Raising Dragons (13 page)
Merlin sat still, watching the verbal battle intently. Even when Gartrand moved forward to attack him, he sat unmoved. In a flash of wings and reddish glistening scales, Clefspeare flew to Merlin’s defense. He glided into Gartrand’s path and opposed the rebel, but when Clefspeare opened his mouth to attack, only hot air spewed forth. Then he turned to slash his foe with his tail, but when he swung, no tail appeared.
Gartrand backed away in fear while Clefspeare physically shrank. The dragon’s scales melted into smooth skin, his claws reshaped into fingers and nails, and his giant maw shriveled into the square-jawed face of a human male. Gartrand let out a piercing scream and took to the skies, still completely in dragon form.
Clefspeare turned to watch the rest of the council. Hartanna was farther along than the others, but all were going through the same metamorphosis. Her spiny top transformed into long, silky blonde tresses and her scales into the milky white skin of the northern Europeans of the time. All had the appearance of fully mature adults, perhaps in their late twenties to early thirties, and when the process was complete they gathered together in excited laughter.
Merlin calmly rose to his feet and carried his leather bag to the huddle. He opened it and started pulling out mounds of clothing, tossing various articles onto the ground. “Get dressed,” he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “You are naked, and the king is watching.”
Hartanna turned to Merlin in surprise. “Naked? Oh, yes, of course. Come everyone! Here is another new experience. Clothes!”
With some of the council laughing like excited children, the former dragons picked through the clothes, offering pieces to one another and helping each other figure out how the fasteners worked. Merlin had to help here and there, and at one point he was unable to decipher how one of the women’s dresses should be worn. He had extra, though, so they discarded it and tried another. Soon, all were dressed in the garb of peasants, not the rags of the poorest members of society, but they would never be mistaken for wealthy merchants or for royalty.
During the gaiety of the moment, Hartanna and Clefspeare whispered to one another, and when everyone was settled and waiting for their instructions, Hartanna spoke up. “Master Merlin, what of Gartrand? Surely this was unexpected.”
Merlin answered without even looking up. “Unexpected, indeed, and unfortunate.”
“How so?”
Merlin raised his wizened head, appearing tired and worried. “He may be the only dragon left in the world. He will feel abandoned, frightened. He will not take the usual care, so Sir Devin is sure to find him. He is vulnerable, and since he knows what has happened, all of you are vulnerable as well.”
“What shall we do?” Hartanna asked.
“While I was in prayer, the Lord spoke to me. His purpose remains unchanged, but with the departure of the traitor, God will accomplish it in another way.”
“Traitor?” Clefspeare repeated. “Gartrand will betray us?”
“Yes, but not willingly.”
“Then the slayers will pursue us always,” Hartanna concluded.
“Yes, I fear you are correct. They will continue to sharpen their swords and brand their forearms. The scent of your blood will never leave their nostrils.”
Arthur decided it was time to present himself. He walked out of the woods and approached the gathering, greeting everyone with a low bow when he arrived.
“Hail, great council. I salute you who were once clothed in the majesty of your race. I commend you for humbling yourselves to our estate, for taking on our bondage in order to ensure the future of your children. As long as I live, I will protect you. I cannot take the slayer’s thirst for your blood out of his soul, but I can deprive him of the means to pursue his quest. And though the slayers will live on through their descendants, I shall be your guardian for as long as I live.”
Hartanna bowed her head, then, discovering her new agility, she curtsied, clumsily at first, but with her second effort, as gracefully as any princess. “I trust that you will prove your promises, my king.” She turned to Merlin once again. “Master Merlin, if the slayers seek our lives now, their bloodlust will surely live on in their descendants. How, then, will we ever become dragons again?”
Merlin shook his head and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Hartanna, I fear that some of you will never be dragons again. Who knows what the slayers will do or how the Lord will battle for you?”
A rumble of murmurs interrupted the conversation, and Hartanna waited for the noise to subside. She took Merlin’s hand from her shoulder and held it firmly in both of hers, gazing into his eyes for an answer. “Then how will our race survive? How long shall we live? Shall we procreate? And if we do, what kind of creature shall we beget?”
