"I'm not naive," said Jandra. "I've killed dragons. I've killed humans. Nothing about my life is sheltered anymore."
Bitterwood silently pulled his shirt on, weighing her words as he laced the front closed. Jandra was forever corrupted by having been raised by a dragon. However, he knew he wouldn't be alive without her. She would also be helpful in finding Zeeky. Despite being a witch, she seemed to have a kind heart. Finally, he sighed. "What is it that you want of me?"
"Don't kill Hex. Or Shandrazel, should you meet him. We're at the dawn of an age when dragons and humans can finally live in peace. I don't want you destroying that with your blind hatred."
"My hatred is far from blind, girl," Bitterwood said. "It's clear-eyed hatred, seeing the world that is, not the world you wish it to be. Still, I will honor your request… for now."
Jandra looked relieved. She moved toward the edge of the cave and leapt onto a rock below. "Come on," she said, motioning for him to follow.
They were several hundred feet above the ruins of Big Lick. The mountain here was a series of rocky shelves and overhangs, some quite deep. Jandra navigated the narrow path that led between the ledges with the sureness of a mountain goat. Bitterwood sensed that the change in her since last they'd met was more than just a change of wardrobe. He strained to keep up with her. She definitely hadn't been this strong or fast when they'd first met. Then, she'd been little more than a child in a young woman's body. She'd been brave, yes, but also irrational and overly emotional. She seemed more in control now. When she'd told him not to kill Hex, she hadn't been pleading or bargaining. She'd simply been telling him the rules he would live by in her presence.
He wondered if she'd laid down the same sort of rules with Hex.
They walked up a wooden ramp toward the great gaping mouth of the mountain. Judging from the picks and shovels laying around, this was the entrance to a mine. Inside the shelter of the mine a fire burned, and beside this fire sat Killer and the boy. Killer looked healthier, though the ox-dog's hide was now as scarred as his own.
"Did you heal the dog before you healed me?" he asked.
"His wounds were mostly superficial," Jandra said. "After he was better, I had Hex bring him and the boy here. The first cave was too small for Hex, and I wanted us to have a little privacy after you woke."
It was getting dark outside, and the roof of the cave was so black with the soot of centuries it looked like a formless void.
"Where's Hex?" Jandra asked.
"I don't know," the boy said. "He smelled something strange. Said he'd be right back. He only left a minute ago."
"Where's Zeeky?" Bitterwood asked.
"We found her footprints," the boy said, pointing toward the rear of the shaft. "She's looking for our folks."
"You're related to her?" As he asked this, Bitterwood saw that the family resemblance was undeniable. The same cornsilk-blond hair, the same evening-blue eyes. The boy's face was a bit more angular, however, his nose sharper, his chin more prominent. Bitterwood guessed the boy to be about twelve. He had the same wiry limbs that Zeeky possessed, a body shaped by poverty and the physical demands of climbing over this harsh landscape.
"Ezekia's my sister," he said. "I'm Jeremiah."
"You're older than your sister," said Bitterwood. "Why did you let her go?"
"Ain't nobody can stop Zeeky when she sets her mind to do something."
Bitterwood nodded. He knew this from experience. "Jeremiah and Ezekia… these are names from the Bible."
"Yes sir," the boy said. "My great grandfather was converted by a prophet named Hezekiah. He came to these mountains as a missionary."
"I see," said Bitterwood. "People in this area are usually devotees of the goddess Ashera. I saw her temple in the town of Winding Rock."
"If you know the Bible enough to know our names, are you a follower of the Lord, mister?"
Bitterwood felt anger stir inside him at the question. He knew the boy meant no harm in asking; no doubt he was merely looking for common ground with a stranger. The boy couldn't know that the only thing Bitterwood hated more than dragons were the words of the so called prophet Hezekiah.
Apparently, the boy sensed Bitterwood's anger, because he turned his face toward the floor and grew quiet, as if he was afraid.
"I didn't know you were such an expert in religion," Jandra said to Bitterwood. "Of course, almost anyone would know more about religion than I do. Vendevorex didn't teach me anything about spirituality."
"If you stay in these mountains long," the boy said, "you'll learn more than you want to know about spirits. These mountains are full of devils."
"Some people think these mountains are the home of the goddess," said Bitterwood, not so much to argue with the boy as to explain things to Jandra. "Jeremiah's people think the place is full of devils, but in the village where I was born it would have been unthinkable to mine these mountains-this was sacred ground. The goddess both lived in the earth, and was of the earth. Digging a hole this deep into her would have been like digging into her heart."
"Hmm," said Jandra. "When I get back to the library I'll have to read up on theology."
"Don't you carry the books inside your head?" asked a deep, strong voice from the growing darkness outside the cave. Bitterwood spun around, his body instinctively steeling itself for combat.
Jandra looked toward the shadows outside, and said, "I can only recall books I've actually seen. This wasn't something I studied."
The shadows at the mouth of the cave took on shape and substance as the ruby hide of a sun-dragon slinked forward. Bitterwood surveyed the room for a weapon. He'd never killed a sun-dragon barehanded. The pickaxes that lay at the entrance could do the deed.
However, the way this dragon moved gave Bitterwood a reason to relax. This dragon was no threat; he was limping, and there was a hint of freshly spilled reptilian blood in the air. Indeed, more than a hint-Hex must be bleeding freely to unleash such an odor.
As Hex moved nearer the light of the campfire, it became apparent that he wasn't limping. He was dragging something he grasped with his fore-talons, something quite heavy. From the corner of his eye, Bant saw Jandra toss a handful of silver dust into the air. Suddenly, the room was as brightly lit as if the noon sun was overhead.
The burden that Hex dragged behind him was copper colored and its body seemed to stretch on forever out of the mouth of the cave. It was studded with muscular legs ending in fearsome claws.
"I heard what you were saying about the goddess," said Hex, as if the fact he was dragging a slain beast into their presence was hardly worth mentioning. "We dragons don't believe in gods exactly, though we do believe in a life flame that endures beyond death, and we believe in spirits. These mountains are said to be haunted; perhaps the strange noise that permeates these rocks causes both men and dragons to seek supernatural explanations."
"What noise?" Bitterwood asked.
"What in the world is that?" Jandra said, walking over to the beast, ignoring Bitterwood. "I've never seen anything like it."
"I'm not sure what it is. I smelled something odd in the wind earlier. I found this thing emerging from one of the nearby caves. It attacked when it saw me; I killed it in self defense."
"Those are demons," Jeremiah said. "They live in the underworld."
"This isn't a demon," said Hex. "It's an animal, and it was being ridden by a man. Unfortunately, he escaped as I was fighting the beast."
Bitterwood nodded. "There was a man on beast I slew as well. He didn't escape. I'd never seen anything like it either. But I've heard about a lot of legendary beasts over the years, and once was told of a race of long-wyrms that lived in the mountains. This must be one of those."