Awen Storm Read online

  “Like a lizard or snake mated with a human. As you saw, most are around seven feet tall, though a few are much taller. There are shorter ones, too, with larger heads. They are all scaled, mostly in varying shades of green. The leaders are ashier. Albino maybe. And they have bony prominences that run from flattened brows at a forty-five-degree angle to the back of conical heads. And red eyes. Except the short ones have black eyes that flash red.”

  Emily shuddered again. She had to get out of here and sound the alarm. It was scary seeing the lizard-men through Talav’s mind-meld. She certainly didn’t want to meet one in person.

  “But you will,” Talav insisted. “It is your calling. Only you can stop them should they escape UnderEarth. Which is why it was imperative that I find you, Awen. Why did you keep ignoring my call?”

  “Your call?” Emily’s thoughts went her last jog on the beach in California. “Was that you in Venice Beach? By the pier?”

  Talav’s expression went blank, then her eyes widened hopefully. “That must’ve been Draig Ooschu. The Water Keeper.”

  “The water keeper.”

  “Aye. I did call you a few weeks ago. Then again yesterday, before I shook the earth.

  Emily scooted across the bed and slid off. “You mean that day at the mall? The Hum? That was you?”

  Talav picked at a gem on her chest. “The hum?”

  “The screechy-humming noise that comes from the earth on occasion. Ohhh,” Emily gasped. “So that’s what I heard. And why it kept happening in my presence. It was you!” She pondered the enormity and wondered what she would have done had she known the Hum was a dragon. Run, most likely. Like she had done every time.

  Distaste pooched the dragon’s lips. “My voice sounds screechy?”

  “Ear-splitting screechy. Like a pair of rusty shears cutting through rustier metal.”

  “No wonder you ran.” Talav stretched and plodded to the entrance. Each step vibrated the walls. She stopped and turned her head to face Emily. “Awen, you are partially to blame for that earthquake. Had you not been so obtuse, we would have met years ago.”

  “Me? How was I to know?” Emily growled, offended. “My mother never told me the truth. I didn’t know about my heritage or being a druid, much less about you. I did feel a tug. Your call resonated and created a strong urge inside me to do something. But I never knew what. So I ran away. Like everyone else.”

  Sadness permeated the cave. The dragon hung her head. “Such is my lot.”

  “Talav, I am sorry. I will answer from now on, I promise.”

  “If you don’t forget again?”

  “Forget? Did I know you before?”

  “Of course, silly girl. I told you. You were with us from the beginning. Have you fallen victim to the memory veil, too?” Talav stared off into space. “That would explain so much.”

  “Can you tell me more about the curse?”

  Talav looked out the opening, then back at Emily. “The forgetfulness curse and memory veil are two separate things. I believe you are asking about the veil. When most species, including humans, are born, your memories are wiped and only return when you are ready. Most never are. But your time has come, and not a moment too soon. We have much to do to prepare you, little wren.”

  “Why do you call me ‘little wren’? My Da and the animal Elders call me that.”

  “Because the form you most take as Awen is that of the humble wren,” the dragon explained. “Wrens build upon the successes of others and achieve heights to which few can attain.”

  “I read that story. The ‘king of birds’ title was to be given to the one that flew the highest. The wren won by hiding beneath the eagle’s feathers. When the eagle reached the pinnacle of flight and proclaimed itself king, the wren popped out and flew a few inches higher, thereby gaining the honor.”

  “Aye. That is right. But did you know that the wren is the most sacred of all birds to the druids? Its proper name is Drui-en, the Druid Bird. That’s you. Little wren.”

  The moniker sat well with Emily. As much as she would like to be an eagle, she wasn’t that bold when it came to most things. She was good at figuring things out and taking it to the next level. Like the wren.

  Her stomach growled and she remembered she hadn’t eaten since the zoo—a long time ago. Why wasn’t she hungry?

  “Would you like something to eat?”

  “Stop reading my mind! What I want is to get out of here. I have more training to do. And you promised to rescue my father and friends. You have shared your news. Now, help me find them.”