Merlin slipped his hand from her grasp and reached forward to hug her. She accepted his arms willingly. He then reached one arm for Clefspeare and the three huddled in a warm embrace. Merlin signaled with his hands for the others to come close, and when they were within a whisper’s distance, he looked around at the circle of concerned eyes. “You will not be able to procreate with each other,” he said softly, “but you will live long on the earth. I know of no dragon who has ever died of natural causes, but death is part of Adam’s curse. I cannot say how you will be affected.”
The former dragons looked at each other and then to Hartanna. She knew their thoughts. “No progeny? Then all is lost?”
Merlin shook his head again. A strange passion filled his eyes, and he lifted his hands toward the sky. “No, Hartanna. All is not lost. Listen to a new word I have just received from the Lord.”
When hybrid meets the fallen seed
The virgin seedling flies
An orphaned waif shall call to me
When blossom meets the skies
The child of doubt will find his rest
And meet his virgin bride
A dragon shorn will live again
Rejecting Eden’s pride
A slayer comes and with his host
He fights the last of thee
But faith alone shall win the war
The test of those set free
A king shall rise of Arthur’s mold
The prophet’s book in hand
He takes the sword from mountain stone
To rescue captive bands
After he finished, Merlin bowed his head. During the utterance, the former dragons had moved away from the prophet, his words having a fearful effect on them, and now they waited in silence, drinking in the prophecy that reverberated through their minds. After a minute or two Hartanna decided to give voice to what all the others were wondering. “What does it mean, Master Merlin?”
Merlin sighed and picked up his nearly empty bag. “I cannot say, dear lady.” He slung the bag over his back but decided to drop it before walking toward the woods. “Come. It is a long way to Camelot, and now we must go on foot. No need to carry more than we must.”
Speak, Gartrand, you foul lizard, and I will let you live. Describe the humans for me.”
The fully armored knight stood holding his shield with one hand and his sword with the other, the point pressing against the dragon’s underbelly. Draped over the shield in the dragon’s full view lay a chain with the glowing candlestone as its pendant.
The dragon cowered in the corner of the cave. “S—Sir Devin. They were still changing as I fled. I do not know. Please believe me.”
Devin pushed the sword ever so slightly, and a trickle of thick liquid emerged around the point. “Think, lizard. You must have seen more.”
“Have mercy, great knight. I cannot remember. I am so weak. Merlin’s spell must have enchanted me.”
“It is my stone that weakens you now, demon,” the knight replied, holding his shield higher. “But I will not underestimate Merlin’s power. I have never seen a dragon fly so stupidly as you, coming directly over the city in full view, spilling fire as you blubbered across the land. You were easy to track, and now Merlin’s magic will be the death of you if you do not answer.”
“Ask again,” the dragon moaned. “I will try.”
“You said there was another hiding in the woods. Was it the king?”
“I could not tell. It was a man, I think, but that is all— ”
Devin took a step forward and thrust the sword into the dragon’s belly. With another agile step and a twist of his blade, he backed away to avoid the gushing fluids of his victim’s entrails.
The dragon fell forward, tumbling over like an uprooted tree, and the cracking thud shook the ground at Devin’s feet. Devin calmly handed his sword to his squire and took the torch from his hand. Palin pulled a cloth from his vest and began cleaning the soiled blade.
Devin draped the candlestone’s chain around his neck and let the sparkling gem dangle over his breastplate. “If the dragon spoke truly, Palin, then our mission is complete. There are no more dragons.”
Palin finished wiping his master’s sword and handed it back to him. “Yes, my lord, but what of the humans?”
Devin handed the torch back to Palin and put the sword into its scabbard. “A new mission, Palin, a very different one. Now we hunt our own kind; we must put twelve humans on our list.”
“Twelve, my lord? Are you including Merlin?” The two walked toward the cave entrance and squinted at the growing light. “Killing humans will not seem a noble venture. The king will not approve.”
“If I am right,” Devin countered, “the king will help us, even with Merlin.”
When they reached the open air, they stopped and took in the view. From the high cliffside, they could see Camelot in the distance, torches and lanterns illuminating the outer walls and windows. “Come,” Devin continued, mounting his horse. “Let us seek an audience with the king. Have our chronicles prepared and include today’s activities.”
Palin drew a book from his saddlebag, just far enough for Devin to see it, and then pushed it back down. “I will, my liege. Every word, as always.”
