Dragons Rising (17 page)

They
all exchanged glances. Finally Cade tightened his lips, clenched his
fists, and nodded. Amity rolled her eyes but nodded too.

"We'll
begin tonight," Fidelity whispered.

 
 
FIDELITY

As
darkness fell, they emerged from the cellar and stood among the ruins
of Draco Murus, this ancient fortress of Requiem reduced to rubble.
As the sun set behind the mountains, Fidelity stared south, waiting,
hoping to see her on the wind . . . but Domi never arrived.

Where
are you, Domi? Come back to me, sister. Do not leave me again.
For years, Domi had lived away from their family, masquerading as the
firedrake Pyre. Her brief return had filled Fidelity with joy, the
joy of having a sister once more.
I cannot bear to lose you again.

Fidelity
tightened her lips. All she could do now was wait and hope and pray.
Until Domi arrived, she would continue her fight.

"All
right, everyone," Fidelity said. "I'm going to try to
repeat the words in the book. They're written in Ancient Eteerian,
which I've studied a little. I'll summon the demon from that valley
there." She pointed down to a snowy valley. "It should be
easy enough."

Cade
grumbled under his breath. "Famous last words. I hope you don't
end up summoning the entire unholy host of the Abyss."

Fidelity
shook her head wildly. "Of course not. I'm going to summon only
a fireslug. They're big but harmless. They can't hurt you any more
than a real slug could."

"I'm
not too fond of real slugs," Cade said. "Massive, scaled
ones the size of a whale? Not a nice thought."

"Harmless,"
Fidelity insisted. "They're a food source in the Abyss,
according to my book. Now shift into dragons! And be ready to blow
your fire and roast the demon dead when it emerges. Don't worry, it's
far less sentient than the cows and chickens we eat. Just . . . aim
for the head. Don't damage the hide. We'll need that part."

The
others obeyed. Cade shifted into a golden dragon, Korvin into a gray
one, and Amity into the wild red beast. Each dragon flew over to
stand on a different boulder, facing the valley.

Fidelity
took a deep breath. Clutching the parchment, she walked down into the
dale.

"Now
. . ." She cleared her throat and stared at the parchment,
trying to remember what she knew of Ancient Eteerian. She had spent a
year as a child studying this dead language, wanting to read the old
Eteerian epic poems about Issari, an Eteerian princess and Vir
Requis. Yet Fidelity had not read this dead language in years.

All
I can do is try.

She
began to read.

The
words felt like gravel in her mouth. Such a harsh, guttural language!
Fidelity imagined that when the old Eteerians had spoken it, it had
sounded quite melodious, but from her mouth it emerged discordant.
She felt as if she were spitting out rusty bits of metal instead of
words.

"Rise,
crawler of fire!" she said. Or at least, Fidelity thought that's
what she was saying. "Rise, fiery slug of the underground! With
my blood and soul, I summon you to the surface!"

The
sun was almost gone now. That was good; the book said that demons
were most active at sunset. As detailed on the page, Fidelity began
to walk across the valley. Using a stick, she drew in the snow,
forming the shape of an eye inside a circle, ten feet across--an
ancient symbol of the Abyss.

She
kept crying out to the demon, hands raised above her head.

Nothing
happened.

On
their perches, the three dragons moved about restlessly. Fidelity
refused to give up. She tightened her lips, wiped her brow, and tried
again, repeating the words over and over.

Still
no creature emerged.

Cade
yawned. "You almost done there, Fi?" he called down to her.

"It's
supposed to work," she mumbled. "I don't understand why the
demon's not here."

"Maybe
because it's a damn fairy tale!" Amity cried down from the
boulder she stood on.

Fidelity
stared up at the red dragon. "Bonedrakes are meant to be fairy
tales too. Yet Beatrix summoned them. And I'm going to summon this
creature. Hang tight. Let me start over again. I might have
mispronounced a word or two."

Fidelity
kicked snow over her drawing. With the sun now gone, the dragons let
low flames burn in their maws, lighting the valley with an eerie red
glow. The light could attract more bonedrakes, Fidelity knew. She'd
have to work fast.

She
started over.

