The Power of the Dragon

With a grunt, CW4 Baldwell heaved the last of his flight bags up into the aircraft's aft cabin, then turned to me. "Got that Weight and Balance sheet worked out, Sergeant?"

"Right here, sir . . . but with all that stuff you're always lugging around with you, you've probably screwed it all to hell, sir."

The pilot glanced up from the clipboard with a grin. "Wise-ass. . . .You sure you aren't comin'? Gonna get awful rough around these parts."

I shrugged, then smiled. "No sir, I'm staying. I have to keep an eye on the gear. Besides, I'm rather fond of storms."

Baldwell smiled back, then shrugged. "Well, suit yourself. Anything you want from up north?"

"Well, I could use about 500 pounds of steak if you come across it."

"So could we all. Food gets a little tirin' around here, don't it?" He paused. "It's good to see your spirits pickin' up, Sergeant; you were beginnin' to get us all a little worried. You gonna pull through now?"

I thought it over for a moment. "Yeah. . . .Yes sir, I think I will, now."

"That's good. Real good. Well--" He stuck out his hand. "Good luck. I'll come lookin' for you after this thing blows over."

We shook hands, and Baldwell pulled the stairwell door shut behind him. Fifteen minutes later the engines began to turn, and the big plane lumbered down the ramp and out onto the tiny island's lone runway. I watched as the aircraft hauled itself up into the sky, turned to the north, dwindled into the distance, and was gone.

"Are you prepared?"

I studied the eye-achingly complex pattern I'd laboriously worked into the site's hard-packed earth. "I think so. . . .Do you see anything I might have missed?"

Mary looked at my design for several moments, blinked, then turned away with an oath. "You have gone far beyond me in your studies, dragon; I do not even begin to understand this pattern of yours." She looked southward into the looming darkness there, then up at me. "And now I must ask you one last time. Hasai . . . Michael, do you know what you are doing?"

"Yes Mary, I do."

"Then we will begin." With that, she began to work her own pattern--simple compared to my own, but complexity wasn't needed for what she was doing. My own pattern was already giving off an actinic-blue blaze, and when I slid my talons into its web it quickly began to slide up the spectrum, soon taking on a blue-black glow, like Saint Elmo's Fire.

I heard my Name muttered several times as I began to draw straight up into the air, bringing the pattern up with me, and I watched as it unfolded into a three-dimensional construct and began to rotate. About us, the wind began to gust and swirl, strengthening, then leveling out as I bent several crucial lines. . . .

Once again the pattern shifted slightly, turned, then began to slowly rotate before me as I continued to add to it, my talons scribing lines of Saint Elmo's Fire upon the very air. The pattern spun faster, then blurred. Beside me, Mary's work was glowing a sullen red, and from it I felt something touch me.

Now--I braced, then plunged my talons directly into the pattern. Insanity. For a moment, I found myself looking down at myself even as I continued to peer up into the vortex. Then my own viewpoint was gone, vanishing as my awareness expanded to encompass the winds about us, then about the island, then. . . .

There are no references for what came next--no words, barely any thought. Only Being. I had no body, yet I found myself moving through the heavens, somehow, toward that beacon of raw power that tugged at me. Beckoned. . . .

. . . .And there it was. . . .

Ahhh. . . .How can such order, such beauty, rise from chaos, and yet still be chaos? It seemed to stretch forever, its vast dark bulk interlaced with a random, yet not-random scribble of lines as bright as the sun, woven by the power of rain and wind and wave, and whirling about a central core so thick with Power I could barely look upon it. . . .It was magnificent. It was terrifying. And It Knew me. It had no awareness, and yet It Knew me. Called to me. Pulled. . . .

I moved toward It. . . .

Touched It. . . .

. . . .And It was Myself.

It was glorious. The World turned about Me, imparting spin. Beneath Me, the sea howled its fury, its warm waters feeding Me ever more power. I swirled, feeling Myself growing, Focusing ever more tightly, feeling the clouds, the rain, the winds and the waves of My being lifting their thunderous voices into a single mighty Hosanna. . . .

