Doublesight (42 page)

A guard had stayed behind and ran out from the single room attached to the landing by a broad wood door.

It was too late for Zimp to reverse her shift. She stared and tried to move as the man lifted his sword over his head. Without reason, the guard's motion stopped, and he let go of his sword. It clanked to the floor. When he fell over, a look of surprise on his face, Lankor stood behind him.

Zimp completed her shift and dropped to her knees.

“You should be more careful,” Lankor said.

“Why, when I have my own dragon-boy to save me?”

He laughed.

“It's good to hear you laugh,” she said.

Lankor said, “Your friends can't keep them back forever. What's next?”

“Oronice is drawing me toward Memory Tower.”

“I was afraid you'd say that.”

“I'll watch as you shift,” she said, reaching for his sword.

“We're flying?” His face lit up.

Zimp looked over the edge. “You wanted to walk?” She smelled the strong odor of fire and smoke, and stepped back. His shift frightened
her as much as the first time, and she was a doublesight. No wonder the humans couldn't take it.

She wondered briefly, as he groaned and stretched his wings to his sides, how he felt about his ancestors being killed off by humans and doublesight alike. Was that why he ignored her advances? Did he retain a historical distaste for other doublesight?

Lankor lifted up in front of Zimp, a magnificent being of unbelievable strength and power. Who wouldn't fall in love with him? She couldn't help herself from wondering about his beak and bird claws. Were they, was he, an original dragon as the Six Shapeless Gods had first designed? No other flying animal had feet and looked reptilian except statues of other types of dragons. Were those dragons the mutants and Lankor of original stock? She believed that was so, whether because of her love or because of his appearance, it didn't matter to her.

She did a slow shift as he looked on.

The noise in the stairwell got louder with human voices. Three men ran onto the landing and stopped to stare at Lankor. He spun around and glared back at them, bowed, and turned to go. He stepped onto the landing wall, and fell into the light of the morning sun.

Zimp followed him toward the mountains.

*   *   *

Several hours later, the sisters heard of Draklan's death and went to see his body, which had been taken to his chamber. Their father, General Lansion, escorted them.

King Belford the Warrior stood over his son, his head and shoulders rolled forward in sadness. He had dressed in full uniform, ready for battle. The king did not look up as his brother entered the room, but said, “This is what he wanted.”

General Lansion stepped close to King Belford and placed a hand on the man's shoulder.

“You wish to comfort me, but there is nothing in me left to comfort.” The king turned. “I loved and hated him. Found joy and fear in his existence.”

“I know, my king.”

“Do you fear us?” one of the sisters said and then quickly giggled.

The other two giggled after her.

The general turned to them and they quieted.

“What have we done?” the king said.

“We have kept our children alive,” General Lansion said.

“Is this life? Is what they suffer life?” He spun around and pointed at the sisters. “Do you feel as though you're living? Is it not painful to shift? Do you not wish to die while it's happening? Are you ashamed? Do you fear for your own children?”

The pregnant sister ran her hands over her stomach and began to cry at his outburst. Her voice as she spoke sounded sweet, yet like an autumn wind had a definite chill to it. “I hate you both,” she said evenly. “I hate what you have created – me, and my hunger not unlike yours. A hunger for flesh at any cost, flesh in all its functions. When I shift there is nothing but hate and hunger and I don't care what I produce. Is that how it was for you, Daddy? You didn't care what we would be, only that your hunger was satisfied?”

“No,” he said. “That was not how it was. I loved your mother.”

She hissed at him and he shut up.

“I love what grows in me. When I'm in human image and pregnant, I love it. When it is born…”

“Stop it,” her father said.

“What will you do now, Daddy?” She stepped closer to him and her two sisters reached to stop her, but she shook them off. “Now that Draklan is gone? He knew how to care for us. He alone could stomach it. What will you do now? Now that our only friend is dead?” Her anger pushed her over the edge of change.

Her sisters gasped as she screamed out in pain. They knew that every shift felt worse than giving birth, worse than self-hatred. The pain stretched through her physical and emotional bodies. It was astral and ethereal.

