44: WAKING THE DRAGON

(Grizzst’s story)

By the time Grizzst finished, the dragon was gone.

Or at least, Rev’arric didn’t look like a dragon anymore. And because even Grizzst’s dickishness had limits, he didn’t force Rev’arric’s shape to look radically different from his original body. Grizzst figured that would start their relationship on entirely the wrong foot. It wouldn’t have been worth the laugh.

Well, probably wouldn’t have been worth the laugh. Grizzst still didn’t think it was fair for the bastard to be that smart and that good-looking.¹

Grizzst took Rev’arric back to the tower, an enchanted piece of feldspar Grizzst had raised from a hot-spring lake millennia ago. He was fond of the place. In part, this was because it sat within the god-queen Dana’s territory, who was almost tolerable for a god-queen, but also because no one bothered him there. The locals believed ghosts haunted the lake. Which was true from a certain perspective.

The dragon-trapped-in-a-man’s-body didn’t make any comment when Grizzst brought him inside. His gaze was unfocused; he didn’t look at things as much as through them.

In hindsight, it had been foolish to think fusing the dragon with his Cornerstone would be enough to erase the last thirteen hundred years of mind-altered existence.

Grizzst rummaged around his main workroom until he found his favorite teapot. He wasn’t used to having guests, so he even washed it before using it. He pulled out the brandy he’d been saving for a special occasion too.

Rev’arric pulled the cloak around him as he sat. Books and papers littered every surface, spilling out of bookshelves and used as impromptu tables. Grizzst didn’t waste time contemplating his housekeeping skills. He set the teapot, cups, and brandy bottle on a table before he pushed a stack of papers off a chair and pulled it around.

Grizzst sat down face-to-face with the man who’d doomed the world.

He had blue eyes. Grizzst wondered if Rev’arric had always had blue eyes and Grizzst had just never noticed. Probably. Most voras had red eyes, but that was solidarity and racial pride, not any insurmountable rule. It wasn’t so difficult to change one’s eye color. Vordreth had dark eyes, and voramer had silver eyes for similar reasons. Vané had … well, vané had whatever vané wanted to have. Fickle bastards.

Neither one spoke. Grizzst poured two cups of tea, added a generous dollop of brandy to one, and then handed it to Rev’arric.

Rev’arric drank the contents of the cup in one go. Either his draconic or voras nature meant he didn’t notice the water was still scalding hot.

Rev’arric’s hand fell to his lap. He stared straight ahead, stared at nothing.

Grizzst caught the teacup before it hit the ground.

“Rev’arric,” Grizzst said. “Come on, asshole. I know you’re in there. Wake up.”

The man blinked and didn’t answer.

Grizzst leaned over and snapped his fingers in front of Rev’arric’s face.

No response.

Grizzst slapped him. Hard.

No response.

“Well, shit,” Grizzst said. He slammed his hand against a table before leaning back. This hadn’t been the plan. How long had he spent tracking this bastard down? And for what?

He’d had better luck trying to resurrect the Eight. At least that hadn’t gotten his hopes up with false success.

They sat like that for the rest of the day, before Grizzst finally pulled the man-shaped dragon to his feet and put him to bed.

---

A month passed. Every day, Grizzst pulled Rev’arric from bed in the morning and put him back to bed at night. Grizzst fed him, dressed him, and cleaned him, no worse than other distasteful tasks he’d performed over the years. And still Rev’arric gave no sign he intended to engage with the world.

Which meant Grizzst had given up his favorite Cornerstone for nothing.

He set Rev’arric down beside a window while he debated his options. That debate mostly entailed pacing back and forth while he racked his brain for anyone else who could help. Maybe Dana, but he was loath to admit to anyone what he’d done. She wouldn’t approve. Who would?

Then one day, he heard Rev’arric mumble something.

Grizzst turned around. “What was that?”

“Where’s S’arric?” Rev’arric asked, louder.

