Hush (Dragon Apocalypse) (5 page)

“Don’t hold back, Swan,” I said. “Say what you really thought of me.” She’d been much more diplomatic when she’d haggled for some of the junk I looted. I mean artifacts I looted. I mean artifacts I rescued from their forgotten tombs and brought back so they could be properly appreciated.

“I want those papers,” said the sculptress. “I’ll pay for your use of the
Freewind
. I’m the mystery client who failed to show up. This project has taken longer than I’d anticipated. I fear I’ve lost track of time.”

“Indeed,” said the Black Swan. “I hope you don’t plan to pass on the expense of your additional hours to me. I’m not to blame for your poor time management.”

“I certainly believe you
are
to blame,” said the cloaked woman. “You made me rework your breasts eleven times!”

“I remain unsatisfied,” the Black Swan grumbled. “They don’t look natural.”

Given that they were cast iron, it was impossible to dispute this. On the other hand, I thought they looked like a reasonable approximation of boobs, about the size of grapefruits, nicely proportioned to her chest, with decorative floral rivets for nipples. Still, no matter how well sculpted in size or shape, they lacked a certain quality – Pillowiness? Bounce-factor? Jigglability? – that hampered their ability to stir lust.

The sculptress sighed and rubbed her eyes. She turned from the Black Swan and approached Infidel, extending her hand. “We’ve not been introduced. I’m Sorrow Stern.”

“My friends call me Infidel,” said Infidel, with a handshake.

Menagerie raised his left paw.

“How cute,” said Sorrow, shaking the paw. “You’ve trained your dog well.”

“I can’t take credit. I can’t even call him my dog. No matter what this old witch says, Menagerie’s a person. Somehow, I’ve got to help him remember this.”

“Hmm,” said Sorrow, taking the dog’s head between her hands and staring into his dark eyes. “The Black Swan is right. I sense only magic animating this creature, not a human soul.”

“Menagerie once told me he felt like his soul had been long ago devoured by all the animals that lived inside him. I’d be happy at this point if we can change him back into his human form. I think if he could see his human self in a mirror, it might jog his memory.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help. I’ve yet to master the art of sculpting living flesh.”

“Wouldn’t that be easier than sculpting solid iron?” said Infidel.

“To the contrary,” said Sorrow. “You’re familiar with the teachings of the Church of the Book? The foundational belief that all of reality is formed of four base elements, matter, spirit, truth and lies?”

“I just spent a few weeks in the company of a Truthspeaker and a Deceiver. I’ve heard the subject debated, yes.”

“I’m a materialist,” said Sorrow. “By manipulating the proportions of truth and falsehood in certain matter, I’m able to shape it to my will. Iron is simple, being almost completely devoid of spirit. It possesses no internal conception of itself to resist alteration.”

“I’m sure this is a fascinating subject,” Infidel said, “But sundown is, like, ten minutes away. Let’s talk about our deal.”

“Of course. As I said, I’m the client who reserved the use of the
Freewind,
paying for passage both to and from the island with the advance given me by the Black Swan. There’s no need for money to exchange hands. I’ll simply write a letter informing Captain Romer that you’re representing my interests and taking command of the charter. Supply her with whatever destination you wish. I’ll be remaining on the Isle of Fire for some time, if Stagger’s papers are as extensive as you say.”

“You won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m sure I won’t be,” said Sorrow. She walked back to the Black Swan and knelt. On the floor beside the ingot of pig iron lay a notebook covered with elaborate sketches of the iron woman that now stood in a semi-finished state before us. She turned to a fresh page and, using a razor freshly minted from the raw iron, cut free a sheet of white parchment. She then ground the razor to dust between her fingers, allowing the black iron to sprinkle on the page. With a fingernail, she twirled the ebony filings around, lining them into looping letters. I admired the crispness of her handwriting, and felt a stirring of familiarity as I watched the care with which she crossed her T’s and dotted her I’s. While the shape of her letters were softer and more rounded than my own handwriting, I recognized the same underlying rigidity that had been drilled into my penmanship by the monks at the orphanage in which I was raised. The whole authority of the Church of the Book rested upon the sacredness of the written word. Learning to write correctly was as important as learning to pray. Sorrow’s handwriting would have delighted any monk. Booze, a lack of piety, and general laziness had rendered my own once neat calligraphy somewhat less pleasing to the eye.

