Dragonseed (16 page)

CHAPTER TEN:

SCARECROWS

ZEEKY SAT ON
a boulder on the river bank as Anza slipped out of her buckskins. Anza’s breath hung before her in clouds as she contemplated the deep, slow-moving water before her. Skitter had already slipped into those waters and was slithering about unseen beneath the surface, no doubt feasting on fat and drowsy catfish in the predawn stillness. Skitter was always a little nervous; the smell of smoke from the burning library, combined with the attack of the aerial guard, had left him especially high strung. A swim in the dark, ice-cold water was just the thing to calm him, Zeeky knew. No doubt, Anza had similar motivations. But where Skitter had slid right into the river without hesitation, Anza stood with her arms crossed over her breasts, looking as if she might be on the verge of changing her mind.

“It’s best just to jump right in,” said Zeeky. “It won’t be so bad once you’ve taken the plunge.”

Anza cocked her head and looked at her with challenging eyes, as if she was daring Zeeky to prove her assertion.

“I’m not the one who wanted to swim,” said Zeeky. “And I’m not the one who’s standing here buck naked. Go on and get in the water before you corrupt my pig.”

Anza and Zeeky both looked at Poocher. Poocher was staring at Anza with something akin to a leer. Poocher was almost six months old, on the verge of pig puberty. His front teeth had recently begun to push from his mouth as tusks, giving him a somewhat threatening appearance even when he was perfectly content. Poocher was also starting to get really big; the sweet little runt that Zeeky could cradle in her arms was long gone. As a piglet, Poocher had been sweet, completely open to Zeeky’s mothering. Now, Poocher was more standoffish. He was pushy and grabby with food, and could become sulky and sullen if denied something he wanted. Poocher had become more assertive around the time that he’d helped kill the goddess, charging her from behind and knocking her from her feet at a pivotal moment of the battle. Something had changed in the pig’s self-image. He was no longer Zeeky’s cuddly friend. He was now a young warrior boar with an attitude.

Anza stepped to the edge of the flat stone and started to stick a toe in the water. She stopped, balanced above the dark surface. Her face hardened as if some voice in her head had suddenly won an internal argument. She crouched and sprang, shooting out over the water, her long black hair trailing behind her in a perfect arc. With her hands held like an arrow before her, she sliced into the river with barely a splash.

For a moment, there was only the faint outline of her body moving beneath the surface. Her head burst back into the air as she sucked in a deep gasp. She bobbed in the water as her teeth chattered.

“I’m curious,” said Zeeky. “Why don’t you ever talk?”

Anza raised an eyebrow, as if she found this to be an absurd question.

“When the goddess kidnapped me, she said she’d changed my brain before I was born. She said I was the harbinger of a new kind of human, able to communicate with almost all animals. Most people aren’t aware of all the things around them that are talking. Dogs talk, pigs talk, birds talk. And people especially talk even when they aren’t using words, even when they don’t know they’re talking.”

Anza sank lower in the water, hiding her lips beneath the surface. “I know more things than I tell Bitterwood,” said Zeeky. “I’m the only one who can hear the whispers that come from my magic ball. The villagers inside tell me things; they don’t always make sense. And half the time, they get stuff wrong. But knowing the future half the time ain’t bad.”

Anza continued to stare. Beneath the surface, her arms traced serpentine paths as she gracefully held her balance.

Zeeky looked around the riverbank, making certain they were alone. She reached into her bag and pulled out the heavy cotton towel she’d taken from the goddess’s abode. She unwrapped it, revealing a sphere of flawless crystal, about the size of a large orange, with a faint rainbow flickering in its center. Gazing into its surface here in the darkness, she once again caught a glimpse of the tiny tornadoes that bubbled into existence around the rainbow then just as quickly vanished. Wormholes, Gabriel had called them. They were shaped like trumpets, tinier than gnats. The angel had explained it was through these trumpets that her relatives trapped in underspace could speak to her. She listened closely, tilting her head as she tried to pull words out of the constant ghostly murmuring.

There was a soft splashing sound as Anza rose from the river and walked up the rocky shore. Zeeky tossed her a white cotton towel. Anza’s skin had looked almost snowy beneath the water, but against the white of the towel it was brown as a pecan shell. Her lips were tinted blue as she drew closer to Zeeky. She stooped to study the crystal ball while she used the towel to dry her hair.

