Spirit of Fire - 6. In The Flesh

I took the long way home from school, wanting to get the mess of churning thoughts and emotions out of my head. Sharing with Lucy had been a relief, but the future was still uncertain, and Theo? Regardless of the fact that he was mixed up in everything, somehow, I still couldn't deny that I did feel something for him.

It wasn't quite the same as friendship.

It wasn't more than that, either.

What does this all mean?

I had admitted to myself that it was ... possible ... that I could be attracted to another boy, but was that what I was feeling? Was it attraction? Curiosity? I tried to imagine what it would be like to be physically affectionate with him. To hug him.

To kiss him.

The idea didn't disgust me. It felt a bit weird to think about, but ... it wasn't bad.

Approaching home from the direction that Lucy normally did, I barely noticed the car pulling away from the curb next to our house. Probably one of mom's work friends. Passing the boundary wall between the other neighbour and our property, I glanced through the gap between it and the garage, the space large enough to give a brief view of the shed, and a segment of the yard and back fence.

It was that glimpse, I saw it.

The shed door, forcibly detached on the ground. Behind, a scaled and winged red shape climbing over the rear gate.

Oh fuck.

It didn't matter how tired I was, I dashed down the side of the house, dropping my bag on the ground as I went. In seconds I was at the fence, but it was much too late. The dragon was already halfway across the public land, airborne and moving fast. A couple of moments later, it was gone, skimming between the trees and away into the forest.

No ... no no no no no!

Without thinking, I exited through the rear gate, and began to run across the field in the same direction. Adrenaline was pumping and my heart was pounding, head throbbing from the day's exertion. Without stopping, I jumped over the stream and was into the trees myself.

I didn't slow down at all until I had reached the cave.

It was empty.

"Fuck!" I shouted it, as loud as I could. "Fuck!"

Where did it go? Why did it leave?

What if it hurts someone?

What if someone hurts it?!?

The thoughts angered me, and were also distressing. I knew how dangerous it could be and I was hopeful it wasn't going to do anything provocative to any people it came across, but all I could think was: what would happen if the military or police were called in to deal with it? The idea of a flying pyromaniac murder-lizard being actually injured was upsetting in a way I hadn't predicted.

I wasn't going to give up that easily, though.

Leaving the cave, I continued up the hillside, making my way through the trees for another few minutes. The forest on the upper slopes and top of Mirrorvale's range of hills was mostly larger trees, and I found one easy to climb on the ridge line of the range's crest. Ascending onto an exposed branch, I reached far enough out that I could see over most of the forest canopy.

Beyond, east, the sprawl of Mirrorvale.

Lowrise and a handful of highrise dotted the town's central district, the residential zones radiating outward around it. The closest included our home and the other neighbourhoods that pressed against the hills. Opposite, the more distant and expansive suburbia continued to stretch out of the valley's crook and away into the open flat land.

Then, west.

More forest and hills for miles, until the next town, Brookstone.

Both directions, the sky was clear.

Nothing to see, either way.

It was gone.

-o-0-O-0-o-

He was already on the way to Celeste when she rang him. As he was just about to enter Mirrorvale's municipal limits after driving through Brookstone from upstate, Crawley answered it. He didn't bother to pull over, being acclimated to the danger of talking and driving simultaneously, his sense of automotive recklessness quite ingrained.

"Afternoon. Was just headin' to see y-"

The urgency in the voice on the other end was startling, interrupting him mid greeting.

"Wait, what did ya say?" He blinked. "Fleeing? Where?"

"Mhm. Mhm." He glanced in the rearview, still listening. The traffic was very thin, the road mostly clear, and he slowed a bit and spun the wheel, the Cadillac doing a swift U-turn. "Westbound now, still on Brookstone Parkway." He accelerated somewhat, the trees and rocky soil of the parkway's cutting flashing by. "Mhm. What about the- ... okay. Sure. West-northwest bearing. Hemingway Drive. Got it. You keep things locked down. Call ya soon. Ciao."

