David Wilson - Heart of a Dragon

"Tonight," Snake said, staring out into the darkness at some point beyond his followers, "I fight Los Escorpiones. Alone, or with you — I fight." He swept his gaze over the gathering, catching the few that started guiltily at his words, boring through them mercilessly."They have come to the very borders of our streets and homes. They have killed our brothers — they have dishonored our colors. If we allow this to pass, we are nothing."

He turned to Salvatore, and Salvatore felt the grip on his arm tighten. A part of him wanted very much to run, but he stood his ground.

"Here stands Salvatore Domingo Sanchez," Snake said. "In his heart live dragons! There are those among you with whom he has shared their flame. He is what we should be. He is what we must become. I don't know when or where I lost the way, but he brought me back. He can bring us all back. Somehow he looked inside of us — of me — and found the Dragons. He found them, and he called them back."

Salvatore turned, ignoring those gathered, to stare at Snake. No one had ever said such things about him. No one had ever made him feel such honor.

"The old one," Snake gestured at Martinez, who stood still and silent, a knowing smile on his lips, "assures me that he knows what is to come. He has had a vision. He has seen the coming battle, and Los Escorpiones die tonight. They cease to exist. Who, among you, do you suppose will bring this about? The biggest? The strongest? No. It won't be me, and it won't be any of you, because we don't deserve it. We lost our way. We lost our power. It will be Sal who saves us; he bears our power. In his talent, and his art beats the heart of a Dragon!"

A wave of nervous energy rippled through the clearing. Salvatore picked up snippets of thought, though not clearly enough to tell which came from which man. He'd never been able to read minds, but somehow he knew that this was new…something different.

They were still scared, and now they thought Snake was crazy. They expected a fight, and they knew what they were up against — or thought that they did. This wasn't supposed to be a weird ritual like Anya Cabrera used against them — it was supposed to be a rally, and a battle. — the last act in a war. Nobody had quite the strength or the courage to voice their doubts. Snake was a dangerous man. If he was crazy now — well, then he would just be more dangerous. They waited for him to make sense, and for the call to leave, a call they all dreaded.

Snake reached up and whipped the flag open. He almost yanked the pole from Salvatore's hands, but Salvatore clung to the pole with all his strength and dug his heels into the soft earth. Snake's dragon floated into the air on its background of white. The sheet rippled and whipped in the wind with a snap like thunder.

Salvatore stared up at the creature. He remembered it — knew it so well he could have traced its outline in the dirt with a stick and brought it to life — but he didn't remember the painting. His stomach lurched, and now he clung to the flagpole for support. He saw the city, rising up to meet him. He felt the air whistle past his years and saw the glowing towers below. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came. He felt the dragon's claws clutch him tightly. The sensation of falling became one of soaring — gliding flat just clear of the turreted towers and massive stone walls.

And then he stood, hands clutching the flagpole so tightly his fingers felt as though they would snap from the strain. Snake gripped his shoulders and held him upright, and that other world faded into a wall of faces reflecting firelight. His first thought was that they would think that he was crazy. Surely they hadn't seen that city — hadn't seen what he had seen. After a moment, he relaxed in Snake's grip. There was no laughter. They all stared up and over his head, where the flag and the dragon waved in the wind. Not a man among them spoke.

"It's time," Snake cried. "We ride…we fight."

He turned and yanked the flagpole from the dirt and Salvatore's hands. Salvatore fell in behind, and they passed through the crowd, who parted like a dark, brooding ocean. Martinez stayed by the fire. This would not be his fight, but Salvatore had been swept up in the moment. Snake didn't hesitate as he passed through the clubhouse and back out the front. He strode to his bike and Salvatore hurried at his heels.

Snake swirled the flagpole briskly, wrapping the dragon tightly. He handed the pole to Salvatore, who held it without question. Snake pulled a bit of rawhide from his pocket and tied it around the flag, securing it to the pole. When he was finished, he turned to Salvatore.

"You'll ride with me, Sal," he said. "When we get where we're going, you'll carry the flag. Whatever happens, you stay with me. No matter what you see, no matter what happens, you keep that dragon flying. Understand?"

Salvatore nodded. Snake climbed onto his bike, and Salvatore slipped in behind him, leaning on the tall sissy bar. He clutched the flagpole like a lance, letting it rest on Snake's shoulder. He grabbed Snake's jacket with his free hand and held on for dear life as the big man kicked started the engine. All around them, the Dragons poured out of the clubhouse, mounted their bikes and started their engines. The roar of the powerful machines reminded Salvatore dimly of the far-off cries of those other dragons.

They pulled away from the curve and roared into the night. Martinez stood in the pool of light from the clubhouse doorway, watching as they disappeared into shadow.

Donovan and Amethyst returned to the park where Anya Cabrera's fires had burned only short hours before, but this time they traveled on foot. There was no way to know where the Escorpiones trapped in the portals might have gone, or if they'd gone anywhere at all. It seemed prudent to avoid that confrontation for the moment.

They stuck to the shadows, but there was no activity. Darkness had fallen, and though the street lights glimmered dimly, they weren't bright enough to provide more than small pools of illumination, surrounded by deep shadows.

The park was deserted. They stopped on the far side of the street and studied the scene of the ritual carefully. There were few trees in the park, and most of them were Palms. There was nowhere to hide. Nothing moved, and the only sign of the ritual that had taken place was a drift of smoke from the spot where the central bonfire had burned.

"They're gone," Donovan said. "But where?"

"That's not the only question," Amethyst added, stepping into the street and heading across toward the park. "I was the sacrifice for that ritual — but we don't know if they managed to complete it without me. We have to find them, but first we have to know what we're up against."

Donovan followed her, scanning the street a final time before stepping into the park. Whatever had happened here, it was over. Anya Cabrera and her minions had disappeared completely, taking Los Escorpiones with them. In fact, they'd taken everything with them, cleaning the area so thoroughly it was difficult to believe they'd been there at all.

Donovan moved to the remnant of the central fire. He grabbed a branch and dug around in the ashes. There were bits and pieces of wood and charcoal, but though he circled the entire pit, nothing else came to light.

"The ritual burned it out," Donovan said. "If there was anything in that fire that might have helped us, it's gone now."

Amethyst walked to the top of the circle, where the post had been driven into the ground. It was gone, and the hole where it had stood had been filled with soot and ashes. She leaned in and looked more closely.

"There's something here," she said.

Donovan stepped over and was about to poke the end of his stick into the hole, when she laid a hand on his arm and stopped him.