Dragon with a Deadly Weapon

by Michael Angel

  “Here,” he said. “This shall be the next book that you shall be studying. Not just to ‘read’, for that is for mere entertainment, no? This is for you to take into your heart and hold as dear as any knowledge you have won before.”

  I took it and glanced at the cover. The figure of a rearing, blood-red dragon sent an uneasy chill running through me, though I couldn’t understand why. And since I couldn’t translate the title, that unease didn’t abate.

  LA VOLANTÉ ET LE CHEMIN: UN LIVRE DE SORCELLERIE

  I looked up from the book’s cover, confused.

  “I did not say it shall be an easy read,” Destry said, “but you have a mind that is uncommonly adaptatif.”

  “Adaptive, maybe. But all I took in high school was basic Spanish, not French.”

  “The inside of the book is in your mother tongue,” he reassured me. “Know only that the first part of the title is the key. It means ‘The Will, and the Way’.”

  I frowned once more. “That still doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “No worry. There is time yet for understanding to come. You are not alone in all this, you know. Your friends might be able to help you.”

  My friends? I thought. That’s a new one. I don’t remember buying a group rate plane ticket down here.

  “I see that you are confused. Perhaps you still do not recall everything,” Destry added. “That is not unexpected, but it must be remedied right away.”

  Destry moved out from under the umbrella and stood up. I followed suit. He tilted his head back, put his fingers to his mouth, and blew a shrill-sounding whistle. The ear-piercing noise reached to the heavens.

  One of the golden dots circling high above suddenly got larger as it spiraled earthwards. A lot larger, in fact. Destry and I shielded our eyes as a flurry of massive wingbeats kicked up the beach sand. Those wings, which were snowy white and tipped with black, folded in against dense yellow-gold fur. A stern eagle’s head topped a slender but muscular leonine body. Golden eyes tinged with jade green around the edges regarded us curiously.

  “Is there something the matter?” the griffin asked, in a bell-clear, melodious woman’s voice. “I was about to go on the hunt for our afternoon meal.”

  “I’m afraid there is un petit problème,” Destry said, as he gestured towards me. “Dayna has had a terrible dream. One so bad that she is not sure what is real, or what has happened recently. Maybe you two could reacquaint yourselves while I find the last member of our little group?”

  She touched a forepaw to her chest and bowed slightly in response. “Of course. Anything that happens to Dayna is of concern to me.”

  “Then I shall leave you to it.”

  Destry turned and disappeared into the coconut groves that topped the sand dunes, leaving me in the company of this familiar-looking female griffin.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The griffin looked me over from head to toe. She gave special attention to my skull, as if she were scrutinizing the top for bumps. Finally, she cocked her head before she spoke again.

  “Is what Destry says true? Have you, as I heard you once put it, ‘lost your marbles’?”

  “I, uh, don’t know if I’ve lost them,” I said gamely. “Let’s just say that I’m trying to find where they’ve rolled off to and put them back in the box.”

  “I can roll a few of your marbles back into place, then. My name is Hollyhock, and I suppose that a sudden shock like a dream might throw even the mightiest of warriors into an unwanted molt.” She moved to sit across from me. Her lion’s tail twitched contemplatively upon the warm sand as she went on. “Alfhild, the loyal companion to Oddmarr the Undying, had her wits scrambled like a hatchling just out of its shell when she suffered a fit of battle madness. Perhaps something like this afflicted you.”

  The name ‘Oddmarr’ rang a bell with me. I did know this female griffin. She was a reeve from the Reykajar Aerie, and she’d told me once, long ago about this semi-mythical hero to her species. The realization that we’d been friends, that I’d almost lost my memory of her, made my throat swell shut as a surge of emotion moved through me. I had to fight just to talk.

  “Holly,” I said, as fought to keep my voice steady, “maybe my wits have been scrambled. But I do know you. We know each other, I mean. And I know it will sound very strange…but right now, I really, really want to hug you.”

  In response, the reeve fluffed out her feathers and moved as if to tuck her beak under one wing.

