by James Maxey
"Now you admit to being at Conyers," said Ragnar.
Burke placed a hand on Anza's shoulder. "Go back to camp," he said.
Anza gave him a worried glance. She detected something in his tone, perhaps.
"I'll be fine," he said.
Anza walked away, slowly at first, then breaking into a sprint. He was envious of her energy, the way her body seemed so light. She bounded down the hill with the grace and speed of a doe.
"You shouldn't have brought your daughter," Ragnar said. "War is no place for a woman."
"Anza is better trained than any of those farmers you've pressed into service. With a hundred like her, I could take this fortress and hold it against every dragon in the world."
"You wouldn't succeed unless it was the will of the Lord," said Ragnar. "He cannot look kindly upon the fact you allow your daughter to dress in such tight clothing. Did the ancient race of the Cherokee always permit its women to dress like whores?"
Burke flicked his wrist, triggering the spring-loaded knife he had in his sleeve. In a flash, he buried the razor tip in the prophet's beard, stopping the second he felt the blade graze flesh.
"You call yourself a prophet," said Burke, his voice trembling. "Can you see what I'm going to do if you insult my daughter again?"
Ragnar's lips curved into a smile. His eyes kept the look of frustrating serenity that tempted Burke to give his blade one last push.
"You've brought bad times upon us, prophet," Burke said, trying not to shout. "You're about to unleash a war. A lot of people are going to die. Cities will be burned. No crops are going to be planted in the spring and by next winter men everywhere will starve. We might see the dawn of the tenth plague, thanks to you. This is a tremendous burden of misery I could spare the world right now by slitting your damned throat."
Ragnar's expression changed from serenity to outright glee. "War!" he said. "Plague! Famine! Death! These things you fear are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Kill me if you wish; you cannot halt their ride!"
The blade Burke held was among the finest he'd ever machined. It was sharp enough to shave with. The prophet's leathery hide wouldn't even slow it. Burke saw madness in Ragnar's eyes, horrible visions dancing in their black centers. Looking into this darkness, Burke remembered the battle of Conyers with perfect clarity. The deadly rain of darts had been nothing compared to what had happened next. The sun-dragons had dropped onto the fleeing and broken survivors and tore them, simply tore them, ripping flesh from bones with as little effort as a man might use to tear the husk from an ear of corn. Did he want to witness that nightmare again?
No.
And Ragnar was his best hope of never seeing it replayed.
His hand trembled as he pulled the knife away.
"I don't like you," said Burke. "I don't believe in your God. I don't believe in your prophecies. But you have an army. In a few days, you'll have a foundry. I need both of these things if I'm ever going to show the dragons why humans once ruled this world. Twenty years of nightmares have given me a very strong incentive to plan the right way to fight an army of dragons. I know the weapons we'll need; I know the training we'll require; I know the tactics and strategies we'll follow. I can win this war, but only if you obey me."
"I'm the chosen of the Lord," said Ragnar. "I obey his orders alone."
"Damnit, no!" Burke shouted, throwing up his arms. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. You aren't going to win by obeying the voices of your invisible friend. If you want even a slender hope of surviving this, I have to be the only voice you listen to. Your mob can take Dragon Forge through sheer brute force, but can they hold it? The sun-dragons will come and take it back from you. I have a plan to defeat them. It's going to require turning a hundred of your farmers into foundry workers in the span of a few hours. It's going to mean that I'm the one mind that will guide their hands in building weapons that you can't even imagine. If we're fast enough and lucky enough, the dragons that fly over us will be slaughtered. Their blood will rain from the sky. Our biggest logistical problem will be clearing the carcasses from the streets before they rot."
Ragnar looked toward Burke's spy-owl. He walked over, lowered his head, and looked into the lenses. He moved the owl on the tripod with surprising confidence and dexterity. For several long minutes, he silently studied the city.
At last, he pulled away. His face was blank; for the first time, there was no hint of anger, no trace of insane joy. For the first time since Burke had met him, Ragnar appeared lost in thought.
