Year of Miracles, page 6
part #1 of Collected Stories of the Old Races Series
For a wrenching moment Janx's frustration with Biru's determined blindness disappeared. Unforgiving regret rose in its place, a regret for what had to be. No wonder Biru had no use for pandering to humanity, when his presence said so clearly that he could rule it. No wonder Janx was such a thorn to him: a dragon who most often showed a playful face, who danced and laughed with humans instead of cowing them.
He bowed, more than just dipping his head, and meant it with respect. Biru would never see it that way: he would see mockery and triumph if he saw anything at all, but for a rare occasion the approbation was sincere. When he straightened, though, Janx made sure it was with a smile, because it would never do for Biru to imagine Janx meant the respect too deeply. Rue, gratitude, a hurry to move on; those were the emotions in the smile, and Janx spoke before anyone had time to take offense. "Thank goodness. We would have fished the sea dry to feed us all as we were."
Comical expressions of horror swept every one of his brethrens' faces, even youthful Toka as he stood and dusted himself off. Not one of them could imagine a desperation of hunger that would drive them to fishing: virgins, no doubt, were more readily available. Janx cast a look of amusement at his own feet, then arched his eyebrows as he met Biru's pale gaze. "What," he asked again, "would you have us do?"
"Gather." Biru's human voice was deeper than expected from his frail-seeming body. "Gather, and as one lay waste until the lands and skies are ours again."
"Under your command." A question without mockery, though Biru eyed Janx a long hard moment before nodding. Janx sighed and withdrew to a rocky outcrop where he could sit. "And when you say as one, you mean we dragons, or all of us?"
Surprise in the white dragon's gaze, and that was part of the trouble. He hadn't considered gathering all the Old Races, only his own people. He lacked the vision to do the job right, and without vision, only desolation lay before them. "They would come to you," Janx said idly. "As many of our people, at least, who could be called to a single banner at all, would come to you. You hold that place among us."
Biru's surprise faded into suspicion, but Janx spread his hands. "You stood for us at the last council. You're respected. I may disagree with you, but I can see the regard you're held in. I'm arrogant, Biru, not a fool."
That, at least, cracked Biru's stoicism. His, and others: a hiss of laughter ran around the caves, easing tension. Toka exhaled, soft sound of relief, but that was an emotion Janx would never allow himself. Not that he needed to; fear of what might happen during a council of wyrms had never been a concern of his. It was beyond the caves in the world outside that he saw danger. "There are too many of them," he said quietly. "You must know that."
"I cannot accept it." Stark words from a stark being, and a rumble of agreement from more than half a dozen chests. Rabn, though, shook her orange hair and took a single step closer to Janx. Emboldened, others did as well: two more females and a violet-eyed male whose interest was clearly more in the females than in Janx's position. It didn't matter, so long as he chose a side. A fourth female, younger than the others, stood indecisive a moment, then took quick strides toward Janx. Fina, her name was; Fina, whose black hair ran to the other side of the spectrum from Toka's, and had red highlights instead of blue.
That made all the females, then, and of the four who had come to the council, three had borne eggs. Young Fina had not, but she might wish to someday, and a war against humanity would reduce her choices for a mate. They would be thinking that way, Janx suspected, rather than coming to his side because of his charm and wit. They were no less likely or eager to fight—or to eat virgins—but this slight handful of them, at least, saw sense in remaining hidden.
Biru, though, had more supporters. The rest of twenty dragons stood with him, though one or two looked uncertain as all the females joined Janx. Too late, though; lines were drawn, and Biru's resonant voice was soft. "We will have war."
A flight of dragons marred the sky. Dozens, more than Janx had ever seen at once in his life, and those years were far too many to count. It took so much anger to bring them together. So much fear. They had come from so far, from the ring of fire that birthed them all and from the lonely stretches they had individually flown to, each settling in their own territory. But they were together now, united in a common cause against mankind.
