December 20, 5:25 am
I jump out of the way just as two sets of claws plant themselves in the wall I’d been standing in front of. She has little trouble pulling them out as I break for the opposite end of the room, my lungs reminding me that, again, smoking cigarettes was a bad idea. Before I can reach the other side she’s caught up with me, and I intentionally fall on my face to miss a swipe at my back.
To hell with dignity, I want to live.
As a result she overshoots a few steps, long enough to extend my hand and shout in a panic, “Lightning.”
The bolt flies from my fingers and spreads in a fractal pattern, one of the forks colliding and crackling over her body, quickly being absorbed while the rest leave scorch marks on the walls, floor and ceiling.
Right. Blue Dragons breathe lightning. After having played Dungeons & Dragons for as long as I have, I probably should’ve remembered that. Also, I should’ve remembered that shooting lightning bolts from one’s hands will tire a sorcerer out right quick.
She snorts sparks as she turns to face me, snickering to herself, advancing with deliberate steps, her claws clicking together in anticipation.
“I truly hope you have more than that in your arsenal, James.” Ras is seated, his tone unimpressed, almost bored.
I can hear Cale’s voice in my head, memories of our first meeting.
“Ice!” A frozen wall erects between the dragon and me, leaving me exhausted, barely able to rise to a kneeling position. The dragon punches it hard, the barrier spiderwebbing from the impact, but it holds against her strikes. It won’t keep her off forever. I stumble forward, pressing my hand against the wall, the cold shooting up my arm. I envision the wall, imagine it freezing, expanding, thickening. “Ice.”
Nothing happens.
“Children speak in simple words, James.”
A huge crack appears in the wall, the sound echoing through the room.
“You are a sorcerer.”
“I don’t know those words!”
He gets up from the chair and strides toward me. “You named the language, it is yours.”
“I can’t just speak it at will, I’m not a Bard.” At a time like this, I’m jealous of Spencer, who can speak Sigil at will as long as he’s heard it recently. I keep pushing against the wall, numbness invading my fingers. “Ice!”
Nothing.
I look quickly to Ras. “Help me!”
“That is not the purpose of this lesson.”
Another large crack.
“Please!”
“There is only one person in this room capable of helping you. Only one who can give you the words you need. It is not me.”
I can feel tears streaming down my face as the wall shatters, my arms flying up to shield my face from the shards. She bursts through with a corona of ice crystals about her, glittering in the light, her claws pointed at my throat.
I shut my eyes tight, terror making my muscles rigid, the soft tissue of my neck scant milliseconds from being torn asunder, a flurry of thoughts rushing through my brain. “Go away.”
The impact doesn’t come.
I wait a second. Then two. Three. Ten.
Nothing.
My eyes open slowly, expecting to find her talons grazing my skin. Only the fallen ice is present in a fast-melting pile. I sob, audibly, stumbling toward the wall.
After what feels like an eternity, I look around. Ras is now seated in his chair. The ice is nothing more than a puddle. Coda is gone.
I take a few deep breaths, trying to push down the nausea. “What happened?”
“You took a step.”
“What happened to Coda?”
At that, he gets up and strides across the room until he’s standing over me. “I would ask the same. You sent her away. One moment she was here, the next she was gone. I’m curious as to where you sent her.”
“I…I didn’t.” I shake my head quickly. “I didn’t do anything, I just wanted her to go away.” I try working back through the newly formed memories. “I panicked. She was going to kill me.” I glance at him. “Wasn’t she?”
He nods. “I had every confidence you could defend yourself, though.” He motions to the puddle. “Evocation and conjuration are clearly not your strong suits. We’ll have to alter your lesson plan from here on out.”
I tremble, walk away from him. “Where’d she go, then? What’d I do?”
“You have pierced space before, yes?” At my look of confusion, he searches for words. “Moved things from one place to another?”
I stop to think, remember. “Uh…I took someone from Osaka and brought them here once. It was really hard, though. I thought that was just a form of scrying. And I guess I’ve jumped over to Tartarus a few times, but that’s pretty easy.”
At that, he laughs. “Easy? You have walked between worlds. Even I cannot do that without effort and preparation. All sorcerers are not the same, James. Conjuration has always been my specialty. I would suppose that this is your own strength, though it obviously must be honed.”
“By trying to kill me?” I feel my strength returning. Enough at least to brace my back against the wall. “I’m surprised doing that didn’t burn out my soul.”
“You needed adequate inspiration. However, I would like to know where one of my subjects has been sent to.” He waits patiently. “Please.”
“Uh…” I search frantically through my mind, trying to remember, the emotion of the moment overshadowing everything. “Not to Tartarus, I know that.” I didn’t want to kill her. I wanted to go home, to be safe. “I sent her somewhere where I thought I’d be safe.”
That could be one of three places. The diner, Ozzie’s place or the room that’s now my father’s private office up in the Mews. I pray it’s the first. Dragons have done enough damage to Ozzie’s recently, and I doubt my father would appreciate a punker girl appearing out of nowhere in his office. Dave would be able to handle a dragon, at least, and Dave would know I’m okay. Knowing my luck, though, she’d probably appear ten feet off the floor and have her fall broken by his latest stack of AC/DC albums.
Still, how did I do that?
I’m plenty pissed that Ras decided murder is part of the curriculum, but it’s hard to argue with the results, even if I plan on arguing.
I didn’t have to think, the words came out in perfect Sigil, soaked in emotion and will and power. I didn’t even have to use her Name, I just sent her away like an overcooked burger, to be dealt with by someone else.
“It can be disorienting, the first time you surpass khrazet. We always feel there is some trick to it, and for some, there is. It is a rare sorcerer, or a very old one, who requires nothing to bolster his will.” He gestures, murmuring again in Sigil, and a plush, overstuffed chair appears beside me, which he helps me into. “I am still curious where my subject has gone. If you will excuse me a moment.” He backs away, giving me plenty of space before I feel a surge of power in the air, a bright light flashing as he takes the Ra’saar’s form, a Golden Dragon now in his place. The beast closes its eyes a few seconds, and it takes a little while to figure out what he’s doing.
Jutte told me once that all dragons are in constant communication, possibly through telepathy, that they possess seers and an unbeatable information network when it comes to the Keth themselves. I thought it only applied to actual dragons, though, considering that when I’ve been, ugh, Slartibartfast, I haven’t received any mental phone calls from other dragons. Unless of course I’ve just been broadcasting everything I’ve been thinking, in which case I might end up having a rather awkward conversation with Parivian the Algid later on, seeing as Slarty has a bit of a crush on him.
A moment later, Ras reappears in a flash of light. “She is safe, though her presence has surprised and irritated the Impecunious. She conveyed that she was there at the request of the Ra’keth.”
Well, that’s a relief, at least.
“So I’m good at teleportation?”
He shows an open palm.
“What happens now? Going to find a new way to kill me?”
He shakes his head and doors appear at the far end of the room. Shortly afterward, he gestures, murmuring a long table into existence, complete with multiple chairs. Men and women with vibrantly colored hair enter, some carrying platters. “It has been an eventful day. For both of us. I believe we have earned a repast.”
“Who are those people?”
“The council, of course.” He motions to a pair of grand-looking near-thrones at the head of the table. “Shall we?”