by Bryan Davis
Bonnie gasped and stepped backwards.
“Don’t be frightened. As you can see, I am of your kind. I am a dragon, the first dragon, your principal ancestor.” The dragon emerged from the tree and seemed to float to the ground, his huge clawed feet pressing holes in the soft grass. “Most humans flee at the sight of me, but since you’re a dragon, you have no need to fear.”
Bonnie felt plenty of fear. Her legs trembled, and she could hardly breathe, but she knew she had to stand her ground. She tried to keep her voice from shaking. “But . . . but I’m not a dragon . . . not really.”
The dragon seemed to stifle a laugh, and his voice remained friendly. “Not a dragon?” His long neck stretched toward Bonnie’s back. Bonnie followed his head with her gaze but kept her body as stiff as a number three pencil.
The dragon gave a gentle snort, and tiny sparks fell to the grass. “I’ve never seen a human with such beautiful wings before. Are you sure you’re not a dragon?”
Bonnie glanced back at her wings. “I . . . uh . . . I’m sort of a dragon, fully human and fully dragon.”
The dragon nodded. “An anthrozil.”
“You know about that word?”
“Anthrozil? Oh, yes. I am aware of your father’s work and his alliance with that crafty Devin fellow. Anthrozil is a perfectly fine word, but they were mistaken about you. You are much more dragon than you are human. I heard that you wore a backpack to hide your wings, but with all those scales, I’m surprised you ever fooled anyone.”
“Scales? What are you talking about?”
The dragon cocked his head. “Why, your facial scales, of course. We dragons have scales instead of skin. The reddish ones around your eyes are especially lovely. It’s too bad the rest of your body isn’t the same.”
Bonnie threw her hands up to her cheeks. Her skin was tough and slick like a snake’s hide, separated into imperfect squares by a network of fissures. “How did I get scales? This is terrible!”
The dragon’s facial lines turned downward. “Terrible? Why is it terrible? Do you find dragons ugly?”
Bonnie caught her breath. She pulled her hands down and tightened her fists into nervous balls. “No . . . No, not ugly. It’s just . . .”
The dragon nodded sympathetically. “You’re ashamed. You’re accustomed to human skin, and you fear what others will think of your dramatic change.”
Bonnie pulled on her bottom lip with her teeth. She didn’t know how to answer. Maybe she was ashamed. Was it wrong to be embarrassed about having dragon scales? Was it wrong to be concerned about her appearance at all?
The dragon motioned toward the pond with his head. “My pool is not the best of mirrors, but it is adequate. Look for yourself. You are more beautiful than ever.”
With a hand on her cheek, Bonnie took a step toward the pond, but when she caught a glimpse of the surface, she planted her feet. A mirror. I remember something about a mirror. As she rubbed her skin again, her ring dipped into a crevice between two scales. She pulled her hand down and glanced at the rubellite, then did a double take and stared at the stone. It’s pulsing! The stone changed colors in a rhythmic beat, its hue alternating between two shades of red.
A flood of memories roared into Bonnie’s mind—her mission with Billy, Merlin’s poem, a warning about mirrors. But she couldn’t remember the exact words. Her voice quaked, and she averted her eyes from the pond and from the dragon. “I . . . I don’t want to look.”
“Do you fear what you might see?”
The simple question seemed almost like a playground dare, yet more subtle, more enticing. A new idea crept into Bonnie’s mind. She added up her surroundings—a dragon, a tree, a tropical paradise . . . a tempter. She raised her head and stared defiantly at the dragon. “Who are you, anyway? Why are you trying to get me to look at a mirror?”
The dragon raised his brow and pulled his head back. “I care nothing for my own benefit. I thought you’d want to see how beautiful you’ve become. Look, or don’t look. I care not.”
Bonnie gazed at the twisted old tree. Could it really be that old? How could she find out who this dragon really was without giving away her suspicions? She folded her hands behind her back. “So, Mr. Dragon, if you’re my ancestor, I should call you by your name, don’t you think?”