Snapping the phone shut, he tossed it onto the passenger seat. He wanted to nab a cigarette before the action got going, but it was only seconds until he saw the turnoff. Swearing, Crawley took the exit, skidding into the turn much faster than was safe and roaring off along the drive. He lowered the passenger window, one eye on the road, the other on the sky.

Any moment now.

If he hadn't completely fucked up the timing.

The Cadillac fishtailed slightly, skewing on the composite gravel-bitumen surfacing at the speed he was going. The reserve road was very rarely used, so he wasn't worried about oncoming vehicles so much as simply keeping control, but it took some concentration to do even that whilst simultaneously going ten mph in excess of the law. He was itching for that smoke now, his nerves too stressed for the unexpected bedlam, but then ... he saw it.

A red winged shape, wings flapping leisurely as it cruised just above the treeline.

Aha!

It sure had been a while.

The bearing was very close to accurate, speed decent, height inconspicuous. A couple of hundred feet away and going at a tangent to where the road would lead, Crawley was still trying, hectically, to steer, track it and figure out how he could possibly resolve this development when there was the ringing crack of a gunshot, then a second later, another.

The creature jerked mid-flight, wobbled for a second, then plunged in a barely controlled dive below the trees.

Crawley slammed on the brakes, a cloud of dust and loose metal puffing up around the Cadillac as it came screeching to a halt.

Things were about to get messy.

He was scooping up the fedora, then out, slamming the door, hat on head. Straight across the road and into the forest, brain fixated on where he needed to go, he was rushing at full tilt.

"Ya crazy bastard. Crazy stupid, stupid stupid." Muttering to himself, Crawley swung the cylinder out as he ran, slotting the S&W rounds into place and trying not to trip on the thick ground cover while he did so. Carpets of ferns and low shrubs came and went, woven between Japanese maple, birch and dogwood, with a mingling of black pine and white oak reaching above to form the mainstay of the forest structure. Crawley thrashed his way through it, feet thumping dully on the damp soil. "Yer gonna get yerself hurt. Damned fool!"

It didn't take long, barely a minute, and he pushed through a particularly thick leafy barrier, emerging onto a grassy slope scores of feet long. The decline was slight, sun blazing through from above, trees receded enough to let the sky make a proper appearance. Near the bottom of the slope, before the cover closed back in, there were two men. Hunting rifles were in hand, and they were a half dozen paces apart, one following the other with a hasty apprehension.

They were approaching a motionless shape on the ground, next to a thick oak trunk.

A wounded red shape.

"Hey Jimmy, what the fuck ya think this thang is?" The one in the back called to his buddy in a thick Southern accent. "Giant bat? Some kinda mutant lizard? Ain't never seen nuthin' like that."

"Dunno." From the distance Crawley could only just hear the reply, even though the air was calm and the volume was decent. "It's mah trophy anyhoo. Gonna mount that sucker on the wall."

Jimmy raised the rifle, bracing it against his shoulder, eye on the scope even for such a ridiculously easy shot at medium-close range, and without further ceremony, he fired, the crack of the shot much louder now.

Suicidal halfwits.

Speedily, the shape went from inanimation to righteous vengeance. It picked itself up from where it had landed, the wings unfurling from the protective wrap, the indistinct shape coalescing into an extremely angry reptilian 'trophy'. The eyes seemed to glow like coals, the jaw snapped open, and it roared; a throaty rumbling fury that echoed across the arboreal surrounds. There were two limping steps forward, the pain readily apparent, and it reared its head, the neck arching, the attention trained unfailingly on the attacker.

The mouth opened a little wider, followed by a curt inhalation.

Crawley knew exactly what was about to happen, and he was powerless to stop it.

The blasting spray was white-hot and it shot more than twenty feet to engulf the hapless hunter. The flame was very intense, and it was done with in mere seconds, the brief screams dying away, the crumbling ashen remains of what was once a man disintegrating into a pile.

