Invasion and Dragons

by Jekka Jones

  “All right,” said Landon. “Myra, why don’t you go through the clothes and blankets, and I’ll tackle the food.”

  “Excuse me,” said Myra, glaring. “I can help you with the food.”

  “You shouldn’t be lifting anything heavy,” Sri’Lanca pointed out, as he settled himself against the far wall. Landon nodded in agreement.

  Myra gaped at them. “I’m not pregnant! My stomach isn’t going to split open if I lift a chunk of ham! You stopped using the Seal days ago because you said the infection was gone, Lan. And you!” She whirled on Sri’Lanca and jabbed a finger at him. “You had him remove the stitches yesterday. You wouldn’t have done that if it wasn’t healed!”

  “Actually, your fiancé could have taken the stitches out three days ago, but he thought it was improper for him to touch your belly.” Amusement coursed through the bond, and Sri’Lanca’s eyes drifted to Landon. “I had to remind him that my claws are too large for such delicate work.”

  Landon blushed. “Go to sleep!”

  Sri’Lanca snickered and covered his snout with his forefeet. A clear film slid over his eyes, reducing them to a pale yellow. His breathing slowed after a few minutes, and a soft, low rumble emanated from Sri’Lanca, muffled by his feet. Landon watched his dragon for a while, still amazed that dragons slept with their eyes open. Sort of. There was that third eyelid, but it boggled him to see a creature have eyelids and not use them to sleep.

  He glanced at Myra, who was frowning at him. “Is that why Sri’Lanca helped me bathe and clean the wound until I could do it myself?” she asked. “You didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable?”

  “Yes,” said Landon, pulling out a sack that once held clothes. “For some reason that stupid dragon thinks it’s the funniest thing on earth.”

  Myra’s face split into a beaming smile. “Landon, that’s so sweet!”

  “I’m glad one of us thinks so,” Landon replied, still embarrassed.

  For the next few hours, Landon and Myra went through the shelves, pulling boxes, bottles, and anything else they felt they would need. They focused on the essentials: food, medicine, clothes, and blankets. Landon went through the cooking supplies and packed a pot and two sets of utensils. Myra took every piece of cheese she could find and put it all in one sack before divvying up the flour and rice into smaller bags.

  By midday they had five bulging sacks. Around the same time, the Dragon Guard returned. The dragons weren’t making a racket like before, but coasting along the cliffs in silence. The only sound they made was their wings or claws scratching for purchase on the cliff face. Fortunately, none of the dragons peered into the crack, and the waves crashing against the rocks disguised Sri’Lanca’s heavy breathing.

  Landon and Myra lay on the bed, listening to the dragons’ futile efforts to find them. Sri’Lanca, exhausted from his nighttime flight and escape from the Dragon Guard, hadn’t moved a muscle the whole time. Even Myra was falling asleep, her head on his shoulder, and Landon struggled to keep his eyes open. He was more tired than he thought.

  “You know what’s the worst thing about all this?” he asked sleepily.

  Myra responded with a mumble that Landon took as, “What?”

  “We’re going to have to fly. I hate flying. It’s the freakiest thing ever.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Myra mumbled. “Like riding a horse. . . .”

  “You said the same thing about saddles, Myra.”

  “Saddles are evil. Flying is fun. Now shut up.”

  “Thank you for your love and support,” Landon replied sarcastically, and kissed her cheek. He situated himself on the bed and had managed to fall asleep when something nudged his shoulder.

  “I’ll do it tomorrow, Mom,” he mumbled.

  “It is tomorrow, Landon,” said a voice that was not Alyssa’s or Sierra’s.

  Landon started awake when talons enclosed and lifted him. He kicked, realized it was his dragon, then stopped. “I can get up just fine on my own!” He snapped, trying to squirm out of the dragon’s grip.

  “I doubt that.” Sri’Lanca placed Landon on his back between two spikes just in front of the wing joints.

  The spikes rose as high as Landon’s nose and curved a little towards him. He felt the tip and was relieved that it wasn’t sharp. The scales beneath were smooth and pressed so close together that they didn’t rip his clothes when he shifted his weight. Myra was already sitting behind him, both arms wrapped around the spike that separated them. Behind her were all their supply bags, tied in neat piles along a span of four spikes.

