated Vendevorex she respected his abilities, and knew that if he was intent on overthrowing the king, he would. The white bundle struggled as the dragons banked. She felt heartened that Pet was still alive. Jandra would help Bitterwood for now. When she found the information he needed, she would make him return the favor and rescue Pet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: MYTH

  METRON WATCHED ALBEKIZAN’S party fly from the grand hall toward the Free City. He’d received an invitation to join the king but had politely declined, stating that he was feeling under the weather. Metron had suspected the king wouldn’t take no for an answer, and had been anticipating the appearance of a few guards. Knowing the king proceeded without him was humbling. Apparently, he wasn’t essential to the running of the kingdom.

  Despite learning that he wasn’t as vital to the king’s court as he sometimes fancied, he was also relieved. Whatever the king had planned, the timing couldn’t have been worse. The note passed to Metron moments before he’d been summoned made it vital he stay; Androkom, the biologian who boasted of knowing the secret of life, had arrived. The scholar and his equipment were waiting below in Metron’s personal study.

  Metron hurried through the stone corridors and stairwells that led to the maze of books below. When he arrived at his study he found the door ajar. It locked with a secret key that only another initiated biologian would possess.

  “Androkom?” he said, peering into the dark chamber.

  “I’m here,” his fellow biologian said. In the darkness, there was a creak as the shutter of an oil lamp was opened. The light revealed Androkom sitting at the table in the center of the room, his pale blue form half-hidden behind a stack of books. A well-worn leather satchel rested on the table before him. Androkom clutched the strap of the satchel tightly in his ink-stained fore-talons as he nodded in silent greeting. Metron stepped into the room, pushing the door shut behind him. He gasped as the closing door revealed that they were not alone. The rich scarlet scales of a sun-dragon’s breast filled his vision. A familiar face loomed
over him.

  “Shandrazel!” he cried.

  “Please,” Shandrazel said in a loud whisper. “Lower your voice.”

  “Sneaking back into the castle with a dragon of Shandrazel’s stature wasn’t easy,” Androkom said. “You’ll understand that we’d rather not be discovered.”

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Metron asked, pointing his walking staff toward Androkom. “Are you assisting the prince? This is treason! He’s duty-bound to kill the king!”

  “Nonsense,” Shandrazel said. “I never felt any obligations to the old ways. I feel even less now that I know how artificial the so-called ‘ancient traditions’ truly are. Androkom has told me much about the ways of the biologians.”

  “Tell me this is a lie, Androkom,” Metron said. “You cannot have told him the initiated secrets.”

  Androkom nodded. “I did; at least, what I had time to tell. I respect you, High Biologian. But I no longer respect our ways. The higher I have risen in the ranks, the more I have learned that has troubled me. Shandrazel and I share an abiding faith in the redemptive power of truth.” Androkom toyed with the shutter of the lantern as he spoke, opening it fully to cast as much light as possible over the chamber. The younger biologian glanced around at the dusty tomes and shadowed niches of Metron’s private study. “The Book of Theranzathax speaks of using light to carve the world from darkness,” he said. “We think it’s time for the obscuring haze of lies to be burned away by the lantern of honest inquiry.”

  “Androkom,” Metron said, stepping to the table, placing his fore-talons on the heavy oak for balance as he leaned closer. “You must reconsider this reckless path you’ve chosen. I’ve known you for years. I’ve watched you rise through the ranks at a nearly unequaled pace. Why destroy the very title you’ve worked so hard to earn?”

  Androkom met Metron’s condemning gaze without blinking. He said, “I entered the ranks of the biologians seeking knowledge. It disturbs me that my role has become one of concealing truths, rather than revealing them. Too much of what’s taken as common fact by most dragons is merely carefully constructed fiction.”

  “Yes!” Metron hissed. “Carefully constructed! Designed by the most brilliant minds who ever lived to give dragons a grand destiny! You cannot brashly destroy the work of centuries!”

  “Metron,” said Shandrazel, “I will grant that you have only the best interests of dragons at heart. No doubt the most central myths of the dragons were crafted solely for the benefit of our kind. But we are not alone on this world… We share it. Would my father now be waging war against the humans if he knew the truth? The petrified skeletons that adorn our halls… these are not the remains of our ancestors. Our species is barely a millennium old. We owe our existence to humanity.”

  “We owe nothing to humanity,” said Metron. “I’ve studied the manuscripts they left behind. When they ruled this world, they poisoned it with their own filth. They were like yeast in a corked bottle, growing until they choked in toxins of their own making.”

  “So you support my father’s genocide?” Shandrazel asked.

  Metron felt the anger drain out of him at this question. His whole body sagged. “No,” he said softly. “No matter their past sins, I want to avoid the coming slaughter. In my studies, I’ve learned much of human ways. In their time of dominance, humans callously drove uncountable species into extinction. I would like to think that we dragons are above this.”

  “As would I,” said Shandrazel.

  “And I,” said Androkom. “So, it seems we have some common ground to build upon.”

  “Yes,” said Metron. “Still, you should not have shared our secrets, Androkom.”

  “I find your hypocrisy on this most intriguing,” said Androkom. “You would withhold the truth from Shandrazel, who’s known for his integrity. Yet you share our secrets with Blasphet, the Murder God?”

