Jimi didn't care for that. Midas Welbe creepified him for certain. But she insisted the augur-man knew something. Jimi believed knowing wasn't the same as saying. Midas Welbe no doubt knew a score of things. Most of which Jimi suspected he'd rather not be told, even if Pink felt differently.
Evenings, the downing sun would warm the unmelting snow of Pink's hair as she learned the secrets of leaf and bough. It was a homecoming, she said, to know her mama tended this same grove. Jimi figured the trees were her trade. Same as it must've been her momma's. That was all right by him, though he couldn't see the benefit of it.
While they waited for Jimi's crop to grow the earth turned boggy. Low fields swelled to marshes. Waterfalls sprang jubilant from crags. Wood ducks and greenheads moved to new addresses in previously stubbled meadows.
One muggy night, Jimi leaned against the rusting Airstream picking at mosquito bites. He said, "Ground's gone awry. My planting's rotted plumb in the dirt. I looked for a decent yield to set us up. This place is a pisshole."
Snuggling into his shoulder, Pink said, "Been no rain hereabouts since last year. Wrong direction, water coming up from the ground. I could go see Midas. He might know something."
"Don't," said Jimi. The less Pink saw of Midas, the better he felt. Besides, he should look into this. It was his job, after all. "Tomorrow I'll see to the neighbors. Check if they got the same problems. Might be nothing." Jimi wasn't keen on the idea. Being a stranger, and not your average white boy, he had to push down a wispy fear.
"All right then." Pink said. "Be home by suppertime."
The morning sun painted the day with a honey-light. Warmth stirred up an earthy smell congruent with the heavy mist that ladled itself around Jimi's legs. Already he'd taken coffee with Tim Williams, who groused that water swamped his cornfield, and not the low one neither. Outside there was a smell of wet, like wood rot. The earth felt spongy underfoot. It unsettled Jimi, who'd thought the swampiness limited to their piece of land.
Continuing along, Jimi shouted in fear as a wall of gray water, tall as a man, rose up from the damn ground, where no wave should be, to knock down Jayme Stone as she walked her little dog. The little dog never did get up. A great puddle of sour ooze ankle high was left behind. After helping her rescue the terrier's broken body from the muck, Miz Stone said Midas took care of things hereabouts. He was the man to fix this terrifying deluge.
Jayme said Jimi'd find Midas at his fishing hole. Earlier he'd passed that way carrying a pail and a six-pack of Bud. She recommended Jimi go past Pistone's dairy, past the wrecked train tracks, up an overgrown trail.
Now Jimi pushed his way through a staggering number of cottonwoods. Sweat glued his black Cannibal Corpse T-shirt to his back. He brushed a cobweb from his face and paused for consideration.
There was nary a path through the woods, at least none he could spot. Twice now something had hissed at him, and he had no idea what the critter was, or what he'd done to piss it off. Jimi swatted at the no-see-ums haloing his head. He wished for a sign, an ordinary street sign. He missed Port Arthur. He missed the noise, the stink, and the pure regularness of it all.
A city has streets and people and rules. Keep the speed limit. Don't steal. Obey the cops. Of course, Jimi had broken those laws and then some. So maybe it was fitting that he'd landed ass-up in a place like Red Star, where he had only Pink to advise him. And now Midas.
A hot metal tang stung his nose. A deep thrum rattled him. Likely it was just a bird. Likely. The hairs on Jimi's arms stood up. Something boomed close behind him. He backed into a trickle of water, then turned and ran, following it down, away from the deep bass sound. When the water was up to his knees he stopped, finding himself at the mouth of a lake he didn't know existed.
Midas stood in the shallows on the far side with a bucket next to him. Curls of steam rose from it. He leaned over the water, studying the glassy surface, his hair stringing down so as Jimi wondered how he could see. He held a net, which looked awkward to manage in the heavy work gloves he wore.
Jimi sloshed over along the lake edge. He scanned the ground for snakes before settling on a mossy log. He asked, "Catch any fish?"
"Too hot for fish," said Midas. "You out on a promenade?" Around Jimi's neck hung the bone piece secured with ochre yarn. Pink made him put it on that morning. The little doohickey caught Midas's eyes. The augur-man seemed to vibrate with tension. To break it, Jimi tossed a rock that lay at his feet into the lake.
"You oughta be careful, son. You shouldn't put things places unless you know all about 'em. I'm familiar with this pond man and boy, longer than most people figure. Even I don't know what might lie in there anymore."
