Dragon Sleeping (The Dragon Circle Trilogy Book 1) (47 page)

“Only the dragon could have taken her with that kind of power,” Garo said.

This was all very well and good, but Mrs. Smith realized that she was totally out of her depth here. How could she hope to find the dragon if everything around her was beyond her comprehension?

“What are we looking for?” she asked Obar.

The older magician mulled his answer a moment before speaking. “A certain vibration, a faint odor of burning, even a certain quality of fire. Evidence that the dragon is somewhere near.”

“Mary Lou was taken by the dragon,” Garo continued, stating it even more directly than before. “And we must get her back.” He looked to Mrs. Smith, for once without his sardonic smile.

“My life depends on it,” he added. The smile flickered back. “Not that Obar would care much about that.”

“Oh, yes,” Obar replied suddenly, looking as if he had been caught in the parlor being too friendly to the maid. “Well, you know, that was a long time ago. We were different people then.”

“Some more different than others,” Garo agreed.

“What are you two talking about?” Constance demanded.

“Oh, well,” Obar sputtered. “That time my brother and I killed him. Or at least tried to.”

The older wizard sighed, waving his hands about in the air as if they might do his explaining for him. “You see,” his voice finally chimed in, “it was a matter of self-preservation. Or so we told ourselves at the time. Garo was a much faster study than either of us. If left alive, he would have eclipsed us in no time. He would have become the great wizard, and we would have died. So you see, naturally, well—” His voice stumbled to a halt as he looked imploringly to Constance.

“You know, Mrs. Smith, you are better even than Garo.”

“Really?” Constance was taken aback by this honesty. “So will you have to kill me, too?”

“For a while, I thought that,” Obar admitted. “But I don’t think that selfish behavior is going to help us defeat the dragon.” He glanced about, as if the colors floating by held the answers. “I suppose, in some way, my attitude has changed ever since my brother has started trying to kill me.”

“That sort of thing can be a revelation,” the younger wizard agreed.

“Yes,” Obar added, “I think in some way, we will all work together, although I doubt any of us realize the exact nature of the job.”

“We will work together,” Garo agreed solemnly. “This time we will probably live or die together. But we’re wasting time. There is nothing here.” He waved for the others to follow. “Come with me. I know certain darker places.”

N
unn opened his eyes.

Two of them were human. The other two came from the dragon.

He had barely made it back to his fortress before he collapsed. It was probably for the best. Otherwise, his rage would surely have destroyed something—or someone—he might have a use for later. There was so much to do, so quickly. He could not let his anger get the better of him. He had to cherish every resource.

He smashed his fist down on the table before him.

First, Mary Lou had escaped. Then she had stolen the eye, popped it from his forehead, with so much pain—he would show her pain—

He had to be careful, to calm his anger, or he would let his rage toward the girl overwhelm his larger plans. If he only followed his original plan, and collected all the eyes, she would be lost in dragon fire with all the others, wiped from the face of this world like the inconsequential dust mote she was.

It was not enough for Nunn.

He would feel as if he had been taken. Bested by a teenage girl.

Almost like he was still human.

Of course, he would have his victory. But he needed to make her suffer before that. He needed to humiliate her, to strip her of her pride and power and make her realize she owed her whole existence to Nunn. He had done that to those much more powerful than Mary Lou. It would be little trouble to add her to his list.

“Nunn.”

He looked around. Had someone else invaded his study? “Nunn. Answer us.”

He suddenly felt cold, and barely suppressed a moan. The voice came from inside.

“What is this?” he demanded. He remembered Mills. Somehow that damned newcomer had wreaked havoc with his subconscious. But only for a few moments. Nunn had wiped Mills from his head.

“We need some answers from you first.”

Nunn’s fists closed over his eyes. He would not be dictated to by voices.

“What are you doing in my head?” he demanded.

“We are your past,” the voice added with a maddening calm. “You can never escape from us. We are the first person you took, and the last, the wizard Rox and Leo Furlong, and all those hundreds in between. You have left us silent for too long. We are clamoring to be heard.”