It had taken years simply to find them all: the stupid youth who had set it all off had long since died, and been venerated as a dragonslayer. Biru had been unswayed by the detail; there would be others who came for their people, a fact which seemed incontrovertible as the arrowhead of vast beasts made their way across the sky. War on the dwindling Roman empire; that, and only that, would satisfy their anger. Biru himself was visible, a long white cloud against the blue sky. Janx thought of transforming and flinging himself skyward, to make his argument one last time, but stayed the impulse. Laws or no laws, so many of them against one of him might turn out badly for him. Besides, the lake was blue, almost a jewel in itself, and the color would last far too little time if Biru's war came here. Better to enjoy it before it was poisoned or stained with blood.
"What are they?"
The girl at his elbow was not to Janx's taste: too slim, too wide-eyed, too young, though nearly everyone was young in comparison. But there was something in her question, a hitch of wonder and hope, that mortals all too rarely voiced when the Old Races were about, and so he answered rather more honestly than Biru might have wanted: "Dragons."
She laughed uncertainly. "There are no dragons. And if there were, the stories say dragonslayers have killed them all."
"Then they must be very large geese."
"Colorful, too." Toka joined them, and the girl giggled as she closed the distance between herself and the youthful dragon. Sabra, that was her name; it fell out of Janx's head as soon as he remembered it, each time. He didn't belong here on the shores of Lake Seline; it was Toka's territory, and the girl his prize. But Toka had caught sight of him winging south, away from Biru's advance, and had invited him to visit a while. Undragonly behavior, that, but the boy was young and Janx had, after all, had some hope of reforming the young. He could hardly complain if he'd succeeded.
"One has broken away." Thin tension came into Toka's voice and Janx glanced skyward again.
"It's the lake. The color is...enviable. I'm not surprised someone couldn't resist."
"This territory is mine."
Sabra laughed again, this time with a note of warning. "Surely you mean it's my father's, Toka."
It had been nearly two decades since Janx had felt a flash of sympathy for Biru's disgust at considering a mortal-style existence. He felt that same impulse now, watching Toka's lip curl and smooth so quickly the moment disdain was barely notable. The boy said, "Of course," and Sabra smiled, peace restored.
Restored within her heart, at least. Resentment still lingered around Toka's sapphire eyes, tightening the skin there. By human standards the land, the lake, the kingdom, was held by Selinus, Sabra's father, but Toka had claimed it long before Selinus had come to the throne. The whim of a passing man to name a country his own would have meant nothing, had his daughter not been lovely.
Raven-haired, doe-eyed, still too slim for Janx's tastes, but appealing in Toka's eyes. He had become a man for her, his trove of wealth making him an appealing mate, were it not for the secret he kept. And he would not keep it a moment longer, if the great monster beating down from the sky thought to make this land its own.
Janx put a hand on Toka's shoulder, staying him. "Don't be hasty."
"He intrudes on—" Toka broke off, glanced at Sabra, and finished, "On occupied territory."
"And right now he has no idea it's occupied," Janx pointed out. "Nor will he if you...remain calm."
Toka bristled, all youthful outrage. He understood clearly enough; dragons sensed each other's transformations, not their simple presence. Still, the impulse was to change and protect, not to let calmness prevail. "And allow him to take—Selinus's—land?"
"It is a dragon." Sabra sounded cold, all life lost from her words. The beast—sable and cobalt in color, but not one Janx knew by name—landed on the lake's far side, large enough to be clearly visible even at the distance. Sinuous, with long wings tucked against its sides, it was a wyrm indeed, and dipped its head to drink from the lake. "The river feeds our lake there," Sabra went on, voice smaller with each word. "It will poison us, as they do in the tales."
"That's very likely," Janx agreed. Toka bristled again, all but hissing, and Janx tightened his hand on the youth's shoulder.
"My people will die." Just a whisper from the girl, who turned to look at Janx as she spoke. He nodded, and color drained from her face, but her voice strengthened. "The tales say dragons prize virginity."
"Some do." A ludicrous answer by all reasonable standards, but Sabra nodded as well, then clutched Toka's hand before breaking away, slim shoulders straightening.
"Then I will bargain with it. I will bring it a virgin princess, and in exchange for that gift I will ask it to leave this place in peace. Will it agree?"