She dropped her robe and let her body shift while naked.

Her father yelled out for her to stop, but there was no stopping what she had started.

Her shift kicked off shifts in her sisters. All three whined and screamed, their bodies twisting slowly in pain. Blood dripped
from their bodies where wings appeared and where legs broke into bony claws.

The pregnant sister leaped onto her father, scratching at his face and neck.

King Belford called for the guards. He stepped backwards into the arms of the other two sisters. He yelled again.

As General Lansion slid to the floor, bloodied and weak, his daughter began to morph back into human image. She cried and yelled, “Daddy!” repeatedly. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry!”

King Belford looked on, a dazed blankness in his eyes.

“You did not kill him, did you?” one sister said. “Because we need his army. We need to live.”

“But I hate being like this,” the pregnant one said.

“We are the future of this world.”

“We are awful.”

“Only in their eyes. In my mind, we are only different. Stronger,” she said. “We must stop the dragon and the crow.”

*   *   *

Lankor relished the sensation of flight. The open sky became a large playground as he twisted and swooped. He couldn't help enjoying the flight toward Memory Tower.

The color of the morning air had turned green and purple. The smoky smells allowed the scent of growing fields to linger lightly as he breathed.

A hundred crows flew with him, all around him. They were noisy at first, but flew quietly now, staying out of his way as he rolled or dived.

A small voice nagged at him to stay the course, yet his dragon image thought to let the play last as long as it could. The dragon felt powerful and alive. It felt invincible. Whatever lay at Memory Tower could not possibly threaten him. What could jeopardize the doublesight now?

Lankor's human thought held tightly for a moment, long enough for him to wonder which crow was Zimp. He hoped it was the one flying closest to him. He glanced over and could have sworn that it winked at him. Then he nodded and slipped into background thought again.

The flight placed more strain on Lankor's dragon image than he would have liked to admit. He seldom strained the dragon's body by flying so many hours. He began to tire. He played less as he flew and found that he looked for ways to ride the wind using his wings, twisting them enough to produce lift. Soon he would have to return to human image. He searched out a place of safety just north of Memory Tower. He needed rest now.

Curving his legs forward, Lankor aimed for a rocky crag, bared of snow by the wind blowing over the ridge. Beyond the crag, the ground appeared flat and open as well. A few trees grew to the south and north, blocking the winds. Lankor touched down, the snow cold on his clawed feet. His wings shivered as he pulled them close to his body.

Crows landed all around him noiselessly. The soft fluff of snow fell from a branch to embrace the silence of the place with movement, but no sound.

Lankor gritted his teeth and held back the pain of shifting. Steam escaped his mouth. He breathed deeply the cold mountain air. He bent to touch the snow with his hand. He had seldom seen snow in The Lost and never this much.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Zimp said from behind him.

“Yes,” he said, “beautiful and cold.”

“That's not always the case. In the sun it can become quite warm even with all this snow around.” She peered into the east. “Perhaps later today.”

“I didn't know where else to land,” he said. “I was so tired from flying that I was afraid I'd shift if I thought about it too much.”

She laughed then said, “No wonder you were tired. Were you trying to impress me?”

Lankor turned away from her gaze. “I seldom get to play like that. It was such a beautiful morning. I couldn't help it.”

“How much control does your human image have while you're a dragon?”

What did she mean by that? he wondered. Was she suggesting he was like Draklan or the sisters? “I've never killed and eaten flesh while in dragon image,” he said. “Does that answer your question?”

“I didn't mean that.”

“You did. You can't help but wonder if I'm a throwback to a previous time, a time of monsters.”

“That's not true,” she said.

As she stepped toward him Lankor retreated from her. “I am not a monster,” he said, “even if I am a throwback. My only hunger is to play.” He thought for a moment. “I feel powerful. I feel…well, magical and amazing, inspired, but never hungry for flesh.” He waited for her to speak and when she didn't he said, “Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” she said. “I can sense in you a childlike playfulness that anyone could love. I never felt threatened by your dragon image, even though watching you go through a shift can be frightening.”

