Blue Moon (34 page)

He looked and saw the purple magic fall back onto the mattress.

Her weight left him.

"Forget it,” he said through gritted teeth. The pain of the vine was nearly unbearable. Also, he knew it could not drink much more. It was too small, and when it stopped, it would let go.

"We need it,” she said, picking the block up.

"We don't have time,” he argued. He looked up.

Sierra had crawled back out to see what was going on. “Throw it to me,” she yelled.

The vine wiggled and seemed to sigh happily. It let go. Just then, the part of the branch he was holding onto with his right hand broke. He scrambled for purchase, and Sierra grabbed his arm. He lost his balance as the second branch he'd been holding gave away, and he fell from the boat. Sierra hauled with all her weight, and he dangled above the magic river, trying to find a hold.

"The boat!” He reached, trying to catch it again with his foot. He felt Libby's hand on his ankle before she was yanked away.

"Libby!” Sierra shrieked.

He clambered up on the dead tree and down to the ground. He ran, but the canoe went faster, caught in the current. She was on her knees, facing him, holding the glowing purple cylinder.

"Alex,” she whispered, and he heard it, and tried to run faster.

She raised a hand. For a moment, he thought she was reaching out to him, but then he realized she was waving goodbye.

The boat went over the edge. He came to the cliff edge a second later. He didn"t hesitate. He jumped.

He saw her, as he fell. Her face was buried in the mattress. She clung to the boat and to the congealed magic desperately, her only hope to hold on tight and pray.

Remember, he ordered himself as he stretched out his arms. Remember this life, remember how this all felt, remember this love...?

He enclosed her and the boat in his talons and swooped up, wings pumping hard, unused to the exertion of flight. He searched for the dog and the wizard woman below, and he flew toward them, knowing they needed to see she was alright.

It all looks so different, he thought. It was as if a veil had been lifted from his senses, and he could see so much farther, taste the wind and know what it said. He could see her, feel the tentative touch of her tiny hand on his scales, feel her heartbeat.

If you become a dragon tonight, his father had said, you will be one forever. He wished that becoming a dragon again had dulled his emotions, but it had not. He loved her as keenly as ever, and with more desperation.

He placed the boat on the ground with care. She jumped out of it, abandoning the hard-won magic in the bottom.

"Alex? Is that you? Are you alright?” She ran up to him, but he couldn't look at her face. If she was repulsed or disappointed, he didn't want to see.

He backed away, wanted to hide in the trees. She did love him. Knowing that, and knowing his promise, and knowing his place in the world did not make any of it feel better.

He took flight again. Love is not a thing for dragons, he reminded himself, and willed his dragoness—his soul—to heal the cracks in his heart and cover them over. Bury it, he commanded, bury this forever.

Libby watched him go.

"He's so beautiful,” she whispered.

His scales were copper and warm brown, the fine wings had reddish-gold in them. He sparkled, and moved with a predatory grace that inspired awe. She was crying, and she didn't understand why. Hadn't the hero saved her in the nick of time? Wasn't the man she loved still beautiful and wonderful? And strong. God, he looked strong enough to take on Sabin, to take on all the evil in the world.

The world. Which world did he belong to? She understood now. She was crying because he didn't belong here. Because he hadn't been home for ages, and now that he knew who he was and where his friends and family were, he wouldn't want to stay. It wouldn't be fair to ask.

She looked around, half-hoping that Sierra and Dashiel were nearby, but she was alone. She wiped the tears off her face and wondered what she should do.

To the castle, she thought, and pray everyone catches up.

—
Father
, Alex called.

—
Here
, he heard distantly. Where the blue magic comes in.

He wheeled, and turned.

—
Nice warning
, he complained, echoing Sierra's earlier sentiments.

—
I am old
, Zorovin said.
I do not react quickly. Now, come and see.

He landed silently, and went to his father's side. The huge black dragon studied the island. The magic was separating itself again, going into caverns carved out of the rock. There was no purple magic anywhere in sight.

—
'Tis where she means to rule, I think.