  “Would it sound strange,” Holly finally replied, “if I really, really wanted you to?”

  That was all the excuse I needed. She raised her beak safely out of the way as I threw my arms about her neck. I shuddered as I felt the softness of her fur, the solidity of her body. Hollyhock let out a ‘coo’ as she raised one paw and gently held me against her in turn.

  I don’t know how long I held her, or her me. All I know is that she let me do that for as long as I needed, and that was enough. Finally, I let my arms fall away and I took a step back. The reeve’s eyes were wet.

  “Some consider it unbecoming for a warrior of the Reyka clan,” Holly said quietly, “to show such unbridled emotion.”

  “Whoever that ‘some’ is can gent bent,” I replied. “I needed that. We needed that. Somehow…I think we never got to have it when it was most needed.”

  I knew I sounded borderline incoherent. But whatever ‘that’ and ‘it’ was, I knew I was speaking the truth. I felt it in my bones.

  “We shall speak more on this later,” Holly announced, as she proudly stamped a forepaw against the sand. “Needs I must return to the task of a meal. There are many fish here, almost as many as I could find at the aerie. But without my brothers to act as spotters, it’s trickier to catch them. I shall return when my hunt is successful.”

  With that, she spread her wings and took off in a handful of beats, tossing up sand as she did so. In a few moments, she became a gold and white dot circling offshore over the ocean. I was still looking after her as Destry emerged from the tree line. As I glanced toward him, I saw that he had brought some new things along with him.

  Aside from the purple backpack, he now held the wooden handle of a picnic basket in one hand. And perched on his shoulder was a tiny Great-Horned Owl the color of orange sherbet. Before I could say anything, the bird launched itself into the air and circled around me, peppering me with questions.

  “Are you badly hurt?” the owl asked, in the sweet voice of a little boy. “What happened to you, Dayna? Did you fall down and hit your head? Is it true that you don’t remember any of us?”

  Now my own eyes started welling up. I had to say something, anything, before I alarmed the little owlet any further. Once more, I had to fight to keep my voice even.

  “Well,” I said, “something may be wrong with my head, but I certainly know you!”

  Destry motioned to the kid, who came back to perch on the man’s broad shoulder.

  “You still better introduce yourself, no?” he said, in a stage-whisper. “I think it would help things along.”

  “Gotcha. My name is Perrin, and I’m the youngest son from the clutch of Xandra and Orestes, who are both from the Roost of the Star Child. Um, that’s in a place called Andeluvia.”

  “I know of the place,” I said. “Don’t ask me how, but I know.”

  “I, ah, guess you don’t remember that we’re roommates,” Perrin continued. “You’re a strange looking monster, but if my mom said that I can stay with you, then I will. You’re a lot better company than my old roost mates. They all talk funny and say I’m crazy.”

  My eyes finally gave up the ghost. Tears ran down my cheeks. Perrin immediately fluttered over to land on my shoulder. His tiny owl-talons gripped my shoulder gently, barely denting my skin. He pressed into me, rubbing his little horn-feathers against the side of my head.

  “Did I say something wrong?” he asked, alarmed. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

  “No, you didn’t say anything wrong,” I s
aid, as I reached up and gave the top of his head a couple friendly scratches. “I’m crying because I’m so happy right now.”

  He straightened up, leaned forward, and turned his head to look at me. His big yellow eyes were a picture of innocent confusion.

  “You’re crying because you’re happy? Maybe you’re the one who’s crazy, not me.”

  “Tell you what,” I said, as I brushed away the tears with the back of my hand, “how about we both be a little crazy together?”

  “Oh, I like that idea!”

  Destry cleared his throat. “I sense that Hollyhock shall be bringing in her catch quite soon. Allons-y, let us get set up for her!”

  Perrin stayed perched on my shoulder as I gathered up my two books and followed Destry up and off the beach. The little owl was barely the size of a scrawny chicken, and even then, most of his body must’ve been made up of feathers. I hardly felt his presence aside from the gentle prick of his talons.

