The Scarlet Dragon Saga

by J. P. Rice

  He groaned in pain as I walked across the stone floor, snow falling from my boots and pant legs. As I approached, he pushed the black and gold Steelers blanket aside and patted his knee. I took off my coat and set it on the end table at the step of his dais. My father welcomed me onto his lap.

  I gave him a big hug and kissed him on the cheek. I lay my head on his chest and his long beard tickled my cheek. After my encounter with the Morrigan, I needed this.

  He patted me gently on the back and said, “My little Goddess has come to see me. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  I sat up and looked into his burning blue eyes. “I just wanted to see you. I’m a little confused and could use some guidance as usual.”

  He rubbed my upper arm to keep it warm, and he said, “You need little guidance from me, I’m afraid. The answers. They are within you. I only help you fish them out. Perfect example is Lugh’s Spear. I gave you one tiny clue to a giant puzzle that you put together yourself.”

  “A lot of good it did me,” I commented.

  He sucked in his bottom lip, causing his eyebrows to scrunch together. He tilted his head and said, “Punching your mother in the face may have tarnished the shine of your moment.”

  “She deserved it.” I got up from my father’s lap and walked over to the fireplace. I peeked back and noticed a wide grin on my father’s proud face.

  My father composed his guilty pleasure. And in a fatherly way, he took a deep breath and raised his voice, “I am not arguing that in the least. Somewhat surprised it hasn’t happened before.”

  I picked up a quartered log, opened the metal screen and tossed it on the fire. I spoke over my shoulder, “That makes two of us. I can’t seem to control myself sometimes.”

  My father turned shyly and scratched his red ear. “Yes, I’m afraid that comes from me. It’s hard to tell now that I was a hothead in my younger day. You know, when I was spry like you are now. But it appears I’ve passed that trait along to you.”

  My father knew about how I’d obtained my magic and that I had dark magic running through me. He was one of the few who hadn’t chastised me about my method. “Something else has come up. But it involves working with the Morrigan.”

  King Nuada chuckled and his golden circlet crown shifted on his head. It was the first time I’d ever seen the giant sapphire on his forehead move. The crown no longer appeared as though it were floating above his head like a halo.

  Nodding, he said, “I can see the issue there. Causing death and destruction are antithesis to what you are trying to achieve, but that is a fundamental tenet of the Morrigan’s existence. Without death, she is nothing. Causing death is merely job security to her.”

  I threw two more logs on the fire and grabbed the poker. “I guess we all view the world with different lenses.”

  My father shifted around in his recliner. “Precisely. What would be out of focus and blurry beyond recognition to you would come through nice and clear to her.”

  “So what should I do?” I asked as I rearranged the orange coals and lined up the logs.

  He chuckled. “You’re smart enough to realize now that I’ve never given you answers. I’ve always turned the questions around on you and through a bit of introspection, you provide the answers. You’ve given me far too much credit over the years.”

  I shut the screen, walked back over to my father and sat on his lap again. I smiled. “So you’re going to ask what I think I should do?”

  He scratched the back of my neck. “You seem to know the answer to that one.”

  I mused, “If I’m trying to test myself on being a better person, this would provide the ultimate testing ground.”

  “That is true. It’s easy to be virtuous when one eliminates temptation. But when that blackbird keeps pecking away, can one stand strong?” he questioned, raising his right eyebrow.

  “The overall goal would benefit the whole, and maybe the Morrigan’s methods could be sloppy, but the act would keep the balance,” I told him, but I was really trying to rationalize the situation for myself.

  “It seems I’ve made up your mind.” He laughed, and it spurred on a coughing fit.

  I got up from his lap, and he finally stopped hacking, pulling a handkerchief from his robes. He looked up at me red faced and out of breath. He said, “I’m certain you’ll make the right decision and you will make me proud once more.”