The castle dominated the island; it looked like a very nasty child's idea of a fairytale castle. It was black, except for an oily sheen that covered parts of it, forming scummy rainbows. The caverns the magic flowed into were gigantic ravenous mouths filled with sharp teeth. Tall towers leaned at odd angles. At the center, one rose higher than any, and flattened out at the top into a platform. There was a table in the center of it.

In the courtyard, the Shadow King's minions had gathered, joined by the occasional Terfa, their tall, tree-like forms unmistakable. They were setting up weapons along the walls.

"Catapults,” Zorovin hissed.

A pair of gremlins slowly raised a long spear with a nasty black serrated point. They worked it until they could slide it into the huge ballista next to the parapet wall.

"They know they will be fighting dragons.” Alex said.

In the confusion, Dashiel and Sierra had separated before they had agreed on a direction. So, now, she was alone, worrying a little about her sister, wondering where that dog had gone to, hoping she could come up with a good plan of action.

It seemed to take forever to get to the nexus of the rivers. When she arrived, she circled the area, trying to find a way the flow. Once, she hid while two black-haired men passed.

"Come on, Aïs,” the taller one hissed, “we have to hurry."

"I hate carrying these rocks,” the other sighed. “I can't believe we have to drag these things all over the place."

"They'll help us kill that monster Bronwyn awakened."

"We need back-up. A call to the ship, and they'll be here in no time."

"What does the ship care for us?” His tone was bitter. “We're land-tainted to them, barely worthy to be considered part of their exalted race. Plus after meeting Lady Bronwyn...” He snorted.

The one called Aïs took something from his pocket. “I have a calling flare. I stole it from Bronwyn when she first started to act funny. Let's use it. Let's call the Kindred from the seas. They have more knowledge of these things."

Yes.
Sierra willed them to do it from her hiding place behind a fallen tree.
Call them.

"No,” the taller one said, and he swatted his friend's hand. The calling flare, a silver canister with markings on the side, flew from his hand and rolled to where Sierra hid. “Aïs, we don't know. They could be as mad or evil as she is."

"She has to be a renegade,” Aïs argued. “And this snake thing ... it scares the shit out of me. How are just the two of us going to defeat it? What will we do with it if we do?"

"I'm sorry,” the taller one said. “I just don't want any more trouble."

Sierra saw it, shining in the light. She reached for it. It felt cold and smooth in her hand. There was a small loop at the bottom; the top was pointed.

"I better go find the flare,” Aïs said.

"Yeah. We don't want anyone stumbling across it. I'm sorry about, um..."

"Who cares?” the other said, rummaging through the brush.

Sierra thought for a moment. If the ship elves were the same she had read of, then they were an old and honorable group, well-versed in magic and its uses. We can use all the help we can get, she thought, and raised the cylinder.

She pulled the loop and watched as a thin lance of fire shot out the top. It grew and grew as it arched up to the sky then exploded. Purple and green sparks flooded the air, then turned to gold as they fell. She thought they might have formed a symbol but wasn't sure, being directly under it. She grinned at the pretty colors.

"Hesek!” the taller one said, and she did not need to know his language to understand it was a curse.

She backed away from them soundlessly. There must be a way across, she told herself, rather wishing she knew where her boat had ended up.

Rita opened her eyes. “I don't want to die."

Raul squeezed her gently. “You aren't going to. I'll protect you."

She sat up, pushing away the blanket. “I mean, I do want to die. Maybe. I don't know. I just want things to be as they should be. Peace would be nice, too."

He looked at her, confused.

She continued, speaking as if it were all simple. “I have been dead too long. My body may eventually recover from being dead, but my soul ... it's not here. The reason why I can't remember who I am isn't because of a spell or anything like that, it's because the part of me that made me a person is gone. My soul, my memories—I just have a few images floating around like ghosts in my head."

She raised her hands, picking at the skin around her nails. They were tinged an unhealthy blue, like the rest of her flesh.