The dragon held his head high. “Mr. Dragon is quite appropriate, for I am the first dragon, and I will likely be the last. But, if you wish, since I am the first and the last, you may call me either Alpha or Omega.”
Bonnie stifled a gasp. She had heard those Greek letters before. Alpha and Omega were the names of the entrance doors to her father’s cave laboratory. Was it a coincidence? What could it all mean? She tried to dig deeper. “So, uh, Alpha, what’s with that tree? Is it as old as you are?”
“Yes. It has been my home for thousands of years.”
Bonnie eyed the solitary “apple” hanging on the end of a branch. “Does it ever bear much fruit?”
“It does, more than you can ever imagine.”
She lifted her finger toward the tree. “Why is there only one on it now?”
The dragon raised his foreleg and opened its claws. A fruit identical to the one on the tree materialized in his scaly palm. “As soon as one appears, someone plucks it.” The fruit suddenly vanished. “At one time the tree was filled, but only two people ever walked this garden in those days. Now, with billions of people around, the tree is constantly harvested.”
“Billions of people? I don’t see anyone.”
“They are here. They walk in the world of the living. They cannot even see the tree, yet they pluck its fruit just the same.”
Bonnie folded her hands behind her back again. “Why am I able to see it? And why hasn’t anyone taken that one?”
The dragon stepped forward and pressed one of his clawed feet into the soft turf. He then pulled it back, allowing the grass in the imprint to slowly rise, but the blades were unable to regain their former height. The outline of the dragon’s claw remained. “You have stepped out of your realm and into my world. In this place you see things as they really are, exposed, without superficial coverings. The tree is veiled in your world, though people take its fruit readily. They are even at this moment passing all around you, but they cannot pluck this particular piece. It exists only here, in the world of revelation. Only you may take it.”
Bonnie waved her hand at the tree and began to turn away. “Well, I don’t want it.”
“Very well. It will still be here when you do want it.”
She pivoted back again. “But I know what it is. I’ll never want it.”
The dragon winked. “So you say. I’ve heard it all before. Everyone eventually reaps my harvest. I know for a fact that you’ve taken fruit from my tree in the past. It’s just a matter of time until you take it again.”
Bonnie crossed her arms over her chest and squinted at the dragon. “I’ve got you figured out, Mister Dragon. You’re no alpha or omega, but I do believe you are the first dragon, the original fallen angel.”
“Dragon? Yes, I am a dragon, as are you. And fallen? Yes, again, as are you.” The dragon moved his head to within inches of Bonnie’s, and his eyes blazed into hers. “As you conform to my image, you will learn that my ways are not what you think. I’m sure you’ve heard people say ‘there are dragons in our midst.’ Well, they think there are dragons living among them—ruthless gangs in urban jungles, crooked politicians in seats of power, child abusers in darkened alleys. The truth is that there is actually a dragon within every human on earth, and you have the unique opportunity to see it unveiled on your very skin.” The dragon pulled his head back and winked again, nodding his head slowly. “You were born taking my fruit, you have taken it every day of your life, and you will take it again today. It’s only a matter of time.”
Hot blood rushed through Bonnie’s face. Tears formed in her eyes. She had to fight this lying beast. He was subtle—vague and pointed at the same time, spinning falsehoods and mixing them
with pulpit sermons.
She felt the urge to run to the pond and see the scales, yet she knew doing so would bring the dragon an easy victory. She decided to use her best weapon, and she spoke boldly, with her eyes fully open in defiance. “The Bible says, ‘Resist the devil and he will flee from you.’” She pointed toward the pool. “If you want to see a foul, ugly dragon, go take a look at yourself. Just leave me alone.”
“Very good, Bonnie,” the dragon replied, chuckling. “Keep making those hilarious quips, and keep quoting the Bible. You’ll eventually get to the passage that names me as the master of this realm. I am the king of all dragons, and since you’re one of my subjects, you’ll never escape my influence. You’ll keep plucking my fruit for as long as you live, so you might as well admit it. You love the taste, the satisfaction it gives, the autonomy of a mind set free.”
“No!” Bonnie shouted, backing away. “You’re a liar! I don’t want any part of you or anything you say!” She took three full steps back before stopping. For some reason she felt compelled to listen to the dragon’s reply.