  I knew my father stayed abreast of the supernatural situation in Pittsburgh. He’d probably heard the story of me rescuing the spear from Arawn from fifty sources by now. And I thought that each time, he’d probably been smiling like a butcher’s dog. I gazed at my father’s face and something strange happened.

  As if a flash of lightning had struck me and transported me to a murderous battlefield, I suddenly saw my father, the young warrior King of Ireland. His long red hair, stained with mud and sweat, was held in place by his crown and rippled in the stiff wind. The dried blood of his fallen enemies freckled his face. His intense blue eyes searched the battlefield making sure his men were safe. Sweat dripped from his cleanshaven chin as he raised his sword above his head, the silver blade catching the last remaining gleam of the setting sun. With a baritone howl of, “Charge,” he was off, and his men followed him into the fray, confident their leader would fight to the death right alongside them.

  The only thing missing was his armor. He was wearing layers of boiled leather, but his armor overlay was noticeably absent. A clanking sound caught my attention, and I turned to see what it was. A bearded man in a hooded cloak turned away from me before I could get a good look. He pulled a ring mail jacket out of the stream and washed it with a rag that dripped red. On closer inspection, it was my father’s gold jacket.

  Legend had it that if a warrior saw a vision of the Morrigan washing his armor, it meant he would die in battle. But who was this man? Why did he have my father’s armor?

  I couldn’t identify him with his back turned and the hood covering his head. Instinctively, I walked toward him, my brain demanding to know who this gentleman was. As I neared the rushing stream, a scream of pain invaded my ears and rattled my soul. I’d heard painful screams for most of my life. But I’d never heard the desperate pleas coming from my father.

  The man turned to me, his hood covering his entire face. He began to pull back his hood. Slowly. He revealed a healthy black beard.

  Just when I was about to identify the mysterious man, my father stole my concentration back, as he said, “Might I make one suggestion?”

  “Of course,” I replied, shaking my head to snap out of that vision.

  “If you do succeed in finding the producer of these false death cards, and there is a celebration afterward, stay away from your mother. Please.” He pinched my upper arm playfully.

  “I think I can do that,” I said with a smirk. “I just saw her hugging someone else. And the fact that she’s never so much as touched me, made me lose it.”

  “As I said earlier, I cannot blame you on this matter. Centuries of pent up anger have a strange way of surfacing. Although, had you done this in private...” he let the words linger.

  “That’s just it. I’ve tried to get her alone, and she runs away, back to the crowd so they will drown out my desperate pleas for her to simply admit that she’s my mother. She knows it, you know it, and I know it. I just want to hear the words from her mouth.”

  “Sufficeth to say, I wouldn’t wake every day with high hopes of that wish being fulfilled. Still cold outside?” he asked and turned toward the window.

  He knew the answer. He just wanted to change the subject because he knew talking about my mother only upset me. “Yep. And I think we both know why it’s happening. Because I failed to get it out of the Red Cavern.”

  “Yes, well, had you not been drowned in lava, I have full confidence you would have returned with the Dagda’s Harp.” His big arm pulled me in tight for a firm hug. I felt our hearts beating together and it brought tears to my eyes.

  I sat back
and swept some of his hair behind his ear. Gazing into his sapphire eyes, I said, “But I didn’t. I failed. And now all the citizens of Pittsburgh are suffering. I’ve been thinking about going back in there.”

  He used his thumb to chase the tears from my cheek, brushing gently against my skin. He gave me a tightlipped smile and a nod. It gave me instant strength.

  He said, “I’ve always bragged to anyone who would listen of your bravery. Dare I say, you’re the only one who may be stronger than I?” He pursed his lips and turned to the ceiling. “Those words have never escaped my mouth before. A high honor indeed.”

  The fire cracked, and I looked over to make sure no coals made it through the screen. I faced my father and smiled. “Thank you. It means a lot.”

  He tapped me playfully on the tip of my nose. “You are quite welcome. Now if you are to move on and become a better person, sometimes you must slay the demons of your past. Retrieving the Dagda’s Harp would require that necessity. It could be the soul cleansing you need. But again, you must choose.”