"Oh Jesus! Lord save me! What- .. w-what EVIL is this?! God have mercy!" The other man couldn't manage more before his horrified monologue unravelled into incomprehensible fearful yelling. Backing up in a stumble, still beseeching the heavens, his arms shaking, the lone hunter raised his own rifle, but the dragon was not done. It was finishing the last of three additional hobbled steps, the gaze of its retribution fixed squarely on the offending human. The shot was somehow lined up, the horned skull in the crosshair, the trembling finger squeezing at the trigger

Too late.

The second jet of fire leaped out to coat him from head to foot in a stream of infernal precision. Clothes, hair, skin, flesh; all of it ignited and like Jimmy, he transformed rapidly into a charred mess, the unspent rounds popping as the burning heat-deformed rifle dropped to the grass next to the crumpled remains.

All of it in under a minute.

Even with business done, it still wasn't finished. In a perplexing physical action, it rose on its hind legs to maximum height, the wings extending fully open. It stayed momentarily balanced, like some sort of strange bipedal forest sculpture and the air around it shimmered. For a split second reality warped, and there was a short sharp sound, a plosive magical shhiiuu of an effect invoked, and the dragon vanished, wholly and completely.

Just like that, Crawley was alone.

"Son of a bitch." He strode down the now empty slope, clicking the safety back on, shaking his head. The Colt went into a pocket, and he withdrew the phone and smokes. To his surprise, there was still enough reception to make a call, and he navigated to speed-dial.

"Yer not gonna like it." He lit the cigarette, walking between the blackened heaps. Even the ground around each was scorched for a few feet. Beyond, there were signs of the creature's former presence, the grass trampled and mulched from its landing and movement. "Tell the Order to send people. Next of kin, cover story, ya know the drill." He grunted, listening to her as he got his head around the dimension and capability of what he had seen it do. This size, this distance, this fast, this hot. "Mm. Mhmm. Two of 'em, throwin' rocks at a goddamned tiger. Ain't all bad though. Got a first hand look at our runaway learnin' his speciality. Won't lie to ya, it's a lil bit concerning. Scaly bastard ported out like it was second nature." He paused again, listening to her response. "It's yer call. Might be necessary, or maybe just helpful. Either way, not much I can do. Make yer choice and keep a lookout. Mhm. Alright. Bye."

He snapped the phone shut, and deposited it back into the pocket. Inhaling deeply, Crawley looked up at the sky; small high clouds, mostly clear, and warm, only a light breeze. It was a beautiful afternoon.

The only thing spoiling it was the incinerated charcoal of two dead men.

He extracted a hip flask from another pocket, unscrewed the cap, and took a good swig. Next, a tip of the fedora to the formless debris, an apologetic formality he didn't owe, but felt obligated to give.

Rest in peace, ya luckless clods.

Crawley began to trudge back up the slope, heading for the Cadillac.

-o-0-O-0-o-

I was caught up in my own thoughts and feelings on the journey back home. Frustration, anger, regret, fatigue, concern and depression were just the start of it; there was a lot more behind that, behind everything that was happening and it was beginning to make me feel like I had accidentally slipped into a parallel universe where nothing was real and the rules had been broken. Walking across the field, mind still occupied, I gave a jolt of surprise when my phone started ringing.

It was an unknown number.

"Hello?"

A familiar voice was on the other end, only it sounded a lot less senior and wavering, and a lot more definite and firm, as if twenty years worth of age had dropped away.

"Torsten, I have persuaded your mother to abandon her tea, and come visit for a glass of dessert wine and some cake. This will buy you some time to figure out what to do about the guest that escaped from the back shed and to clean up the broken door in the yard." She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "You were lucky she was looking in the wrong direction and didn't see it escape. It was pure chance."

"You ... you know about all this?!"

"There's a lot more I know, but this is not the time for long discussions." I was entering the backyard while I listened, closing the gate, my surprise short-lived. Everyone around me seems to have a secret these days. Maybe it's a conspiracy? "I have to go entertain Natalia. You can call this number when you need to talk. I was quite serious when I told you that I'm right next door if you need anything."

"I ... uh ... thanks, Mrs Sterling."