  “First, I promised nothing. Second, there is something else you must know.”

  “You said you would save them. Pay up.”

  “No. I did not. I said you could do it yourself. Come.” Talav lumbered to the back of the cave. A gilt mirror materialized from thin air, as big as the wall.

  “How’d you do that?”

  “Dragon magic. Come stand beside me.”

  Emily did. The dragon’s reflection sparkled in the mirror. But there was nothing where Emily stood. Fear bloomed raw inside her gut.

  “I don’t understand.” Was she dead after all? She turned to confront the dragon. “Is this a trick? A magic mirror?”

  Talav stared at her silently. A tear dripped from one ochre eye.

  “So, I am dead.” Emily’s legs nearly buckled. Talav steadied her with her tail.

  “No. Not dead. But you walk the Otherworld, a place outside of life and death. A place that exists yet does not exist.”

  “And that’s better than being dead? You made me believe I’m alive. Oh, why did I listen to a dragon?” Emily scrubbed her face in her hands and looked in the mirror again. She still wasn’t there.

  “Because humans believe what they want to believe, even when it bears little resemblance to the truth. You, my dear, are not dead. Not in the traditional sense of the word.”

  Misery sucked at Emily’s core. What good did it do to have the acquaintance of a dragon if she was dead? Or drifting in some world outside of life and death? Was there any way back to the real world?

  Talav left Emily to her tears and morbid thoughts, though her eyes were full of compassion. The more Emily sniffed, the more Talav ignored her, resuming the cleaning of her sparkling jewels. Presently, a melodic hum filled the air. It was the song Talav had sung the night before.

  A lightness crept into Emily’s being. Curious, she studied the new sensation and found it quite pleasant. What if she dwelt here, rather than in misery? If she was supposed to be the master of her emotions alive, then why not dead? Or almost dead?

  “Exactly!” Talav interjected, paying closer attention than it had appeared. “Now we’re getting somewhere!” She stopped polishing her accouterment.

  “So taking responsibility for my feelings is all I need to do to get out of here?”

  “Well. Not all.” The dragon shifted, claws clicking against the mirror. Her eyes glittered as bright as her jewels. “You must take charge of your thoughts, deary. Change your beliefs. Belief is what holds you in one world or the other—what keeps you alive or kills you. Or rather, allows you to die.”

  “Oh. Is that all?” Emily climbed onto the high bed. It was the only seat in the house.

  “Changing your thoughts and beliefs is not a small thing, little wren,” the dragon cautioned.

  “I was being facetious.” Emily fluffed her hair and found it matted with sticks and pea gravel.

  “You humans are hard to read sometimes.”

  “Us? We are hard to read? How about you? You’ve given me nothing but lies, half-truths, and innuendo. How would I know if you’re telling the truth?”

  “Harrumph,” the dragon snorted. “Stop hearing what you want to hear and listen to what is said. Or not said. Drop your filters. Stop coloring everything with your preconceived notions. Learn to be objective. Only then will you know.”

  “So you haven’t lied. It’s me, twisting your words. Typical.”

  The dragon r
oared. “Mother of all that is holy, woman. Why are you so thick-headed? You’re wasting our precious time.” She swept through the door, leaving a wisp of irony in the air.

  Climbing down, Emily ran after Talav. She was her only hope of escaping, her only chance of finding the others. But outside the door was inky darkness. Paralyzed, Emily shivered in the corridor, unable to take another step. Then Talav’s counsel came back to her.

  “This is just an illusion,” Emily said as matter-of-factly as she could. “It is only dark because I believe it’s dark. If what Talav said is true, I am creating the whole thing. And danger is only dangerous if I believe it to be true. Or something to that effect.” But still, she couldn’t move.

  Closing her eyes, she imagined a brightly-lit hallway and running through it perfectly safe. Emily opened her eyes and gasped. The tunnel before her was lit from the other end. Was it the sun? Elated, she ran toward the light.

  But the passageway was longer than it appeared. Each time Emily neared the end, there would be another twist or turn, and the light appeared further down the corridor. When her faith faltered, the light grew dim. Each time, Emily stopped to close her eyes and tell herself the dark was an illusion powered by her thoughts. Then the darkness would recede, allowing her to continue.