Grizzst twisted his mouth to the side. “Oh, well, isn’t this just going to be a fucking fantastic conversation.”

Rev’arric blinked. “Who are you?”

“Grizzst.”

Rev’arric actually looked at him that time, tilting his head. “Who?”

“A nobody,” Grizzst elaborated. “An assistant spell engineer working at the Lesinuia power station, or at least I used to be. I suppose I became ‘somebody’ when I managed to survive your bullshit. Would you like breakfast? The village near here makes a mean spiced jam.” He gestured toward a stack of flatbread, a bowl of honey, and a jar of minced spiced fruit. A plate and a knife sat next to them on a cleared-off section of rough-hewn table.

Rev’arric paid no attention to the introduction. “I don’t remember what happened. I don’t—”

Grizzst wasn’t in the mood to be gentle. “What happened is you fucked up. You fucked up bad.”

Rev’arric stared at Grizzst sideways. “No.”

“Yes. Thanks to you, the Eight Guardians are gone, the rest of our people have an expected life span of around eighty years—if they’re lucky—and voras civilization has collapsed like a ripped balloon. And your brother is…” Grizzst chuckled. “Hell, dead doesn’t quite cover it. And as for you … do you even know what you are now?”

“I don’t—” Rev’arric visibly shuddered and fell silent. He was about to slip right back into noncommunicative mode.

Grizzst had no intention of letting that happen.

He crouched down next to the “man.” “So I’m curious what the fuck you were thinking, you know? I looked through your notes. Now I dropped out of university, but I still know basic ritual safety protocols. You, though? You went straight from theory to implementation. Who does that? Who does that and doesn’t expect it to all go to shit?”

Rev’arric’s eyes went from wide and shocked to narrow and furious in a split second. Then he growled, rose to his feet, grabbed Grizzst, and threw the man so hard he flew across his workshop and smashed halfway through the opposite wall.

“How dare you!” Rev’arric snarled. “I couldn’t test my work. The Preceptors were revoking my access. I didn’t have time for tests!”

“Oh. You’re awake now. Good.” Grizzst picked himself up and popped his dislocated shoulder back into place. Same one as back in the mountain too. He hoped it wasn’t a trend. “But just between you and me, you should have taken the time.”

Rev’arric rubbed his hand across his face. “Leave me.”

“It’s my workshop, so no. I don’t think I will.”

Rev’arric walked to the door. “Fine. I’ll leave.”

Grizzst turned his back to the dragon while he repaired the damage, pulling stones back into place. Over his shoulder, he called out, “Don’t you want to know what happened to your brother?” He didn’t check to see if Rev’arric stopped.

He didn’t have to.

Rev’arric said, “I assumed…”

Grizzst looked back then. “Yeah?”

Rev’arric’s gaze grew distant. “Since the ritual … deviated … from the expected result, I assumed he’d likewise … transformed.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Grizzst finished setting the final stone back into place. Then, knowing he had a captive audience, at least for a few minutes, Grizzst found his teapot and started making a new batch.

Rev’arric waited. To a point. “How would you put it, then?”

“Oh, well, he’s not a dragon.” Grizzst set the water to boiling with a finger snap and added his favorite tea, a wonderfully creamy floral variety he snuck into Laragraen to steal every few months.

A deep sigh from Rev’arric. “Then what is he?”

“Dead.”

“Impossible.” Rev’arric stalked back in his direction. “I made him unkillable.”

“Oh, well, his body’s unkillable. Sure. His body is playing permanent host to the avatar of annihilation, an eternally hungry, remorseless demon god who does nothing but consume: other demons, gods, reality itself, kittens. He doesn’t really seem to care what’s on the dinner plate. S’arric, though? S’arric’s dead. I know what you were trying to do with your brother, but what you ended up with instead was a man-shaped black hole.”

Rev’arric stared at him in horror. “You know nothing!” He turned away.

