The roof of the Black Swan was a broad, flat deck with four large stained-glass dome skylights and a sixty-foot mast that jutted up from the middle, with smaller masts fore and aft. It had been many years since the bar had actually been moved with sails; the masts now served mainly as flag poles to fly the barge’s banner, a field of pure white with a black swan in the center. Menagerie stood in the crows nest atop the tallest mast, peering out at the bay, his hand raised to shield his eyes from the morning sun. Infidel leapt, grabbing the rigging, and in seconds reached his side.
Ignoring the main reason we’d come out here, her gaze was instead drawn to Menagerie’s face. It took me half a second to understand why it was so interesting at this particular moment.
“You have your teeth back,” she said.
“Owls don’t have teeth, so when I changed back, I grew new ones,” said Menagerie. “Can we focus on the problem at hand?”
The water was flowing out from the bay so swiftly that fish were left flopping in the mud. The Black Swan was anchored in water ordinarily twenty feet deep at its lowest, but it now sat flat on the bottom, the whole structure shuddering as it slowly sunk into the muck. As far as the eye could see boats were stranded across the bay, except, I noted, the ships of Wanderers. These had been the ships that had gone missing during the night. They were now far out at the mouth of the bay, dozens of them, riding on a ridge of water that bunched up near the gap leading to open water.
“You ever see anything like this?” Infidel asked.
Menagerie shook his head; he was the oldest of the Goons, a resident of Commonground for over forty years. He pointed toward the bright blue forms of river-pygmies running out on the mud flats, snatching up the stranded fish. “Maybe they know what’s going on.”
But before Infidel could leap down to speak to a pygmy, a mountain of bright blue-green water rose from the sea just beyond the Wanderer’s ships. It kept rising, as other bulges formed around it. It vaguely resembled, from a distance, an enormous sea-turtle, assuming one could grow to be several miles wide.
Suddenly, the impossibility that this was a giant turtle changed into reality as the beast’s eyes snapped open. Its vast maw yawned wide, a mouth several hundred yards across. The Wanderer ships were pulled toward it by a fierce suction. Yet, these expert seafarers proved the match of the turbulent white water, guiding their schooners across the ship-studded waves as agilely as a river-pygmy steering a canoe through the pilings of Commonground. In moments, all the vessels had ridden the flow of water into the mouth of the great beast.
“It’s Abyss,” said Menagerie, his voice hushed in awe.
Abyss is the primal dragon of the sea. His consciousness spreads through every wave and ripple in the world’s vast ocean. Due to his pact with the Wanderers, he’s one of the few dragons who still intervenes in human affairs. Most of primal dragons don’t even notice mankind, any more than an earthquake notices the cities it topples, or a tornado notices the villages it smashes to splinters. To witness a primal dragon personify itself, taking on at least an echo of its original form, was something few men would ever see in their lives.
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 fiance, 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.
“I’ve hunted whales bigger than these things,” she shouted, as she met Infidel’s gaze.
“Fire-breathing, flying whales?” asked Infidel.
“You wouldn’t believe,” Aurora said.
The ogress spun around as the remaining dragon roared angrily and shot toward the barge, apparently now aware of the loss of its twin. Aurora dropped the coil of rope to the deck and drew back with the harpoon. “For honor!” she cried as she hurled the weapon toward the approaching beast.
The harpoon never even got close. The coil snagged on a ragged board and the weapon jerked to a sudden halt not fifty feet overhead. The dragon inhaled deeply as it plunged straight toward Aurora. Aurora crouched down, covering her head with her hands as the dragon exhaled, shooting out a jet of flame, engulfing the ice-ogress. The dragon’s momentum carried it toward the mast upon which Infidel was perched. The flames instantly disintegrated the lower half of the mast. Infidel jumped from the crow’s nest, grabbing Relic by the cloak and hurling him out toward the bay. She dropped down, hands open wide, as the dragon’s scaly back flashed beneath her. She grabbed hold of the scales near the beast’s tail. The dragon reacted with the speed of thought, whipping the end of its tail down to shatter more beams on the roof of the Black Swan. The jolt knocked Infidel free. She bounced across the deck, flying off the edge, until a long length of chain whipped out and lassoed her ankle. No-Face jerked her back onto the roof, if it could still be called a roof. Little was left but a pile of broken boards and timbers, and half of these were on fire.
Aurora was still alive. She was crouched behind a wall of cracked and melting ice, fighting to untangle the snagged rope of the harpoon.
Infidel leapt to where the harpoon had fallen. It jutted up from the boards of the deck. She snatched it free, spinning around, racing toward Aurora, splintering the snagged board that had caught the rope. She wordlessly snatched the freshly coiled rope from Aurora’s hands and jumped over the edge, flying from the Black Swan toward a still intact piling. She landed on this and leapt again, giving chase to the retreating dragon, who now spun slowly over the area where the other dragon had fallen. The sea still boiled furiously. The dragon again cried out; this time the thunderous roar had an edge of grief to it. The beast turned its head upward, flapping its mighty wings as it steered back toward the distant volcano. The whole south slope was aflame now, the forests forming the world’s largest bonfire as the pyroclastic flow slipped through the once lush jungles.
Infidel landed on a final piling before deciding she was close enough. She dropped the coil into the water, wrapping the last few inches around her wrist. The beast was low over the waves, the down beat of its wings brushing the surface. She reared back with the harpoon, the weapon comically long compared to her. When she let it fly, it flashed through the air more swiftly than an arrow. The dragon grunted as the harpoon buried itself in its flank, but didn’t look back. It flapped its wings again and flew higher, as the rope trailed behind it. Infidel grabbed hold with both hands as she was snapped into the air. She clambered up the rope like a monkey on a vine. The dragon tilted its head back, aware of her weight. It sucked in air and exhaled a long cone of flame, engulfing Infidel. For a second, she couldn’t be seen at all in the conflagration. Then, her hand reached out of the flame, grasping onto the hind-claw of the dragon just as the rope disintegrated.