“As frightening as watching the sisters?”

“I feel great pity for them. They cannot help themselves. Their needs are gruesome and grotesque, but they are instinctual as much as conscious. No,” she answered him. “They are much more frightening because of the horror that lives inside them.”

“What are we to do now?”

“Stay the night and plan how to destroy those lost souls wishing to escape Memory Tower,” she said.

“I don't understand,” he said.

“Neither do I. Not yet. But tonight I enter the other realm.” She took slow steps toward Lankor. “Will you stay with me tonight? Will you protect me while I'm gone?”

Lankor flowed with his heart's desire and reached for Zimp's hand. He lifted it toward his chest, pulling her closer. His mind raced and questioned his actions. He stared into her face, traced her lips with his eyes, and then met her eyes squarely. He hesitated and she leaned closer. “I'll protect you like a brother,” he said, patting her hand affectionately.

*   *   *

The night had been long. Brok woke several times, upset about the loss of his brother.

Storret also awoke. He went to Brok's side, arriving to comfort Breel more than Brok.

Storret feared what had to be done. He secretly hoped there would never be a war. Since Brok's return all that had changed. After Brok's private meeting with The Few, Storret, Nayman, and Noot were called in to strategize. Storret and Nayman were to give up part of their army to Brok. The Few had asked both Storret and Noot about Oronice and both of them expressed danger and concern with Memory Tower, although Storret felt that Noot appeared to be disconnected from the physical world as he explained his thoughts.

Hammadin had ordered that Storret and Nayman march first on Memory Tower and then join Brok, who would enter Castle Weilk to free Lankor and Zimp and to kill the gryphon Brok had told them about.

“King Belford must be heart-broken and torn from bearing such an unfortunate offspring,” Hammadin had said. “I feel it is not what he would have wished for.”

“Unfortunate offspring,” Storret whispered.

“What did you say?” Breel reached for Storret's hand.

He looked up. “Nothing. Just something Hammadin said last night.”

Brok rubbed the back of his neck and down his arms.

“Are you rested?” Breel said.

“Enough for what we need to do,” he said.

“I've dispatched Floom to separate a third of the men to you,” Storret said.

“I'll kill them all,” Brok said, hardly listening.

“There is but one menace at Castle Weilk,” Storret said. “A war with the humans would not be wise. Nayman and I will do battle only if we must. You must consider doing the same.”

“They didn't kill your entire family,” Brok said. He glanced at Breel, “Almost.”

Storret thought to say something else, to disagree. He could suggest that Brok not be allowed to march on the castle. But The Few had spoken and he trusted that they knew what they were doing.

Storret reached for Breel as he stood.

“I'll stay for a little while, if you don't mind,” she said.

Storret nodded, and against his own wishes he said, “You may choose to march with your brother.”

“I'll march with you,” she said. “But we will meet up in a few hours.”

Storret felt a rush of happiness. If Breel fought beside anyone it should be him.

“We'll win this war,” Brok said.

“May the Gods bless us all,” Storret said.

T
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About the Author

Terry Persun writes in many genres, including historical fiction, mainstream, literary, and science fiction/fantasy. He is a Pushcart nominee. His latest poetry collection is
And Now This
. His novel
Cathedral of Dreams
is a ForeWord magazine Book of the Year finalist in the science fiction category, and his novel
Sweet Song
won a Silver IPPY Award. His latest novel is
Revision 7: DNA
, a sci-fi thriller. Terry's website is
www.TerryPersun.com
.

Also by Terry Persun…

Revision 7: DNA
(Science Fiction) Time traveling robots, a walking medical experiment turned detective genius, and a kidnapped psychic combine in a story that will tear at your heart and get your adrenaline pumping.

Cathedral of Dreams
(Science Fiction) A compelling tale of a dystopian future and personal heroism, pitting the outsiders against the mind-control machine of New City.