Jimi gulped, sure Midas could hear his fear, his heart was beating that hard. "Our place is swamped. Other folks got the same problem. They said to see you about fixing things."
"You could go back to Texas," Midas said. "No need to stay."
"Pink won't leave and I won't go without her. You telling me this bog is natural?"
"Got no need to tell you anything." A new splash riveted Midas's attention. He netted a black lizard daubed with red spots. When he grabbed the hissing thing in his gloved hand, smoke flashed from its skin. Midas dumped the lizard in the bucket. The water inside boiled. "Salamanders," Midas explained. "They get a tad warm when a body upsets 'em."
"I knew you for an augur-man. Only met one before, but you got the look." That was one question answered for sure. Jimi smiled.
Working carefully so as not to disturb the pail, Midas stripped the gloves from his hands. "That amulet Pink's work? Can I see?"
It seemed a reasonable request. Jimi couldn't figure his reluctance to remove the bony piece. Slowly he looped it from his neck, then handed it over.
Fast as lightning, Midas dropped it in the bucket, almost as if it burned. Jimi stood up in surprise. Anger mixed with fear. He motioned toward the bucket. "What'd you do that for?"
Midas pinned Jimi with his pale eyes. "Settle down. We couldn't talk comfortable with that thing on you. Why'd you come here, son? I never did believe that tinsel-story Pink told."
There was something persuasive about his light blue eyes. Jimi chewed his lip. He'd never been good at lying. A cicada started sawing loud enough to wake the dead. Bugs whirred and chirruped. What was his voice against this noise? Jimi took a breath before unspooling the tale he'd kept wrapped 'round his heart.
He remembered that Texas night. Jimi was working nightshift on an offshore oil rig as a fifth hand, only work a nobody like him could get, when all hell broke loose on a CSC barge sneaking into port. He'd never seen anything like it. Folks were yelling, diving into the water. Roughnecks quit work to have a look-see. Jimi joined them at the metal rail, glad to fit in. It was terrifying, but exciting, too. Until the barge sank amid explosions and screams. That gave him the chills.
Seconds later, the rig groaned as metal bent in ways it shouldn't. The derrick man called up that something was stuck in the mud pit. The rig boss ordered a couple of Mex divers into the water. After they jumped, blood pumped up with mud. Jimi felt sick inside. None of those divers came back.
Things like giant eels circled the derrick. One of the drillers pulled out a .38 Smith & Wesson to shoot the monsters. A creature big as a semi jumped up, flew through the goddamn air, to cut him in half with its claw, then plunged back into the water. That was a big one.
There were little ones too, writhing and snapping in the waves. One got on the rig and attacked a driller. They tangled it with chain. It looked strangled sure, but it was too late for the feller it'd bit into fleshy pieces. The dead creature gave Jimi the heebie-jeebies. The rig boss ordered him to take the thing to shore in the lifeboat. Someone would be waiting.
Jimi didn't want to go. But he had no choice. He motored off with the little monster beside him. Heat scorched his back as the oil rig exploded. Ash smudged the stars as flames shot over the water. Shrieks and gunshots and the smell of burnt meat hung on the air.
A
sedan waited by the dock, accompanied by a string of police cars. Men in dark suits watched the burning rig, and no doubt Jimi, as he shipped toward them. Their mirror sunglasses reflected the hell-born fire.
But then some instinct bid Jimi to duck low and veer off. He tied up a mile away, bagged the dead thing—by then he was pretty sure it was a contraband dragon—and then lit out of Texas carrying it in his trunk.
He explained that coming to Red Star, well, that was Pink's idea.
Midas stirred the bucket. "So I guessed right. A Chinese boy with a Chinese dragon." For a moment Midas was far off in his thinking. When he continued, he smiled friendly-like at Jimi. "An Immortal like that, no length of chain nor bullet can end it. Maybe it got injured in all the fuss. But dead? Not like to happen. Where'd you bed this thing down?"
Jimi's tattoo prickled. "A cave. I doubt I could find it."
"We'll find it together." Midas pressed the last cold Bud into Jimi's limp hand. "I'll fix what you brought on us. You'll help."
The dragon mark burned. Jimi gulped the beer down. The cold drink eased the pain. He had a certainty that helping the augur-man was the thing to do.