  “Sri’Lanca, I think Landon needs a vomit bag,” Myra teased.

  “I do not,” Landon lied, but his stomach churned with the thought of being airborne. “Where’s the Seal?”

  Myra patted a bulge in her trouser pocket. “Safe and sound with me.”

  Landon thought how much of an oxymoron that statement was, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he forced a smile. “I love you.”

  Sri’Lanca shoved the boulder aside. The sky was dark, and Landon couldn’t see any stars. “All set to fly, my tamer,” his dragon announced. “I already checked the cliffs and the dragons are gone. We have cloudy skies with limited visibility, but that won’t be a problem for me.”

  “Can I please have a rope?” Landon asked, trying to hide his panic. His stomach was doing summersaults. “I would feel a lot better if I had something holding me.”

  Sri’Lanca snorted sparks. “Saddles and ropes are for dumb beasts, Landon. A proper dragon would never lets his or her rider fall, and I am a proper dragon.” He turned his body to the opening. “Trust me. You won’t fall.”

  Myra laughed. “Relax, Lan! It’s just like riding a horse.”

  “Horses don’t have wings and slippery scales,” Landon muttered.

  A cool breeze whistled into the cave, bringing with it the smell of the ocean. Sri’Lanca exited, gripping the small ledges and crags of the cliff, and replaced the boulder.

  “No sense in letting them know we were here,” he said. “All right! We will be on the outskirts of Hondel in three hours and then another hour to reach the shack.”

  “Wonderful.” Landon’s voice trembled. He gripped Sri’Lanca’s back with his legs until they ached and wrapped both arms around the spike. Sri’Lanca’s muscles tensed like a bowstring pulled taunt. Landon looked back at Myra.

  Myra’s eyes were bright with anticipation, completely unconcerned that she was riding a large, winged lizard. She laughed at Landon’s expression. “Lan, you look like you’re—”

  Sri’Lanca threw himself into the air. The sudden blast of wind obliterated Myra’s comment. A scream choked itself in Landon’s throat as his dragon plummeted towards the ocean. Sri’Lanca kept his wings tight to his body, his nose pointed straight at the frothy surf below.

  “Pull up,” Landon squeaked, but the wind drowned him out.

  Sri’Lanca showed no signs of pulling up. Myra whooped in delight, while Landon prayed that he wouldn’t die.

  When they were a hundred feet above the water, Sri’Lanca flared his wings. His legs and tail splashed into the ocean, spraying Landon with sea water, and then he was skimming across the surface. Myra’s laughter ceased and was replaced with awed cries as they flew. The half moon was barely visible through the clouds, giving Landon enough light to separate land and ocean from the sky. The sea churned beneath him, occasionally throwing up bits of water like a hand trying to grab him.

  Landon screwed his eyes shut and wished the ground was beneath him. His body slid around a few times, but the muscles beneath him quivered and kept him in place like miniscule hands. He sensed more flexing around him than Myra and tried to calm his nerves. It didn’t help that Sri’Lanca was enjoying Landon’s terror.

  “I would’ve never imagined a tamer who was scared of flying,” called Sri’Lanca, sending Myra into fits of laughter.

  Landon gritted his teeth yet was too terrified to respond. Sri’Lanca laughed at his silence.

&nb
sp; He lost track of time. The frigid wind numbed his face. It felt like more than three hours when Sri’Lanca called, “There it is.”

  Landon was happy to keep his eyes closed until they landed, but Myra’s amazed shout changed that. “It looks like a sun,” she called.

  Curious, Landon opened his eyes and gasped. Nestled deep in pitch black peaks was an orange glow. It looked like a small sun had been plucked out of the heavens and trapped among the mountains. A dark plume of smoke billowed from the fire, rising hundreds of feet into the air. It spread across the sky like a monster.

  “Myra,” said Sri’Lanca, turning his head a bit so his voice could be heard, “the vines are in the sack closest to you. Take two smaller stalks for yourself and Landon and wrap them around your mouth and nose. I’ll need a large one to chew on.”

  “Can’t we land first?” Landon shouted, his voice shrill.

  Sri’Lanca chuckled, his sides shaking beneath Landon. “We can, but then we’ll have to take off again. It’s too far to walk, and I know how much you love taking off.”