  I wasn’t ready to face those ghosts just yet. Perhaps I could help the Morrigan solve the death card fiasco, then invade the Red Cavern and bring back the Dagda’s Harp to stop this endless winter. Oh, how simple everything always sounded in my head. If only the plans went accordingly.

  “Now that you are staying in Pittsburgh, I expect more frequent visits,” he said with a gentle grin.

  I’d never really told him about the jousting I had to do with his new family just to see him. He had enough to worry about. “You got it. Hopefully, I can make the weather break soon and we can get some archery targets set up in the yard.”

  He rubbed his right shoulder with his thumb, and with a grimace, he said, “I’m afraid I’m not sure I can draw back a bow string anymore.”

  I told him, “That’s what crossbows are for. I’ll bet you can still pull a trigger.”

  Too bad my father didn’t like guns. He viewed them as a cheap way to do battle and wasn’t even very fond of the crossbow or any long-range weapon for that matter. He always said that a man should look another man in the eye if he was going to kill him.

  He flexed his index finger in front of his chest. “That appears to be a full go.”

  I enjoyed the lighthearted moments that came few and far between with my lifestyle. If I could figure out his new family’s shopping schedule, I’d stop by a lot more often. “Take care of that digit so we can have some fun,” I joked.

  “I’ll try my best,” he promised and tucked his hand under the blanket.

  “That’s all I can ask. Is there anything else going on around Pittsburgh that you need to tell me about?”

  My father started coughing, and I waited patiently for him to stop. After his face turned purple, I sprinted across the room and screamed at the door, “Help. We need a doctor. Fast.”

  I sprinted back over to the recliner and pried open my father’s mouth since it appeared he was choking. I couldn’t see any obstruction and stared into my father’s desperate eyes, which were bulging from their orbits.

  A cold sweat glazed over my panicked body as tears rushed to my eyes. What was happening? With his left hand, my father clutched his chest and his labored breathing got louder, but slower. My father looked at me. I expected to see a portrait of panic. But in true form, if this was death knocking at his door, death was in for a fight. My father appeared as calm as could be.

  In a raspy tone, he uttered, “I love you. I always have.” He fell forward off the recliner and rolled onto his back. He pointed to his mouth as his heavy breathing went silent.

  As my father’s lungs betrayed him and stopped functioning, I used the heel of my hand to hit him in the chest. I hit him again, desperately attempting to save the only person who loved me. Tears covered my face and blurred the vision of my hero, tarnishing the image that had given me so much strength over the years.

  My father gargled and rolled onto his side, curling his body into a heap on the dais. I hovered over my father, unsure of what I could do to save him. Tears ran off my face and collected on my father’s wrinkled white robes. I held his hand and tried to inject some of my strength into him.

  Then he stopped moving completely, and I knew it was over. My body went numb and a buzzing sound filled my ears. I was kneeling right next to him holding his hand when the door flew open. It was my worst nightmare.

  My father’s family marched through the door, all dressed in long black fur gowns and matching hats.

  “What have you done?” Ella asked in an accusatory tone.

  “I didn’t do anything. He just stopped breathing. Go get his doctor. Now,” I screamed.

  “Oh, my word. What is happening?” Lisa shrieked.

  A grainy image of my father sat up and separated from his body. His soul stood up and floated around the room before escaping through a tiny crack in the window.

  “You did this,” Patty yelled, pointing at me. “You killed him to try to get his money.”

  I defended myself, “I did nothing of the sort. I’m just as upset about this as the rest of you.”

  “I knew I should have forbidden you from seeing him,” said Ella. “Viola. Go alert the guards we have a killer on our hands.”

  Viola’s heels clicked against the stone floor as she shuffled out the door. I debated killing these bitches out of spite. It only took a few seconds to realize how guilty that would make me look concerning my father. Before Viola could return with help, I ran over to the window and jammed my thumb into the tiny opening.