Tug.

I lost Focus for a moment as My thoughts seemed to twist strangely, dwindling, trying to drop down into tiny, ridiculously straight little pathways. I sought to right Myself, to return to Focus. . . .

Tug.

Unwelcome memory came back with a rush. I looked, and saw, stretching from an insignificant patch of sand lost in the churning sea, a strangely twisted thread of sullen crimson reaching up to tangle within the innermost parts of My identity.

Mary. I felt portions of Myself reaching toward that tiny island to sweep away this annoyance, this pathetic scrap of land, leaving only raging seas to mark its grave. . . .

Tug.

. . . .No. I withheld My strength, then curled inwards to gaze upon that which I had become, a deep sadness once again overtaking Me as I remembered what I had come to do. I had to break It. I had to mortally wound this wondrous thing that I had become, then turn It away, spurning that which was a part of Myself. In order to preserve, I once again had to destroy.

Dear Lord; am I forever doomed to be naught but a Destroyer?

The cloud-wall that formed the boundary of My Eye was approaching geometric perfection now, its keening winds as impenetrable as steel, its diameter constricting as I spun ever faster. It caused Me something that approached physical pain to fracture that wall, a major portion of My strength spiraling outwards in the form of a squall line, its passage tearing at the very fabric of My being.

I staggered, weakening, My winds slowing. And now, at My behest, a small ridge of high-pressure began to form to My northeast. I felt that which was Me impact that building ridge, ride up upon it, then slowly slide off, deflecting slightly, oh so very slightly, to the north. . . .

That tug came again, stronger this time, striving to pull Me back. I ignored it for a moment to gaze once more upon Myself. If I somehow resisted the pull, stayed as I now was, I could careen onwards--a storm to be remembered above all storms, until I at last hit land or cold water. There I would weaken and disintegrate, finally dissolving into a painless oblivion.

And would I find you there, waiting for Me, O Daughter of Kulkulcan?

Like a midsummer's tempest were My tears as I finally allowed the pull to take Me. There was a sundering, and for the briefest of moments I gazed upon Myself. Then It was gone, and I found myself falling back toward that tiny island. . . .

. . . .To find myself laying on my side, rain pelting my face. I blinked, then closed my eyes for a moment, collecting my thoughts and trying to recall how to live within a physical shell. The burning in my chest I relieved by remembering how to breathe. With a grunt I slowly rolled over, then hissed with pain as a wave of pins-and-needles swept through my entire body. After a short eternity it finally passed, and I slowly wobbled to my feet.

"Did you turn it?"

I turned at that papery whisper, to see Mary sitting cross-legged before her own weather-beaten pattern. She stared at me with exhaustion-dulled eyes, dried blood from bitten lips crusting her mouth. I looked at her for a long moment, then finally replied. "Yes, I turned it."

She sighed and let her head droop. I stared at her pattern, then at my own nearly obliterated design. "Mary? How long--?"

Mary's reply was a nearly incomprehensible croak. "Three days, dragon. Three days you were with the storm."

Three days. I stared at the ancient witch with something approaching awe as she gripped her cane and began to slowly fight her way to her feet. Three days she had held here, fighting to Anchor me, with nothing to sustain her but her own iron will.

Finally, her eyes once again rose to meet mine, then we both turned to look at her still-glowing pattern, its crimson tether still tangled within me. With such a hold upon my very soul, I was hers to do with as she pleased. For all time. . . .

We stared at each other, wordlessly, for an interminable moment. Her eyes held mine for a moment more, then glazed and rolled back as she silently folded. I caught her in my talons and cradled her gently, my wings spreading to keep the weather off of her.

I lifted her to my snout as I settled on my haunches "Mary..?" Her eyes opened & one corner her thin mouth slowly curled up into a grim smile. She loosed her grip and her can fell to Earth where, like the magic she controlled, it shattered the pattern, the line fading into nothingness. "We are too much alike, dragon. Never again."

Her eyes closed as I cradled her and let out a long sigh as she finally accepted the sleep of the redeemed.