  When the light faded for the fourth time, Emily imagined the tunnel ending just ahead and the dragon waiting at the exit. The vision grew stronger in her mind. She opened her eyes to dancing, disco-ball, colored reflections along the length of the corridor. Determined the dragon would be at the end, Emily trotted forward.

  Sure enough, where the twinkles originated stood Draig Talav decked out in all her queenly glory, dripping with jewels and a sardonic grin.

  “What took you so long?” Talav drawled.

  Into the Fire

  What was going on down here? Brian gawked, careful to stay concealed behind the tunnel opening. Several lizard-men stood at attention in a polished chamber, claws clasped behind scaled backs. They faced the leader of the duo that had apprehended Brian earlier.

  The beings were tall and lean, with muscles that rippled under dark green scales. Their chests and abs were like plates of armor, and slightly lighter in color. But it was their heads that creeped him out the most—like snakeheads with two rows of horn-like knobs that curved to the back and huge eyes with glowing red pupils, and slits for nose and ears.

  On the far wall, an image appeared. Brian recoiled. This lizard-man was even bigger and meaner-looking than the others. It towered over the room and was obviously in charge. When it snarled something in reptile-speak, the creatures stiffened and smacked their chests in what appeared to be a salute.

  At that moment, something heavy landed on Brian’s shoulder and scurried down his back. He yelped and danced a drunken jig to dislodge what felt to be an enormous rat. It leaped to the ground and stared up at him for a millisecond before disappearing through a crack. Brian shuddered and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Then remembered the aliens.

  He flattened against the wall, but it was too late. The razor-clawed lizards charged the tunnel. Brian sprinted in the opposite direction, weaving and zig-zagging to avoid their claws. The plinking noise sounded and a partition appeared, cutting off his escape. Brian turned toward his pursuers and raised his arms in surrender.

  The creatures halted a few feet away. One barked something in lizard-speak and Brian fell to his knees, hands in the air. The brute yanked him to his feet, and dragged him to the gleaming, whirring gallery of fear, and shoved him to the floor. Spread-eagled on the cold surface, Brian waited for the worst.

  The screen-image growled. Two of the monsters hauled Brian up and shoved him forward. Trembling, he kept his eyes averted and studied the twisted face. Its scales were cream-colored, its snout longer and tapered at the end. And it had white eyes that flashed red. Waving muscled arms, it let loose a series of grunts and howls. Brian was glad it wasn’t there in person. He’d probably pass out. Or crap his pants.

  Hamilton whispered in his head, “Buck up, Bri. You’re on.”

  In his most forlorn voice, Brian whimpered, “Hello, I’m Brian. Can you help me? I was lost in the earthquake and need to get back home.”

  The avatar roared. It sounded like strangled laughter, only more obscene. It must not have liked Brian’s suggestion.

  He tried another. “Could I have some food? And water?” He pointed to his mouth and rubbed his belly in a circular motion, then put his hand to the matted knot on his head. “And maybe a doctor?” Brian didn’t have to fake sincerity.

  “Good move,” Hamilton whispered. “The guy on the screen is the leader. Don’t piss him off.”

  “Way ahead of you, dude.”

  The image barked a command. The lizard that had captured Brian made him spin in place, then paraded him back and forth like he was on a runway in one of his mom’s modeling shows. His chin lifted in defiance and he stared the screen-monster in the eyes. It roared and Brian looked down, preferring life over the satisfaction of spitting in its face.

  An exchange between the screen-leader and the one in the room ensued, then ended abruptly. The avatar spoke directly to Brian, only this time in guttural English.

  “Why have you come to Agartha? To spy on us?”

  “Make it good, kid,” Hamilton mumbled.

  “Shhh,” Brian warned. Out loud, he said, “My name is Brian and I live in Atlanta, just above here.” He pointed to the lofty ceiling. “I lost my uncle and dog in the earthquake. I think they were killed. Your soldiers saved me. I am in your debt.” He bowed and straightened. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  The monster roared again. Was it laughing or angry? They sounded the same to Brian’s untrained ear.