Again
Fidelity read from the page. "Rise, crawler of fire!" Her
voice rang across the valley. "With my blood and soul, I summon
you!"

She
kept reading, drawing the symbol anew.

Again
nothing happened.

Fidelity
sighed.

"Just
a myth," said Amity from her perch. "I told you."

Fidelity
clasped her head. Just a myth? But . . . the rest of the books she
had read were true! They spoke of Behemoth, Vir Requis, and
bonedrakes, all creatures she knew were real. Why would the books lie
about demons?

"It
should work," Fidelity mumbled, pacing across the snowy valley.
"Bloody Abyss, it should work, I--"

She
froze.

She
gasped.

Of
course.

Bloody
Abyss.

Fidelity
laughed. "Of course!" she said. "One more time. Keep
your fire burning."

Korvin
spoke for the first time since emerging from the cellar. "Fidelity,
the light can attract enemies, and--"

"Just
one more time!" Fidelity said. "Please."

Blood,
she knew, smiling.
That was the answer.

She
began the ceremony again, drawing the symbol anew, calling out the
words again.

"Rise,
crawler of the Abyss! Rise, fiery slug of the underground! With my
blood and soul, I summon you!"

As
she spoke that last sentence, Fidelity ran her sword against her
palm. She let her blood drip into the snow--right in the center of
the eye she had drawn.

For
a long moment, nothing happened.

The
three dragons grumbled and began to leave their boulders.

"Waste
of time," Amity muttered, walking back toward the cellar.

"I'm
sorry, Fidelity," Korvin said, then turned to leave too.

"Wait,"
Fidelity whispered. "Wait . . ."

She
remained standing in the valley, confused, helpless. It should have
worked!

"Come
on, Fidelity," Cade said. "Let's go back inside." He
too turned to leave.

But
Fidelity remained standing outside, head lowered. She had spent days
practicing these words, sure it would work. She had failed. How--

She
swayed.

She
blinked and frowned.

"Fidelity,
come on!" Cade called to her from the staircase that led into
the cellar. He had returned to human form. The others had already
entered the chamber.

Fidelity
stared down at her feet. In the dim moonlight, she saw the snow
trembling.

"Wait,"
she whispered, then raised her voice to a shout. "Cade, wait!"

She
swayed again. The mountain was shaking. The snow cascaded, and with a
great sound like shattering stone, a crack appeared in the valley.

Fidelity
leaped back.

A
sinkhole opened up, swallowing the eye she had drawn, growing larger.

A
creature was stirring below.

Fidelity's
eyes widened. She gulped and held the page closer, struggling to read
in the darkness.

"Rise,
great digger of soil and metal! Rise into the world and taste
freedom!"

With
a roar that split the air, with claws that tore up rock and soil, the
creature began to emerge.

"Stars
above!" Cade cried and shifted back into a dragon. He beat his
wings and soared. "Fidelity, stand back!"

But
she was frozen in place, staring up with wide eyes.

By
the stars.

She
had imagined a great, scaled slug, something large and frightening
but essentially still just a slug. What Fidelity saw, however, made
her knees tremble and head spin.

The
creature kept emerging from the earth. It was massive. Larger than
three dragons and still crawling out. It had four legs--no,
six!--each plump and tipped with claws. A cylinder thrust out from
its head, its tip rimmed with teeth--some sort of elongated mouth,
Fidelity thought. She saw no eyes, no nostrils. But strangest of all
was the creature's body. That body was sluggish and fat and covered
with translucent scales. She could see through those scales and the
skin into the creature's innards. She saw no bones, no muscles, no
veins, only floating bulbs of pale blue and white liquid, organs like
colorful soap bubbles. Deep in its belly floated clumps of soil,
rock, and snow the creature must have eaten. A heart beat within its
chest, white and veined.

"Fidelity,
back!" Cade cried again. He dived down, swept her aside with his
wing, and blasted forth his dragonfire.

The
jet crashed into the fireslug's head.

The
creature screamed.

Fidelity
fell into the snow, staring up at the blaze, and that scream tore
through her. It sounded hurt. It sounded almost human. A scream of
surprise, of pain.

You
betrayed me!
the fireslug seemed to cry.
Why do you hurt me?