She finished the letter in moments, rolled it up, and sealed it with a band of iron foil. She handed it to Infidel. “I should finish my work this evening. I’ll meet you at Stagger’s boat in the morning so I can take possession of his papers.”

“Agreed,” said Infidel.

Infidel departed, limping on the leg that had taken the machete blow. I was nervous about her passing through town noticeably wounded, with visible cuts on her face. This isn’t a good town to show weakness. But, once she was outside, she’d no doubt use the Gloryhammer to fly to the
Freewind
. Not exactly stealthy, but the skies of Commonground were a lot safer than the gangplanks.

Since I knew where to find Infidel, I lingered behind. I had a hunch I wanted to follow up on. I moved my face before the Black Swan’s vacant eyes.

“You can see me,” I said.

Then, slowly, the hollow sockets began to fill with translucent fog, knitting itself into ghostly orbs, which burned with a soft glow. The fog flowed over the iron cheeks and lips, growing denser, until I found myself staring at the face of a young woman rather than the mechanical mockery of one. The woman had thick black eyebrows and an angular nose a bit too large for her face. The iron lips didn’t move; the bellows stayed silent. Yet, as the woman’s ghost lips parted, a voice in my mind said, “I’m... aware of you.”

“I thought you might be. Your barbs seemed a little gratuitous if you didn’t think I was around to suffer. Why didn’t you tell Infidel I was here?”

“I don’t wish to encourage her memory of you. The sooner she forgets you, the sooner she’ll be free to master her own destiny.”

“She’s free now.”

“No. She’s undertaking a dangerous quest to fulfill a promise
you
made. It’s an unnecessary risk, and a pointless distraction.”

“Distraction from what?”

“The dragon apocalypse! Have you failed to pay attention at all?”

“Greatshadow isn’t angry at humanity. Infidel showed him mercy when he was at his weakest. He’s promised not to seek revenge.”

“And yet, again and again, I’ve lived through the day in which the primal dragons rise against humanity. I’ll never be able to erase the memory of blizzards blasting even the southernmost islands, the sea rising to swallow whole cities, and mountains crumbling like sand castles as the earth shakes off mankind like an annoying flea.”

“Tragic. But why must Infidel be the one who stops this?”

The Black Swan sighed. “Infidel’s former power was derived from dragon blood flowing through her veins. She alone possessed the sheer physical might to perform the heroic undertakings required to spare mankind. Behind the scenes, I arranged that she would come to Commonground so that I might oversee her training. But instead of becoming a focused, highly skilled warrior under my command, she met you and was seduced by your slovenly ways. Now, she’s an undisciplined brawler, although, stripped of her powers, she’ll not remain one for long. Unfortunately, in the timelines where I had you killed, Infidel is corrupted by her rage and assassinated by the Church of the Book long before her powers mature to the point that she can slay Greatshadow.”

“Well, she has no powers now,” I said. “You’ll need some new pawn for your game.”

“True. Which is why I’m placing my hope in Sorrow.” She motioned to the sculptress still shaping her thighs. “Unlike Infidel, her talents are meshed with a driving ambition and a grand vision. As Princess Innocent Brightmoon, Infidel’s childhood was too sheltered and pampered to allow her to grow into a serious adult. Sorrow has been tempered by tragedy from an early age. She has a heart full of hatred and bitterness that spurs her ever onward toward her goals of revenge.”

“She seems nice enough.”

“I assure you,
nice
is a word seldom used to describe Sorrow. And, unlike Infidel, she loathes men; foolish love will never distract her from her greater destiny.”

