Heart of a Dragon (39 page)

An impossibly loud scream rose above and behind him.
 
Even over the whistle of wind through his ears he heard the crashing boom as enormous wings flapped.
 
The dragon screamed, but this time it was different.
 
The sound echoed with sadness.
 
There was pain in its voice, and loss.
 
Salvatore's heart nearly stopped from a sudden, empathic sensation of immense sorrow.

Salvatore gripped the brush more tightly.
 
The tower was very close.
 
Red light glowed from windows on all sides of a circular parapet.
 
The roof was smooth stone.
 
As he grew nearer to it, he saw what appeared to be a network of fine, dark cracks rippling across the surface.
 
As he neared, they resolved into a pattern of scales.
 
He couldn't tell if they were painted, or if the tower had actually been carefully assembled from thousands of separate pieces of stone.

He closed his eyes.
 
The image in his mind was nearly complete.
 
He'd filled in the red glow at the windows and now he willed the brush to shift colors.
 
He painted the spider-web-thin cracks.
 
Though he could no longer see the network of stone scales, he brought them to life in his mind.

There was a sickening shift that nearly cost his equilibrium.
 
One moment he was falling, and the next he stood on solid ground.
 
His first instinct was to open his eyes, but he fought it.
 
He had a final line to draw.
 
He bit his lip, steadied his wobbly knees, and drew the brush through the air.

Then he opened his eyes.

The chamber was circular.
 
The walls were convex glass lenses.
 
In the center of the room, too bright to look at directly, sat the largest ruby Salvatore had ever seen.
 
Light shone up from beneath it, caught the carved facets of the jewel, and shot out in all directions.
 
The very air was crimson, like walking through a froth of blood.

He was not alone.
 
Facing one of the windows, seated in a very large, ornate throne, a tall man with long, wavy hair stared out across the city.
 
He sat very still, arms resting on the chair and hands gripping the wood frame tightly.

Salvatore stood before a wrought-iron easel.
 
The white cloth was stretched across it. The painting – the image of the city from above – was complete.
 
Salvatore let his hand fall to his side.

"Is it finished, Sal?" the man asked.

Salvatore's heart nearly stopped.
 
He knew the voice.
 
Now, looking more closely, he saw that he knew the man, as well.
 
It was Snake, and, at the same time, it was not.
 
There were no tattoos on the muscled arms.
 
There were flecks of gray in the dark hair.
 
The man wore a dark red tunic and some sort of robes.

"Senor Snake?"

The man rose slowly and turned.

"No, Salvatore, I am not Snake.
 
Not exactly.
 
You know me, though.
 
You know my brothers.
 
We are connected."

Salvatore dropped to one knee.
 
There was something in the man's expression, something in the tone of his voice that demanded respect.
 
He felt as if he were in the presence of royalty, and he was frightened, but at the same time he was compelled to step forward.

"How…" he asked.

"It is not what you think," the man said.
 
"We have met, you and I, but not like this.
 
I have not spoken with one from your world in … centuries.
 
I never thought to see the skies of that place again, though I have felt the pull.
 
You opened a portal."

"I am an artist," Salvatore said.
 
"The dragons … they haunted my dreams.
 
I had to paint."

"I know," the man said.
 
"I know."

He stepped closer, passed Salvatore, and stood behind the easel.
 
The man stared long and hard at the painting.
 
He reached out as if he would brush his fingers across the surface, but he did not.
 
Instead he let his fingers flutter just above the paint.
 
Salvatore thought, just for a second, that he saw the hint of a tear forming at the corner of the man's eyes.
 
Then the moment passed.

"You must go," he said.
 
"You are not safe here."

"You … and Senor Snake…"

"Yes," the man said.
 
"We were bound - connected.
 
You and I are bound, as well, and that is the only thing holding the portal closed.
 
My brothers and I…change.
 
Generations pass in your world, and sometimes we bond with those on other planes.
 
It isn't common…and this generation?
 
I believe it is because of you.
 
Once your dreams connected your Dragons with my own, the bonds formed too rapidly to count."

"You are…a dragon?" Salvatore asked.

"I am a dragon, and many other things, Sal.
 
What happened tonight – that hurt me deeply.
 
It's going to take a lot of time to heal.
 
There is at least one of my brothers in the same state – in the blue tower."

"Enrique," Salvatore said softly.

"Yes, but it is different for him.
 
In your world, his spark is gone.
 
In ours, he transferred.
 
They are twins here, now. It has caused an imbalance, but I believe that it will pass.
 
The man you knew as Snake was too far gone to be brought through, but I took the dark one."

"Anya Cabrera?"

"Yes, that is the name she went by on your plane. Here she has bonded, as well, though not with one of us. There are lower things, in the seas, and in the ground.
 
I am certain I have not seen the last of her, but she poses little threat in her current state.
 
In the same manner that drawing us through to your plane increases the energy and power of those we are bonded with, drawing your kind through to us weakens what is here.
 
Having your Anya Cabrera on my plane for the span of her days is a blessing, of sorts."