Grizzst waited it out. He had no desire to get into a debate with Rev’arric. He’d lose, even if he was right. That bastard was twisty with words. Grizzst hunted around for his teacups, washed them, and heated the ceramic to the right temperature.

Grizzst had almost finished steeping the tea when Rev’arric asked, “Out of curiosity, just what do you think I was trying to do with my brother?”

Grizzst shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Rev’arric’s gaze intensified, and then he scoffed. “No, it’s not. And frankly, I doubt an ‘assistant spell engineer’ could even begin to comprehend my goals.”

Grizzst put a hand to his neck and stretched to the side, cracking his spine. He exhaled in boredom. “Sure, Professor. Whatever you say.”

“I’m wasting my time here.” Rev’arric looked about to run again. That hadn’t taken long.

Grizzst rolled his eyes. “You were trying to seal the Nythrawl Wound.”

Once more, Rev’arric paused.

Grizzst continued, “Bet you figured the Eight wouldn’t volunteer to suicide themselves for the good of the universe, so you were going to strip their powers away using blood relatives as proxies. Then you’d funnel all that vast cosmic tenyé into your brother, who you were setting up to contain it all, and then use the control link you made with his souls to puppet him into the Wound and close it from the other side.” Grizzst smirked at the shocked look Rev’arric didn’t manage to hide. “Like I said: obvious. Even for an assistant spell engineer who dropped out of college.”

A long pause filled all the gaps in the room.

“If you think that’s what I intended,” Rev’arric finally said, “why would you cure me?”

“That’s not a denial,” Grizzst pointed out.

“Nor is it confirmation. I asked a question,” Rev’arric growled. “Answer it.”

“Oh well.” Grizzst poured the tea, went to add more brandy, realized he was out, and threw the brandy bottle over his shoulder, where it rolled under a chair. He took his cup and sat down. Then he sprawled out, using a stack of books as a footrest, elbow on a table. “I cured you because your little ritual should have worked.”

Rev’arric blinked. “Clearly, it didn’t.”

“Yeah, but it should have.” Grizzst raised his cup of tea in a mock salute. “I went over every inch of your notes. Practically memorized them. I couldn’t figure out where you’d screwed up the magic. Which is annoying, because it would have served you right if you’d dropped a glyph. But you didn’t. It was perfect.”

Grizzst could see Rev’arric resisting what must have been the overwhelming urge to say, “Of course it was.” He could tell it took a real effort.

Instead, Rev’arric wandered over to the food and made a roll with the bread and jam. “I thought you said I’d fucked up.”

“Oh, you did. You wouldn’t have failed the ritual if you hadn’t attempted it in the first place. Karolaen would still exist. The voras people would still exist. But the mechanics of the ritual itself weren’t the problem. I’d bet you every rock in my lucky rock bowl it was the demons who corrupted what you were doing—those assholes were the problem.”

“Demons…” Rev’arric paused, still holding up a knife loaded with spiced fruit. His eyes went distant again and stayed that way. The knife tumbled from his fingers.

“Oookay, we’re not doing this again.” Grizzst hopped from his seat and snapped his fingers in front of Rev’arric’s face. The man blinked and focused. “Stay with me, Var.”

Rev’arric set both hands on the table, visibly unsteady. “That’s not my name.”

“Yeah, well, trust me when I say your name can reliably be used in place of your favorite curse word from Tiga to Vela.” Grizzst shrugged. “Anyway, we’re not nearly intimate enough for me to use your personal name, and Rev’arric’s a mouthful. So I’m calling you Var. Don’t like it? Complain to my section boss. Oh wait, you can’t. She’s dead now thanks to you.”

“She died in the explosion?” Rev’arric’s eyes went unfocused again.

“No. Old age.”

That particular fact brought a frown to Rev’arric’s face. “What? How is that even possible? No one dies of old age. That hasn’t happened since we came to this universe—”

“Oh no, I told you about this. Voras age just like I’m told we used to do back in ‘in the old country.’² You see, after Vol Karoth—”

“Who?”