“But, Bonnie, dear child, I’m just stating what you must have heard many times before. Haven’t preachers told you that you were born eating my fruit and that you cannot escape it? Ever since Eve listened to my voice in the Garden of Eden, her sons and daughters have heeded my call. Even your own parents have proven their allegiance to me. Your father conspired to murder your mother, and your mother has returned to her dragon state. Can’t you see that your nature was embedded in you before you took your first breath?
“And now you are alone. You are trapped between earth and hell. In this place where all masks erode, your nature seeps through your pores and reveals who you really are. It makes no sense to reject the obvious. If you will just view your true nature and accept it, you can stop your fruitless struggles. The truth will set you free.”
Before Bonnie could answer, the dragon floated back toward the tree. Seconds later, he disappeared into the greenery, and the leaves rustled once again, their song seeming more inviting than ever before. Every note made the fruit appear brighter and more enticing.
Bonnie placed her hands on her cheeks again. The scales were more pronounced than ever. Deep cracks ran in crisscross patterns all over her face. Just thirty feet away a glassy pond would tell her the truth. Its crystal clear surface mirrored the twisted tree as well as a few puffy clouds above, but from her angle, she couldn’t see herself.
A breeze passed by Bonnie’s ear, and a familiar voice rode on its whispering current. Her father spoke in hushed tones, a distant memory echoing from years long past that first came to a little girl sitting cross-legged with two rag dolls on her knee. “Wings?” the masculine voice said. “We can’t have a daughter with wings! We won’t be able to show our faces in public, not with a mutant for a daughter!”
Bonnie choked back a sob. A mutant? Her throat squeezed shut. Her skin rippled with stinging pain. A thousand invisible needles pricked her skin, goading her toward the pond. A million eyes stared at her, voices laughing and mocking. “Lizard face! Dragon girl!” The laughter turned into shrieks, children running away in fright. She was a hideous monster, a winged freak. She felt her cheeks again. Could it really be that bad?
The pool’s crystal surface beckoned. Although Bonnie’s entire body shook, and hot tears streamed down her cheeks, she refused to budge. “I won’t take the fruit!” she shouted. “I won’t!” She finally sank to her knees and, looking up toward the sky, cried out, “You promised me escape! I need it now!”
Billy jumped to his feet, gripping Excalibur with both hands. “Bonnie!” he shouted. “Where are you?” He glanced all around, shuffling his feet on the carpet of thick, long-bladed grass. The evening sky boasted a milky array of bright, familiar stars, adding to Excalibur’s faint glow, and a wafer-thin moon hung low on the horizon. The faint smell of mold rose through the wet air, and Billy’s forehead gathered drops of sweat and dew.
He stood still and listened. Silence. Heavy silence. Not a chirping bird or a rustling leaf interrupted the thick layer of musty air. He looked for the entry window but saw only trees and thick undergrowth with a single, narrow path leading into the midst of the dark foliage.
While holding the sword in front like a long, heavy flashlight, Billy followed the path, dodging or pushing aside branches that protruded from the dense forest. Within minutes he came to a clearing, a grassy area that led to a small pond. In the twilight he saw a pair of silhouettes standing between the pond and a strange old tree. One of the shapes was much larger than the other, but he couldn’t figure out what they were. He tiptoed slowly into the clearing. His danger signals seemed jumbled, warning him one second, then calming him the next, as though someone was jamming his radar.
As he approached, the two shadows took no notice of him. He skirted the pond, keeping his eyes fastened on the sharpening images. A huge set of wings protruded from each of the shapes, but the smaller one was clearly a female human.
He dashed ahead. “Bonnie! What’s going—” He halted. The other figure was a dragon! A big one! Billy could tell right away that it wasn’t Clefspeare, but was it friendly? He surveyed his danger signals again, but they still sent contradictory messages. He ran up to Bonnie, stopping at her side. She had her hands on her cheeks and her lips were moving, but no words came out. “Bonnie. What’s going on?”