  “Shut it!”

  Sri’Lanca laughed and put on more speed. Landon felt a nudge on his back. Myra had a vine wrapped around her face, making her look like a leafy bandit. She held a stalk out to Landon and another to Sri’Lanca. Sri’Lanca reached up and took his vine from Myra, and Landon took his. He held the stiff stalk, trying to figure out how to put it on without letting go of the spike.

  Sri’Lanca began his descent. The orange glow grew larger, and Landon smelled the poisonous fumes on the wind. Gulping, he pressed his body to the spike and wound the vine around his face. His hands shook so hard that he had to rewrap it three times. The leaves and stalk were itchy, but the vines did their work in keeping his lungs clear.

  They were almost to the bonfire. Landon forgot his fear of flying when he saw the source. It was just as Sri’Lanca had described, a small shack blazing like it had just caught fire. Even at that distance, he could hear the roar of flames. Nothing else around the shack burned. There was nothing to burn. The heat of the inferno warmed the air as they drew near, and Landon broke out in a sweat when Sri’Lanca landed fifteen feet from the fire.

  Landon slid off the dragon’s back. His knees shook, and he leaned against Sri’Lanca’s leg until his pounding heart slowed. The ground was soft and more cushioned than the Tsuregan palace’s carpet. Little plumes of ash rose when he moved his feet. More drifted from the sky and congealed onto his face, hair, and clothes.

  Landon stared around, listening to the earth. He remembered his dreams of walking in the Hondelite forest, the peace and hope that he’d felt while Angen tortured him. But those were just that: dreams. The real Hondel didn’t greet him with joy or malice. The feeling of coming home or intruding into a stranger’s home didn’t wash over him. There was nothing. Like the people and animals, the land itself was dead. It wasn’t Hondel anymore.

  “Lan,” yelled Myra over the blazing inferno, “I think this place is worse than Menrye.” She slid to the ground.

  Landon didn’t know what to say to that. Myra sidled up to his side, her eyes orange from the fire. Together with Sri’Lanca, they faced the shack. It was wreathed in flames so thick that Landon couldn’t see the structure beneath. Every so often he caught a glimpse of wood, but it wasn’t enough for him to see if it was scorched or not.

  “Now what?” Landon asked. His voice was muffled from the vines.

  “Now you need this,” said Myra, withdrawing the pouch from her pocket. She handed it to Landon. “We’ll be right here in case you need help.”

  “Thanks.” Landon took the pouch from her and wiggled his finger through the opening until it touched the Seal.

  It had been days since he had used it, and the surge of power came as a shock. For a moment, he forgot where he was and why. The cold spot in his chest was bitingly fierce, more than he remembered. It took several minutes before he was able to gather his mental strength and bring the power under his control—or as controllable as a force of nature could be.

  He wrapped his fingers around the reddish-gold loops of the Seal, and brought it out. The vine around his face was so itchy that he pulled it away with his free hand, letting it hang around his neck. He willed the power to filter the air for him before he took a breath. A part of his mind reminded him that he shouldn’t be so apathetic about doing such things, but he didn’t care. His vision and awareness returned, and he saw both Myra’s and Sri’Lanca’s wary faces. Sri’Lanca’s tail was cocked, ready to lash out and knock the Seal from his hands if needed. Landon focused on the bond, but it was like peering into a muddy pond. He thought he felt Sri’Lanca, but he wasn’t sure.

  “Landon?” Sri’Lanca asked, nervous.

  “Under control,” Landon said, smiling reassuringly. He kept the pouch clamped in one hand, resisting the urge to pocket it.

  “It doesn’t look like it,” said Myra.

  Irritation flooded through Landon, and he struggled against it. She was right, and he had to remember that. He wasn’t himself right now. “Stay ready,” he told Sri’Lanca. His dragon nodded, and Landon walked towards the shack.

  As he approached, a thought occurred to him that maybe he could put the fire out. If it was wizard-caused then the Seal should be able to reverse it. However, as soon as he was within arm’s length of the flames, he knew it couldn’t be put out. He felt the wizard’s power emanating from the shack, feeding the flames so they burned forever. As a test, Landon willed the flames to cease. Immediately the coldness in his chest and the shack’s power flared as one, causing the fire to flicker between orange and blue.