Grizzst rolled his eyes. “That’s what everyone calls your brother, S’arric, now. Vol Karoth. The King of Demons? See why I think the demons have something to do with this? The demons call him that. Like they elected him president for life. Which is funny, ’cause he sure does like eating demons. Maybe they think that’s just good leadership? Anyway, when the fallout settled, first thing your brother did was kill the rest of the Eight Guardians. Then he started killing everyone else. Killing might not be the right word. Destroying everything else. Finally, the voras Assembly worked up a ritual to imprison him, but what they used to power it”—he made a face—“aligned the voras with this universe fully, made everyone mortal.”

“What? Why would they…?” Rev’arric rubbed a thumb into his temple. “Of course. The tenyé yield of all that lost potential.”

“Right. Incredibly big power surge. But now, as far as this universe is concerned, the voras here are full natives. We get treated just like all the other native species.” He paused. “I mean, they do.”

Rev’arric stood there considering that information. He returned to fixing the roll, then began eating it. The whole time, Grizzst just drank his tea, watched, and waited.

“And why are you still alive again?”

Grizzst shrugged. “After the cataclysm, I took up scavenging. Lots of us did. I just happened to be the lucky idiot who found this particular sword washed up on a beach. Made anyone who held it immune to magic.” He didn’t respond to Rev’arric’s quickly concealed reaction, but he sure as hell noticed. “I actually had some morals back then, so I turned it in. Figured some brave fool could use it to keep Vol Karoth at bay while the Assembly did their ritual. Only turns out I’d volunteered myself to be the fool.”

“Who could have predicted it?”

Grizzst ignored him. “So there I was, holding the damn sword when the ritual fired off and wiped out the brightest and best the voras had to offer. Didn’t affect me at all.”

“Naturally,” Rev’arric said dryly. “You’re hardly the brightest and best.”

“Hey, fuck you. I was good enough to fix you, wasn’t I?”

“I believe that stands as proof of your foolish bravery, not your intelligence.”

“Hey, asshole, the correct response was: Thank you.”

“Fine,” Rev’arric said, notably not saying, “Thank you.” “But you haven’t answered why you fixed me. I appreciate you recognizing the ritual should have worked, but should have and did live on different planets. And since I cannot imagine you’ve brought me back just because you’re lonely and seek someone who understands the importance of basic hygiene and housekeeping, perhaps you might come to a point?”

“Hey, I bathed last week.”

“And cleaned house last century.”

“Feh, that’s not true.” Grizzst swung his arm, nearly knocking over a pile of books. “I cleaned up the place eighty years ago. Besides, I know where everything is.”

“Who hurt you?”

Grizzst glared.

Rev’arric sighed. “Yes. I suppose I do know the answer to that question.”

Grizzst stood up. “Anyway, yeah, I have a point. My point is that I’ve spent the last thirteen hundred years aiming at a single goal. One purpose. Only nothing’s worked. Nothing. I’ve tried everything I can think of. I’ve tried things I knew couldn’t possibly succeed. And I’m officially out of ideas. So I figured since you’re the smartest asshole I know, you could take a stab at it. Because you owe me, and because I think you’re going to hate what’s happening to our people as much as I do. You may be an arrogant bastard, but no one can say you don’t care.”

Rev’arric’s expression turned wary. “And what problem is this?”

“Bringing the Eight Guardians back to life.”

Rev’arric laughed, just once, loud and mocking. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, well, you’d better start thinking so, Var, because we need them. We’re running out of time. Vol Karoth’s not going to stay imprisoned forever. His cage is eroding. And quite frankly, no matter how you feel about your first creations, they’re a hell of a lot better than the god-kings.”

Rev’arric stopped and blinked.

“What,” he asked, “in all the Twin Worlds is a god-king?”