The Nothing: A Book of the Between (37 page)

Her body stiffened. Blood gushed from her mouth and down over her white chin. Her eyes, dark with pain, focused in on his. And she smiled. She held out her right hand, clenched around the haft of a wicked blade, as red as her own heart’s blood.

Dragonstone.

“It’s yours. Use it well,” she said. Her eyes rolled up in her head. Her hand went limp. The knife clattered to the stone at his feet.

Zee felt no satisfaction, only a vague relief that her belly was flat and not swelling with a growing child. Perhaps she had lied about that, along with everything else. But the way she smiled as she died, as if she had triumphed mightily, worried him. A trap. She’d wanted him to have the knife. Which meant he should leave it. It would help him kill dragons, but it wasn’t enough to save him and the others. Twice in his life, he’d touched dragonstone; both times had been disastrous . First Vivian, then Godzilla. This time, he’d stick to the sword.

But as he turned to descend from the throne, a scream reached his ears, high and piercing, from over by the Pool. Isobel and Lyssa. That errand could not be allowed to fail. Before he could run to their rescue, a shadow fell over him, the wind of giant wings nearly knocking him off his feet as the great red-gold dragon alighted on the throne. There was no time for a sword battle, not if he had any hope of getting to Lyssa in time.

Zee picked up the knife. It felt alive in his hand, with its own malevolent will. Only evil could come from using this blade, but failure would be a greater evil. Their whole passage here had been bought by darkness and blood. It was too late now to quibble about tools forged for dark purposes.

Once accepted, the blade ceased to feel foreign. It molded itself to his grip, made itself part of his body and blood of his blood. As if it had nerves connected to his. It shared his hate for dragons, his thirst for dragon blood, fed his need for revenge. He could feel the exact location of the needle-sharp tip, the razor edge of the blade. It was hungry. His arm drew back in a smooth contraction of muscle and sinew, ready to throw, knowing there would be no missing the mark with this weapon. It would fly like a heat-seeking missile, directly for the dragon’s heart.

Before the knife left his hand, another form stepped between him and his mark. A young dragon, smaller even than Godzilla had been, with great golden eyes and scales so mirror-bright, they reflected the sky despite being black as night. Not a threat, this one. The eyes were curious, not hostile.

If he released the blade, it would kill the young one, not the monster behind it.

His inborn hatred for all things dragon warred with his need to protect the young and helpless. Memory of the trust in Godzilla’s eyes just before the killing blow speared him. Something about the small dragon made him think, too, of Vivian.

“I’ve no quarrel with you. Get out of the way,” he shouted.

The red-gold seemed to have the same idea. Bending his neck, he nudged the small one aside with his great head, gently enough not to do harm but firmly. It was a gesture so human, it shook Zee again, drew him away from the melding with the dragonstone. His eyes went to it; he felt it working on his will, guiding his hand, his muscles quivering with the effort of holding it back.

All of the years of hate warred with a new awareness. Vivian was a dragon and he loved her. Godzilla had saved his life, had died to save Vivian’s. The hate that ran through his veins was bred there by design. That was what decided him. He was master of his own fate, not a tool to be manipulated. He would not, at the least, be used by the dragonstone.

It clung to his fingers as if it were a part of him, resisting separation. He could feel it ache, needing blood. With a desperate gesture, he flung it backward at Aidan’s lifeless body. Then, with only a blade, he faced the big dragon, ready for a fight to the death.
 

Sword ready, he stood at a half crouch, in a defensive posture, ready to fight his last battle. But the big dragon did not attack. It stood just out of reach of his sword, eyeing him with caution and an echo of the young one’s curiosity.

A voice rumbled out of him, deep and powerful, echoing up into the sky. Words, Zee knew, though in a language he could not understand. The dragons above replied and shifted into a circling flight path. Vivian was still up there, still flying. Hurt maybe, from the way she flew, but not crashing.

The dragon’s scales rippled and stretched, his flesh stretching, bunching, constricting. And then in its place stood a man. Tall, broad of shoulder, gold of hair and blue of eye. “Hail, dragon slayer. Must we do battle?” he said, his speech colored by an unfamiliar accent.

Zee’s fingers tightened around the sword hilt. Dragons were liars. Hesitation meant death. But he couldn’t kill a man in cold blood.

“Call off the other dragons,” he said. “Then maybe we can talk.”

“I can’t do that. The penalty for desecration of the Pool of Life is certain death.”

Zee glanced across the battlefield. All of the dragons had turned to the Pool.
Lyssa
. They lined the edge, standing in ranks.

“She’s just a little kid,” he said. “And she’s not desecrating anything.”

“Only dragons of pure blood can touch the water. None has been worthy in thrice three hundred years.” He eyed Zee. “Why did you not use the dragonstone?”

“Aidan wanted me to use it. Tell me why she wanted you dead.”

“She sought to destroy all things.”

Zee absorbed this. “She’s done a damned good job of that. She poisoned the dreamspheres—we’ve come for the water of the Pool of Life to reverse her curse.”

“You might have asked,” the dragon man said.

Zee snorted. “Right. Just waltz into a bunch of dragons controlled by Aidan and ask. You’re a funny guy.”

No smile met his words. “I am Teheren, last of the old dragons. My word is my bond. Is this also true for you, Warrior?”

Sobering, Zee nodded. “My word is my bond, Teheren of the dragons.” And then, formally, he went down on one knee. “I ask for one thing—that the child may take water from the Pool to the Cave of Dreams in hope of saving what remains yet of all the worlds. My life is forfeit.”

“And your companions?”

He very nearly choked on the words he must say, but they must stay the course. “All of our lives for the life of the child and a draught of water from the Pool.”

Teheren’s eyes were deep, more dragon than human. “I see truth in you, Warrior. But there is no water in the Pool. I am the last of the Old Ones. We have died, one by one, and the land has died with us.”

