CHAPTER SIXTEEN: HEART
THE SUN WAS low over the mountains to the west as the villagers marched through the green valley. Zeeky felt as if she couldn’t take another step. She wished Jandra would carry her but her mysterious friend looked as tired as she was. She certainly couldn’t ask Hey You. The man who had been so friendly to her in the barn now kept everyone at a distance with his stern countenance and silence.
Zeeky’s stomach growled. The dragons fed them only one meal in the mornings and water at night. She’d eaten better during the days she’d been on her own as a runaway. Of course, she hadn’t really been on her own then. She’d had Poocher to care for and his needfulness had kept her going. She was far more alone and scared now, surrounded by a crowd of strangers, than she had been when wandering across the countryside.
How nice it must be to be Kamon. The aged prophet wasn’t suffering at all on this journey. The village men carried him when he grew tired, and everyone gave him food until he’d had his fill. The villagers adored him but wouldn’t even look at her. She grew dizzy with anger thinking about it.
Or perhaps she was dizzy with thirst or exhaustion. Whatever the cause the world was definitely spinning, the path tilting sideways around her, until she fell face forward into the dust. She tried to stand up but didn’t have the strength. All she could do was lie there as the villagers stepped over and around her. She felt as if she should be angry with them but all she felt was shame at her weakness.
A bony, rough hand slid under her shoulders, turning her over. Hey You knelt over her, placing his strong, wiry arms under her knees and behind her back. Without a word he lifted her, placing her head on his shoulders
From her new vantage point, Zeeky looked back down the trail at the line of humans. Along the line, dragons herded humans, making sure none strayed. Following behind the humans were the farm animals the dragons had also gathered. It was difficult to tell in the diminishing light, but she squinted, and sure enough, she could see him. There among the predominantly pink pigs, Poocher’s black and white hide stood out.
Zeeky knew then that she would live through this. She had to. She didn’t know when, and she didn’t know how, but she would escape and save Poocher, and go someplace far away where she would never have to see another dragon again.
AFTER VENDEVOREX FLED, Albekizan gave Blasphet his chambers. The star-shaped room in the high tower suited Blasphet’s needs. Blasphet was one of the few dragons in the kingdom who understood the contents of the beakers and vials that lined the shelves along the room. What lesser creatures might think of as magic, Blasphet recognized as natural substances. There was nothing mystical about an acid that ate away iron, nothing strange about liquids that burned. Blasphet had yet to learn the secret, but he was convinced the wizard’s most amazing feat, his ability to turn invisible, was based in some as yet to be understood physical principle rather than supernatural forces.
Over the weeks, Blasphet had made many modifications to the star chamber and the rooms beneath it. To start, the main chamber was too cluttered and crowded for a sun-dragon to move comfortably in. He had most of the treasures and oddities in the room packed and carted to the chambers below to await further study. He kept the large, central oak table. With the addition of manacles, the table was perfect. A series of lanterns and mirrors lit the oak surface to high-noon brightness, even in the chill, dark hours of the night.
“You will probably want to scream,” Blasphet said to the naked young man shackled to the wooden slab. “I hope you won’t. Think about how enobling it would be to die with dignity. Instead of howling and begging for mercy you will not receive, resolve to let your death serve the quest for knowledge. Tell me if you have an increased sensation of warmth, or perhaps of cold. If anything, anything at all, makes you feel even the slightest bit stronger, tell me at once. Do you understand?”
The human didn’t speak but his angry, defiant eyes were a comfort to Blasphet. Perhaps this one had the will to survive the vivisection long enough to be of some use.
Blasphet reached to the onyx tray at the edge of the table and retrieved his scalpel, its razor edge glowing in the focused light. Blasphet made three cuts across the man’s chest with practiced precision, one down the center, then one each across the top and bottom of the first cut. The man arced his back from the agony and ground his teeth, but did not cry out as Blasphet took the two flaps of skin and peeled them back, exposing the man’s rib cage. The salty scent of flesh and blood invigorated Blasphet, as did the realization that his victim was still holding on to some last faint glimmer of hope that he might survive.
He’d picked this subject well. It hadn’t just been the firm musculature and overall good health the human had displayed; he’d also recognized courage within the man’s eyes, a spirit of defiance. He congratulated himself on his perception. His foolish brother could never have recognized the value of this specimen. Albekizan thought all humans looked alike.
Setting the scalpel aside, Blasphet sank his sharp, strong claws into the tissue just beneath the man’s sternum. With a grunt he tore open the man’s rib cage, exposing the organs within. The man opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. His eyes closed and his head fell suddenly limp. Blasphet knew the man hadn’t fully lost consciousness. The stimulant draught he had forced the man to swallow earlier would prevent sleep until the very end.
At that moment there was a knock on the door of the chamber. Blasphet grimaced, hesitant to leave his work but certain he knew who was visiting. He’d been expecting him for some time. Licking the red blood from his ebony talons, Blasphet went to give his visitor admittance.
“Have patience, Metron,” he called out. “I’m coming.”
He pulled the door open, revealing the High Biologian.
“How did you know it was me?” Metron asked.
“No one else dares visit. Moreover, I knew you would accept my offer. You and I value knowledge-we need not let petty morality interfere with that quest. We are kindred souls.”
Metron shook his head. “We are nothing alike. You are a wicked, hateful thing that thrives on death. You use the gloss of intellectual pursuit to mask your vileness.”
“Yet still you’ve come to help me, yes?”
Metron hesitated, then looked to the floor as he whispered, “Yes.” The aged dragon then raised his head. “But unlike you, I am driven by a hatred of death. I see dark times coming upon the kingdom, and an alliance with you may be my only hope of preventing greater bloodshed.”
“Of course,” Blasphet said. Then he gave a little bow, and said, “Where are my manners? Keeping you in the doorway… Please come in, my honored guest. We have much to discuss.”
The High Biologian followed him through the lab, his feathery scales trembling at the sight of the man shackled to the table, the exposed heart still beating.
“This disturbs you,” Blasphet said. “It shouldn’t. Think of this body as a book. There is much to be learned by studying its pages.”
“What can you possibly hope to learn from this?” Metron said, sounding choked.
“I am presently studying hearts,” Blasphet said, motioning toward the feeble pulses of the purple blob that lay between the gray lungs. “There’s no question that a beating heart is essential to the life of a man. Yet their eyes have been known to follow me for several seconds, even after I’ve removed the heart entirely. Life endures, however briefly. Often when I remove a heart it will beat in my hands for some time. Curious, yes? I have even devoured hearts still beating; the muscle expands and contracts as it rolls on my tongue. These are pieces of the puzzle, I’m certain.”
Metron looked as if he were about to faint.
“Perhaps you would benefit from some fresh air,” Blasphet said.
Blasphet opened the door that led to the sitting room. A light breeze stirred the curtains that led to the balcony, letting pale moonlight spill across the polished wooden floor. Strolling to the curtains, Blasphet pulled them aside and stepped onto the balcony overlooking the huge city under construction.
The Free City had a gem-like symmetry, a diamond encased by high wooden walls, with wide avenues dividing the structures within into perfect squares. Even though the sun had set long ago, the sound of hammers and saws rose from the city, which glowed with the light of a thousand lanterns.
“Magnificent, is it not?” Blasphet asked as Metron joined him on the balcony. “Say what you will about my brother, he does have a talent for motivating his workers. Construction is well ahead of schedule.”
Metron nodded. “It is impressive. I admit, it does look more like a dwelling than an abattoir. I don’t understand why you’ve gone to such an elaborate ruse, promising humans a life of ease when the plan is to slaughter
