My colleague Chris Makowski wrote something for the Bloghop too. He’s still revising his novel (yes that one, but since he’s had a heart attack recently, it’s all taking longer than planned. It’s still worth the wait, trust me), so I’m hosting his story again.

Here’s his Bloghop story:

Petrichor and Roses

Chris Makowski

The dragons circled each other, ignoring the storm threatening to cut their flights short and cast them into the waves. Her scales shone with pearly iridescence, her movements swimming her winglessly through the clouds. He, her contrast in midnight black shot through with the blaze of lightning, beat his wings against the typhoon.

“I will not serve as did Shekhar,” she spat her brother’s name into the wind. “I am Ybuwyn, Queen of Pearls and Shells, and kiaric are nothing more than food to me.” A lash of frost punctuated her words, missing her opposite by mere feet.

“The mantle calls us, sister,” he looped through the wind, not speaking her full name. “Just as the taint seeks to end our kind! It is self-interest, not slavery!”

“Nothing you say will convince me, nothing!” Another attempt at ending the conversation proved just as inaccurate. “Were I ever to serve one – even one of the mantle which you so value – it would usher in a time when I would bow and scrape and serve their every whim!”

With her words, the night became as sunset, smote through with crimson and scarlet. The clouds themselves rumbled and cracked, struck with bloody gashes tearing the sky apart.

Before another word passed her lips, a spear of cherry red skewered from the largest, coating her with a carmine aura.

Just as quickly, where she had been, there remained nothing.

***

Her hands touched the ground, or what should be ground – black, cracked, cold to the touch – while she shook her head. The sounds of battle surrounded her, kiaric striking each other with fist or weapons chosen from the thin street she lay on, the walls on both sides littered with trash and bits and pieces of wood and metal. Two had been hemmed in by many, yet they gave good measure of themselves.

A metal box, green and filthy and filled with midden, protected her from immediate discovery.

That will change now! She staggered to her feet…

Her two feet. Bare and chilled by the cold, a thin cloth covering two legs and torso.

Her bare hands – Kiaric hands? Legs? Her scales transformed to long, white hair, pale skin – “Who dares!”

Her roar caught the attention of the nearest, a male, a long piece of wood in his hands, he turned to look…

His eyes? Only darkness.

“Taint-born!” A deep breath in and –

Nothing. Whatever had called her here had robbed her of her polar breath.

In the moment she reasoned this, it charged her, weapon held above to smash and kill. Yet she had not lived the ages to be taken easily; one hand caught the wood as it swung for her head, the other slashed its face. Blood drooled from the wound – blood foaming with the taint, hissing as it splattered the ground.

It grinned, teeth growing shark-pointed and sharp.

“Die!” The weapon became hers, violently battering her foe.

As it collapsed to the ground, as one many tainted turned away from their prey, reorienting on her.

“Come to me, empty ones,” the wooden plank held high, stained with red. “Come to me!”

They came.

They fell – her body now far less than it had been, yet faster, her muscles reacting quickly, efficiently, the staff crushing at her whim. The other two real kiaric used the distraction to redouble their efforts, putting down tainted ones one after another, the smaller kiaric striking with practiced efficiency to break bone and cripple joint.

The other attacked with brutal force, using superior size and pure rage to her advantage.

Even engaged, they covered each other’s backs, preventing the tainted from dividing them. The tiny one gave a glance and nodded.

As three, they fought, a tight knot against an undisciplined mob.

***

Casting the splintered board aside, her fingers curled into a fist to put down the last, relishing the feeling of its jaw shattering before it crumpled.

All three of them wore bruises, bled from numerous cuts, but none had fallen. The smallest wiped her mouth clear and spat in the other direction before sizing her up. “Thanks. For the help.”

“Yes.” The pain in her teeth would pass as it always had, the buoyant thrill of victory filling her veins. The larger watched warily, but this day she would allow them their freedom. “I—“ she took a deep breath.

No!

Cautiously, a half step closer before she inhaled again, this time the reality far more distinct.

The kiaric wore the mantle – blood and fire and earth, petrichor and roses, it’s magic enfolding her.

Why had she not …?

It had continued to speak, “… have to come down to the station and give a statement, though considering…”

“No!” her body sought escape, leaping bodies to reach the road beyond and then to run free before the mantle could be used against her.

“Hey! Stop! I’m not going to arrest you!” The words echoed and faded behind her, the kiaric’s deciding against pursuit.

***

A single light burned above the door – “Jake’s Bar and Grill”, words on a huge glass window covered by a yellow-brown curtain from the inside. Cold, she wasn’t used to feeling cold, or this fleshy covering, or –

One push and the inside warmth enveloped her. A few patrons sat at tables, a few played a game with sticks and balls, an old kiaric stood watching her while polishing a glass.

Words started, then stopped. Demands would not be met and – her pockets were empty.

The old one looked her up and down. “You look like you could use a mug of chocolate.”

“That’s alright, I…” her body almost walked back into the cold, but a heavenly odor held her in place. He placed the mug on the bar.

“On the house.”

“Th… thank you.” The unfamiliar phrase seemed enough. The brew – sweet, dark, and delicious – filled her limbs with heat and her belly with comfort.

“Room upstairs.” He shined another glass. “You’ll need sleep.”

Before she could answer, he whispered one more word. “Ybuwyn.”

Visit the others:
Bookmarked by Magic by Juneta Key
Engraved by Barbara Lund
The Saga Of Pyscho Shannon by Vanessa Wells
Contract by Angelica Medlin
Pixels and Bytes by Katharina Gerlach