Bonnie didn’t turn to answer. She spoke to the dragon, and the dragon responded, but there was still no sound. They were like ghosts stopping by the pond to have a quiet chat.
Billy reached to place a hand on Bonnie’s shoulder, but his fingers passed right through. He jumped back and stared at his hand. His face grew hot, and the dampness of new sweat moistened his clothes. He took a longer look at the dragon. It seemed to glance at him from time to time, taking millisecond looks while talking to Bonnie. Yet, he seemed to be a phantom as well. Excalibur’s light passed through his semitransparent body and illuminated the grass behind him.
Billy rested the sword’s point on the ground and bit his lip. Was this the first test of the circles? It didn’t seem to relate to Merlin’s poem at all. He grabbed the card from his pocket and held it close to Excalibur’s glow.
Young Arthur holds the window’s key
To ancient realms that bear his quest.
The circles know where lie the beasts,
Who crave the light, who crave their breath.
The beasts conceal the ancient truths
That dwell behind divided tongues,
But dragons’ hearts reveal their flame
From shining light and psalms well sung.
He slid the card back into his pocket and looked again at the huge phantom. Dragons’ hearts . . . I wonder . . .
He stared long and hard at Bonnie and the dragon, trying to read their body language. Bonnie was obviously upset, and the dragon looked smug, deceitful, even dangerous. Billy raised Excalibur to get a better look at the dragon’s face. His eyes shone with a reddish glow, and they glanced at Billy more frequently. . . . He was definitely watching.
Billy moved the sword lower. A shadow appeared in the middle of the dragon’s body, a round mass that blocked the light. The dragon moved abruptly. He seemed to float backwards toward a tree that stood alone behind the pond. Billy followed, hoping to figure out what the dragon’s inner shadow meant. Maybe this was his heart, the key to learning the truth, just like the poem said.
As he walked alongside the beast, Billy gently pushed the sword toward the dragon’s body. Excalibur passed through his scales easily, but the blade stopped when it reached the “heart.” The point of the blade pricked the heart’s outer layer. Black scum slowly oozed out and dripped to the ground. The slime gathered on the grass into a twisting, vibrating mass, dividing into squirming, worm-like shapes that crawled away from the dragon.
Suddenly a burst of anguish splashed through Billy’s mind, his familiar sense of danger roaring through his soul like never before. This was mor
e than danger; it felt like imminent death, cloaked in the toothy smile of this haughty-eyed lizard. The heart of the dragon vanished, and the dragon floated into the tree, disappearing among the leafy branches.
Billy spun on his heels. Bonnie had covered her cheeks with her hands, staring wide-eyed toward the pond. He ran to her side, shouting, “Bonnie! Can you hear me?”
Bonnie dropped to her knees and seemed to wail, her head lifted upward and her mouth wide open in a soundless scream. Hundreds of tiny snakes, each with real, flesh-and-blood bodies, crawled all over Bonnie’s phantom form. The dragon’s gooey blood had transformed into vipers, and they bit Bonnie viciously, each one striking with a pair of long, needle-sharp fangs.
Billy pricked one with Excalibur and slung it away, then another. He lunged for a larger viper, but his foot slipped, and the blade swept through Bonnie’s head and passed harmlessly to the other side. Billy then hacked at the snakes without care, ferociously swiping with both arms and stomping the wriggling bodies of those he merely wounded. Within seconds, every snake lay dead.
Billy thrust the sword back to its sheath. The sky brightened. A few puffy clouds appeared overhead, creating dark reflections of themselves on the spongy ground. Billy blinked in the sudden daylight and looked down at Bonnie, who had bowed her head and closed her eyes. She heaved a great sigh, and a relieved smile graced her lips as she rose to her feet. When she opened her eyes, she looked straight at Billy. Her smile burst into laughter and she jumped forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Billy! You’re here! Thank God!”
Billy felt a new rush, the pure fountain of love. The feeling of danger washed away, replaced with relief, joy, and a wave of exhaustion. He returned the embrace for a moment, then pushed Bonnie away gently. “Did you feel those snakes crawling all over you?”
She scanned the ground. “What snakes?”