Cold Steel

A blaze of white fire splintered the darkness, rolling toward us across a flat, grassy landscape.



“Rory! Come here! Bee, get hold of him. Legate, grab Beatrice’s hand.”



Shuddering with fear, Rory pushed up against Bee as I sheathed my sword and flung one arm around her and with the other grabbed a hank of Rory’s pelt. My hip was pressed into Rory’s heaving side.



“What are you doing?” demanded Amadou Barry.



“Legate, if you don’t grab hold of her now, you will be swept away—”



“Blessed Tanit!” exclaimed Bee.



The tide of the dream, like daylight, illuminated a crowd of animals creeping toward us out of the night. The beasts seemed oblivious to the tide because they were so intent on murdering Bee.



“Brave Jupiter! I shall fight them off!” Amadou advanced like a hero, sword raised to threaten the beasts.



The tide swept down, ripping through them, tearing a gash through the world.



“Amadou!” cried Bee, dropping the hammer. “Grab hold of my hand!”



The light cut through me. The earth fell away as the world tipped to spill me into an abyss through which I would fall for eternity. But Bee was my rock. She was the pillar that no earthquake or storm could dislodge. She was warded ground.



Amadou Barry did not reach for her. The tide struck him full on. One moment I saw his body clearly, streaked with currents of shining smoke. Then he tumbled into an unseen gash in the fabric of the world. The tide of the dream streamed on, leaving us trembling in its wake as the earth shuddered back into solidity under our feet.



Rory nudged me, and I let go of Bee and knelt to bury my face in his thick black pelt. After I caught my breath, I raised my eyes.



Bee did not move. In one hand she still held the head of Queen Anacaona. Her other arm was extended, but her hand was empty.



She swayed as if caught in a gust of wind, then crumpled to her knees and began weeping.



The tide had taken him.



I was so furious at Amadou Barry for being an idiot who wouldn’t listen that I simply could not speak one word.



Those who are caught in the tide of a dragon’s dream never come back.



The head of Queen Anacaona stared across a stony plain, now empty of life. The tide had swept away the animals who stalked us. Even the wind had died, leaving flat red earth and a cold gray sky. Behind us the impenetrable wall now appeared as a windowless but modest tower no larger than a watchtower on a Roman wall. The tower was the only object visible in this parched desert. There were not even hills marking the horizon.



“My ancestors built a fence around our kingdom so the tides of the Great Smoke would not trouble our ancestors,” the cacica remarked, as if she were accustomed to seeing people vanish in such an abrupt and shocking manner. “All of Soraya, our spirit land, became warded ground. Therefore, our wise and beloved grandparents remain close beside us, to advise us in times of need and to celebrate with us at the festivals.”



“Why didn’t he hold on to me?” The way Bee’s voice cracked broke my heart, or it would have, had I a heart.



“Because he couldn’t bring himself to trust us,” I said.



Tears streaked her face. “Don’t you care?”



“I don’t have time to care! Not if I want to save your life and rescue Vai.” Feeling helpless made me want to kick something. I kept thinking Amadou Barry was about to step into view from around the tower, but we were alone. “Why did the chain bring me here only to abandon us in this desert?”



“I believe this must be a puzzle,” said the cacica. “A piece that fits inside another piece. Just as the behiques of the Taino kingdom built fences to protect our lands, might not the lords of these spirit lands have built fences to close off their places of power? In the palace at Sharagua there are walls inside walls where only some have the privilege and power to enter, and others are forbidden. Could this tower be a gate onto such an inner and more sacred realm?”



“If it is, I don’t know how to cut a way through! Bee! That’s enough! We can cry later!”



After taking in a breath, she wiped her eyes. Her voice was a slobbery mess, but her words were clear. “The hammer wasn’t swept away.”



On shaking legs she rose holding the cacica’s head in one hand and Vai’s hammer in the other. She would have looked comical if she hadn’t worn red, puffy eyes and a mask of tragedy.



“Does no one listen to the wisdom of the elders?” asked the cacica. “Are young people taught nothing in these days? Are they all as disrespectful as that unpleasant young man? It is blood the maku spirit lords crave, and blood that feeds them. Life pulses in our blood. They who are without life will drink of the salt of our blood so they can mask themselves in the shape of the living. Blood will cut a gate that they wish to remain closed.”