James Maxey - Greatshadow

Abyss is the primal dragon of the sea. His consciousness spreads through every wave and ripple in the world’s vast ocean. Due to his pact with the Wanderers, he’s one of the few dragons who still intervenes in human affairs. Most of primal dragons don’t even notice mankind, any more than an earthquake notices the cities it topples, or a tornado notices the villages it smashes to splinters. To witness a primal dragon personify itself, taking on at least an echo of its original form, was something few men would ever see in their lives.

With the last of the Wanderers swallowed, Abyss closed his mouth and spun, heading back toward the open ocean. The mound of water that had been heaped up by his arrival collapsed, sending a wave fifty feet high surging back into the emptied bay.

“Brace yourselves!” Menagerie shouted, before changing into an eagle and launching himself into the air. He could barely be heard as the roar of the water reached us, a thundering wall of sound that made the timbers of the Black Swan tremble. The tidal wave hit the far end of the docks, sending boards and pilings flying high into the air. The boats of slavers, pirates, and pleasure seekers splintered as they were crushed by the rushing water.

The wave hit the Black Swan. The barge was solidly built, but still the timbers cracked and snapped as the water lifted it, spinning it sideways, carrying it up over the docks and gangplanks, crushing everything in its path. Infidel clung to the railing of the crow’s nest; the mast groaned, but didn’t topple. The barge began to bob in the relatively smoother water behind the crest of the wave. The tsunami kept moving, reaching the normal boundaries of the shore, then beyond, carrying debris and corpses up over the marshes, into the forests.

Infidel looked down as the barge settled on the remains of docks and boats trapped beneath it. Relic was nowhere to be seen. No-Face had wrapped his ball and chain around the mast and was still on his feet, completely drenched. Reeker dangled in his hammy grasp, his normally well-groomed mane now tangled with a mass of brown seaweed. Aurora stood on the water next to the barge, seemingly walking on the waves, until the current calmed and revealed an ice floe beneath her.

The ogress shouted to the eagle circling overhead, “This is what she saw! This is why she went back!”

Infidel shouted down, “Would someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

Relic cleared his throat. Infidel spun around. He was standing right behind her. I never saw him climb the rigging, though, admittedly, my attention had been focused elsewhere. His rags were drenched; steam rose from them as if they’d been soaked in boiling wash-water rather than the tepid waters of the bay. He smelled vaguely of brimstone as he said, “On the day that the Black Swan was to be married, her groom was killed in a horseback accident. It was a senseless, pointless, random tragedy; the world is full of such moments. Unknown to her fiance, the Black Swan was a Weaver, a member of a secret sect of witches with the power to rend the fabric of reality and knit it back into something more to their liking. Yet, even Weavers lack the power to restore life to the dead. In her grief, the Black Swan sought out Avaris, Queen of Weavers, and asked her for a boon. She wished for the power to go back in time so that she might avoid these random tragedies.”

Infidel looked around at the devastated mishmash of broken ships and crushed docks that had once been Commonground. “She didn’t do a very good job of stopping this.”

“I didn’t say she could stop tragedies,” said Relic. “I said she could avoid them; the Black Swan isn’t here. She’s lived through this tidal wave, then traveled back in time to abandon the barge and relocate elsewhere before the destruction occurred.”

The eagle lighted gently onto the rail of the crow’s nest. Then, in a twinkling, Menagerie stood next to Relic.

“How do you know this?” he asked.

Relic shrugged. “Is it important? You know it’s the truth. You and Aurora have experienced the time shifts enough to recognize them and remember them. I know what’s happening due to… certain talents.”

Menagerie scowled. “Who are you again?”

“The only name I’ve ever been given is Relic.”

Infidel said, “You’ve also been called Lum-”

“Relic,” said Relic.

Menagerie looked down as Aurora formed a staircase of ice to walk back onto the deck of the barge. The water was swirling all around; the mast swayed as the barge bumped along the bottom.

“She was too old,” Aurora called out, looking around at the wreckage. “She’ll never survive going back.”

Infidel shook her head. “Has everyone but me lost their minds? You’re seriously expecting me to believe the Black Swan is some kind of time-traveler?”

“Yes, but only in one direction. She can jump backwards in her own timeline to pivotal moments. She moves forward in time at the same speed as the rest of us,” said Menagerie, apparently no longer seeing a reason to protect the secret. “Her curse is that, when she goes back in time, she doesn’t regain her youth. If she lived through an event at age forty that she could have changed by making a different decision at age twenty, she can go back to that event, but she’ll go back as a forty-year-old, not a twenty-year-old. Only twenty-nine years have passed since the Black Swan was born, but physically, she’s almost a hundred and twenty. The husband she loved so dearly rejected her, disgusted that she turned into an old crone while he was still a youth. The Black Swan only cares about wealth now; everything else she regards as impermanent.”

“A fat lot of good all her money will do her if she’s dead,” said Infidel.

Menagerie shrugged. “So far, her money has allowed her to purchase the potions needed to keep her alive. I’m in no position to disapprove of her priorities. I’ve made a sizable fortune from the Black Swan’s business acumen.”

“Really?” said Infidel. “The only thing you seem to own is that loincloth.”

“Even a Goon may have a family,” said Menagerie. “My loved ones are very comfortable.”

By now, the bay was slowly starting to return to a normal level, as the water flowed back from the forest. The air smelled horrible, like every outhouse in the world had been overturned at once. All over the place, men were climbing out the water, clinging to overturned boats and the few strips of dock that had somehow survived.

Aurora shouted up, “There are people trapped in all this rubble. I’m going to help who I can.”

Menagerie nodded. “A wise suggestion. We should all help out. We can… can…” His voice trailed off as his eyes were drawn toward the mouth of the bay. Seven large ships were sailing through the rocky gap. Their sails were a pale blue-white, catching the morning sun like silver. Flags fluttered from the pinnacles, showing a green dragon against a sky-blue field.

Infidel followed his gaze toward the ships.

“It’s King Brightmoon’s fleet,” she said.

“Some of it, at least,” said Menagerie. “Rather bold of them, just sailing in during broad daylight. Aren’t they worried that Greatshadow might notice?”

Suddenly, the sky darkened. Everyone looked up, back toward the peak of Tanakiki. A mile-high jet of solid black smoke mushroomed up into the air, swiftly turning day into night. Bright red sparks shot through the atmosphere as the rim of the caldera crumpled, sending a white-orange river of molten lava spilling toward the bay. Trees exploded into flame ahead of the lava as a shimmering wave of heat spread outward.

The smoke and cinders swirled until they took on the shape of a dragon, spreading mile-long wings of black smoke. Two smaller dragons shot out of the folds of the wings, flying toward the bay. Smaller, in this case, is a relative term. These were huge beasts, a hundred yards long tip to tail, with glowing red scales edged in black. Their wings were larger than the mainsails of the king’s ships. They had long tails that ended in tufts of flame. They looked as if they swam through the air, surfing the wind as they sailed down the slopes, aiming toward the king’s ships.