Truly, Nunn thought, he must be going mad.

“You don’t think you lost that jewel on your own?” the voice chided. “How could that dragon’s eye break free of your spell?”

Nunn felt the rage build up within him again. “What? How dare—I will purge you from me forever!”

“If you destroy us,” the voice responded with everlasting calm, “you destroy yourself.”

This was perhaps the strangest thing that had happened even to him. Yet it made a certain sense, or as much sense as anything made in this magic realm. How could he purge something that was a part of his mind? Nunn was afraid, this time, that the voice was right.

Not that he was defeated.

He simply had to figure out some way to separate himself from these voices, so that he could destroy them.

In the meantime, he would send his new guard to seek out the other eyes, with a little help perhaps from his sorcerous allies. Not that they would ever touch the stones. Oh, no. Only Nunn ever touched the stones.

But first Nunn had to take Mary Lou, from wherever she had gone.

His true eyes, the eyes of the dragon, would show him everything.

“Perhaps,” he said to the voices in his head, “we can work out something.”

“We will not wait forever,” the voice reminded him.

Fair enough, Nunn thought. You’ll only have to wait long enough to die.

T
he first thing Mary Lou was aware of was a deep rumble. Something that she both heard and felt, something that seemed as real as anything she had ever experienced.

At first, the rumble frightened her. There was no light here, and no real sound, only that constant vibration. After a while, though, she found it oddly reassuring, as if that deep noise was something she could always depend on.

Mostly, the rumble made her remember.

She remembered how much she was afraid of upsetting her mother, and how many times she would hide in her room or stay after school, so she could have a life of her own. She remembered how, as Jason grew, her mother and father would do extra things for him—the typewriter, the special summer camp: “Men need to get ahead, dear.” And she remembered how, after her sister had left to have her baby, no one in their family could talk about her, as if she had never existed.

Mary Lou remembered: How the prince had wanted to use her, not for herself, but for something for him. In the end, it didn’t matter if she lived or died. And how all the great wizards of this place had fought over her, not for herself, but for how she might help each of them.

It was the same here as it had been at home. In the end, it only mattered what she did for others. Or so she had always been taught.

Not anymore, she thought. The rumbling grew.

This rumbling, she realized, came from the dragon. The creature must have brought her to this place.

Would it kill her? She felt the vibration, waiting for some sign.

Mary Lou knew that no one saw the dragon and lived.

But the dragon was only nearby. With luck she wouldn’t see it; with fortune she would only have this one brief brush with power, as if one edge of the creature’s mind grazed against her thoughts. Her brand-new thoughts.

The rumbling was in her head. The dragon thought with her. Not anymore, she thought.

She felt the answer rise up in her, full of anger and pride; parts of her she’d never known were there until now.

No one will think for me again! No one! And her answer was written in fire.

J
ason woke with a start. It was the middle of the night. The second night he had been in this place. Two days and two nights. It felt more like months or years.

The Oomgosh slept at the edge of the clearing, beneath his beloved trees. Jason crept over to be nearby. The tree man’s regular breathing was reassuring, like the sound of waves breaking on a summer shore, or a gentle breeze whistling through a field.

“Jason?” the Oomgosh whispered in his deep voice. “Is that you?” Oh, heck. He shouldn’t have come.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered back. “The wizard says you need your rest.” The Oomgosh chuckled.

“What do wizards know? There will always be an Oomgosh.” He sat up with a grunt and regarded Jason for a moment in the darkness. “But you sound worried.”

“You were hurt!” Jason protested.

“Hurts come and go. I think it’s time for a story.”

“But—” Jason began. He really didn’t mean to disturb the tree man like this. The Oomgosh should be thinking about himself.

“Nonsense,” the Oomgosh replied, as if he had already heard any objection anyone could make. “A good story will help us both get back to sleep. Let me tell you about the time the Oomgosh first came face-to-face with cold and winter.”

Jason was just as glad the tree man wouldn’t listen to him. He always looked forward to the stories. He just liked the way the tree man’s voice, even when he whispered like this, would wash over him and make him warm like a blanket.

