Awen Storm Page 9

  “Good job, son,” the druid said in his head.

  “Go away,” Brian warned. “I can’t talk to you both at the same time. She’ll think I’m crazy.” It occurred to him then he didn’t know the girl’s name. “I’m Brian. Who are you?”

  “I am known here as Number Three.” When his eyebrows went up, she hurried to add, “Because I am the third member of my family to be—” She glanced at the camera. “Conscripted.” She stumbled over the last word and her expression hardened. Enunciating clearly, she repeated, “My name is Number Three.”

  Brian held out his hand. She ignored it and spoke into a handheld device.

  “Human subject has abrasions and contusions, mostly minor, with one large knot on the crown of his head where the blood has coagulated. There is the likelihood of a mild-to-moderate concussion. His faculties appear intact, vital signs normal for a human male of—” She looked at Brian. “How old are you?”

  “Just turned fourteen,” he muttered. “How old are you?” Number Three ignored his question.

  “Vitals normal for a human male of fourteen years.” Brian smiled like a dope. “Subject should be kept under observation for at least twenty-four hours to assess signs of disintegration. Further recommendations will be made at that time.”

  A tone sounded overhead and Number Three’s handheld device vibrated. The guttural voice of a lizard-man growled, “Vice-Major Ishkur will be here in seventeen hours. Make sure the boy’s cured before his arrival. That’s an order, Fomorian.”

  “Yessir,” Number Three chirped and motioned Brian to stand.

  He scrambled from the bed and awaited instruction. “What’s a Fomorian?”

  She ignored his question and methodically stowed the plate, the pitcher, and the medical bag into the cart. Then straightening from a crouch, she glided to the camera and opened a keypad beneath it to type in a series of codes.

  Moments later the voice exploded through both speakers. Number Three punched a key on her device and it quieted. The other continued crackling. “Slave, report in immediately. The camera has gone dark. What’s going on down there?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I’m taking the final readings now. Maybe the magma is causing a disturbance in the feed? Number Three Out.” As soon as the last words were spoken, she hauled a weapon from beneath the cart and gestured toward the far end of the cell.

  Startled, Brian leapt away from her with his hands up.

  “This is not for you.” She slipped past him to disappear into the shadows. Brian stood motionless, hands still in the air.

  “Are you coming, human? Or does the prospect of being eaten by a Draco appeal to you?”

  Brian shuddered at the thought. “You’re rescuing me?”

  The big eyes blinked from the shadows. “You’d better move your feet, or we’ll both need rescuing.”

  He hurried to her and water sloshed beneath one foot. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out a rivulet that ran along the base of the wall for a few feet, then vanished underground.

  Number Three activated another keypad. A narrow passageway opened before them, so low they had to duck to slip through. The door plinked closed behind them. Low lights revealed a dimly-lit tunnel much smaller than the ones he’d been in earlier.

  “Where are you taking me?” Brian whispered.

  “Away from these monsters.” Her hoarse answer brightened his mood. “Now remain quiet until we are out of here.”

  He followed Number Three through a series of tunnels that switched back on one another until Brian had no idea if they were coming or going. Occasionally he caught a whiff of her scent, which conjured his favorite meadow atop the Wasatch Mountains near his home in Utah.

  Soon they reached a staircase. Or rather, notches carved into a sheer wall. Brian stopped to catch his breath and craned his neck. Surely they weren’t going that way. But the Fomorian pointed up with her weapon, then holstered it on her back.

  “You want me to go up there?” The whine escaped before Brian could stop it. He wasn’t big on high places. Or falling from them.

  “Yes. You first. I’ll be behind you in case the Dracos are following. If my computer virus worked, they shouldn’t be able to track us. But that’s a big IF.”

  Brian hesitated, weighing the risk of falling from the steep wall against that of being eaten by a lizard-man. But it was a no-brainer. Mumbling a prayer to Brigit, he put his hand in one slot and his foot in another, and slowly scaled the wall. When they finally reached the next level, he climbed onto the ledge. Here another corridor opened.