Chapter 11
And so,” Billy’s father continued, “we all chose common human names for the time and place, and as you may have guessed by now, I was Clefspeare. I have lived for about fifteen hundred years as a human, sometimes as Jared Bannister, sometimes using other names when I had to.”
Billy sat and stared. What a story! A zillion questions raced through his mind, too many to even know where to begin! He just had to sit and think about it for a couple of minutes. With spellbound eyes still wide open, he leaned forward in his copilot’s seat and gazed out the windshield. There wasn’t much to look at; no dragons meeting in secret councils on grassy hilltops, no shadows of the great creatures flying in search of good deeds to do; just a thick layer of clouds covering the woods of the West Virginia mountains below. Billy meditated on one part of Merlin’s prophecy that stuck in his mind,
A dragon shorn will live again, rejecting Eden’s pride. I think getting shorn is like getting a haircut, so I guess it means the dragons had their dragon bodies removed. Would they ever really get them back?
As he thought about the prophecy, he imagined being a dragon and flying over the gray puffy blanket below. He knew the landscape in this part of the state, rough and wild. Of course his trance-like attention to the story made his guess of where they were somewhat suspect, but he had a pretty good idea.
In the plane’s cabin all was quiet, save for the buzzing prop engine and the whirring blade outside. In fact, the sudden smell of peanut butter was the only input that could shake Billy out of his daydream. He turned back to see his mother and Bonnie munching on peanut butter crackers. They were now sitting together in the dual seat behind Billy.
“Are you holding out on Dad and me?” he asked playfully.
His mother laughed. “I just got them out. Here are some for both of you.”
Billy reached to grab the plastic-wrapped crackers and tried to catch Bonnie’s eye at the same time. She had once again donned the sweater he had loaned her, and she sat awkwardly, head down and body shifted forward slightly to make room for her hidden wings. She glanced up at him, but only briefly, giving him a tired smile before staring downward again.
The story clearly had a profound effect on her; it seemed to have hypnotized them all, revealing a dark secret that shrouded life itself, a revelation almost too fantastic to believe. Surely his mother had heard the story before, perhaps many times, but had Bonnie? Had her mother disclosed everything? Maybe Bonnie knew, and the old story gave her a different perspective, even gave her new light to chase the shadows away. Maybe. But could it have cast new shadows and raised more dark questions than ever before?
Billy turned to his father, who was also staring quietly, and he tossed the cracker package onto his lap. “Wake up, Dad!”
His father grinned and deftly unwrapped the plastic with his right hand while holding his other on the control yoke. Although the flight had started out smoothly, the weather front brought unpredictable winds, forcing his father to keep a firm pilot’s hand on the helm. Billy watched his dad pick a cracker from the wrapper, and he noticed an old ring on his hand. A red stone was mounted in the center, a rubellite he had once been told, a dark red tourmaline that reminded him of a very important question. He reached into his pocket.
“Um . . . Dad,” he said, pulling out the stone he had recovered from the street. “Did the candlestone look anything like this?” He held it out in his open palm, but something felt strange when he did, as though he were getting airsick.
His father’s eyes opened wide, and he reached out, hesitating briefly. With one finger, he touched the stone, rocking it back and forth. Then, with thumb and forefinger, he picked it up and held it close to his eyes.
“There was a time when holding this stone so close would have sent me into convulsions. I remember when—” He turned suddenly to Billy, his face aflame with passion, and he held the stone right in front of Billy’s eyes. “Where did you get this?”
Billy drew back for a brief second, surprised at his father’s sudden change, and he again felt nausea boiling deep in his stomach. “F—From the street. I—I guess Dr. Whittier must have dropped it.”
His father stared at him for a moment. He looked confused at first, but then sympathetic. “Are you all right, son?” He pulled the stone back and clenched it in his fist.
Billy breathed a sigh and held his stomach with his hand, pausing a few seconds to take inventory. “Yeah, it’s a little better, but now I have this really weird feeling.”
“What’s it like?”
Billy looked over the instrument panel, reading all the gauges and looking for a warning light. “Like there’s something wrong. I felt it when I got in the plane, and I feel it again now.”