"But," Salvatore frowned.
 
"I am here.
 
I have not bonded with a dragon."

"You are different.
 
Surely you see?
 
You are bonded with this place.
 
There will always be a connection.
 
It makes you dangerous to us.
 
It makes you dangerous in your own world, as well."

Salvatore took a step back, and the man let loose a thunderous laugh.

"I will not harm you.
 
I only want you to understand – the gift you have is rare and wonderful.
 
Most men – and dragons – never come to understand a single world.
 
You have seen two, and your mind – your art – keeps them alive for you.
 
In my lifetime, there has never been another
Worldwalker
, though I've heard stories."

"That is what I am?" Salvatore asked softly.
 
"A
Worldwalker
?"

"It is your gift.
 
This may not be the only world you will visit.
 
For now, you must go.
 
And you must do something for me."

Salvatore nodded.

The man stepped over to the easel and glanced down at the painting.

"It is a remarkable likeness...exactly as I see it from above.
 
As you have seen it.
 
You must take this back with you, and you must guard it well.
 
Without this, you cannot return – in the wrong hands, another might open the portal.
 
If it is open for too long, it will break.
 
As long as the history of my people stretches, I cannot tell you what might happen if you were to allow this to happen."

"Can't you keep it here?" Salvatore asked.
 
"Safe?"

The man shook his head. "It is of your world.
 
It belongs with you…or your kind.
 
Find a safe place for it.
 
It would be best if its existence were forgotten."

"Can it just be destroyed," Salvatore asked, though he believed he already knew the answer.

"No, it is bonded to this place.
 
I am not certain exactly what might happen if you destroyed it, but it is a likeness of my city…"

The man's voice trailed off for a moment, then he turned to Salvatore with some urgency.

"Roll it up carefully.
 
You must go."

Salvatore carefully rolled the painting and tucked it into his pocket.
 
Somehow, the paint had dried completely in the short time he'd stood in the dragon tower.

"I do not know how to go back," he said.

The man winked at him.
 
Before Salvatore could move to protect himself, he was lifted, carried.
 
One of the windows was not a lens.
 
It stood open to the night, and without another word, the man / dragon tossed Salvatore over the edge.
 
He fell away into the blackness below with a high-pitched, keening wail.
 
Sometime before he struck the ground, his mind went blank.
 
The last thing he saw, winking and strobing in the back of his mind, was the red tower.

When Salvatore slumped over the table, Jake slid his hands under him just in time to protect the painting. He lifted the boy as easily as if he'd been an infant, cradled him in his arms, and carried him from the room.
 
Martinez stepped forward and stared down at the tabletop.

"What is it?" Jake asked, returning to stand by his side.

"I'm not sure," Martinez replied.

Jake
 
reached out and ran his finger along the edge of the cloth.
 
He stayed clear of the paint, and the design, though when the tip of his finger neared the green circle, he hesitated, and his expression grew vague.
 
The longer he stared at it, the more certain he became that there was something obvious in the design, something ready to leap to life.
 
The perspective was strange – alien even – but he thought if he stared a little longer, it would all come into focus.

The room wavered slightly as he stared, and he stepped back.
 
The air in the room, which had grown heavy with potential, cleared.
 
Martinez shook his head and stepped back as well.

"It has power," he said.
 
"Like the dragons."

"We can't just leave it here," Jake said.
 
"I don't know what it can do, but if the dragons he painted are any indication..."

Martinez nodded.

"Leave it tonight.
 
I will care for it, and when Salvatore awakens, I will talk to him about what he knows, and what he has seen.
 
When I have learned what I can, I will take him to see Donovan.
 
We will take the painting, as well.
 
If it is safe anywhere, it is safe with Mr. DeChance.
 
He has the finest and most comprehensive collection of magical books and documents in the world.
 
He will protect it."

Jake nodded.

"I guess we owe Sal that," he said.
 
"I don't know what would have happened back in that park without him – or the dragons.
 
I do know that what he did felt at least as dangerous as
Los Escorpiones
, demons or not.
 
It will have to be controlled."

"I think it is time," Martinez said, "that I take on an apprentice.
 
I am an old man, and I have a lot to pass on."

"I hope that we'll see a lot of you," Jake said. His voice nearly broke, but he fought back the emotion.
 
"A lot has happened.
 
I don't know if you heard, or noticed, but I've ended up in charge here.
 
It's a mess."

"You're a good man, Jake," Martinez said.
 
"Snake would have chosen you himself, given the chance.
 
You know that."

"Doesn't make it any easier.
 
And Sally?
 
I don't know much about apprentices, but your place is pretty small.
 
Helen and I…we'd love to have him stay with us…"

"I believe that the boy would love that more than almost anything in this world," Martinez said.
 
"I also believe that, of all of us, he is the only one to see into another.
 
It's a big responsibility.
 
I won't make any more of the paint he used…it's too dangerous…but his gift is what it is.
 
We will have to watch him, you and I.
 
We will have to raise him to be the man he needs to be to wield such responsibility."