by Bonnie Watts
The grins drop off as we finally get a look at the zombie army as it approaches. There are over three hundred of them! They are in various stages of decomposition, varying from the newly deceased all the way to skeletons with only a few shreds of rotting flesh hanging on their bones. The ones who can still hold onto weapons have swords and maces. The others have only their teeth. One huge Viking-looking rotter even has a trident!
“We’re dead!” Whispers Tor. He looks at us. “Do any of you see the witch?”
“No. He’s behind his army.”
“Dang! I need to be higher than this!”
Dragon responds by changing into his dragon-self. It isn’t like in the movies where the shifter moves through various stages of human-animal mixes. A bright light covers him, then a few seconds later the glare disappears and my Consort’s large black form steps over to Tor. He grabs the soul-singer gently in one of his talons and places him on his back.
“Is this high enough, Torlean?”
With his voice a squeak, the wizard answers, “Umm, fine Dragon. Don’t drop me, okay?”
“That would be rude, Torlean. Of course I won’t let you go.”
I notice that Dragon’s peridot-color eyes are saturated with orange as he prepares for battle.
Tor looks across the plain, trying to spot his subject.
Meanwhile, Fred gestures our army forward, and they run to meet the zombies.
I cringe inside, almost shaking now I’m finally facing the witch who stole my family from me. It isn’t fear that’s causing it. It’s pure unadulterated hatred. The feeling is so strong I start to freak out. I didn’t know someone could hate this much.
The Hellhounds and hobgoblins hit the enemy battle line first. They clash with the corpse army, mowing down many of them in the front.
“Any luck with spotting him, Tor?”
“Wait, a minute. Got you, creep! He’s way in the back surrounded by zombies. I need to get a little closer to him to soul-sing him though.”
“Dragon? I don’t want to ask, but…” I say, trailing off. Dragons hate to have anyone riding them, they feel it’s undignified.
“Yes, I will carry him just this once.”
I turn to my Familiar. “Lucifer, track Tor’s mind, and we’ll head out as soon as he gives the go-ahead.”
Okay.
I watch my two friends fly away with trepidation.
Please let them stay safe. I wasn’t bonded to Tor long, but I had learned to love the sarcastic drama queen like a brother.
I turn back to the battle down in the plain. The Knight Protectors and demons have caught up with their quicker cohorts. They enter the fray with furious abandon.
Zombies are hard as hell to kill. You have to hack them to pieces to release the soul from its imprisonment. They’re slower than living warriors too, unless they are newly dead.
I strengthen my shields to filter out the agony I’m picking up from wounded soldiers and Hellhounds.
Tor says time for you to come. He’s got him.
Okay, let’s go.
We all grab Lucifer’s or Slayer’s straps and the
hounds transfer us to right in the middle of the battle, it seems. Actually I notice we’re in the far northern corner of it.
I reach out with my magic, bypassing the rotters to find the turgid sewage-like aura of the witch.
There! Tor has him caught in his soul-singing. I shoot my healing power into him, burrowing down into his fractured psyche. I feel for the pain he felt when he came into his powers as the opposing magics fought for domination.
Jerrie, Tor says the creature’s too powerful! He keeps breaking free of the singing.
I can’t answer as the mind I’m inside shatters Tor’s grasp once and for all. Then he turns all of his stolen might on me!
I feel him wrapping his spells around me, like a lasso on a cow, as he prepares to rip my magic from my soul. I fight with all that is within me, but he’s so powerful.
As he nears completion of his trap, I call out mentally to anyone who can hear.
Help me!
Slayer comes!
The Hellhound appears where I am and surprises me by using his paralysing gift on the witch! Yes, the power I thought I had taken away from him.
Suddenly my spirit is free again, and I don’t waste time trying to heal this evil being. I shoot my Mover power straight through his battle shield and into his mind, giving him a blast that no one could recover from. At the same instant, I crush his heart with another burst of magic.