"That's not my real name." She paused a moment, a kernel of uncertainty creeping in, not sure how much more to say, but then she went on anyhow. "For now, you can call me Celeste."

The line went dead.

Well, alright. Let's throw sudden phone calls and suspicious neighbours onto the Big Pile Of Weird Shit That's Happening In Torsten's Life. I don't really need more unexplained strange things, but it's not like I'm in control of anything.

Little did I know it was about to get stranger.

The first clue was the simple fact that the rear slider door was open, and I knew that my mother would not have left it like that if she was going out, even if only next door to the neighbour’s.

I entered, cautious. The kitchen and lounge were empty, but the second clue that something was up, was on the floor.

Spots of blood.

They were dotted on the kitchen tiles, and led across the lounge carpet toward the garage door.

It, too, was open.

My breathing began to pick up again, my heart rate rising.

Is someone here?

I took a carving knife from the knife block on the bench and advanced, following the trail. It went through the garage where the car was parked, nothing disturbed. The spots continued, taking a right turn into the laundry, then through to the basement steps.

Down, the bloody path continued, into the dimness.

There was no other way out.

Whoever it is, they have to be there.

I switched on the light for the steps and descended, very slowly, grip tightening around the knife handle. Near the bottom, I reached out and flicked the basement lights and entered the room. It was the same as always; heating and water pipes, air vents and fuse box, concrete flooring. From the steps, the spots went across to the far wall, next to a cluster of piping, where they stopped.

There was somebody lying on the floor.

Pulse thundering, knife in hand, I creeped closer.

It was a naked unconscious boy, front down. His legs were partially drawn up on the left side and he was facing away toward the wall, the right cheek against the floor, only the back of the head visible. Pale skin, long limbs, lean and athletic, he appeared unhurt at first glance but there were smears and the signs of bleeding around the left shoulder, though the wound was not immediately visible because of how he was lying. Yet, there was one final detail that made my heart leap into my mouth. Long flowing hair was splayed behind him, onto the concrete surface; long enough to reach halfway down his back.

It was red.

Not ginger nor an artificial dyed variation, but a strong rich shade, with the same potent vitality that was attached with similar such things; flame red, ruby red, blood red.

But it wasn't all red.

From next to his ear, there was a shock of beautiful silky blonde, a golden current joining the river of carmine.

I nearly dropped the knife, out of pure amazement.

It can't be ...

There was only one place I had seen this before.

This is 'it' ... or, I mean, um, this is ... him.

A boy that wasn't really a boy.

The moment was difficult to process, but then my rationale kicked in.

He's hurt.

Barely thinking, I rushed across the concrete and crouched next to him. With some care, I reached over and pulled his left shoulder up enough to see if I could locate the source. He stirred, giving a pained groan, and I saw the wound. It was a gunshot, and beneath, on the floor, were the bullets. Two little metal pellets, soaked in his blood but free upon the floor's surface.

He ... dug them out?!

Then it got to me.

Someone SHOT him?

Instinct took over. Placing the knife on the floor, I tugged him half upright, draping his right arm over my shoulder. With some effort, I stood, bringing him to his feet also. Semi-conscious was enough, and he was at least able to support his own weight as we struggled across the basement and then back upstairs into the house.

Laying him down on the bed in the spare room next to mine, as gently as I could, he passed out nearly straight away. I fetched a blanket, covering him, then went back out, found a cloth, some detergent, filled a bowl with warm water, and went to work erasing the bloody trail that was left through the house.

My mind was kinda blank the whole time. I wasn't sure what to think about anything any more, and like my departure from Theo's company barely an hour earlier, it was easier to simply act like an automaton and do what I had to do. I was too mentally exhausted to process complicated emotions.

When I was done, the tiles and concrete were clean, and the carpet was good enough that it wouldn't be noticed. Emptying the water down the sink, I squeezed out the cloth, refilled the bowl, added some antiseptic and went back to the spare room, cellphone in hand.

Call-back.

Last number received.

She answered on the fourth ring.

"Hi, um, Celeste. Sorry to bother you, but I think now ... we really need to talk."