"Wait,"
Fidelity whispered, sitting in the snow.

More
wings flapped. Korvin and Amity flew above now, and they too blasted
down their dragonfire, hitting the creature's head. The fireslug
flailed, its tail still in the hole. Its six pudgy limbs lashed out,
too short to hit the dragons. Its head burned, and still it screamed.
Inside its translucent body, Fidelity saw the floating balls of
liquid boil and burst.

"Stop!"
Fidelity said. "Wait, stop! Don't hurt it. Let it go, I changed
my mind!"

The
dragonfire died around her, but the creature's head still blazed. It
turned that head toward Fidelity, and though it had no eyes, Fidelity
could feel it looking at her. Feel its pain at her betrayal. Feel its
fear.

"It's
afraid," she whispered, eyes damp.

She
approached the fireslug slowly as the fires died across it. The
creature slumped down and placed its charred head in the snow,
perhaps seeking relief from the pain. Its elongated mouth had burnt
and shriveled up.

"I'm
sorry," Fidelity whispered. She stepped closer and placed a hand
against the great burnt head; it was larger than her entire human
body. "I'm sorry, my friend. I didn't know you could feel pain.
I--"

A
shadow darted.

Amity
leaped down from the air, back in human form, and drove her sword
into the creature's soft head.

"No!"
Fidelity screamed. She leaped forward and slammed into Amity,
knocking the woman down into the snow. But she was too late. The
fireslug gave a last whimper, a sound of pain, of longing, and
Fidelity realized that it was speaking--actually speaking--in the
language of Ancient Eteer.

"Mother,"
the demon whimpered, looking at Fidelity. "Mother . . ."

Then
its head slumped down, the sword still buried within it, and it rose
no more.

Fidelity
wept. She rose to her feet, enraged, and shook Amity. "Why? Why
did you do this?"

Amity
shoved her back. "You told us to kill it!"

"I
told you to stop hurting it!" Fidelity shouted. "It wasn't
a mindless creature. It was smart! It was scared. It . . . it wanted
me to help it."

Fidelity
fell to her knees in the snow, overcome with grief.

Amity
rolled her eyes, but Cade approached slowly and knelt by Fidelity.

"Are
you sure, Fi?" the boy said softly. "It just looks like a
big worm to me. Maybe worms just grow really large underground. I
don't think it knew what hit it."

But
Fidelity knew they would not understand. They had not felt its gaze.
They had not understood its whimper, did not realize it was a word.

She
rose to her feet, eyes damp, and marched toward the cellar.

Let
the others skin it,
she thought bitterly, eyes burning.
I
cannot see it. I cannot bear it.

She
moved to the back of the cellar and stood facing the wall, and tears
streamed down her cheeks. She too was scared. For Domi. For this
world. For what she had done. She heard Amity laugh outside, and
Fidelity knelt on the cold floor, lowered her head, and prayed to the
stars for forgiveness.

 
 
MERCY

The
bones of the dead flew across the land, risen from their graves, and
for the first time in years, Mercy visited the grave of her daughter.

It
was a clear winter morning, and though Mercy could imagine no enemies
attacking in the cemetery, still she wore her armor. Her armor had
never been merely steel to ward off blades or claws but a shell, a
metal skin to hide the softness within. Encased in her steel, she
walked between the naked oaks and birch trees. Icicles hung from the
branches, and snow crinkled under her boots. The sky was pale blue,
and thousands of tombstones rose around her, frosted and topped with
snow. Statues of druids rose among them. It was a beautiful place, a
peaceful place, but forever a place of pain and fear to Mercy.

This
is where I buried my daughter.

As
she walked here, she held her new babe in her arms. Wrapped in
swaddling clothes, Eliana gazed around in wonder at the trees. The
baby had grown so much larger since Mercy had first found her, and
thick brown hair grew on her head. Mercy remembered that her first
daughter had had brown hair--brown like Mercy's was before she had
bleached it white and shaved off half in servitude of the Spirit.

Finally
she found the grave.

One
of the priests had suggested raising a great monument, Mercy
remembered, but Beatrix had refused. A stillborn daughter was seen as
weakness, a shame to hide away, and so the tombstone was simple,
unmarked, unnamed.