"He said that this body would recover from being dead, but I don't think I believe it. I think it was too far decomposed, and it's only a matter of time before the magic fades away, and my fingers and toes will start falling off, and I'll trail dust in my wake like perfume.” She smiled sadly.

"Maybe not,” he said, putting an arm around her. “You certainly feel cold, but I think you've just gotten chilled.” He took the blanket off and wrapped her completely in it. “Whether you have memories or not, you're alive."

"Because he called me back.” Her voice was filled with such loathing and anger he backed away a couple of inches. “He called me to be a guide. I'll guide him, all right. I'll guide him to the gates of hell.” She stood. “Then I will go back to sleep."

He started to protest, but she shook her head.

"Being dead isn't so bad. It's warm, and peaceful. Sometimes I know I'll wake up and be in a much, much better world than this.” She nodded her head. “I will not let that evil bastard cheat me from my hopes of a better life. I'm dead. I will do what I can to remove his taint from the world, then I will lie back down and sleep until my God bids me wake again."

He shook his head, trying to rattle his mind into a sensible place. “If that's what you want. But, um, wait to be sure, you know? Think about it."

She smiled at him and held out her hand. He took it, and she pulled him to his feet. She was very strong.

"Come. We have to escape."

"I'm Raul,” he said. “What's your name? I can't go around saying ‘hey, you.’”

She thought about it for a time then shook her head. “'Hey, you’ is fine. I'm no one, really. I have no name it's my right to claim.” She went to the door and tested the latch.

"So, about your escape plan...” he encouraged.

"I've got it covered,” she said as she twisted the knob hard to the left then pushed. Metal protested and gave away. “See?"

Libby walked beside Dashiel, watching their footing. He had caught up with her, and now they were looking for Alex and his father.

"Flying's the best was to cross,” Dashiel said, and she had to agree.

Even this far from the river, the ground was known to give way. In a couple of places where the flow was high, magic had seeped under the surface. When she stepped on it, the magic oozed up. She jumped away, but now her left sole was substantially thinner, and she could feel every rock and bump through it.

She went back to the river once and stared into the gold-and-green stream.

"It's pretty,” Dashiel said, “but don't you think we ought to get going?"

"I need a weapon,” she answered. “A sword would be too big, and I have no idea how to use one, anyway.” She looked at her friend. “Do you think Alex knows how to use one?"

"Nah,” he said after a moment's thought. “I wouldn't trust him not to hurt himself. Besides, I somehow think he's covered."

"Hmm.” She knelt and reached her hand into the stream of magic. It was warm, and her fingers tingled, not unpleasantly. She concentrated, asking for a knife, preferably silver. She felt something—she wasn't sure if it formed in or floated into her hand, but she wrapped her fingers around it. She pulled a dagger from the current and held it in both hands; the magic flowed off her skin, leaving it dry and unmarked. The hilt was of green stone, and it rested in a silver sheath worked with a pattern of roses and set with pearls. It whispered as she pulled the blade. It was narrow, and only as long as her hand. She pointed it moonward, and the tip twinkled as if a tiny diamond were set in it. She smiled and slid the blade back home.

"Nice,” Dashiel said.

"I'm beginning to enjoy myself too much,” Libby confessed, putting the weapon in her jeans pocket then working the hilt up under her belt. “One more thing,” she muttered.

An eddy of brown magic had formed a pool a few feet down from her. She went to it and dipped her hands in, sculpting, weaving a sack to carry the purple magic. What she ended up with looked like a leather backpack.

Dashiel tilted his head. “There they are,” he said, pointing with his muzzle.

Libby stood and waved, magic dripping from her fingers, and Dashiel sighed. She blushed as she wiped her hands on her pants then pushed the purple magic into its new pack, and waited for them to land.

She joined them, and rested her hand on Alex's nose. His eyes were like faceted silver now, and his face was completely different, broad and sort of reptilian-raptor like, with shimmering scales and small spikes. Yet, somehow, she knew him. Would always know him.

"Thank you,” she said as he shuddered and pulled away. Perhaps, she thought sadly, now that he was a dragon, he did not find human girls attractive anymore.