  Just beyond the line of coconut palms lay a grassy clearing ringed by bushes of blooming plumeria. Their fragrance hung in the air like fine perfume. A plastic cooler chest, white wooden picnic table and a set of matching chairs sat gleaming in the sun on one side of the clearing.

  On the other side lay a fire pit, made from a circle of rough-cut stones. A cone of kindling and underlying wood chunks had been stacked under a well-used metal cooking grate. Next to the pit lay a raised stone counter, which served to hold pans, cooking items, and a large flat section to do food prep.

  Destry pulled out a blue-and-white checkered tablecloth from his basket, along with glasses, plates, and utensils. I put my texts aside to set up the table while he arranged vegetables in the prepping area. Perrin flitted amongst the plumeria bushes until he found a perfect set of blooms to pluck. He set them out by each place setting and then settled on a nearby branch to watch.

  I next helped Destry by cutting, peeling, and pitting a pair of avocados. The flesh I scooped out got sliced up, along with purple onions and poblano peppers. He then carefully mixed this in a large bowl with yellow corn kernels and a mixture of salt, sugar, pepper, and a dash of champagne vinegar.

  “Dayna,” he said casually, “it’s time to see if any of your studies and practice have borne fruit.”

  I swallowed, hard. Maybe my brain still wasn’t working properly after that awful nightmare. I had no recollection of ‘practicing’ anything. In fact, I didn’t even know what Destry was referring to.

  “Still a little forgetful, I see.” He squatted in front of the fire pit, beckoning for me to join him. I did, and he pointed to the carefully arranged wood inside. “There she is, all we need is for you to light her.”

  “I, uh, don’t see a lighter anywhere,” I said.

  “Come now! What do you need to start a fire?”

  “A fire needs fuel,” I replied, nodding towards the kindling. “Oxygen. And heat. Specifically, focused heat to kick it off.”

  “So, focus the heat without a lighter. Use what I told you about that new book’s title.”

  “What, the ‘Will and the Way’? I don’t understand how–”

  “See, that is the issue here,” Destry said, as he reached in and picked up one of the little kindling splinters. “Your mind is trained for science. It believes that the rules of physics are pas changer.”

  “But they’re not changeable,” I protested. “I couldn’t do my job in Los Angeles if I didn’t believe that!”

  “What if that were not true? What if you could still do your job…but in a different way?”

  I shook my head at that, so Destry simply held up the splinter in one hand. He made a gun shape with the fingers of his other hand and pointed at the wood. Then he flicked his thumb to mimic the firing of a weapon.

  The splinter smoked and then burned up in a little spark.

  Destry gestured to me. “Now, you.”

  In disbelief, I pointed my gun hand at the kindling in the fire pit. The weight of the ruby shard ring felt cold against my skin as I did so. I cocked my thumb and then mimed shooting the wood.

  Something like a zap of static electricity wriggled its way through my hand and out through my index finger. The kindling burst into flame. I let out a yelp as I fell backwards onto my rump.

  “Come on, I’ve seen you make bigger flames than that!” Perrin called from up in his tree.

  “Not bad,” Destry said. “If you would, please feed that fire so that we have coals to cook with.”

  “Right, I’ve got this,” I said, as I got back up and dusted myself off. I began feeding larger chips of wood into the fire’s hot little epicenter, and soon the wood chunks in the base of the pit turned into scarlet coals. Meanwhile, Destry finished making what he called a tropical salsa for our meal.

  “Holly’s about to do her big splash!” Perrin announced, as he danced excitedly on his perch.

  I looked up and saw where the reeve was making tighter and tighter circles in mid-air. She then brought her wings in with one final, propulsive beat and dove towards the ocean. She plunged beak-first into one of the deep blue swells with a mighty sploosh!

  Hollyhock emerged seconds later, riding the waves in like a bodysurfer until she could trot up the beach towards us. A forty-pound mahi-mahi dangled from her beak, still dripping wet and fresh from the ocean when she placed it in the prep area.