-o-0-O-0-o-

The chalet was distant from her former abode. It was far removed from what she was used to, but there was a certain homeliness that she liked. For Triskeleth, that feeling of familiarity lay in the alpine roots of the location, and it was hard to let go of that sentiment with all the pressures that arose from her genesis. Seeking refuge in this place was a comfort, even with the lingering sense of foreboding over why she was there.

It was originally a private lodge for skiers and trampers exploring the alps, though the owner, an old friend, had some years prior gifted her with the disused property as a haven. The floor area was rectangular, with the entrance in the longer side that faced down the mountain's slope. Hefty double doors opened from the centre to the main living area of the chalet. The front half of the building was a single cavernous room that rose to the top of the steepened rafters, a good two-and-a-half stories high. One end held a kitchen section; tiled countertops, gas ovens, the pantry, communal dining tables and a score of seats. The middle was cobbled stone with a pair of side benches, allowing for the removal of boots and clothing that was wet and muddy. The other end was a lounge area, with sofas, recliners, carpet, a fireplace, a bookcase and a storage cabinet full of board games. An enormous dividing wall split off the rear half, where there were bedrooms, a bathroom and utilities.

Along the front wall were four large windows, two on each side of the entrance, at even intervals. Each was about five feet high, going from knee height to above the head, and in other times would have served as a portal for the inhabitants to look out at the exterior chill, while they ate, drank and kept themselves warm inside.

From her perspective, it was different.

Candles and the wall sconces were burning, providing light, but the fireplace lay dormant. The cold did not bother her, and now, of all times, it felt wrong to kindle a flame.

Profane, almost.

She stood, watching the snow falling, the wind blowing in a steady gust against the slope of rock and ice.

Surrounded by the cold.

It would not be enough.

Lost in the past, her eyes roamed the sky, a foggy formless white-grey, heavily overcast. There was never any demand from the lady that she partake in the conflict they were embroiled in, and her role as the Tempest's high priestess and seer was one of introspection, knowledge and sagacity. She had guided as well she could, for as long as she had endured the role, and held the burden that was passed down from the previous seer. Such a life was prestigious, a token of her lady's grace, and Triskeleth was ever grateful that she could be such an enabling force for their cause.

Still, they lived in a troubled world.

What she had seen was even more problematic.

The enemy had been fighting for survival for longer than was conceivable, and in spite of all the advantages working against them, somehow they had always staved off utter defeat and annihilation, and their hopes had remained alive.

Somehow.

It did not seem possible that what they strove for could actually become real, but her vision had promised her with a truly uncomfortable clarity that prophecy would ultimately be fulfilled. Recent events had propelled this notion further, and the possibility was less and less a distant fearful thing, and more an increasingly morbid probability that terrorised her waking moments.

It no longer was a matter of 'if', but instead a case of 'when' and 'how' the future would arrive.

She was startled out of her reverie by a sound.

Mostly blended into the gentle moaning of the wind, it was hard to fully catch, but then she had it.

Wings.

Distant at first, but growing more pronounced as it came closer.

The future was already here.

Hurriedly, she turned, running across the stone floor, then around the kitchen counter. Behind it was a large cleaning bucket, still full of unused water, and she hefted it, carrying it to the counter's end, which lay directly opposite the entrance. Crouching, Triskeleth lowered herself out of sight and waited.

Half a minute later, there was the heavy da-doomp of something very large landing on the snow outside.

For another dozen seconds, there was no other sound and then the doors shook as someone pounded on them from the outside, three times.

THUMP.

THUMP.

THUMP.

A male voice called out, muffled slightly, but loud, and strong.

"Little pig, little pig, let me in."

It was parodic, cajoling; arrogant and superior.

She stayed silent.

Moments after, there was an audible blast of displaced air, a smaller mass being replaced with a much larger one. The window to the right of the door shattered, a clawed forelimb ripping through it. Snow and wind immediately followed through the opening, splattering onto the floor and gusting in, while the forelimb brushed along the frame, clearing the clinging glass fragments. It withdrew and in the gap, the tip of a huge snout pushed and sniffed.