He drops to the ground, dead. But he doesn’t leave quietly. All of that stolen power needs somewhere to go. So it moves to the closest magic sink, which is me, of course. It forces itself into my soul!
I’m inundated with traumatised partial souls who were trapped in their assailant’s spirit when he killed them.
I open a door into the otherworld through my body and send those tattered pieces to meet up with their parent spirits. None of my family’s essences are in the mix, thank goodness. As the tatters that used to be witches pass through me, I relive their hideous deaths. The pain of it finally overwhelms me and I fight against the domination of my psyche.
I lose, and darkness comes.
I awake to Jeff shaking me hard.
“Jerrie! You need to wake up. Wolfgang’s dying and needs your healing.”
He helps me up and almost drags me through the carpet of rotter parts and murdered hounds and warriors. I’m still reeling from the onslaught of power and the agonies of those victims.
Dropping to my knees in front of Borger, I check his system. I sag when I realize that Borger’s spirit has left his almost-dead body and moved on. The head blow was a mortal wound, though the heart is still trying to squeeze blood through his body.
“He caught a blow meant for me.”
Fred looks sadly on the face of his Knight. “I could have taken it! Why did he do it?”
Jeff answers. “Because he knew the world needs you, Sir Frederick.”
I have an idea.
I look up at Fred. His body is a mess, half a hand cut off, a huge gash in his stomach and another one, an axe blow to his head splits his skull down the middle. Since he’s a zombie, he doesn’t feel the pain of his wounds.
I turn to Borger’s almost-corpse and shoot a massive amount of magic into it. I send so much power I’m seeing black around the pink flow of healing magic. The body under my blood-spattered hands comes alive again, with a stronger heart beat and no injuries anywhere.
“Why did you waste your power on healing a dead man Jerrie?” Jeff asks.
“Fred, this is your chance. I can put your spirit into this body. But you have to okay me doing it.”
“What? I don’t know, it would be sacrilegious to steal his body. He died for me!”
Tor came up to us. He’d heard his husband’s comment.
“Fred, you oak-head! Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain. Do it!”
“But…”
“That man gave his life for you to live. Doing this gives his death meaning!”
“Okay.” The Founder straightens, squaring his broad shoulders. “You’re right, Torry. Do it, Lady Dragon-Spears.”
“Give me your hand.” I look at Jeff. “Get ready to catch his corpse once he leaves it, Jeff.”
The Founder reaches for me with his intact hand. I send my necromantic magic into his zombie form, yank his spirit out of it, and force it into the fleshly shell that used to house Wolfgang Borger. The body resists this possession by another soul for a few minutes, but I keep pouring more power into it. Finally shell and spirit fuse, and Sir Frederick Gallows opens his golden lion eyes to life for the first time in ten thousand years.
As for me, well I don’t pass out as I normally would after using almost all the bloated magic plus a good amount of my own powers. Instead my body starts to feel like its breaking apart, with joints popping and muscles tearing from my bones. Suddenly my eyes are on separate sides of my face above my muzzle.
The ground moves away as I stand up, my talons gripping the bloody soil and dead zombie body parts for stability.
Talons?
I move my arms, flapping my wings in my agitation and fright. A high-pitched warble is my only voice.
Wings? What the…
Master?
Lucifer, what’s happened to me?
You’ve become the White Dragon for real. You have shifted.
How do I turn back?
Lucifer not know.
Help me, someone!
My mind turns instinctively to the only one who can make this right.
DRAGON, I NEED YOU!
My clarion voice bugles my message of fear.
I hear a roar in answering dragon-song, and I calm a little. My Consort is coming to help me fix this.
The end
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bonnie Watts lives in the Mojave Desert with two ancient wiener dogs, two roadrunners, ten fat wild rabbits, and a five foot long king snake. She writes in those times between the many gale-level windstorms of the desert.
Bonnie is retired from a career as a software technical writer, an occupational health professional and running a rescue and sanctuary for dachshunds.