  “You are related to this woman?” The image changed and Brian stared at a photograph of Emily Hester.

  Hamilton hissed, “Don’t react. He’s fishing.”

  Brian kept his face impassive as he whispered to Ham, “But he knows about Emily? What should I say?”

  “Tell the truth. You know her. But not well. She’s your uncle’s friend and they were both lost in the earthquake. Do not mention druids, magic, or anything else. Keep it simple and basic. Now go.” Brian did.

  After interrogating him for an eternity, the beast ordered his henchmen to throw Brian in a cell. Which would have been scary, but after the lizard-men, he was actually relieved. Still, it was dark and dank and about as pleasant as the hole the chute had dumped them in earlier. One of the creatures tossed in a flash-like container before slamming the door.

  Pleased to find it held water, Brian guzzled most of the contents, then studied the cell. The head honcho was sending someone to fetch him. Or torture him. Brian wasn’t sure which. But, oh goodie, wouldn’t that be lovely.

  “We can’t wait,” Hamilton said. “They’ll extract every ounce of information from you, and then some.”

  Suddenly, Brian didn’t feel so good. He doubled over retching and stumbled to the wall to puke. Nothing came out but digested hot dog and chips. Which made him gag and retch again. Tears sprang to his eyes and Brian sagged to the floor.

  He hadn’t asked for this. He should be at Uncle Lugh’s eating pizza and playing D & D Online with his friends.

  He sat up in his snivel, adrenaline shooting through his veins.

  That was it. Dungeons and Dragons 2040. That’s where Brian had seen that tunnel. And the three-way intersection. There were even chutes that shuttled the avatars and demons from place to place and a grand hall similar to the one they’d had him in, complete with overhead display.

  “Good job, son,” the druid crowed. “What else do you remember?”

  “All of it.” Brian grinned. “I remember all of it.” He stood to look for an exit point. “Every. Last. Level.”

  Shibboleth’s Command

  “Attention all personnel. Report to the main hall immediately. Commander Shibboleth will address troops and support staff in ten minutes. Attention. All personnel. R
eport to the main hall immediately.” The terse voice boomed through the loudspeaker.

  Ishkur woke with a start, slumped across his console. Lamia would be fuming. He’d never made it home from his gambling spree. Rising from the bench, Ishkur cradled his head and groaned. This might be the mother of all hangovers. Ignoring the consequences, he reached in his drawer and grabbed the bottle of Furroot.

  Damn. It was empty. No wonder he’d passed out. And no telling how much he’d had during the game. Staggering to the door, head down, Ishkur hightailed it to his bunk and cracked the label on a new bottle. He took a healthy swig and detoured to the loo.

  He let go of his bladder in the open trench and cast his eye over the other occupants. Two Cymbidians carried on a conversation in a language Ishkur barely understood. He did manage to make out a few words: Shibboleth. Cleansing. Death.

  Not liking the conversation, he exited the loo and joined a stream of others. The great hall was crammed to overflowing. Ishkur shoved his way through the throng and took his place in the front of the room directly behind General Nergal’s second-in-command.

  A nasty-looking Draco with an evil aura stepped to the microphone. The oversized warrior’s attire consisted of a half-helmet and wristlets of leather, along with a vest fashioned from an arthropod’s shell. His claws were painted blood-red, a practice Nergal had prohibited in Xibalba IX. Ishkur disliked the arrogant Draco immediately.

  A cringe-producing screech was followed by amplified thwacks on the microphone, then a loud, “AHEM.”

  Ishkur clasped his muscled arms behind his back in a show of respect. He stood shoulder to shoulder with his fellow warriors behind the major who had assumed the role of acting Base Commander upon news of Nergal’s demise. The remaining support staff of various species had arranged themselves in order of importance behind the Dracos.

  Ishkur stood statue-still, awaiting the announcement. The back of his neck tingled, and his gut burned. He wished he’d eaten. No telling how long the assembly might last, or when he would get an opportunity to fill his belly.