  “So far, so good,” Number Three whispered. “I’ll have you out soon. Wait here. I’ll be back.”

  He wanted to protest, wanted to rush after Number Three, rather than stay in the dark by himself. Then Hamilton whispered to remind Brian he wasn’t alone.

  Presently, she returned and shoved something wooden in Brian’s hand. He thought it was a club until she produced a flame and it blazed to life. He was holding a torch, the kind you only see in old movies. Number Three took it and led him through more tunnels and up more stairs, until it seemed they’d been at it forever. Finally, they reached a wall with a narrow crack through which light shone.

  “Ready?” She held her weapon in her leading hand and the torch in the other.

  Gulping, Brian nodded and mimicked her sideways stance, then shimmied one crab step at a time behind Number Three. It was a good thing they were both skinny. He winced as the unforgiving walls grated the skin from his nose and knuckles, and even his knees through his jeans.

  The air thickened, making it hard to breathe. “Can we rest?” he gasped.

  “No, keep going,” Number Three commanded sharply. “We’ll pass out from the fumes.”

  That was motivation enough. Brian quickened his pace, pushing Number Three until they popped out on the other end. The air was even worse here, stinking of putrefying eggs, and the ground was so hot he gagged and hopped from one foot to the other.

  There was a loud whoosh near his elbow. Brian jerked away and stumbled into Number Three, shoving her into a nosedive. He grabbed the back of her jumpsuit just in time and yanked her onto the trail.

  Good thing, too. The steaming tar burst into flames, ignited by the torch she’d dropped. Startled, they giggled hysterically in each other’s arms. Number Three sobered first. She took Brian’s hand and pulled him away from the tar pit.

  After that, he stuck even closer to her. He smelled, rather than saw, each nasty quagmire in the dim light. Soon, the marsh gave way to solid ground, and the acrid smell diminished. Either that or Brian had gotten used to the stink.

  The reddish light grew brighter and he could just make out a forest up ahead, with a rocky field in between. His heart beat faster. “Yippee, we made it!”

  “Shhhh,” Number Three hissed.

  Something big gave a deep snort and pounded the ground behind them.

  “RUN!” she yelled and tore out for the trees.

  Brian sped over the rocky terrain, but the creature’s breath ruffled his hair. He screeched and zipped past Number Three, who had stopped some yards ahead to level her weapon at the beast.

  Brian hesitated and turned. The animal resembled an angry rhinoceros, only much larger. It had stopped and crouched, snorting and kicking up clods of dirt and rocks. Then it bellowed and charged.

  Number Three’s weapon pinged. A thud meant it found its mark. The beast toppled over, legs twitching. He was grateful not to be rhino-meat, but Brian couldn’t help thinking of the Black Rhino in Zoo Atlanta. The last of its kind. Now this one was dead.

  Overhead a bird cawed and circled, quickly joined by more of its kind. Vultures? Down here? Or had they made it to AboveEarth? His heart thrilled at the prospect.

  Without acknowledging the kill, Number Three resumed the lead, scurrying over rocks and boulders at a break-neck speed. Razor-sharp weeds and briars tore at Brian’s pant legs and scratched his arms through his shirt. A bird sang a lilting aria as it skimmed ov
erhead. Another from the forest answered.

  When they finally reached the edge of the dark wood, Brian was huffing and his side ached. With a searching stare toward the brightening red horizon, his rescuer slipped into the thick trees and pulled Brian in with her.

  The Healing Begins

  “Nergal, wake up.”

  The Draco squinted at the doctora through a waking haze. He made an effort to sit up, but his body shrieked bloody agony. A pleasant aroma wafted to him. Something light and airy. The doctora’s scent. Nergal squinted up at the wide, violet eyes.

  “Can you sit?” She leaned over him with a cup in one hand and a determined expression tightening her face.

  Nergal blinked until his vision cleared. He reached for the cup, but the effort was too great. He could barely raise his arm. The doctora sank to the ground beside him and lifted his head onto her lap. The slight movement sent pain shivving down his back. But her presence was comforting. At least he wouldn’t die alone.