“Listen,” said Zeeky. “Do you hear them?”

Anza leaned closer, holding her breath. A long moment passed before she let the air slide between her lips. She looked disappointed.

“I thought you might hear them,” said Zeeky. “Even though the goddess didn’t change your brain, you’ve changed your brain yourself.”

Anza cast a quizzical gaze at Zeeky.

“The villagers told me I would meet a girl with a stone in her throat. You can’t make the same sounds most people can; you can whistle, make tongue clicks, and some other sounds, right? If you’d wanted to communicate by sound, you could.”

Anza pursed her lips, as if she wasn’t ready to reveal her secrets.

“You also found out at an early age that by not talking, you were better at listening. You hear and see things other people don’t; you can smell and taste and feel things better too. I’m right, aren’t I?”

A hint of a smile flickered across Anza’s lips. She lifted a finger and made a shushing motion.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” said Zeeky. “But I was told something by the villagers before we left the cave. The stone is going to be taken out of your throat. You’ll be able to talk normally if you want. Would you like that?”

Anza narrowed her eyes and curled her lips downward, a look somewhere between disgust and skepticism.

“‘We shall all be healed,’ they whispered,” said Zeeky.

Anza tilted her head.

“I don’t know exactly what it means either,” said Zeeky. “I wanted to tell you before you leave us tonight.”

Anza’s eyebrows rose again.

“How did I know? According to my crystal ball, you’re going to leave us to go recover the shotgun Vulpine stole.”

Anza nodded, looking impressed.

“I wish I could tell you more,” said Zeeky. “But the villagers say that talking about the future runs the risk of changing it.”

Before they could discuss the matter further, there was a rustling sound in the nearby forest. Anza leapt like a doe back to her clothes on the rock, the white towel fluttering in the air where she’d released it mid-leap. She had her buckskins up over her shoulders in the span of seconds, though they gaped in the front, unlaced all the way down to below her belly button. She grabbed her sword and spun to face the rustling leaves.

Lizard scampered out from the woods. He skipped toward Zeeky, his fists full of fat white grubs. More grubs—or at least grub parts—spilled from his turtle-like beak as he chewed on his newly discovered treat.

He squatted before Zeeky and held out his treasure. “Good eat, wise boss,” he said.

Zeeky shook her head and pointed toward Poocher. “I’m vegetarian. Fat boss would enjoy them, though.”

Poocher grunted happily at the offering. He gave a snort as he rose and waddled over. Lizard looked at Poocher with an expression that conveyed awe—and also hunger. As Poocher’s skillful lips and tongue snatched the grubs one by one, Lizard chewed his own grubs more slowly. Zeeky knew what Lizard was thinking. It was almost cute that the little green turtle-monkey was seriously weighing his odds of making a meal out of Poocher. Almost.

“Don’t even think about it,” said Zeeky. “Poocher knocked a goddess onto her butt in the last fight he was in. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Poocher sneered at the little dragon.

“And don’t you go getting too cocky, Poocher,” said Zeeky. “Bitterwood says we’re retiring after we find Jeremiah. Your fighting days are almost over.”

Poocher narrowed his eyes and snorted.

“Yeah, you’re scary,” said Zeeky, scratching the pig’s bristly neck.

THEY FLEW THROUGH
the night. Vulpine led the way, with Sagen and a squadron of fifty Aerial Guards at his back. Vulpine kept a pace that no doubt tested many of the guards, though most were a third his age. He wished he could fly even faster. A blockade should have been in place within hours after the rebels took the fort. Come the dawn, this strategic error would be rectified.

They were roughly forty miles from Dragon Forge. They’d veered south slightly to follow the river that flowed past the town. Sagen increased his speed and drew beside Vulpine. Vulpine admired Sagen’s power as his son’s finely chiseled muscles pumped in his breasts and shoulders to overtake him. Truly, the Matriarch had chosen well in pairing him with a valkyrie a quarter century earlier. Sagen was a fine specimen; if his intelligence was equal to his physique, the future success of the sky-dragon race was assured.

“I wonder what those fires are,” Sagen asked.

Vulpine scanned the horizon in the general direction of Sagen’s gaze. Multiple fires flickered in the distance. Vulpine was mildly disturbed he hadn’t spotted them on his own. Perhaps his eyes weren’t what they once were.

