Greatshadow (10 page)

With the last of the Wanderers swallowed, Abyss closed his mouth and spun, heading back toward the open ocean. The mound of water that had been heaped up by his arrival collapsed, sending a wave fifty feet high surging back into the emptied bay.

“Brace yourselves!” Menagerie shouted, before changing into an eagle and launching himself into the air. He could barely be heard as the roar of the water reached us, a thundering wall of sound that made the timbers of the
Black Swan
tremble. The tidal wave hit the far end of the docks, sending boards and pilings flying high into the air. The boats of slavers, pirates, and pleasure seekers splintered as they were crushed by the rushing water.

The wave hit the
Black Swan
. The barge was solidly built, but still the timbers cracked and snapped as the water lifted it, spinning it sideways, carrying it up over the docks and gangplanks, crushing everything in its path. Infidel clung to the railing of the crow’s nest; the mast groaned, but didn’t topple. The barge began to bob in the relatively smoother water behind the crest of the wave. The tsunami kept moving, reaching the normal boundaries of the shore, then beyond, carrying debris and corpses up over the marshes, into the forests.

Infidel looked down as the barge settled on the remains of docks and boats trapped beneath it. Relic was nowhere to be seen. No-Face had wrapped his ball and chain around the mast and was still on his feet, completely drenched. Reeker dangled in his hammy grasp, his normally well-groomed mane now tangled with a mass of brown seaweed. Aurora stood on the water next to the barge, seemingly walking on the waves, until the current calmed and revealed an ice floe beneath her.

The ogress shouted to the eagle circling overhead, “This is what she saw! This is why she went back!”

Infidel shouted down, “Would someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

Relic cleared his throat. Infidel spun around. He was standing right behind her. I never saw him climb the rigging, though, admittedly, my attention had been focused elsewhere. His rags were drenched; steam rose from them as if they’d been soaked in boiling wash-water rather than the tepid waters of the bay. He smelled vaguely of brimstone as he said, “On the day that the Black Swan was to be married, her groom was killed in a horseback accident. It was a senseless, pointless, random tragedy; the world is full of such moments. Unknown to her fiancé, the Black Swan was a Weaver, a member of a secret sect of witches with the power to rend the fabric of reality and knit it back into something more to their liking. Yet, even Weavers lack the power to restore life to the dead. In her grief, the Black Swan sought out Avaris, Queen of Weavers, and asked her for a boon. She wished for the power to go back in time so that she might avoid these random tragedies.”

Infidel looked around at the devastated mishmash of broken ships and crushed docks that had once been Commonground. “She didn’t do a very good job of stopping this.”

“I didn’t say she could stop tragedies,” said Relic. “I said she could avoid them; the Black Swan isn’t here. She’s lived through this tidal wave, then traveled back in time to abandon the barge and relocate elsewhere before the destruction occurred.”

The eagle lighted gently onto the rail of the crow’s nest. Then, in a twinkling, Menagerie stood next to Relic.

“How do you know this?” he asked.

Relic shrugged. “Is it important? You know it’s the truth. You and Aurora have experienced the time shifts enough to recognize them and remember them. I know what’s happening due to... certain talents.”

Menagerie scowled. “Who are you again?”

“The only name I’ve ever been given is Relic.”

Infidel said, “You’ve also been called Lum—”

“Relic,” said Relic.

Menagerie looked down as Aurora formed a staircase of ice to walk back onto the deck of the barge. The water was swirling all around; the mast swayed as the barge bumped along the bottom.

“She was too old,” Aurora called out, looking around at the wreckage. “She’ll never survive going back.”

Infidel shook her head. “Has everyone but me lost their minds? You’re seriously expecting me to believe the Black Swan is some kind of time-traveler?”