I shrugged. “What you do with this woman is of no concern to me. I want you to leave Infidel alone. If you don’t....” I let the thought trail off. I felt like I should be inserting a threat, but couldn’t really think of one.

“Are you attempting to be menacing?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

“You’re failing at it. I’ve nothing to fear from you. You shall not linger in this world for much longer.”

“You’ve managed to stick around a long time. Why can’t I?”

“I never surrendered my hold on my bones,” she said. “I renew my energies by bathing my skeleton in blood. You performed a similar trick with your knife. But now that you’ve foolishly removed it from the mortal world, you’re fated to fade away. All actions require energy, even the actions of a spirit. Currently, you’re empowered by the dragon blood that the bone-handled knife drank in Greatshadow’s realm. That magic may sustain you for some time. But, with no further source of blood, your energies will fade. One day you won’t even have the power to remember your name. Soon after, you’ll vanish from this world forever.”

I ground my ghost teeth. Could I believe her? Where was the profit in lying to me? On the other hand, what was the profit in telling me the truth? “My actual bones aren’t all that far from here. What if Sorrow builds me a new body like yours?”

“I think cast iron breasts would look even more ridiculous on you than they do on me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Abandon hope, Stagger. Though I despised you in life, I’m not so hard-hearted I take pleasure as you suffer in death. You love Infidel, but her love for you will only lead her to a tragic end. In the most probable future, Infidel will die on her journey to Qikiqtabruk. Your daughter will never be born. Do you wish to linger as an impotent observer to the doom of those you hold dearest? Move on, poor ghost, to the great unknown.”

“I can’t help but get the feeling you’re manipulating me,” I said. “You’re taunting me so I’ll do something. But what? Just tell me what you want. Maybe if you’d tried that with Infidel, she would have become the savior you wanted her to be. By trying to treat her like a puppet, you’ve gotten her strings all tangled.”

“There is nothing more I need from you, Stagger. Return to your bones.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

She raised her ghostly hand and waved me away.

Suddenly, I was on a sandy bluff, overlooking the sea. This was where Infidel had buried my body. The sun was low against the water, almost gone. My grave of white sand had been somewhat flattened by wind and rain, but there was a man-sized bulge in the earth that hinted that bones lay beneath.

“Maybe you
can
get rid of me that easily,” I said, scratching my ghost scalp. What now? Was Infidel really in danger? Or was the Black Swan trying to trick me into stopping her mission? If so, how? What could I do?

Impotent observer of doom. That didn’t sound pleasant at all. But as long as that little band of hair was on Infidel’s hand, there was at least some small part of me left in the world. Blood wasn’t the only source of magic. I was determined to hold on powered by nothing but love.

CHAPTER THREE

SERIOUS, HARD-WORKING PEOPLE

T
HE SUN WAS
below the horizon but the sky remained luminous, casting eerie shadows across the hill that held my grave. In the dimming light I stared at the ground, imagining my body six feet below. Not even a month had gone by. How much of me was recognizable underneath this mound of sand? I’d done a lot of digging around the island. Some places in the deep jungle, the soil was so dank and worm-ridden that a corpse would disappear inside a week. Here, on a windswept hilltop, in salty sand, baked daily beneath a tropical sun... perhaps my corpse had mummified. Certainly my bones were intact. Probably my teeth and nails and hair. The colorful shroud Infidel had fashioned from a stolen pygmy blanket might still be recognizable.

Why I found it comforting to think that I might be slowly turning into jerky instead of jelly, I can’t say. I suppose that as long as I have bones, I have hope. I’ve heard that on the island of Podredumbre, the natives dig up the skeletons of their ancestors on the winter solstice and bring them back into their homes for a feast in their honor. Perhaps one day that ritual would catch on here. In fact, winter solstice was only a few days away, though in the eternal summer of the Isle of Fire I doubt many of the residents of Commonground would even notice.