"It wasn't the Lord that guided me to you, Kanati," Ragnar said. His voice had lost its normal prophetic vibrancy. With the madness gone from his eyes, Burke realized how much younger Ragnar was than himself. There was something boyish and innocent about him. "When I was a child, my father told me you were the smartest man he'd ever known. He said if the others had listened to you instead of Bitterwood, they might have won."
"We'll never know," said Burke. "We made the choices we made. Bitterwood's plan wasn't a horrible one. We just didn't know what we were up against. No one at Conyers had ever faced an army of sun-dragons. The normal way of the world is for men to waste their energies fighting men, and dragons to focus their aggression on other dragons. We didn't have the experience we needed to plan for victory. Now, some of us have it. Bitterwood, I hear, has been fighting a one man guerilla campaign ever since. It's not a bad strategy if all you want to do is make dragons suffer. But you need a smarter plan if you want humans to once again rule at least a patch of this world."
"An unseen mouth whispers that you have that smarter plan, Machinist," said Ragnar, with sly grin. Some of the heaven-sent madness again flavored his speech. "A rain of blood. Carcasses filling the street. You have the soul of a prophet."
"I have the mind of a man who's seen too much," said Burke, shaking his head. "I wish you'd died in the Free City, Ragnar. But, since you didn't, I'll make the best of a world with you in it. I pride myself on understanding reality. You're my reality now."
"I shall spread the word," said Ragnar. "My army will obey you as they would me."
"Good. Before we take the city, I need twenty men, your brightest. I've been canvassing your mob and have a few candidates in mind. I've got plans sketched out, diagrams. I need to teach them the what, why, and how of the items we'll be manufacturing. They'll be the foremen who lead the rest of the workers when we take the town. With the right advance work, we can pour metal within hours of taking the foundry."
"How long will you need?" asked Ragnar.
"Several days. At least a week," said Burke. "There's a lot to cover."
"That's too long to tarry," said Ragnar as he once more to looked into the spy-owl. "The earth-dragons may be dim-witted and half-blind, but it's only a matter of time before they realize there's an army encamped mere miles from their fortress."
"Haste will lead to failure," said Burke. "Still, you're right. Every hour we wait is a gamble. The gleaners could betray us; a sky-dragon could fly over. Hopefully from the air your rag-tag army looks like gleaners, but that's probably wishful thinking. Let me get started; I'll teach the men as quickly as possible. Anza can help. I can get the training down to five days. Maybe four. There are tests I've written up. Until I have twenty men who can pass those tests, taking the town will do us more harm than good if the sun-dragons retaliate before we're prepared to fight. The moment we're ready, I'll let you know.
"So be it," said Ragnar. "It's been nearly sixteen years since my parents were killed and I took up preaching the gospel of war. The victory of the Free City has left me hungry to spill more dragon blood; yet, if I must, I can wait a few more days for this feast of vengeance."
Ragnar smiled with the serene rage that Burke found so disquieting. Burke shivered, pulling his collar higher to fight the chill and rising wind.
When Zeeky woke she sensed something was different. The odor and sounds surrounding her had changed. Trisky was gone, as was Adam. The only one with her was Poocher. Sh
e reached for the visor, sitting up in the pitch black. She'd been too drowsy to keep her eyes open when Adam had taken her back to his camp. How long had she been asleep?
She froze as she slipped on the visor and the darkness became light. She wasn't alone after all! Leaning against the mine wall across from her stood a tall, broad-shouldered woman in a long black coat. No, not a woman-a man with long white hair and a beautiful, feminine face. He watched Zeeky with an unblinking gaze, smiling as he realized she saw him.
"Sleep well?" he asked with a gentle voice.
"Who are you? Where's Adam?" she asked. Poocher stirred at the sound of her voice.
"Adam was called away. Some trouble with the other members of his squad. He summoned me to take you. I wanted to let you sleep. You've had a tiring journey."
"Are you Gabriel?" Zeeky asked. "Adam said he was taking me to see someone named Gabriel."
"An excellent deduction," said Gabriel.
"You look like the angel in the Bible at the church. At least the Bible that used to be there. I guess it's burned up now."