Absurd fondness for a girl he didn't even like bloomed in Janx's chest. "It might."
Sabra nodded again, swallowed hard, and stepped off the pavilion overlooking the lake. "Do not tell my father where I've gone. Not until after. Not until it's too late to stop me."
"Sabra—!" Toka finally found his voice and sprang after the girl, only to come up short as she turned, an imperious hand lifted.
"You will not stop me either, Toka. You should know that I love you, but I love my people more. I could do nothing less and still hold my head high." She walked away a second time, leaving Toka stunned and silent at Janx's side.
"That," Janx said after a long moment, "is a fine young woman, Toka. It would be a pity for her to get eaten."
"I thought you didn't like her." Such a faint, mortal protest. The weak objection of a child to its elder when there was nothing else to say.
Janx smiled. "That was two minutes ago. Things have changed since then. Stop," he said more sharply, and for the third time put a hand on Toka's shoulder to keep him from chasing after Sabra. "You won't save her. That cobalt monster will snap you in two, and eat her for dessert."
"Our laws will protect me." Uncertainty in the boy's voice as the dragon across the lake kicked up a spray of water, then settled deeply into the earth. "I cannot leave her to die."
"No, and I suppose neither can I. Not now. Damn Biru, anyway." Janx glanced to the sky, to the phalanx of dragons winging their way toward the horizon. "This will end badly, all of it. Not just today but every day until this nonsense has stopped. Where do they think dragonslayers come from," he demanded again, uselessly, then put the thought aside. "There'll be knights and warriors on the road, following Biru's flight. I'll fetch one, and we'll try to save the girl."
"How? We can hardly fight to the death, and she's so fragile."
"Let me worry about that. Stay here. I'll send Sabra back to you, and you'll see me no more."
Janx himself would not have obeyed the command, but Toka did, diminishing in the distance as Janx strode away from palatial grounds to the nearest road. People streamed along it in both directions, the wiser ones heading away from the dragon flight, the less wise, toward it. Romans and Syrians alike, north and south alike, spreading color everywhere: rich shades of wealth and drab tones of poverty, but the poor were of no use to Janx. That was true enough to be written down, he thought, then snapped his fingers irritably at a northern-bound rider who wore a soldier's garb and carried a helm that looked like it had seen war. "You. Do you have a name?"
The man drew up, expression stern with slight offense. "That is no way to speak to a Tribunus. I could have you crucified. Who are you?"
Janx waved threat and question alike aside with a ffft of disinterest. "Do you have a name? Have you any fighting experience to go along with that sword and helm?"
Tension spilled over the man's face, but pride was stronger than insult. Posture improving—and it had been excellent to begin with—he said, "I am Geōrgios, and I have been a guard at Nicomedia, sir. I am no stranger to war."
"Geōrgios. Good. You're handsome enough, Geōrgios. Strong nose, a lot of hair, good skin. You're Syrian yourself, aren't you? Your coloring says so. Let me see your teeth."
Geōrgios bared his teeth before he thought, then flushed with angry color and pressed his elbow against his short sword's hilt. Janx clicked his tongue, ignoring the new threat as easily as the last, then nodded. "You'll do. Come with me, Geōrgios. I'm going to make you immortal."
They were impossibly large, dragons. Thirty paces in length, this cobalt-sheened beast, and its body blocked the river with coils to spare. Thin wings, long with slim, delicate-looking fingers holding membranes apart, looked too fragile to bear the animal into the air, though he'd seen it fly himself. Whiskers thick as river reeds quivered around its face, testing the air. Short and powerful legs, glittering claws washed in the river water. A watchful creature, ready for his enemies. Ready, too, to sup on the small woman who had so bravely come to bargain. She had lost the bargain already: a chain held her ankle, and the dragon held the chain's other end.
There was no purpose in words, only in action. He knew where to strike, which the dragon never expected. Knew to be fearless and rush it headlong, even through the roar of fire that heated his armor. Knew to ignore the metal sticking to his skin, and to race up the beast's nose: it was so large he could do that, a quick step between flared nostrils and then a sword held high, a sword falling, a sword plunged into the black-as-night eye that stared up at him in astonishment.
