Dragonforge

Bitterwood rose from his kneeling position as Hex stood gaping at the empty space where Jandra had stood. Biiterwood charged across the room and grabbed the broken wooden torso of the goddess. He gripped the statue's shoulders with both hands and cried, 'What did you do to her? Bring her back!'

His voice trailed off as he realized that the thing in his hands was only a heavy lump of polished wood, utterly lifeless. Had he once more slipped into the dreamland between life and death? Was he sleeping, to have imagined this statue had been alive only seconds before?

'Jandra!' Hex bellowed, the force of his lungs causing the leaves of the surrounding vegetation to tremble. 'Where are you?'

'This was real?' Bitterwood asked Hex.

'I saw it,' Hex said.

Bitterwood raced toward the steps of the temple. Adam was still outside, sitting astride Trisky. 'What happened to Jandra?' Bitterwood shouted. 'Where did she go?'

Trisky skittered backward at the sound of Bitterwood's voice. Adam looked taken aback. 'What do you mean? I know less of what's happened than you.'

'Your goddess attacked Jandra,' Hex said, his head jutting out parallel to Bitterwood's shoulder. 'She was simply standing there when the statue attacked without provocation.'

'The goddess knows our hearts,' said Adam. 'Perhaps Jandra was corrupted beyond redemption.'

'Jandra was a good-hearted girl,' Bitterwood said, stepping toward Adam, clenching his fists. 'She cannot possibly be as corrupted by this world as I've been. Make your goddess bring her back.'

'Father, choose your words carefully,' Adam said. 'The notion that the goddess can be made to do anything other than her own divine will is blasphemous.'

'I've committed sins much worse than blasphemy,' said Bitterwood.

'The goddess is the embodiment of wisdom,' Adam said. 'If she acted in a hostile fashion, you must have faith that your companion was deserving of this judgment.'

Bitterwood wanted to leap over the head of the long-wyrm and tear Adam from his saddle. Perhaps if he beat him to a pulp, Adam would agree to pray for Jandra's return. Bitterwood was chilled to discover his violent rage rising against his own blood. The memory of his brother Jomath dying at the foot of a temple much like this one rose in his mind. His hatred had ended his brother's life. Would the darkness within him demand a similar fate for his own son?

Bitterwood let out a long, slow breath. It wasn't his son who needed to be beaten until he prayed. He slowly sank to his knees. He bowed his head, aware of Hex only inches away, fully cognizant of his vulnerability if the great beast chose this moment to take his revenge. In an act of surrender, he closed his eyes and whispered, softly, 'Goddess, please. Show mercy upon Jandra, just as she showed me mercy. Return her to us.'

Above him came the sound of giant wings flapping. It wasn't Hex-even with his eyes closed, Bitterwood could sense the sun-dragon looming over him.

Bitterwood opened his eyes and looked up.

A bare-chested angel in black pants dropped from the sky toward him, his descent slowed by gentle flaps of gleaming golden wings. The angel carried something in his arms: a human form, judging from the legs jutting out-a girl? Jandra? No, the legs were too small and spindly.

As the angel landed on the steps of the temple, Bitterwood at last caught a flash of blonde hair as the girl lifted her head from angel's breast.

'Zeeky!' Bitterwood cried, his heart swelling to discover she was alive. He experienced a strange and unfamiliar sensation. Could this be joy he felt, after so many years of knowing nothing but hatred and regret?

'Mr. Bitterwood!' Zeeky shouted as she dropped from the angel's arms and ran toward him. 'You're okay!'

Bitterwood caught the girl as she sprang up to hug him. Her arms around his neck stirred memories of his own daughters, now dead. Yet somehow the memories were altered by the presence of Zeeky, becoming bittersweet rather than simply bitter.

'Where's your pig?' Bitterwood whispered.

'Poocher's okay,' Zeeky said. 'We gave him a bath.'

Hex cleared his throat. 'I don't believe we've been introduced.'