"Do you believe in angels?" Gabriel asked.
"Sure," said Zeeky. "Are you one? Is that why you're not breathing?"
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Adam told me your perceptions were strong. I didn't fool you at all, did I?"
"If you're an angel, why don't you have wings?"
"Who says I don't?" Gabriel asked. He took off his coat, revealing a bare chest. He was well-muscled, yet slender; he looked more like an animated statue than a living thing. He shrugged his shoulders and a pair of golden wings began to sprout, covered in golden feathers. The wings unfolded in an intricate dance, soon reaching several yards in length. He shook his open wings and the metallic feathers sang with the delicate ringing of a thousand tiny chimes.
Poocher sat up. He'd nudged the visor onto his eyes himself and now sat beside Zeeky, staring at the winged man. Poocher grunted.
"I know," said Zeeky. "But maybe angels are supposed to smell that way. It's like summer rain."
"You're a curiously fearless girl, Zeeky," said Gabriel, kneeling down before her. "Adam said you weren't afraid of Trisky. You aren't afraid of the dark. You obviously aren't afraid of me."
"I get scared sometimes," she said. "I got scared in the Free City, when the dragons started killing everyone. I got scared when I saw Big Lick all burned up. Do you know why it got burned? Do you know what happened to my parents?"
"Yes," said Gabriel. "The goddess decided that few people would notice their disappearance at this particular moment. The other villages they traded with would assume they'd been killed by Albekizan's soldiers in his purge of the human race. She needed people to help her learn things. She designed the people of your village to help her study."
"Study what?"
"Ah," said Gabriel, with a grin. "That is a difficult question to answer. The goddess knows almost everything. The few things she doesn't understand aren't going to be easily explained to mortals, not even to a girl as clever as you."
"Adam said the goddess touched me in my mother's belly and changed me. Did she do this to learn something?"
"Of course," said Gabriel. "Everything the goddess does she does in the name of knowledge. The alterations to your mind help bridge the perceptual gap between humans and animals. You see the world with the same sensory openness of a beast, yet still possess the cognitive gifts of a human. You're the harbinger of what the goddess envisions for all future humans."
"What's a harbinger?"
"A forerunner," said Gabriel. "You're the first of your kind. But, you're displaying such promise, I'm certain you won't be the last. We're happy you came back, Zeeky. The goddess was disappointed you weren't with your family."
"If this goddess has my family, will you take me to her?"
"Of course," said Gabriel, offering his hand.
Zeeky placed her fingers into his outstretched palm. Gabriel helped her rise. She could hear things inside him as he moved, soft clicks and purrs that sounded nothing like a normal human body.
"How far away are they?"
"A long way by foot," said Gabriel. "But I know a short cut."
He reached his arms out in a dramatic gesture; his slender fingers grabbed the air. He began to pull, as if at some unseen rope. A rainbow formed where his fingers moved. Poocher squealed and backed away as the arc of colorful light grew, stretching from floor to ceiling.
Zeeky backed away as well. There were terrible sounds coming from the rainbow, distant sobs and moans, the sound of men and women in horrible torment.
Gabriel looked puzzled by her reaction.
"For one so fearless, I didn't expect you to be bothered by a little light," he said.
"Can't you hear it?" she asked.
"Hear what?"
"Those voices," she said, as she backed up all the way against the wall. The cool wet rock dampened her shirt. "All those people. Listen to them. They're hungry and lost and afraid."
"Interesting," Gabriel said, looking at the rainbow arc. "I don't hear anything. No one ever hears anything. There are no sounds in underspace."
"They're not just in the rainbow," Zeeky said, covering her ears. "They're all around us. They're in the air, and in the rocks. It's like the voices of ghosts!"
Poocher paced back and forth, emitting a series of short, soft, panicky squeaks, as if he wanted to erupt into a full blown squeal but was afraid to make the noise.
"If you can hear them, can they hear you?" asked Gabriel. "Can you talk to them?"
Zeeky felt her rising fear suddenly plateau as the question lodged in her mind. She could talk to animals. Could she talk to ghosts as well? Her curiosity overwhelmed her terror.