  The thought shocked Nergal. He’d never needed anyone. Angry and ashamed, he tried to turn his head away, but conceded once again to the pain.

  “This will dull the discomfort. Can you drink?” Her tone soothed, and her eyes glittered like compassionate pools.

  When something in him responded to her gentle manner, he hated himself. But he nodded once.

  The doctora held the cup to Nergal’s lips and tilted the warm, vile liquid down his gullet. He swallowed, keeping his eyes on hers. She tilted the cup again, and he gulped the rest. Anything to ease this wretched pain.

  The petite Draca set the cup aside. “Sleep now. Soon you’ll feel better.”

  **

  When Nergal woke again, there was no sign of the doctora. The fire blazed, sending fingers of light dancing on the walls. Nergal’s bladder felt it might burst. He thought of letting it go but decided he’d rather not lay in his waste.

  He rolled to one side, surprised when the pain didn’t take his breath. Managing to get his claws under him, then his knees, Nergal pushed himself upright using the wall. He staggered and almost fell, but slumped against the wall to search for a stick to use as support.

  Seeing nothing, he took a tentative step toward the cave entrance. His legs held. Nergal let go of the wall and took another halting step. Then another, and another, until he reached the mouth.

  Slowly navigating the circuitous entrance, Nergal made his way to the willow grove. With a last, gargantuan effort, he hobbled a few more meters and let go his bladder into the bushes. Feeling pain before relief, Nergal groaned, then sighed. The nasty draught had done its deed. His pain was a shade of its former intensity.

  But where was the doctora? His stomach growled.

  The day had begun, though the pall of smoke concealed the sun. The air, while thick, was breathable. Nergal limped to the spring and slowly kneeled to drink. He skimmed ashes from the surface and drank his fill of the clear water, then lowered his aching body to the dense grass. He rolled to his back and stared up through the weeping boughs to the gray canopy.

  His lids grew heavy and Nergal succumbed to sleep. In his dreams, he pursued an evil Draco, one with a vicious left hook and painted-red claws. Overhead, a dragon spewed fire on both.

  **

  The doctora stood over Nergal, ogling him with a calculating eye. He sat up so abruptly, his head swam. She knelt to support him until the spinning stopped, then helped him to his feet.

  “Feeling better.” It was a statement, more than a question.

  Nergal’s nod made him woozy. He gripped the doctora’s arm.

  “We’re having roasted Furbian for lunch. Are you hungry? I’m a decent cook.”

  At the mention of food, Nergal’s stomach growled. He had never eaten cooked meat, but at this point, anything would suffice. With the doctora’s support, the walk to the cave was faster than coming out.

  He accepted the thin plate on which she had piled cooked meat and root vegetables. Nergal took a tentative bite, surprised at the flavor. He took another, then shoved food into his mouth with both hands. Finished, he belched and drank the doctora’s draught, then gazed into the fire with his back to the wall.

  She cleared away the meal and swept the floor with the old willow branches and left the cave, returning with fresh boughs which she spread on the ground before Nergal.

  “Lay down, General. You are far from well. Your wounds are deep and infected. With rest, they should heal and your strength return.”

  The news was most welcome. His eyelids and body had grown heavy again. Hating his weakness, he stretched out on the fresh bed.

  “I plan to explore the hinter regions of this cave.”

  Nergal struggled to rise. He had wanted to investigate but had lacked the strength. He despised himself for that, too.

  “Not you,” the doctora ordered. “Your body is too weak. Stay here. Heal.”

  Nergal grunted and slumped to the bed of spring leaves, and though he willed his eyes to stay open, they closed.

  “If you wake before I return, drink the rest of this brew.” His eye slits opened enough to see that she pointed to the cup by the fire. “It’s a decoction of the myrrh I found growing near the spring. It will ease your pain and help you heal faster. Now, sleep.” Nergal did.

  Time to Act

  Catching a glimpse of Talav’s rapidly-receding tail, Khenko entered the blue hole flippers first. About forty feet down, the blue gave way to an eerie red as Khenko entered the toxic haze of hydrogen sulfide that guarded the deeper reaches. A wave of nausea hit him, and he quickened his pace through the silvery net of noxious cobwebs.