WITHIN MIDAS'S WORK SHED played out a scene from some preacher's nightmare, or maybe a Hollywood movie, the kind that makes girls hide their eyes. Jimi swayed in place, wishing the walls would hold still. The augur-man jumped around throwing burning stuff into a chalk circle while shouting strange words. In the circle's security, he took the salamanders, threading them ass-to-mouth on heated metal sticks. The lizards tried to crawl off the red-hot dowels, their tiny feet and tails lashing the air in desperation. In their pain they burned in fierce reds and blues and yellows, hotter than any natural fire. Midas used his magic to collect the colorful essence, all the while singing. When their fires weakened, he gutted the pitiful creatures and collected the glowing coals of their innards too. Such cruelty made Jimi sick.
His head throbbed. He was pretty sure that came from the green drink Midas poured him, a remedy for what ails you , Midas had said. The augur-man made certain Jimi drank all the mixture down, even though Jimi complained it tasted of sulfur and oil and cat piss. It scoured his throat, which was still sore.
A small window cut in the far wall was minus a glass pane. Jimi edged that way. Maybe he could catch his breath. It seemed unlikely Midas would notice, not as het up as he was. After what felt like years Jimi arrived at the opening and put his face to the missing rectangle. He jumped at the touch of Pink's hand on his cheek. "What're you doing here?" he hissed at her.
"What're you doing?" Pink whispered back. "I waited till nightfall and you never came home so I went looking. What craziness is going on in there?"
Her color jar rested sidewise in the dirt, its contents a swirl of orange and yellow. Jimi twitched with effort to tell how Midas planned to kill the Chinese beast from Port Arthur. "It's an unnatural being," Jimi said. "Only something equally unnatural can stop it." For a moment he felt very wise.
"Where's my play-prettie?"
Jimi found he couldn't say. Pink's eyes were round as an owl's. "You've been doped. Can you get out the door?"
That wasn't possible as he could barely stand. Before Pink left, Jimi said, "The monster has to be destroyed."
"Creature's got a right to live. Killing's no business of ours."
He tried to warn her away, but Pink had grabbed her jar and was gone and he could not think further.
Midas had spent the rest of the night in some kind of trance, a hoodoo the like of which Jimi had never seen. Now he pulled Jimi through the woods with his fingers pressed against the back of Jimi's neck, reading the tattoo like it was a message. Jimi hoped that after their talking, Pink would have the sense to stay away. Or better still, take the car and get out.
While they traveled, Midas mumbled. Psyching himself up, Jimi figured, like for a football game. The augur-man's face grew red as he yelled about Harold, Pink's daddy. How the fool came demanding his wife, believing he was owed because of a gold ring on her finger. Anyone could die sudden-like from a brain hemorrhage. Later Midas paid for a stone up to Dripping Springs Cemetery.
Jimi threw himself down. When Midas went to lift him, Jimi wrapped his arms around a tree trunk and held fast. He said, "You murdered Pink's daddy. You magicked him dead. You're a stone-cold killer."
"That's not exactly the way of it," Midas said. "Harold came fixing to murder me. It was pure self-defense." He paced the oak tree to examine the situation.
"You do for Pink's mama, too?"
Midas slammed his boot heel on Jimi's entwined hands. Jimi screamed, then grit his teeth against his skin ripping, flesh mashing into the dirt. His bones ground together, the little ones just snapping. He cried out and swore, knowing it would be even worse when Midas stopped. Crushed, his misshapen fingers could not hold.
Midas hauled him up. "You think I'd harm my own precious wife?"
Everything Jimi heard came through a fog, and Midas would not stop talking. "She had no business leaving me. Leaving Red Star." Jimi couldn't rightly remember who Evie was, or why he'd cared once. His arms throbbed with the pain of his mauled hands. His shaking made it hard to walk, while Midas kept on at him. "No wood sprite is free to just up and leave like she did, not for love nor any reason. She's blooded to them oaks. I locked her, body and soul, into her grove. She hid the girl. But I knew she'd come. You're the one that don't belong. You and the dragon."
Jimi's hands hurt so much he couldn't think. He cursed himself for being a damn fool, for taking Pink's amulet off, for ever coming to Red Star. If Midas didn't kill him, the dragon would for sure.
A tangle of shrubs lay crushed beside a new-made river. Among the few hawthorns and cottonwoods left upright curled a patchwork creature. It wasn't yet as big as the ones Jimi thought of as adults. It still lacked claws to slash. But it was fearsome enough at three, maybe four times his size. A wiry neck with a goat's head sprang from the curled snake's body. Antlers, bad-ass as any seven-point buck's, sprouted from its bony carapace. Saucer eyes watched them with interest. A leaden cold emanated from the beast. Jimi could taste a metal tang, like blood, in the air.