  “What happened?” asked Sri’Lanca, nervous.

  “I tried to put out the fire,” Landon replied, “but I can’t. The shack’s power won’t let me.”

  “So, it’s of wizard origin?” Sri’Lanca asked. He sounded eager.

  Landon nodded, an idea occurring to him. He put his hand in the fire and touched the wooden door. The flames licked at his skin and face, but it didn’t hurt. The coldness in his chest increased slightly, but not as much as when he was healing. He sensed the power imbued in the wood respond, pushing back like a person not wanting to be disturbed. He was aware of Myra’s gasp, and Sri’Lanca’s apprehension.

  “It’s not bound to Thirien Keene,” Landon announced. A surge of relief from Sri’Lanca pushed its way through the Seal’s dampening effect.

  “Can you get inside?” Myra asked, shouting to be heard over the fire’s roar.

  “Maybe.” Landon called back. He probed the shack with the Seal’s power. For every place he pushed, the shack pushed back. It reminded him of when he tried to heal Myra’s hand after she’d touched the Seal. The shack’s power refused to yield except in one spot: the door handle.

  He leaned forward to examine it. Although the handle had been wreathed in flames for nineteen years, it wasn’t scorched and had a little rust. Landon jiggled the handle. It didn’t move, but he sensed that it could if he tried hard enough. The shack’s power wasn’t as strong here as it was everywhere else. He used both hands and the power to force the handle to turn. The metal scraped, bits of rust fell and disappeared in the flames, and a tiny crack appeared between the latch and doorframe. Landon pushed, but when that didn’t work, he threw his shoulder into the door.

  “Move!” Landon demanded.

  “Can I help?” asked Sri’Lanca, his head appearing above Landon’s. Fire wreathed around his face and danced on his horns. He looked like a demon.

  “I don’t think you can,” said Landon, throwing his shoulder into the door again. “Whoever . . . did this . . . didn’t want . . . it easily . . . opened.” He shoved against the door with every word.

  The door groaned but held. Frustrated, Landon yelled and threw everything he had into one last shove.

  “Stupid power. Stupid door. Let me—ack!”

  The door popped open, and Landon fell inside. The Seal flew from his hand and went skittering into a dark corner of the she
d. The door slammed shut behind him, plunging him into semi-darkness. Landon fell hard onto the floor, his breath whooshing out of him, and he took an involuntary breath. Fear seized him. He coughed and gagged, expecting the poison to clog his lungs and kill him.

  Nothing happened. The air inside was fine. It wasn’t even stale, but smelled like any other shack Landon had been in. Cautiously, he got to his feet and looked around. It was seven feet on all sides and ten feet high. A single-glass window was built into the wall opposite the door, allowing orange light to flicker into the room.

  “Landon! Are you all right? Can you hear me?” cried Sri’Lanca, fear coursing through the bond. The dragon’s face appeared in the window, eyes wide with terror.

  “I’m fine,” Landon called, and waved. “I’m okay.” To prove it, he reached out and touched a wall. To his surprise, the rough panels were cool to the touch. He sensed the unknown wizard’s power on the other side, working to preserve the shack from age and damage.

  Relief flooded from Sri’Lanca. “Balaam’s wings, you gave me a fright. Myra! He’s all right.”

  Myra must have made a comment because Sri’Lanca chuckled. “Myra wants you to know that if you get hurt or poisoned from this escapade, she will knock you out for a month.” He peered anxiously through the window. “Do you see anything?”

  “Let me look around. Don’t worry, I won’t be long.” Landon spotted the Seal in the corner and used his sleeve to maneuver it into the pouch. He looked around the shack but all he saw were shears, lengths of rope, crates, and buckets. He touched and moved everything as quickly as he could, searching for angels only knew what.

  “Anything?” asked Sri’Lanca.

  “Still looking,” Landon replied. He didn’t want to know what would happen if a living being lingered too long. In his haste, he knocked a few of the shears off their hooks. One plunged towards his hand, but he jumped back before the sharp point caught his skin.

  “That was close,” he said, his heart pounding. He moved aside a coil of rope and froze.