  Breaking through into black water, Khenko paddled back and forth in a throng of air bubbles searching for Talav. Her head popped out of the curtain of calcite obscuring the entrance. Beckoning, Talav turned and vanished again. Careful not to disturb the delicate beauty of the calcite straws, Khenko glided through the opening.

  A triangular vaulted ceiling soared above the dark floor of the underwater cave. He anchored a guidewire for the return trip, then followed the dragon through the lightless corridor. A profound calm descended upon him as they wove through a surreal maze of stalagmites and stalactites. Tiny fish and frilly shrimp darted through the beam of his headlamp. The floor rose gradually until he was in shallow water.

  Khenko used his hands to walk along the sandy bottom. When his head broke the waterline, he searched the inky darkness for Talav. His light found her amid a rainbow of sparkles.

  A stream of flame shot from her mouth and Khenko leapt backward into the water. Torches flared to life around the cave and he felt a tad silly. Stepping onto the bank, he unbuckled his belt, dropping the extra mask and equipment to the floor, then removed his gear. The dragon waited while he slid his feet from his flippers and donned his water shoes.

  “How much further?” he asked.

  “Not far.” Talav turned and shuffled down a narrow passageway.

  They traversed one tunnel after another until Khenko wondered what the dragon considered far. According to his watch, they’d been meandering in the corridors carved into the bedrock for fifteen minutes. The only light was from Khenko’s headlamp, and they were deep in the bowels of the earth. His heart pounded at the thought, so he focused on the dragon’s tail. She disappeared, and Khenko hurried to catch up.

  Finally, the hallway opened to a large chamber lit by a circle of lanterns. In the middle of the room stood a massive, four-poster bed occupied by a slip of a woman. Scarlet-gold hair framed a tranquil face that was marred by scabs and yellowing contusions. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.

  Talav’s gems flashed colored streamers of light as she moved to the bed. “Your assessment, Healer?”

  Khenko joined her and shook his head. “It’s hard to say. She looks pretty banged up.” He took a closer gander. “Has she displayed symptoms of a head wound?”

  “Other than the bloody knot and being out cold?” the dragon retorted. “None that I could find.”
<
br />   “I thought you said she was annoyingly vocal?”

  “I did. She is. But in the Otherworld.” The dragon’s eyes went vague as she touched the woman with a clawed forepaw and Khenko with the other. The woman sprang to life before his eyes, though the body remained unmoving in the bed. Khenko jerked away and the animated version disappeared.

  “What the—?” he gasped.

  “You just got a glimpse into the Otherworld, which is populated by the dead, the near-dead, and the unfortunates wandering and lost in life. It is tricky to negotiate, even for dragons, though we are creatures of all worlds. Even for us, getting distracted in there could mean years of wandering in the mist. Or lifetimes.”

  Pity stirred Khenko to action. He opened his doctor’s bag and began a thorough examination. Lifting the woman’s head elicited a small cry, then a loud sigh. He found a lump above the right temple and probed gently. The wound had healed over, leaving dried blood and a small swelling. Khenko lifted her eyelids and his breath caught. Her eyes were as green as the sacred Heart of Atlantis.

  A gurgling startled him and he looked up. The dragon held a bowl beneath a rivulet in the far corner. Turning back to his patient, Khenko lowered the comforter and lifted her shirt to press the flattened tips of both hands into her abdomen. When she didn’t react, he put his stethoscope to her chest and listened to her heart and lungs, then pressed it against her belly. All the sounds were within acceptable parameters.

  When he was done, he straightened to address Talav. “Like you, I find nothing overt. But since she’s in a coma, I recommend we get her to the hospital.” The little medical facility in Zephyr Cay could hardly be called that, but it was the best they could do at the moment.

  The dragon reared and wagged her head. “No hospitals. Only you.”

  “But she—”

  “No hospitals.”

  “But her life may depend upon it,” Khenko implored.

  “Her life also depends on her remaining hidden. I will concede only if it becomes necessary. And if an alias is used to protect her identity.”