The flames faded, revealing Infidel clasped by a single hand onto the middle nail of the dragon’s hind-claw. Her clothes were mostly burned away; her skin was flushed red, like she had sunburn, and it broke my heart to see that her long, flowing tresses were mostly gone, singed down to a frizzled mess. Her eyes were set in a look of determination.
The dragon wasn’t impressed. It flexed its claw forward, bending its head toward her to bite away the unwelcome passenger. As it opened its jaws, Infidel swung her body back and forth, dangling from the claw. The creature’s mouth glowed with the fading remnants of its flame. I saw a flash of light as the well-honed blade of my bone-handled knife was revealed in Infidel’s free hand. She swung forward, leaping into the beast’s open jaws, clearing its teeth. The creature’s mouth clamped shut.
Suddenly, I was alive again. Not ghost alive; I was physically whole once more, popping into existence inches above the dragon’s snout. Unlike my previous manifestations, this time the laws of gravity applied. I slammed into the dragon’s scales, sliding down its snout, scraping my restored flesh on its raspy hide. I cut my hands trying to grab hold. The scales were like flakes of razor-sharp volcanic glass. I screamed as I left a trail of blood down its snout, but caught myself at last, my foot coming to rest on the ridge of its nostrils.
My stomach twisted as the beast lurched through the air. The ground seemed impossibly distant. I felt certain I’d been restored to life only to face a second death. But… why? How had this happened?
Suddenly, Infidel’s fist burst through the skin only a few feet down the snout from the dragon’s eyes, my bone-handled knife firmly in her grasp. The dragon’s blood bubbled on the surface of the blade, quickly boiling off now that it was exposed to air. Infidel’s whole arm tore through the skin, followed by a shoulder, then her bloodied head burst through. The blood boiled on her skin as well as the knife. The creature shuddered, then went limp in the air; whatever Infidel had done to it had apparently been too much to withstand. The beast’s snout tilted down. I could see water far below; at some point, we’d come back out over the bay. I was thrown free of the beast’s nose, my naked, bleeding body tumbling in the air. As I spun, I looked back toward Infidel, who was gawking at me, her eyes wide.
“Infidel!” I shouted, straining my hand toward her.
“Stagger?” she whispered.
Then, the last of the fresh blood vaporized from the knife, leaving only a crust of black gore. The wind once more passed straight through me. I was suspended in mid-air, no longer in the grip of gravity. Light passed through my vaporous fingers.
“Stagger!” Infidel cried, her eyes frantic as they searched the air where she’d last seen me.
Then the dragon hit the water, and I plunged beneath as well, my ghost still tethered to the knife. The sea was black as ink, full of the stirred-up silt from the tidal wave. My vision was all but useless, unable to make sense of the images that flashed past me. The dragon’s hide seemed to be crumbling, breaking apart into bits of black and red gravel. For half a second, I saw a flash of Infidel’s torso. There was something long and rope-like wrapped around it, covered with cup-sized suckers. The water roiled, and a giant eye flashed past me, the size of a dinner plate, glowing with a golden phosphorescence.
Then, suddenly, Infidel and my knife were back above the surface of the water. She was wrapped in the tentacle of an enormous squid, at least sixty feet long. A second tentacle held the soggy, sputtering form of Reeker.
Infidel raised her knife to stab at the tentacle that held her, but stopped herself before she thrust the blade down. The dragon blood had been washed off by her plunge into the bay. As the last bit of pink water ran down the handle, I faded once more, invisible even to myself.
The squid’s tentacles gingerly placed Infidel onto the wrecked roof of the Black Swan. She was, yet again, buck naked save for a ring of ruined leather that had once been the too-short skirt. Aurora rushed to her side, snatching up the half-charred flag of the barge and draping it over Infidel’s bare shoulders before Reeker had recovered enough to ogle her.
“That was really damn impressive,” Aurora said. “But… who was up there with you?”
“What?” asked Infidel, running her fingers through what was left of her hair. The longest bits were only a few inches long.
“For a second, I thought I saw someone else clamped onto the dragon’s snout with you. Were my eyes playing tricks?”
Infidel turned pale. “I thought I saw… I thought…” her voice trailed off. “It was just some poor sailor. He… he fell.”
Menagerie dragged himself up onto the roof, human once more. The squid tattoo that had once been dark black upon his neck had faded to a barely visible gray-blue outline.
He collapsed against what was left of the mast, staring up toward the still bubbling volcano. “I guess the king’s dragon hunt has been cancelled.”
Infidel shook her head as she, too, looked at the raging mountain. “I don’t think so. Greatshadow has just been suckered. Those ships were decoys; I’ll stake my life on it.”
“You’re probably right,” said Reeker, wringing water from his hair. He looked at Menagerie. “So, anyway, I quit. I’m done with dragons. Infidel can be the third Goon.”
“You aren’t quitting,” said Menagerie. “You signed the contract.” He tapped at a section of cursive text on the left cheek of his buttocks. “Didn’t you read all the terms? You’re in this until Greatshadow’s dead, or you are.”
Reeker sighed, then muttered something underneath his breath.
“Hur hur hur,” said No-Face.
Infidel laughed as she contemplated Menagerie’s skinny ass. “I guess that’s one way of discouraging people from studying the fine print.”