This truth struck home. All Zee need do was look around at the desolation and the gathering of dragons which seemed suddenly small, seen through Teheren’s eyes. “All of these, then, came with Aidan?”

Teheren nodded. “Yes. And they, too, will die. There is no sustenance for them.”

A sudden suspicion narrowed Zee’s eyes. “So, if all of your people are dead—how are you still alive?”

A look of sadness so deep it was beyond comprehension passed over the handsome face. “I was king here, once. I bathed often in the Pool. It takes a long, long time to die for one who has bathed in the Pool. The dragonstone blade might have been a favor.”

Zee fought against his choking despair. “There must be some way,” he said. “It cannot truly be the end of all things, even the Forever.” He turned his eyes up to the sky where the dragon that was Vivian still flew, far above. She was no longer circling but on a course toward the Pool.

Zee began to run, Teheren falling into step beside him. The baby dragon wasn’t far behind. Maybe Teheren sent messages over the channels, maybe the dragons feared his sword, but they made a path for him. He arrived at the brink of the pool just in time to see Vivian fold her wings and dive. A moment of confusion, and then he could see Lyssa, mud-covered but alive, standing between the dragon legs.

NO GREAT EXPLOSION of magic, no fireworks to herald Kalina’s death, but Vivian felt the shock of it clear to her core. The instant of distraction cost her a long gash along her side and very nearly a broken wing. A blast of her own magic repelled the attack but left her weakened. All she could do now was fight her own battle, to kill or be killed.

She was weakening. Another dragon, a large green male, winged toward her, and she knew this one would be too many. And then Lyssa and Isobel were seen by the pool. A clamor of outrage rose from the host of dragons. A voice of great authority commanded,
Cease fighting
.
Wait and watch.
The green dragon, jaws wide open and about to strike Vivian’s neck, rolled in midair, folding his wings and dropping like a stone to avoid collision.

On guard, not trusting this cease-fire, she took in the scene below. Aidan dead on the throne. Zee talking to a tall man whose red-gold hair blazed in the evening light. A stampede of dragons rushing toward the Pool.

At the bottom of the basin, Lyssa scrabbled in the mud with her one good hand. The griffyn cub dug away beside her. Poe stood beside her, overseeing things, the raven right beside him. And above her, balanced on the edge of the Pool, Isobel stood between the oncoming dragons and the little girl, her arms held out as if her frail body could be an effective barrier.

Vivian tried to fly faster, to stop the tragedy about to play out below, but she wasn’t going to make it. Isobel was brave, but this was a stupid, pointless waste. They would hesitate to go down into the Pool of Life, water or no water. She could have bought herself some time staying there with Lyssa.

Then Isobel’s voice came into her mind, clear and sharp as a blade, cutting through all of the clamoring voices.

What is so sacred about mud?

The dragon stampede came to a standstill, holding back a respectful distance from the edge of the basin. Isobel confused them. She smelled human but had spoken as a dragon.

The water will flow again,
one said in response, but his voice was uncertain.

It will, indeed,
Isobel sent back.
Because of what the child is doing. She is here to help you. Only a stupid dragon would eat her.

Miracle of miracles, they were listening. But their rage and hunger were great.

Vivian circled the Pool once and then came in for a landing. She thought Lyssa might be afraid of her in her dragon form, but the little girl just shouted up at her, “You have to dig.”

Oh, child. It’s over. Make a door. Get away. Maybe you can survive for a little, moving from dream world to dream world.

Of course Lyssa couldn’t hear the dragon speech. But the other dragons could.

She must not be allowed to make a door.

Water or no, a human has dared to enter the Sacred Pool.

Stop her.

The anger rose to a crescendo, and Vivian readied herself for the last battle. She would die defending the child. Reaching for the Dreamshifter part of herself, she began to build a door. It shimmered into the air just above the pool, her usual green door with the brass handle.

“No.” Lyssa turned to face her, hands on hips, eyes flashing. The child appeared more angry than afraid. “I won’t go. You have to clear away the mud. I dreamed it.”

Vivian knew better than to argue with a dream. Using her clawed front feet, she began to paw at the mud. It was warm and stank of decaying flesh. Of blood. Of corruption and darkness and long-festering hate. Below it, though, was something else, a promise of clarity and purity and hope. A little clear water welled up and she dug faster.

A fountain of water erupted from its prison, dancing up into the air in a sparkling jet that caught the sun’s rays and trapped them in rainbow droplets.

Dragon voices subsided in awe. Looking up, she saw Zee and the strange man standing beside Isobel, looking down. There were tears on the man’s face. “So many years,” he said in a broken voice. “What are you that you can do this thing?”

“Dreamshifter, dragon, and Sorcieri,” she replied, letting her voice ring out so all of the dragons could hear. “I am the Three in One. I ask permission to take a cup of water to cleanse the Cave of Dreams, so that the remaining Dreamworlds might be saved.”

Already the water in the basin had risen to cover her feet, pure and sparkling. Poe dove and surfaced. The white of his feathers seemed whiter, almost blinding. An eternal penguin, she thought, on a bubble of laughter, and then realized that she herself was standing in the pool, that Lyssa and the dragon cub were there with her. She had no desire to live forever and no idea what effect the water would have on a human and a griffyn.

She needed to remind Lyssa to fill the waterskin, to open the door and go. For that, she needed words. Just as she made the shift into her fragile human skin, the earth shook beneath her feet. A deep rumbling noise vibrated through her. And a rush of molten gold topped the riverbed at the top of the cliff and began to fall. As if frozen in time, she stared up at what was coming. Even from a distance, the heat felt like a furnace blast against her naked skin. No human could survive immersion in that. There wasn’t time to shift back to dragon.