His father uncovered the stone but this time kept it well away from Billy. He passed it slowly in front of his eyes and caressed it with his fingers, rubbing them over the smooth edges of each facet. “There’s no doubt about it,” he said with a low trembling voice. “This was Merlin’s very own candlestone, passed down from Sir Devin, himself, I would guess.” He slipped the stone into his pocket and turned to Billy again, this time with his usual fatherly countenance, his teaching mode, upraised brow and thinned out lips. “That means your Dr. Whittier is likely a direct descendant of the worst of all the dragon slayers, Sir Devin the Dragon’s Bane.”
A rough voice spoke up from the back. “You could say that, Clefspeare, but I would say the best of all the slayers.”
Four heads spun around to see a human form stepping out of the cargo area and into the aisle. He stooped because of the low ceiling in the cabin, but his face was unmistakable.
Billy gulped. “Dr. Whittier!”
The slayer stopped and pointed a pistol directly at Billy’s father, extending his arm fully. “I didn’t have time to get my prophetic host together, Dragon, but I would wager a hefty sum that a well-placed bullet would kill you now.”
Billy’s mother screamed. “Jared! Get down!” She pulled Bonnie to the floor and then reached over to try to push Billy’s head lower. He budged, just a little, keeping enough of his head above the seat to watch what was going on.
Dr. Whittier fired the gun, and the bullet whizzed by Billy’s head and clanked into the instrument panel. His father stretched out his hand and yelled. “Stop! What do you want?”
“That was just a warning shot,” the slayer growled, now pointing the gun directly at Billy. “Give me the candlestone, and I won’t shoot your kid. I’ll just jump and be on my way.” He motioned with his hand toward something on his back, a parachute, Billy guessed, but it was concealed in the shadows behind him. “I was a paratrooper in the war. I’m sure I can do it again.”
Billy’s father got up and gave a hand signal. Billy took the cue and grabbed the copilot’s steering yoke. His father took a step toward the slayer, leaning forward to avoid bumping his head. “It’s me you want. Leave them alone.”
The slayer turned the gun toward Billy’s father. “Indeed, you are one of the fallen spirits, but your son is equally condemned. Haven’t you explained that to him, or did you tell him your sweet fairy tale about good dragons and bad dragons? Did that bedtime story make him feel better about being a mongrel?”
Billy saw his father’s eyes glance his way. The slayer went on.
“Now give me the stone, and you’ll be the only one I shoot.”
“Why do you want the stone so badly? It doesn’t affect me anymore.”
The slayer’s face grew red, and a throbbing blood vessel rose near his temple, drawing a crooked blue line across the side of his forehead. His voice shook with passion as he spoke slowly through his teeth. “You’re testing my patience, Clefspeare. I could have killed you right after we took off.” He took a deep breath, cooling his anger, and went on. “I decided to bide my time and try to listen in on your conversation. Now I know one of you holds the candlestone, and I know for sure that you’re the last true dragon. I had long suspected there was only one left; now it’s all the mongrel puppies your kind has whelped that I have to worry about.” He extended his open palm even further. “You may not like my methods, but you know I’m no liar. Give me the stone, and you’ll be the only one I shoot. What do you say, Clefspeare? If you really believe the prophecy, you should take my offer.”
Billy saw the determined look in his father’s eyes.
Is Dad going to take that deal? Is he really going to let that creep shoot him?
His father pulled the stone from his pocket. With cautious steps, he walked down the aisle, reaching the stone toward the slayer, but Dr. Whittier backed away, extending the gun with a trembling hand.
“Wait.” He motioned toward Bonnie with his gun. “Give it to the witch.”
Bonnie sat huddled in the gap behind the copilot’s chair and in front of the dual passenger’s seat, but after the slayer referred to her so casually by that derogatory name, she rose with a defiant glare and held her hand out for the stone. Billy’s father handed it to her, and she glanced at it briefly before closing her fist around it. As she stood to face the slayer, her eyes lost their gleam of bravery, and a painful frown spread wrinkles across her forehead. She took a deep breath and walked through the narrow aisle toward the slayer, extending the stone in the palm of her hand.
Dr. Whittier snatched the stone and dropped it into his pocket, but when Bonnie turned to go back to her seat, he stepped forward and grabbed her from behind with his left arm, gripping her tightly while holding the gun to her head. Both the girl and the slayer scrunched over, with Bonnie’s hidden wings squeezed between their bodies. She let out a single painful grunt, but she didn’t struggle.