  Destry cut several fillets for grilling and set them aside, then skewered the rest of the fish for a quick sear over the hot fire. He slid this off onto a platter and set it next to the table, where Hollyhock tore into it with relish. It took only a little longer for him to cook three more portions in an iron skillet, serving each on a bed of the salsa.

  He made a few more adjustments for Perrin. Destry chopped the fish into smaller chunks, provided a tiny cocktail fork at his place setting, and set up a horizonal bar for the kid to perch on at his seat. As a final flourish, he procured a tub of fresh water for Holly to drink and a carafe of pineapple lemonade from the cooler chest for the rest of us.

  In truth, it was the best late lunch or early dinner I’d ever had.

  The eating, drinking, and chatting went on for longer than I’d thought possible. The sky had shifted from blue to the light orange of approaching evening in the tropics before Holly and Perrin had had their fill of food and conversation. Destry and I reclined in our chairs as I looked out to the east, where the morning star had risen, gleaming, from the ocean.

  “That was fine work with the fire, chère,” he said, raising his last glass of lemonade to me. “It is good to see the last three months have not been wasted, no?”

  “It did feel good,” I said honestly. “I’m sorry that I was such a pain earlier today. That dream…it must have messed my memories up pretty badly.”

  “Traumas, real or imagined, affect us all. But now there is something that I must do.”

  Destry got up, moved over to my chair, and knelt at my side. He motioned for me to give him my hand, so I did. He nimbly slid the ring with its ruby shard off my finger.

  “What was that for?” I asked.

  “That is removing what you might call your ‘training wheels’,” he pronounced. “You’ve seen that what I do isn’t all tricks and lies. Even if it takes you all tonight and tomorrow, I need you to read the new book I gave you. To take it to heart. For we must start your real studies. So that you can finally become what the world needs.”

  I looked at him. My voice suddenly sounded unsure again.

  “What is that? What does the world need?

  I received a Gallic chuckle in reply.

  “What else?” Destry said. “One who understands sorcellerie. A sorceress.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Destry’s personal ‘Château de Magicien’ was a two-story cottage painted an off-beat shade of crabapple green. However, it still had an airy South Seas feel, thanks to the grass fringed, double-pitched roof. Large wooden beams projected from the corners, each sporting a grimacing tiki face carved onto the end. A stri
ng of Chinese lanterns illuminated the creaky wraparound porch, completing the quirky look of the place.

  Inside, each room was furnished in a style I privately called ‘Polynesian Yard Sale’. Most of the furniture was made of bamboo, rattan, or wicker, with a blue or white cushion thrown atop for comfort. Furnishings were an eclectic mix of tribal masks, palm-frond overhead fans, and roll-up blinds made to look like rice paper. The walls were covered with badly yellowed photographs of small French towns, views of the Eiffel Tower at night, or local fishermen paddling outrigger canoes.

  The kitchen, dining room, living room, and laundry nook were downstairs. My study area and bedroom were upstairs, so there were some days that I only visited the first floor for mealtimes. I had no complaint about my living quarters, though.

  The bed was a four-poster feathery delight come true. Matching sets of windows faced east and west, so the plumeria-scented breeze could pass through to keep the room cool. Best of all, Perrin slept in a little nesting spot to one side, just within arm’s reach if I wanted to give him a head-rub before turning in for the night.

  Destry didn’t stay at the château himself. He lived in a curious structure further up the hill. A medieval stone tower, as a matter of fact. I had no idea how a vine-covered Norman castle turret ended up in the South Pacific. Then again, I hadn’t been aggressively questioning how a griffin and a talking owl had ended up a hundred sea-miles southeast of Tahiti, either.

  All I knew was that the tower was in rough shape. Vines scaled and covered the gray stone walls. Cracks appeared in the mortar. Arched windows were filmed over by patches of blue-green moss.

  I’d never been inside. I wasn’t allowed into that inner sanctum just yet.

  But the most curious item lay twenty steps from Destry’s front door.