Midas whispered, "Thought you put it in a cave."
"We did," said Jimi. "Dropped it down a limestone hole." He added unnecessarily, "It grew."
Midas thrust Jimi in front. The augur-man's power twisted into Jimi, doubling Jimi over as his hair began to singe. Steam hissed from his skin. Terror churned his gut. When Jimi opened his mouth, he coughed out smoke.
Prodding him forward, Midas said, "That's right, son. You're my locum to cast a mighty flame and destroy that thing. You'll die, but you had your chance to leave."
Pink slipped from an oak. Red leaves circled her head like a rusted crown. In her hands she carried a net woven of willow twigs. Embedded within the green mesh were clumps of brown feathers, bones picked clean, and specks of glitter. She said, "I've come for my Jimi."
"Step aside, girl," said Midas. "Keep your hocus-pocus for fairs and wonder-shows." Sparks exploded from his fingertips. She threw the net over Midas, trapping him and the glowing jots. The sparks fizzled to ash as they battered against the web.
Midas created a fireball in his hands. It burned like the sun. The ball grew, levitating between his palms. "You can't stop me, no more'n your ma could. Smart girl like you knows that. Let me do my work."
"I'm not my ma," said Pink.
Pain ate at Jimi from a terrible burning inside. His lips cracked as he coughed up smoke and bubbles of red spit. He looked to Pink and tried to gasp, "I'm sorry."
She laid his broken hands on the dragon's skin. A gluey substance engulfed them, attaching him to its shining scales. The dragon regarded Jimi with eyes that gleamed with unshed rain.
Molten gold glowed inside Pink's jam jar. She twisted the lid open. She said, "Trust me," then poured the fluid over Jimi. The liquid flowed like a living thing. It crawled into his ears and up his nose. He cried out as it seeped into intimate crevices and holes
.
Taking advantage, Midas bowled the fireball at Jimi, who screamed as it set him aflame. His skin melted, seared, burned to blackened char. He blazed blue, then yellow, then white-hot. Fire wound pathways through his hands into the cold body of the dragon, heating it, transforming it into a creature of ether and mist.
Jimi stopped screaming and opened his eyes. He lay in the center of a circle of hot ash, buck naked, and hairless as the day he was born. He wasn't dead. The dragon—Panlong, he realized its name was—uncurled itself some distance away. Drizzle rose from the dragon's glowing iridescent skin. It hovered a few feet above the ground.
Diminished, Midas slumped within the twiggy net. Pink whispered a word and the shoots rooted. Pain etched Midas's face as he pushed against fast-growing oaks, cottonwoods, and maples.
Wood snared his flesh. Willow bark curled over his legs. Midas thrust out his arms as leaves sprang from his fingertips and his hands turned into woody excrescences.
Jimi gasped, "That's what he did to your mama, Evie. I heard him talk of it."
Pink said, "She told me through wind and leaf how he caught her. The red oaks knew. Midas broke her for revenge without a thought for me."
The augur-man rasped, "You plan to kill me, girl?"
"That'd be a sin as great as your own. But you've turned wily as a water moccasin. There's no trusting you." Pink made a gesture and bark grew over his chin, his lips, his eyes. In minutes no human sign remained of Midas Welbe. Where he stood, an ancient black willow leaned over a mountain stream.
"Can you free your ma?" asked Jimi as he got to his feet. He trembled as he touched the leaves on Pink's head with his scarred hand. Tiny bones and little toys dangled down. It was beyond his understanding.
Pink slumped against Midas's willow trunk. "There's nothing here Mama wants, not even me. Green life changes a person." She wiped tears from her face with the back of her hand.
With a groan, Jimi sat beside her. She laid her head against him to cry. Jimi held her close, wondering at the freshly healed scars on his bronzed hands. It felt like his wits and other parts were scattered far and wide. He kept his arms around Pink—choosing to ignore the aches, the spatters of rain, the gathering purple clouds, the wind buffeting the trees. Mostly he chose to ignore the Chinese dragon, Panlong, dancing close to their fragile selves. He knew the dragon wouldn't hurt them now. Maybe it never would have.
Fantasy & Science Fiction Mar-Apr 2013 Page 21