“Yes, but only in one direction. She can jump backwards in her own timeline to pivotal moments. She moves forward in time at the same speed as the rest of us,” said Menagerie, apparently no longer seeing a reason to protect the secret. “Her curse is that, when she goes back in time, she doesn’t regain her youth. If she lived through an event at age forty that she could have changed by making a different decision at age twenty, she can go back to that event, but she’ll go back as a forty-year-old, not a twenty-year-old. Only twenty-nine years have passed since the Black Swan was born, but physically, she’s almost a hundred and twenty. The husband she loved so dearly rejected her, disgusted that she turned into an old crone while he was still a youth. The Black Swan only cares about wealth now; everything else she regards as impermanent.”

“A fat lot of good all her money will do her if she’s dead,” said Infidel.

Menagerie shrugged. “So far, her money has allowed her to purchase the potions needed to keep her alive. I’m in no position to disapprove of her priorities. I’ve made a sizable fortune from the Black Swan’s business acumen.”

“Really?” said Infidel. “The only thing you seem to own is that loincloth.”

“Even a Goon may have a family,” said Menagerie. “My loved ones are very comfortable.”

By now, the bay was slowly starting to return to a normal level, as the water flowed back from the forest. The air smelled horrible, like every outhouse in the world had been overturned at once. All over the place, men were climbing out the water, clinging to overturned boats and the few strips of dock that had somehow survived.

Aurora shouted up, “There are people trapped in all this rubble. I’m going to help who I can.”

Menagerie nodded. “A wise suggestion. We should all help out. We can... can....” His voice trailed off as his eyes were drawn toward the mouth of the bay. Seven large ships were sailing through the rocky gap. Their sails were a pale blue-white, catching the morning sun like silver. Flags fluttered from the pinnacles, showing a green dragon against a sky-blue field.

Infidel followed his gaze toward the ships.

“It’s King Brightmoon’s fleet,” she said.

“Some of it, at least,” said Menagerie. “Rather bold of them, just sailing in during broad daylight. Aren’t they worried that Greatshadow might notice?”

Suddenly, the sky darkened. Everyone looked up, back toward the peak of Tanakiki. A mile-high jet of solid black smoke mushroomed up into the air, swiftly turning day into night. Bright red sparks shot through the atmosphere as the rim of the caldera crumpled, sending a white-orange river of molten lava spilling toward the bay. Trees exploded into flame ahead of the lava as a shimmering wave of heat spread outward.

The smoke and cinders swirled until they took on the shape of a dragon, spreading mile-long wings of black smoke. Two smaller dragons shot out of the folds of the wings, flying toward the bay. Smaller, in this case, is a relative term. These were huge beasts, a hundred yards long tip to tail, with glowing red scales edged in black. Their wings were larger than the mainsails of the king’s ships. They had long tails that ended in tufts of flame. They looked as if they swam through the air, surfing the wind as they sailed down the slopes, aiming toward the king’s ships.

Greatshadow himself remained in the caldera, a beast composed of flame and smoke, who roared, in a language I’d never heard yet instantly understood: “ALL MUST BURN!”

“He noticed,” said Infidel.

These were the first living dragons I’d ever seen, even though I’ve handled a lot of dragon bones in my time, and seen more than a few depictions of the beasts carved onto walls or woven into tapestries. Dragons used to be numerous, until the Church of the Book nearly wiped them all out.

The survivors are the primal dragons. These beasts were so fluent in elemental magic that they eventually became the elements themselves.

Of course, if there are no more ordinary dragons, I had to wonder just what the hell was flying toward us. The creatures looked exactly like they did in the books in the monastery; big serpents, with a long neck and serpentine tail, and a short, thick, pot-bellied torso with four legs a bit too small in proportion to the rest of its form. What they lacked in legs, they more than made up for in wings. The wings were easily as wide as the body was long, huge membranes of drum-taut flesh that reminded me of the limbs of jungle bats.

Smoke trailed from their nostrils as they passed overhead. They were at least a quarter-mile up, but the furnace-like heat of their bodies washed over the remnants of the
Black Swan
as they beat their wings in a powerful downstroke. In seconds, they were at the mouth of the bay, facing the king’s ships. Their jaws gaped open and their pot bellies swelled as they inhaled uncounted gallons of air. At last, they breathed out.