"Hello?" she cried out. "Hello? Can you hear me?"
At first, the change in the moaning was very subtle. It was difficult to tell if there had been any reaction at all. Yet, perhaps a few of the voices had fallen silent. Some of the ghosts had stopped to listen to her.
"Hello!" she called out again, aiming her voice toward the rainbow. "Is anyone there?"
Now more of the voices grew quiet. One by one, the sobs fell away. The agonized moaning trailed off, to better pay attention.
"My name is Zeeky," she said. "Who are you?"
At first, she could barely hear anything. Then, the whispers rose, repeating her name: "Zeeky… Zeeky… Ezekia…"
The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she realized the ghosts knew her true name.
"Zeeky?" a woman asked. She knew this voice.
"Mama?"
"It's cold here," the woman answered.
"Where are you?" Zeeky asked.
"Where are you?" the woman answered, her voice fading.
"Mama?" Zeeky repeated. "Mama?"
There was the faintest whisper in response, a word just beneath the edge of comprehension, and then the voices were gone.
"I don't hear them anymore," she said. Poocher seemed calmer as well. Had he heard the voices, or just been responding to her fear?
"Extraordinary," said Gabriel. "Opening the underspace gateway creates millions of fine-scale wormholes. Can it be you heard voices from underspace through these tiny rips? The goddess will definitely want to study this further. We must see her at once."
"You keep saying underspace," Zeeky said, crossing her arms, looking stern. "You know I don't know what it means. Are you trying to make me feel stupid?"
"I'm sorry," said Gabriel, with a sincere tone that convinced Zeeky he meant the words. "Underspace, is, well, it's like a world under the world."
"Like this mine?"
"Not quite," said Gabriel. "Perhaps I should say it's a world beside this world. But really, it's more like… hmm. I don't think I can explain it well without using higher math. I'll let the goddess try. She's very good at making things easy to understand."
"All I want to know about underspace is, is my mother there? Is that why I could hear her?"
"Possibly," said Gabriel. "Let's go to see the godd
ess. She can explain everything."
Zeeky looked down at Poocher, who looked up at her. He shrugged, as if to say, "Too late to turn back now."
Zeeky nodded, and walked toward the rainbow.
Chapter Fourteen:
Encounters in the Night
Shandrazel had commanded Graxen to leave the palace on the second day of the talks and go someplace where he could simply enjoy his day. Graxen would have preferred to stay near the palace in hopes of seeing Nadala again, but an order was an order. Graxen had no true friends to spend time with, so he flew downriver to the brackish swamplands, mentally replaying every word of his conversation with Nadala as he flew. Near the coast, the river swelled so wide it was nearly a bay. Countless fishing villages stood on stilts. Humans by the thousand plied the waters here. Using wide flat boats they harvested shrimp and crabs, oysters and eels, and fish from inch-long anchovies to sharks that rivaled sun-dragons in size. Graxen had grown up in the eternal poverty of a student, but as Shandrazel's messenger his purse was suddenly full. On his trip to Hampton to summon the mayor, he'd glimpsed an item worn by the mayor's wife that seemed as if it would make an appropriate gift for Nadala. Of course, at the time, he didn't have any clue he would ever see Nadala again. Now, he returned to the fishing town, landing on one of the countless docks that edged the harbor, hoping he could find her a gift.
The second he landed on the salted wood, vendors from a dozen nearby shacks began to shout. His first instinct was to ignore them, but to his left a wizened old woman in a yellow scarf thrust her arm into an oak barrel and pulled out a still living catfish. Graxen's eyes immediately locked onto the fat, blue-gray morsel, nearly two feet in length. The woman held it high with her knotty fingers jammed into the fish's wide mouth. She smiled knowingly as she met Graxen's hungry gaze.
There was no meal more beloved of sky-dragons than raw fish. While the necessities of commerce and transportation meant that most seafood was dried, smoked, or pickled, when the opportunity arose nothing compared to biting into a freshly caught fish, drinking down its living fluids as it struggled against your tongue.