I can smell you, little pig. The psychic vocal projection was powerful, and it radiated from the speaker's mind, the same who had given verbal address mere seconds earlier. Don't make me break this place to find you. Won't you let me in? I only want to talk.

Triskeleth plunged her hand into the bucket. Withdrawing it, the water followed, a sphere of it clinging and coiling about her fingers. She made no other movement nor sound, preparing herself for what was surely coming.

His patience did not last long.

The doors exploded inward, a blare of flame pushing them, burning chunks scattering in a conical radius. Behind came a figure; tall, masculine, angry. He strode in, dagger in hand, eyes sweeping the room.

Then she struck.

Triskeleth leaped out, directly in front of the intruder, both hands wreathed in a roiling liquid wrap. With a swinging gesture from her right, she threw the ball across the stone of the entryway and it solidified into a layer of ice on contact. With her left, she flicked her arm high in a vertical wave, and half of the collected water shot from her control as a volley of icy bolts. He blocked some with a swipe of his own arm, but three struck; shoulder, thigh and stomach. Momentarily staggered, he was off balance, and she dashed, sliding on the frozen floor past him. The remainder of the water had crystalised around her hand into a bracer, and she bashed him with it as she passed, knocking him flat, the temporary gauntlet smashing in the process. Then, she was out the door onto the mountain side, and she ran straight forward, crossing the short flat before the decline, and then leaped off the edge.

In the air, the seeress switched her form.

Where a human had been, there was an adult dragon; royal blue, armoured in sapphire, wings beating as she gained elevation. She began to pull away from the slope, the chalet and intruder to be left behind.

For just a moment, Triskeleth thought she had made it.

Escape!

Caught unaware, a massive force collided with her from the right, out of the blind spot. Together they crashed to the ground, furrows tearing in the ice and rock from the speed of the impact. The other dragon was bigger, orange-red, a nasty cunning at play as he wrestled her onto her back, restricting the use of wings; their roars of combat competing for ascendance over the wind while they struggled.

Submit! Accept the truth! He slammed her flat and she pushed back just as hard. Triskeleth's jaw opened, no intention to hold back, and a torrent of arctic frigidity blasted forth at point blank, pelting him in the face. She did not let up, the stream constant, even as the weight of his lower body and rear legs kept her pinned, while the head was drawn back, snarling and shaking side to side from the glacial battering of her breath.

A clawed slash was intervention; a slap across her face from the side, spoiling her aim and cutting short the assault. Teeth closed over her neck, her throat gripped by the original intruder, now arrived from the chalet to help his companion. His voice was so loud and so close, and it was a demand.

Cease your struggle. You are caught.

She stopped.

There was no wish for an early death.

The pressure on her lower body released first, and then so did the jaws, the owner retreating just a touch. He was slightly larger and brawnier than his friend, scales thicker, a Martian brown-red.

I will tell you nothing. She coiled into a sitting position, the pair looming next to her, wardens that would allow no escape. I will not serve you, nor your ambitions to ruin this planet. You would have to martyr me first.

The larger one leaned in, an intimidating presence due to his size. There was a meanness to him, a peculiar cruel volatility that told her he would enjoy hurting her. No, your death will come after, when the incantation has been countered. The grinning countenance was a mockery. We did not go to this trouble to play games. He sidled closer, his rear legs thudding on the broken surface of the alpine slope, loose rock and icy chunks skittering away with the footfalls. Oh, but where are my manners? I am Nero and this is my brother Darren.

The other dragon gave a stare of vengeful contempt as way of greeting. Seeress. The tone was dry, and palpably hostile. I cannot say it's a pleasure.

We are here to do the bidding of the Conclave, Nero continued, and you, Triskeleth, are who we need. There is much to uncover.

His forelimb shot out, gripping her left horn, and yanked her forward so her skull was next to his. The next utterance was so soft it was no more than a whisper in the mind.

So, let us begin.

Oh, I'm sorry. You didn't actually think all these characters were ... human ... did you?
Here be dragons.
Comments and discussion always welcome