One blow, one hot splash of blood. Screams unlike anything men could make. A vast body, splashing in the river, thrashing, dying. Poison blood spilling forth, but it would dilute, and no harm would come to Sabra's people. She was yanked side to side as the dragon died, even fell deep into the water, but she found her way free again and never, ever screamed. Few women would be able to remain silent. Few men, for that matter; the death of a dragon was not an easy thing to see. This was one to watch now; there would be others. A flight of dragons in the sky promised that. They would have war, until the last of those willing to fight had died.
As this one was now dead. The dragonslayer threw off his helm and wiped sweat from short, matted red hair. Stared at the blood and the offal and the elongated body that seemed so much smaller in death, and not for the first time, whispered, "Damn you, Biru. Damn you."
He struck Sabra's chains away, set her free, then turned to the more important duty of transforming. Becoming the enormous red winged lizard that was his true form, and taking the nameless dragon's body away. Far away, to the heat of volcanoes, where it would return to the fire it had been born from. He had done this ugly duty before, and would do it again, for he is Geōrgios the Saint, he was Quirinus, Perseus, Marduk, Tahrun and Thor; and he had slain foolish dragons for a thousand years, and would slay them for a thousand more.
THE DEATH OF HIM
She was human, and she would be the death of him.
That, of course, was true as a rule. Humans poisoned the seas, overfished the waters, bore children until the land couldn't feed them, and bred more still after that. Their numbers increased visibly by the year, while even the most populous of the Old Races bred slowly. Humans would be the death of them all, sooner or later.
But Róisín would be the death of him sooner, for she lay beside Eoin under the high late summer sun, and took his hand and put it on her belly and whispered, "Da," beneath his ear.
Blood rushed Eoin's head and made his hand cold against her stomach, but the fool's grin spreading across his face belied the shocking lurch of his heart. "You're sure," he breathed back, and was rewarded with a nod.
"Since Beltaine," she murmured, before her own grin split her features. "Since May Day, sure as night. My blood should be on me now and it's not come twice. Will we be handfasted at midsummer, Eoin? Will ye be your babby's da?"
He said, "I will," without hesitation, then rolled on his back to stare at the starless sky. "I will if you'll have me, Róisín, but there are things I should have told you."
She pushed up on her elbow, grin faded to a smile, eyebrow raised in warning. "You'll not tell me you've a wife and children already."
"No. That would be...easier. Come down to the water with me, Róisín. Come down to the water so we can talk." Eoin stood, heart pounding, and offered her his hands.
She took them, eyebrows still vocal: lifted in question now, but her smile stayed in place. "Last time you brought me to the water, it wasn't to talk."
It wasn't, of course, and it hadn't been, because graceful as his people were on land, it was nothing to their ease in the water. He might have seduced most women on land, but Róisín had caught his eye with her dark brown eyes and deep red hair, and he'd wanted, of all things, to be sure of her. So he'd taken her to the sea, to the element he'd been born in, and she, who could not swim, had trusted his arms until she could entrust his heart.
She came again willingly enough, down to the quiet bay where small boats were tied to large trees, and laughed when he stripped away his white wool shirt and dropped his brown wool pants. "I thought it was talking you had in mind."
"It is," he said, "and it isn't. Róisín, sit, and be calm if you can. This is a thing I should have told you—shown you—before, but I..."
Expressive eyebrows rose again and he sighed, taking a bristling fur from beneath the roots of one of the ancient trees. "But I fell in love," he said, mostly to the fur, and made himself look back at the girl sitting curiously on the sand. "Róisín, will you believe this, that I love you, despite all the strangenesses that may come to pass?"
She tilted her head, pretty and thoughtful. There was no curl to her hair, but unbound from its braid it fell in waves past her elbows, and she twisted a strand around a finger as she replied. "Sure and let me think. It's most of a year you've come courting. Since Midsummer last, and you bearing gifts each time you've come. And you're from so far down the coast as Galway town. No man comes such distance without reason, Eoin. I'd hope it's love, for me da's got no money or land for you to wed." Humor slipped away. "You're worrying me, Eoin."