The tree man smiled and began his story.

“It so happened that the Oomgosh left his valley home and climbed the nearest hill. But beyond that hill he found another, taller than the first, and beyond that hill a third that was taller still. So did the hills grow, each one dwarfing the one before, until they ceased to be hills and became mountains, with their proud heads lost in the clouds.

“Still did the Oomgosh climb, and, as was his custom, he talked to the trees that he passed, for, as much as humans, the trees were his brothers and his sisters.

“‘Joy!’ the trees shouted on the hills. ‘The sun warms us, the rain nourishes us, and the wind allows us to display our fine leaves to every living thing. Truly, it is a wonder to be a tree, that grows from the earth and reaches to the sky.’

“So was the Oomgosh content, until he met another, who walked down from the mountaintop as he was walking up: a strange woman, dressed all in white, with a hood and a veil, so that all the Oomgosh could see was a bit of pale skin about her colorless eyes. And the trees about her shuddered as she passed, their branches whipping about as their leaves turned the colors of flame and fell to the ground.

“ ‘I am Winter,’ the pale woman said when the Oomgosh asked of her business. ‘All listen to Winter’s call. The wind grows swifter, the sun backs away, the rain freezes. Leaves and grass will die, and lie buried beneath the snow.’

“The Oomgosh objected, for he hated to see the end of such joy, but the woman named Winter was unmoved.

“ ‘It is the way of things,’ she replied. ‘Now you must turn around, or you will feel my touch as well.’ And with that, she brushed his hand with her cold fingers and blew her icy breath upon his cheek.

“The Oomgosh backed away at that, for he could feel the flesh of his hand grow hard and brittle beneath her caress, and the tears he cried for the joyless trees froze upon his cheek. He turned, and fled to the warm valley far from the mountainside.

“But once the Oomgosh had left Winter behind, he felt as if he had betrayed the trees on the high hillsides. Surely, there was some way to reason with Winter! But he did not know how.

“So it was that, in coming to his valley at last, he met a second woman, dressed all in green, with wildflowers in her hair, and skin and eyes the color of rich earth. She smiled at the Oomgosh, and a bit of the sun seemed to shine there in that smile.

“‘Where do you travel so quickly?’ the young woman asked. “And although it made the Oomgosh ashamed, he admitted, ‘I am running from Winter.’

“At that the young woman laughed, a sound like a brook after it has rained. ‘I have had some difficulties with Winter, as well,’ she admitted. ‘She does not approve of my arrival. My name is Spring.’

“And Spring brushed against his hand, and her sweet breath blew across his cheek. And the Oomgosh saw that the dead spot on the back of his hand was green again, and once more could tears flow from his eyes.

“ ‘Winter wants to keep me away,’ Spring confided. ‘But you have seen her. Why not turn around and guide me, and we will tell her it is time to go?’

“So the Oomgosh turned about, and guided this young woman through the hills, each one higher than the one before. And, as she passed, the trees gained new buds and the ground sprouted with flowers and new blades of grass. And, while they marched, the Oomgosh could see the veiled Winter just before them, and, while her expression was harsh and her laugh bitter, Winter gave way before them, climbing back to her mountain home.

“The trees grew leaves again, and took joy in the sun, the wind, and the rain.

“ ‘See?’ Spring said, once the Oomgosh had led her as high as there were trees that bloomed. ‘All things have their season, and you and I are no different. But, if we are patient, our season will come again.’

“And with that, Spring fled back to her home in the South. But the Oomgosh no longer worried, for he had the trees and the sun and the rain and the wind and a new woman named Summer, and he knew that Spring would always come again.”

The Oomgosh nodded to say the story was finished.

“A great story!” another voice squawked nearby. “Raven approves!”

Jason turned, surprised to see the black bird by his side. “I didn’t hear you arrive.”

“You would have if Raven had fluttered his wings. But Raven knows when to be quiet, too.” The bird proudly fluffed his feathers. “Sometimes even Raven walks.”