Bitterwood lowered Zeeky to the ground.

'This is Zeeky,' he said. 'She's my… friend.' The word felt foreign to his tongue. It had been many years since he'd used it. 'Zeeky, the dragon is Hex. The man on the long-wyrm is-'

'Adam!' Zeeky said, waving. 'You made it back!' She ran down the steps and hugged the snout of the long- wyrm. 'Good to see you, Trisky!'

Bitterwood looked up from Zeeky to once more study the angel. The creature had long white hair and stood as tall as the statue that had just attacked Jandra. The angel's wings folded in an elaborate origami, the feathers tinkling musically as they furled up behind his broad shoulders until they vanished. The angel took the long piece of black cloth draped over his shoulders and shook it, revealing it to be a coat. He pulled the coat on and from somewhere within its folds a hat appeared in the angel's hands. It was broad-brimmed and black-exactly like the hat Hezekiah used to wear. Indeed, Hezekiah and the angel were almost identical in stature and garb, with only hair coloring and tones of skin to differentiate them. Bitterwood tensed. The only thing he despised more than dragons was the prophet Hezekiah. Of what relation was this angel to him?

The angel smiled once he was done adjusting his garments.

'As long as introductions are being made,' he said, 'call me Gabriel.'

After a brief second of nothingness, Jandra was pulled into blinding light. She couldn't see a thing as two strong hands grabbed her shoulders and slammed her up against a wall. Her helmet striking the surface caused her head to ring like a bell.

'I run the show down here,' a throaty female voice hissed, inches from her face. 'If you were told I'd let some Atlantean skank waltz in here and piss all over my territory, you've been sadly misinformed. Who sent you? Cass? It was Cass, wasn't it?'

'I don't know who Cass is,' Jandra protested, her eyes struggling to adjust to the light. The woman before her was little more than a dark outline, taller than Jandra by several inches, and judging from her grip, much stronger.

The woman slapped her hard. Jandra sucked her breath as the pain followed an instant later.

'Don't lie to me! My sister has ruined one plan after another and I'm sick of it. I'm going to use you to send a message. There won't be enough of your DNA left for her to clone your turds when I'd done with you!'

Jandra rubbed her cheek and cringed as she said, 'I probably can't stop you from killing me but would you please stop cursing while you do so?'

The woman chuckled and released her shoulders. 'Really? That's your big problem with me? My potty mouth?'

'No,' said Jandra, straightening up. 'My big problem is you pretending to be a goddess and letting my friend humiliate himself. Bitterwood may not be a saint, but I don't want to see him grovel in front of anyone.'

As she blinked her eyes, Jandra slowly began to see the woman more clearly. She was tall, with broad shoulders and sharply chiseled facial features. With her big hips and ample breasts, she was obviously the model for the goddess statue. Thankfully, she was clothed, wearing a loose white cotton blouse tucked into tightly-fitting blue pants. She was barefoot and her toenails were painted green, matching her hair, which had a dark, grassy hue. The woman was staring at her intently. Her eyes softened from anger into thoughtfulness. She chuckled again, and backed away.

The green-haired woman moved to a metal table that sat in the middle of the cluttered space. The room they were in was long and relatively skinny, filled with tables and shelves. There were no visible doors or windows. The most eye-catching items in the room were the multitudes of frames lining the walls, filled with strange paintings that seemed made of light and motion, showing creatures and landscapes of countless variety.

The surface of the metal table was covered with hundreds of sketches, most in gray pencil, a few inked and colored with washes of faint pigments. The woman picked up a white cylinder of paper and put it between her lips. She raised a finger, its nail also painted green, but chipped from heavy usage. She touched the finger to the paper cylinder and a small puff of smoke rose from the point of contact. The woman took a long slow drag, bringing the embers at the end of the cylinder to a bright cherry red. She then opened her mouth and released a long stream of smoke. The acrid fumes stung Jandra's eyes.