Infidel shielded her eyes as a second sun formed where the jets of flame shooting from the twin dragons overlapped. As the light faded, all seven of the king’s ships were aflame. At this distance, the men were little more than insects throwing themselves into the sea, trailing smoke as they fell.

The dragons spun around. Again, they sucked in air and breathed flame, the light of their assault casting long stark shadows on the roof of the
Black Swan
. When the light faded, little remained of the ships. The sea itself was boiling where the boats had been mere seconds before.

Satisfied with their work on the fleet, the dragons split, making a more leisurely approach toward what remained of Commonground. Along the way, they spit fire at the few boats and canoes that were afloat out in the bay. The distant screams of frying men carried over the water.

One of the dragons turned its serpent face toward the
Black Swan
.

“Uh oh,” said Infidel.

“Goons!” Menagerie shouted to No-Face and Reeker on the roof below. “Let’s teach these oversized garden snakes some manners. Maneuver nine!”

“Rurh!” said No-Face, grabbing up a shattered roof beam.

Reeker looked pale as he shouted to Menagerie, “You’re joking, right?”

No-Face handled the twenty-foot beam, thick as a grown man’s thigh, like it was no heavier than a piece of kindling. The big man slapped the beam down at the edge of the roof, with about six feet hanging out, pointing straight toward the advancing dragon. Reeker held up his hands as No-Face approached him.

“C’mon, guy, I mean, you can’t really—”

No-Face grabbed him by his shirt and spun him around, sitting him squarely on the end of the beam that sat upon the roof. Reeker swallowed hard. “Boys, it’s been good knowing ya,” he whispered.

“Guh,” said No-Face, nodding.

“On the count of three!” Menagerie shouted. “Three!” He threw himself from the crow’s nest. When he was over the point where the broken beam jutted into space, he changed again, taking the form of a hippopotamus.

Like most hippos who discover themselves to be sixty feet up in the air, he dropped like a stone. He hit the edge of the plank with all four of his fat, round feet expertly placed for leverage. Reeker shot into the sky, his hands clasped before him, his eyes tightly closed. His lips were moving, though I couldn’t hear him. It looked for all the world like he was praying.

The Goons’ aim was perfection; there was a reason why they were the best paid mercenaries in Commonground. The dragon dove toward the
Black Swan
, opening its mouth to fill its great bellow lungs with air. What it got, instead, was a damp skunk-man slapping against the roof of its mouth. Instinctively, the beast clamped its jaws shut. Instantly, a cloud of yellow-green fumes shot out from between its long, jagged teeth. Its eyes grew wide.

The creature veered away from the
Black Swan
, whipping its head back and forth, coughing violently, unable to breathe deeply enough to ignite its flames. Reeker clung to the beast’s tongue, hugging it with his arms and legs like it was a greased pole. Slowly, he slipped toward the tip. His entire form was hazy, as the most powerful stenches he could summon poured out of every pore. The dragon began to convulse, its nervous system overwhelmed by the chemical assault. With a final, frantic jerk of its neck, it sent Reeker flying. Before it could recover, it slammed into the waters of the bay, hard, vanishing beneath the surface in a violent boil.

Reeker shrieked like a teenage girl as he sailed through the air before he, too, hit the surface of the water, bouncing once, twice, thrice like a skimming stone before he sank, leaving an oily film.

“One down,” said Relic, casting his gaze toward the beast’s twin, who was still burning ships at the other edge of the bay. “Unfortunately, we’re running out of Goons.”

Reeker still hadn’t surfaced, nor was there any sign of a hippo thrashing about in the waters below. No-Face had run to the edge of the barge and was looking down into the water, shouting out, “Munuh! Rukuh!”

Infidel cracked her knuckles. “We don’t need no stinkin’ Goons.”

Below, there was a loud crash. I hadn’t seen Aurora in over a minute, and now her head was sticking up from a trap door in the roof. She climbed out, bearing a large wooden harpoon, nearly twice as tall as she was, with a long coil of rope looped around her shoulders.