Blue Moon (18 page)

She slid back down the tree trunk, her hand wrapped around a cool, ornate pin.

The glue stank to high heaven, but it was according to recipe so Sierra didn't care. She picked up a feather, glued it, picked up a bone, glued it, picked up a crystal, and so on and so on, decorating a birch canoe she had bought out West.

She'd supervised every step of the canoe's creation and knew she could lie in it flat, and it had just enough room for the very small suitcase she wanted to take with her. A blue velvet cushion, imperfectly sewn and stuffed with black feathers, made a very thin mattress for the bottom. A few more feathers, some bones, particularly from the wings, and a few crystals and small mirrors were glued on in a careful, somewhat swirly pattern. It looked incredibly tacky, but she loved it anyway. Every feather, every bone.

She took the best skull and affixed it to the prow; its brothers and sisters lined the edge on the sides. Breastbones decorated the keel, and wingbones splayed along the hull.

"That,” Zorovin said from the doorway, “is the strangest thing I have ever had the privilege of seeing."

"I don't recall asking your opinion."

He stared at it for another minute. “What do you expect it to do?” He was leaning against the doorframe, holding a can of beer.

"Take me somewhere I've never been.” She climbed off the table. She wiped her hands as she circled it, admiring her handiwork.

He looked down at the can in his hand.

"I have been discovering things."

She blinked at him, because the question, “What have you been up to?” had just formed in her mouth.

"I do not care for beer, for example."

"Then why are you drinking it?"

He shrugged. “I enjoyed figuring out how the top opened. I liked the drink in the red-and-white...” He shook the can, drawing her attention to it. “Can,” he said, as if she had supplied the word. “It was sweet."

"So, why are you acting like you haven't encountered all these things before?"

"Maybe I haven't."

She smiled at him and went to get more glue. It bubbled in the crockpot like obscene green-colored soup. She ladled some into the bowl and set it on the table, waiting for it to cool enough for her to continue.

"I like your stories,” she said. “Tell me another one."

He was looking at the can intently now. “They are not exactly stories."

She didn't argue with him, so he changed the subject.

"I have been casting spells while you worked on this.” He pointed the can toward the boat. “And I have been thinking of what they told me. I fear that my problems are far greater than a missing son."

He shrugged again, one-shouldered, and she wondered where he'd picked that up, for it did not seem like a gesture he was used to using.

"Not that I did not already know that."

She tested the glue, and began adding more mirrors to the pattern.

"After a few years passed, Nimue grew tired. So, she joined a group of humans who wanted to settle across the ocean. I do not know where they settled, but I do know she started the tradition of passing the Merlin Stone on to another woman, whom she would endow with what powers she, as the Lady of the Lake, possessed. Since there was no magic, these powers were useless ... unless, in a time of need, the stone gave her enough magic to do what was needed. Rumor has it—for after all, all this story is new to me, gleaned from the fairy tales and lore of those who stayed and those who are willing to speak with me—that after she passed the powers on, she returned to her homeland and went to sleep."

"So, what happened to the Stone? And who have you been talking to? Can I talk to them, too?"

"I speak to the ghosts of fires long burnt out,” he whispered, and she wondered how many of her beers he'd drunk. “I speak to trees who were not even seeds when the witnesses to these events passed back to the land."

"Uh-huh.” The response, or the tone of it, seemed to wake him.

"But in any case, the settlement suffered the fate of many ancient settlements. It died out completely, long before the young woman could pass on the Merlin Stone. Whether she tried to make her way to another village, or she buried the stone and hid it as best she could, or if she died before anything at all could be done, no one knows."

Sierra began to feel annoyed. Sure, he was good at magic, but this great all-knowing ancient stuff was madness.

"And this matters to you why?"

She could feel him behind her. She stiffened, but forced herself to keep gluing.

"I tire of this,” he said.

She turned to face him as he moved one last step forward, trapping her between him and the table. He put both her hands on her face, cradling it like he was going to kiss her. He leaned closer, and she felt a bit of fear, but excitement, too. He was an amazingly handsome man.