  Shoving up, a blast of frosty chill hit me in the face along with a few flakes of snow. I opened the window enough to get out. As I went to hoist myself up, someone grabbed me from behind. Peering over my shoulder, I saw Ella’s flabby her arms around my legs.

  I crouched and dropped an elbow that connected to the bridge of Ella’s nose. Blood poured from her nostrils and dripped onto the back of my pant leg. She hissed in pain, let go of my legs and grabbed for her big nose. With my legs free, I lifted my foot and booted her in the chest, jolting her backward and giving me the room I needed.

  I heard heavy footsteps approaching and jumped up on the windowsill. I swung my feet out and dropped about three feet, landing on the stone balcony outside my father’s room. Without a better option to get to the yard thirty feet below, I thought about shifting into a dragon. But then I would lose my clothes when I shifted back.

  I could fly all the way back to my house, but that would use a lot of magic and cause me to age greatly. Angry voices echoed around my father’s room and out the open window. With the henchmen closing in, I went with a different plan. Someone’s head popped out the window, and I knew I had to get moving.

  I conjured a giant foamy mattress on the ground in front of me. I made it about twenty feet by twenty feet and got up on the ledge. As the guard’s feet hit the concrete balcony, I swan dived off the side.

  I landed face first on the soft surface and rolled off into the snowy muck. The guard tried to follow my lead and hopped up on the ledge. I dissolved the mattress, but the guard had already committed to the jump. His hands raced around in blurry little circles as he tried to stop his momentum.

  Unable to stop the forces of nature, he launched into the air. He flailed his arms and screamed, “Shite.” His big body fell like a meteor, crashing into the frozen earth.

  I walked away, dusting myself off casually, as he rolled around in pain.

  Great. As if I didn’t have enough people coming after me, this would add a whole new layer. Word would eventually make it back to Clara Spiritus. The Celtic Gods would hear that I’d killed Nuada. My father had basically roasted each God and Goddess before he’d left the pantheon, so there wasn’t much love lost, but it certainly wouldn’t bolster my reputation.

  I jumped in my Jeep, started the ignition and turned the heat up to full blast. A few seconds later, I felt the seats warming up. Mindlessly, I drove down my father’s driveway, out onto the main road and parked in
a church’s parking lot down the street.

  I left the vehicle running for the heat. I sat there and bawled my eyes out for over an hour, mentally paralyzed by the loss of my father. When I was younger, I’d thought my father would never die. Actually, I’d maintained those feelings until recently when he’d stopped drinking from Goibniu’s chalice of youth.

  He was my rock. Whenever my life was falling apart, which was often, he was the one I went to. He was always there for me, and not just that, he supported me in every endeavor of my life. No matter how silly everyone else thought it was. And finally, he never judged me as an awful person like so many others had done. He was the ultimate gentleman. A true God.

  And now he was gone, leaving me as the prime suspect. As the violent cocktail of rage and sadness bubbled inside me, I made a promise to my father. I promised that I would find the person who’d done this. I was going to kill the individuals involved to avenge his honor. The cherry on top would be clearing my name of any wrongdoing.

  That meant I needed to contact the Morrigan and bury the hatchet, so to speak. We’d gotten into verbal spats before, but the last one had gotten pretty personal. Two alpha females were bound to get into it at some point.

  I hadn’t really taken it personally and could put the argument aside. Was the Morrigan on that same wavelength? I’d seen an up-close view of her vindictiveness in action and hoped she wasn’t plotting something awful with me in mind.

  One thing was certain, I wouldn’t apologize. If she demanded that, I could find myself working with Mike Merlino on this one. Actually, the do-gooder was probably better for my soul reparation.

  I wiped away the tears, put the Jeep in drive and pulled out of the church. I flicked on the windshield wipers to swipe away the fat flakes of snow falling from the sky. Frozen tears of the Gods mourning my father’s demise.

  Chapter 6