“Let’s find out.” Vulpine veered toward the lights. Perhaps these were campfires of humans journeying toward the forge. If so, it would be a satisfying warm-up to have the Aerial Guard deal with them. After they’d flown another mile, however, his eyes began to untangle the glowing riddle. It was the remains of a human farm. What had once been a large farmhouse, a barn, and various outbuildings were now little more than mounds of cinders where the occasional fire still burned.

Beyond the house was a five-acre field full of humanoid figures. He squinted. No, earth-dragons. They were too broad and squat to be humans, plus they had tails. They were not the only figures in the field.

“Your keen eyes may have earned us valuable allies,” Vulpine said to Sagen.

Vulpine soared over the burning buildings, the smoke stinging his eyes. He tilted his wings to slow his flight, drifting downward. Their descent was nearly silent as they landed a few dozen yards behind the mob of earth-dragons and were almost instantly spotted. A flurry of shouts ran among the assemblage as they all turned to face the sky-dragons.

“Greetings,” he called out. “I’m Vulpine, Slavecatcher General. I’ve been given authority to take command of Albekizan’s troops to establish a blockade of Dragon Forge. Who’s in charge here?”

Ninety-nine earth-dragon heads instantly swiveled to stare at a single beast. Beast was exactly the right term; this was the largest earth-dragon Vulpine had ever seen, over six feet tall and almost that broad across the shoulders. Unlike many soldiers, this earth-dragon wore no armor, and was naked save for a necklace of human teeth that draped round and round his shoulders. He carried a weapon in both hands that looked like a fence post topped with an anvil. His most arresting feature, aside from his overall mass, was his beak. Unlike the normal smooth lines resembling a turtle’s beak, this dragon’s bony jaws had been carved and chiseled into ragged, jagged edges that reminded Vulpine of the blade of a saw.

The beast stomped forward, drawing ever closer, as if his intent wasn’t to march to Vulpine, but to march over him. The squadron of Aerial Guards readied their weapons. Vulpine raised a fore-claw, motioning for them to remain still.

The beast stopped inches from Vulpine.

“I’m Sawface!” he yelled, at a volume appropriate only if Vulpine had been standing on the other side of the field. “These are my Wasters! I’m the top boss!” His breath smelled heavily of goom, the booze of choice among earth-dragons, fermented from cabbages and hot chilies.

Vulpine nodded respectfully, looking over Sawface’s shoulder. “I admire your artistry,” he said.

Beyond Sawface, fourteen human bodies were lashed to upright poles, like scarecrows in the field. They ranged in age from an elderly man to an infant. Not all were dead. Several were missing limbs. Two were missing heads. As frightening a scene as this presented, Vulpine was certain they would fail as scarecrows. No doubt by the following evening, crows would be devouring the eyes.

Sawface shouted, forcefully enough that Vulpine’s feather scales were stirred by the wind of his voice. “We slaughter men! All must die!”

“Yes,” said Vulpine. “Quite. However, if you rid the world of humans, who will grow the cabbages and chilies to make goom? Is a world without goom a world worth living in?”

Sawface opened his jaws to shout a response, but then some dim light flickered in his eyes.

Vulpine said, “I would like to engage your services in establishing a blockade around Dragon Forge. I can pay more gold than you can imagine. More importantly, I can supply you with all the goom you can possibly drink. I have full command of the kitchen barracks at the Dragon Palace. Join me, and I’ll have fifty wagons of the stuff rolling toward us before sunset.”

Sawface ground his lower jaw against his upper one, a grating noise like un-oiled, rusty gears grinding together inside the beast’s head. Finally, Sawface held up his weapon. “I want a chest of gold that weighs more than the head of my hammer!”

“Done,” said Vulpine. “I’ll double it, in fact, once you’ve performed a service for me.”

“Name it,” said Sawface.

“I want the four main roads leading to Dragon Forge decorated with these scarecrows of yours,” he said. “Two miles on each road should suffice. I understand it may take you some time to find enough bodies—”

“Do they need to be fresh?” asked Sawface, rubbing the underside of his jagged beak with his blood-encrusted hammer. His voice was quieter now. He almost sounded like he was thinking.

“I can’t see why.”