“Now, open the cargo door,” the slayer demanded.
Billy’s dad took a heavy step forward and stopped, keeping his eye on Dr. Whittier’s gun hand. “You said you wouldn’t shoot anyone else. That gun could go off!”
“It won’t if you cooperate.”
He turned toward the front. “Think you can hold Merlin while I open the door? It’ll get real bumpy.”
“I think so.” Billy tried to act confident, but he wasn’t really sure he could hold the plane. He considered jerking Merlin with a sudden tilt, hoping his father could take advantage of the surprise, but he was afraid it might make the slayer angry enough to shoot everyone.
Billy’s father stepped around the slayer and threw open the door. A stiff, frigid breeze buffeted the three in the rear of the plane while Merlin bounced angrily. Billy held the copilot’s yoke and kept glancing toward the rear. His mother had risen from her crouch, and with the extra light pouring in, he could see the silent fear in her eyes as she stared at him as if crying for help. He could also see the parachute on Dr. Whittier’s back. It looked familiar, like one of the stock parachutes from the hangar.
With a maniacal grin, the slayer pointed the gun toward the cockpit and fired toward the front of the plane. Billy threw his body to the right, away from the line of fire. Each crack of the gun popped in his ears like a firecracker.
Pow! One bullet hit the windshield, drilling a precise hole through the glass and sending crooked streaks in every direction. Clank! Clank! More bullets plowed into the instrument panel, bending and breaking the metal and plastic gauges. Thump! A fourth bullet ripped through the carpet and lodged somewhere under the floor.
As soon as the gun went silent, Billy jerked back up in his seat and tried to hold the bucking plane in check. After a slight adjustment to the left, however, Merlin yawed and kept leaning more and more to the left while slowly losing altitude. “Dad,” Billy yelled, “I can’t correct.” A cloud of gray smoke erupted from the left side of the panel while he struggled to maintain control. “We’re gonna crash!” His father took a step toward the front of the plane to help.
“Halt, foul dragon!” the slayer commanded, causing his enemy to turn toward him once again. The slayer pointed the gun directly at his chest. “This bullet’s for you, Clefspeare. The twelfth of the council finally meets his end.”
The gun sounded again, and the bullet smashed into the former dragon’s body, slamming him against the cabin wall.
“Dad!”
“Jared!”
Neither Billy nor his mom dared to move.
“I must be going now,” the slayer said while bracing against the plane’s slow spiraling turn. “Of course I’ll have to take the witch with me. She could just jump and fly away. We can’t have that happen.” The slayer dragged Bonnie to the open door. After first leaning over to look below, he hoisted Bonnie up off her feet and jumped. Without a sound, they disappeared into the open sky.
Billy’s mother leaped from her seat and scrambled to her husband’s side. She put her hand on his heaving chest. Her voice trembled, each word barely escaping in tightened squeaks. “How—How b—bad is it?”
He opened his eyes halfway, and his wincing face breathed out a tortured reply. “Very.”
She ripped open his shirt and grimaced at the wound.
Billy grabbed the radio handset, squeezed the talk button, and shouted into it. “Emergency! If anyone can hear me; plane in trouble, pilot shot and can’t operate. We’re losing altitude, big time. I can’t do anything with the controls.” Billy let go of the button and leaned over to listen, but all he could hear was static. He slapped the handset back in place and moaned, “The bullets must’ve killed it.” He waited a couple of anxious seconds, staring at the radio, his heart pounding, his chest heaving through rapid, shallow breaths.
C’mon radio! Work!
“What’s your position?” came a faint, scratchy reply.
Billy snatched the radio again and squeezed the button. He coughed. His words squeaked through his swollen throat. “I’m—I’m not sure. We were flying—I mean, we were heading for Huntington, coming from Ca—Castlewood. We had over a hun—hundred miles to go.” Billy’s throat pressure eased, and he kept on talking in case he didn’t get another chance. “We’re in a Cessna Caravan, two adults and one teenager. The shooter is Dr. Whittier, the principal from Castlewood. He jumped with a parachute and carried another teenager with him. Her name is Bonnie Silver.”