  Metron scowled. “Blasphet has learned many of our secrets against my will. Showing him tomes written by humans will tell him nothing he hasn’t already deduced.”

  Shandrazel said, “What Blasphet knows or doesn’t know isn’t important, in the end. Our course is clear. We must tell my father the truth about the origins of dragons. In light of the new information, he’ll halt the genocide and imprison my uncle once more.”

  Metron felt his jaw hanging open. “You… you really believe that?” he asked incredulously.

  “My father may be stubborn and stern, but he’s bound to listen to reason.”

  Metron shook his head. “My prince, you are too idealistic. The biologians at the College of Spires did their best to craft you into a being that respects truth and fairness, in hopes of shaping a future king. But I fear they’ve left you ignorant of the way the world actually works.”

  “No. Not ignorant. Educated. Once my father learns the truth, he will see the folly of his war on the humans and rescind the death orders. We dragons pride ourselves on being the highest product of the laws of nature, the rightful rulers of the earth, while the humans follow religions that tell them that they are separate from nature, and were created independently of it. All along, the opposite was true.”

  “He’ll never believe you,” Metron said. “Furthermore, you’ll never have a chance to make your argument. He’ll kill you on sight. He’ll throttle the life from you while you’re standing there like an idiot trying to appeal to his reason.”

  “That’s why we need a plan,” Androkom said. “And why we need your help.”

  Metron inhaled slowly, contemplating his next words. They wanted his help. Shandrazel, at least, was foolish enough to trust the king. Did he have the same faith in Metron’s own honesty and fairness? If so, Metron might still have a chance. Androkom’s books and equipment were sitting on the table. Blasphet would find these very useful.

  “We were thinking you could request a private conference with the king,” Androkom said. “Such is your right. Then-”

  “No,” Metron said, raising his claw, unable to believe his luck. “I know a better way.”

  “We’re listening,” Shandrazel said.

  THE SUN HUNG red and low in the sky when Jandra woke. From her resting place on the hill she could see the king’s castle casting a long, sinister shadow across the land.

  Bitterwood sat against a nearby tree, though it took her a moment to spot him. He sat so still that with his drab clothing and tanned skin he blended in against the tree trunk.

  She asked, “How long did I nap?”

  “Not long,” he said. “Perhaps an hour.”

  “I only meant to rest my eyes for a minute,” she said.

  “I don’t begrudge you the sleep. I know how hard it is to keep going with a head injury.”

  Jandra noticed that her head no longer hurt. She pressed the bandage that covered her wound with her finger and felt no pain. She pulled the bandage free.

  “It’s healed isn’t it?” she asked, reaching for her pouch of dust.

  “Yes,” Bitterwood said. “In less than a day. Yet you say you aren’t a witch.”

  “Even if I were, I couldn’t do this,” she said. She used the dust from her fingers to create a small mirror. For half a second she wondered who she was looking at in the mirror. She’d almost forgotten that she’d changed her hair color to black. Once past the mild shock of seeing a stranger’s hair, she pushed the hair back and studied her brow. She lifted her tiara slightly. There was no bruise. The skin that had been beneath the bandage was pale white compared to the tan she’d developed with all the time she’d spent outdoors. Aside from this there was no sign she’d ever been injured.

  “Healing is a skill I’ve yet to master,” she said. “I can do superficial stuff, things I can see and concentrate on, but internal injuries, especially head wounds, are more than I can handle. One misrouted artery can cause a stroke. This is Vendevorex’s work.”

  “He seems to genuinely want your forgiveness,” Bitterwood said.

  “He won’t get it.” She let the mirror crack a
nd crumble back into dust. “At first, the lie hurt most of all, the idea that he had raised me while keeping such a secret. But more and more I find myself dreaming of the life I might have known. All my life, I’ve been an outcast. I lived among dragons but could never be accepted by them. When I go among people, I find that I don’t fit in either. Vendevorex robbed me of a normal life. I could have had a loving mother and father. Instead I was raised by a cold-hearted killer. He can never set things right between us.”

  “I understand,” Bitterwood said. “It’s good that you hate him.”

  Jandra wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. Telling her that it was good to hate was so contrary to everything Vendevorex had ever tried to teach her.

  Bitterwood continued: “People will tell you that hate eats you from the inside. They tell you to let go of old pains, not to carry a grudge. Don’t listen to them. Hate’s all a person needs to get out of bed in the morning. Hold onto it. Hate is the hammer that lets you knock down the walls of this world. You see what happened to me when I let it go. I lost my way when I allowed my hate to wane.”

  “But now you’ve got something better than hate,” Jandra said. “You’ve got hope.”

  “Like you, I’m haunted by the life I might have had. Even if my family is alive, I’ve lost twenty years. There can be no forgiveness. If my family is alive then I regret only that I haven’t fought harder and killed more dragons to make a better world for them.”

  Jandra contemplated his words. All her life Vendevorex had given her cold and analytical advice. He normally advised her to set aside her emotions, especially the darker ones. How strange to be told to embrace them.

  Bitterwood nodded toward the castle which stood like a dark stony mountain in the sunset, casting a long shadow over the surrounding fields. “I’ve noticed a steady stream of dragons leaving the castle. The palace guards are heading for the Free City.”

  “Do you think we should go back?” Jandra asked. “If something’s about to happen we should try to save Zeeky and Pet.”