"Look!"

And suddenly, she knew things. She flew above mountains, she knew what magic felt and tasted like, and she knew this man before her wasn't a man. He showed her a thousand little things, feeding her small bits of information, binding her to him with knowledge and promises of more beyond her wildest dreams.

"I see,” she said finally. “A dragon. A real, live...” She laughed. She touched his face lightly then laughed again.

He smiled briefly. “It is not so funny."

"But why are you here? Why would you come to this godforsaken place?"

"To find my son. I did not lie. Now that I am here, I wish to know what happened to the Stone, to make sure it is safe. Will you help me?"

"Teach me how to travel between worlds."

"There is only one way I know,” he said honestly. “and that is not a path a human can survive."

"Oh,” she said, blinking her sky-blue eyes.

"But,” he said, partially because she looked so disappointed, and partially because she hadn't said,
Well, too bad for you, then
, “I will teach you what I can about magic. Perhaps you will find your own solution."

She smiled timidly. “Do you think so?"

"Anything is possible."

"Alright. I promise that I will do all I can to help you."

He nodded. “I thank you. Not everyone left when the worlds were parted. I shall endeavor to communicate with them, see if I can find any...” He paused. “...leads."

"That's good,” she said slowly. “But I have to ask you—what was your son doing here in the first place?"

"Many years ago, one of the sighted among our kind began having nightmares of a power rising from the dead, and using the Merlin Stone for his own ends. We decided that to honor the promise made to Nimue we would send someone over to discover if, indeed, this man was alive again, and if the Stone was in his possession.

"I am the king of my kind. The task fell to me, but my son wanted to prove himself, and so he begged me to allow him the honor of this mission.” Zorovin took another drink, grimaced and sighed. “He never returned. It has been a few years. I want to know what happened to my child."

"And, um, if the evil force has used the Merlin Stone?"

His brow wrinkled. “Sarcasm is not necessary. The dreams stopped, and thus we know my son must have succeeded."

"I guess that sounds reasonable. Okay. So, when you said that you didn't know what form he was in ... what did you mean?"

"Whenever a dragon comes to this earth, he is forced to change into an earth-acceptable being. I had no choice but to take this form. I transformed before I actually entered this world, so I was able to control it. I am able to remember who I am.

"But my son, if he was not strong enough, could have been molded into anything by the planet's interference. He could be an Asian female. He could be a chipmunk."

"Oh, dear,” Sierra said.

"And if he kept his mind and became himself in human form, he still might not have been strong enough to hold on to his personality. I gave him an amulet to help, but if it got lost...” Zorovin shrugged. “It is, I think, like looking for a pebble in the ocean. But he will always have magic in his soul. Perhaps I will be able to sense it."

"I hope so.” She gently touched his shoulder and squeezed. “In fact, I'm certain we'll find him.” She smiled brightly.

Zorovin studied her. Human instincts nagged at the back of his mind, and he pushed them away, forcing himself to remember he was a dragon.

She touched his face again. He had been aware she was attracted to him, and now that she knew the truth, the attraction had grown.

He backed away from her. “I must get back to work,” he said.

"I suppose. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

He nodded and left her, reminding himself again that she wasn't for him.

She cleaned her crossbow, oiling it and testing the tension of the string.

Terisoth knelt by her. “What's it like? The ghost ship?"

She smiled. “'Tis like being elven kind still, not humankind. We speak our language, do things according to our own traditions. ‘Tis a shame that your family has gotten so diluted. Aïs is so immersed in technology I much doubt the other land would take him if we begged it to."

"I don't think he'd go.” Terisoth shook his head. “I've lived among elven kind. We all pretend we're just humans like everyone else. We don't talk about the home country, or the Twilight Lands."

She smiled, tested the draw. “And thee wishes to know why we are here, and not there? With our own blood?"

He nodded.

"Well, some stayed out of some attachment to humankind, for love's sake, but most of us who stayed did so for fear's sake. Oberon is—or was—a fair king. Unfortunately, Titania can be frightening and merciless. We wanted away from her rule, and under our own. We do not know how time passes in the other world. She could very well still be alive, and ruling.” She looked deep into the fire. “We'll kill ourselves to the last child before we go back."

She watched the encampment for an hour, not feeling the cold, not feeling any discomfort at all as she knelt, hidden behind the bushes. She wanted to be sure this was the one, she told herself, but the truth was, she already knew.

The binding that made her a puppet to Sabin's will faded the farther apart they were, and she savored that. It felt wonderful, having her own thoughts, knowing who she was and, especially, remembering why she hated Sabin so much.

She despised this slavery, serving the man who had ruined her life, and she hated her confused and clouded memories, the filthy feel of the body she inhabited. It was like being a tenant of an abandoned and rotting house. She looked at her pasty arms, painted green from the glow of her eyes, and gritted her teeth.

A branch snapped in front of her, and she turned her attention back to the three gathered around the fire, forcing herself to relax. She was growing stronger. If she bided her time, even if it was a hundred years, she would get her revenge. That would serve the bastard right, because in the end, there would be a second, maybe even a whole minute, when he weakened, when he needed the power he used to hold sway over her for something else. When he did, his hold would weaken, and in those brief, precious moments she would rip him to pieces.

Her smile was feral in the darkness. They would both die, but only one of them would know peace.

She stepped from behind the bushes and wandered down the path to the fire.

"Someone tell me again why we can't stay in a hotel?"

"Aïs, we're on the hunt. We won't find what we're looking for in a hotel. Now, will you quit interrupting?"

"It's quite alright,” a voice said, feminine and smoky. “We have company."

A tall, thin woman stood up from the campfire. She had long red hair and elven features. Rita knew immediately this was Sabin's mother. She wore leather, and had a crossbow strapped to her back.

"Oh, child,” she said, “someone's really played a terrible trick on thee, haven't they?"

As Rita looked at her, she felt fear so overwhelming that she turned back for the woods. Gentle hands grabbed her, and she found herself in the arms of another elf with glossy black hair that fell to his shoulders. He smiled.

"We're not going to hurt you, small one."

"Not at all,” said the third elf. He was shorter, plumper, and his hair was cropped close to his head. “Should I analyze her, Bronwyn?"

"Yes, that would be good, Aïs. Those eyes...” Bronwyn bent so her face was close to Rita's. She smiled sweetly and placed her finger to her mouth. “Shhh,” she hissed. “It's alright."

She touched Rita's cheek lovingly, and Rita squirmed in her captor's arms. He pulled her closer to his chest.

"You seem to be frightening her, Bronwyn."

Bronwyn looked hurt. “Nonsense.” She looked at Rita. “Am I, child? I am just worried."

"No,” Rita whispered obediently.

"She speaks,” Aïs observed, waving a small black box over her. “Yep. She's saturated with magic."

"I could tell that from her eyes,” Bronwyn said.

Rita shivered, and her captor stroked her hair.

"It's all right, little one. I am Terisoth. What's your name?"

She licked her lips. “Rita."

She could feel kindness coming from him, and wondered what he was doing with the evil one's mother.

"Would you like to eat? We have some stew still."

"Wait a second, Terisoth. Before you start acting all chivalrous, why don't we consider a few things?"

"Like what, Aïs?"

"Well, for starters, look at her eyes. Something or someone has infused her with magic, right? And magic doesn't grow on trees. Now, if you liked magic, and the blue moon was coming up, wouldn't you make some sort of guide to lead you to the one thing you need to make sure you'll be rolling in magic the rest of eternity?"

"So, you think she's a guide?"

Aïs looked directly at Rita for the first time. “He's pretty, but he's a little slow on the uptake. Still, choose between us, and who'll the ladies pick every time? Guess."

Rita shrugged.

"Enough.” Bronwyn took Rita's chin in her hand. “Tell us what you seek?"

"I am the guide,” she said meekly. “I am here to take you to the center of things."