"The villagers?" Burke asked. "From Burke's Tavern?"
"No. From Big Lick."
"They're ghosts," said Bitterwood.
Burke frowned.
"You don't believe in ghosts, do you?" Bitterwood said. "I remember back at Conyers-you didn't believe me when I told you I'd seen a devil get his head chopped off, stick it back on and kill the dragons that had decapitated him. You didn't believe in gods or ghosts, angels or devils. I've fought all these things and worse. There's more to this world than you understand, Burke."
The toes of Burke's phantom foot thawed as the fire penetrated into his phantom boot. He wasn't in the mood to reopen this old debate.
Zeeky opened it for him. "They ain't ghosts," she said. She held out a crystal ball. The firelight danced across its surface. "They never died. They just don't have bodies no more. The world inside this crystal ball isn't like our own. There's nothing solid there. Everything exists like a dream. The villagers can see into our world if they try, but, for the most part, they're learning to get by in their new world."
The hair on the back of Burke's neck rose. "Are you talking about underspace?"
"That's what the goddess called it," said Zeeky.
"That's Atlantean science," said Burke. He scratched the stump of his leg as he pondered this. His training was in metallurgy and engineering. Over in Tennessee, he'd had relatives charged with solving the mysteries of extra-dimensional space, but Burke had always preferred to study things he could do something about.
"I met an Atlantean once," said Bitterwood. "She healed my hands after they'd been bit off by a dragon."
"Your hands were… of course. Atlanteans were masters of technologies far beyond our imagination. Jandra said she used to have healing powers." He looked toward Vance. "Could that seed you ate have been from Atlantis?"
Vance shrugged, looking as if he didn't understand the question.
"Jandra's healing powers are the reason we're traveling this way," said Bitterwood. "Hex stole the source of her powers-"
"The genie," said Burke, feeling like his mind was full of jigsaw pieces that he could almost, but not quite, fit together.
"When I met Hex in Rorg's cavern, he told me he'd buried the genie in the one place humans would never look for it. The way I figure, the last place humans would go look for anything would be the Free City. So we're going there to hunt for the genie. I don't know how to use it, but it's something I have to try. It may be able to cure Jeremiah."
Two puzzle pieces clicked together in Burke's head. "Shanna said she'd come from the Free City. She had healing seeds. Her body had been repaired to the point that she no longer had tattoos. It suddenly makes sense. Someone has found the genie in the Free City and is using it to heal people. Jandra told me the genie wouldn't work for anyone but her, but it looks like she was wrong."
"There are humans at the Free City?" Bitterwood asked. "When I was there a few weeks ago, I saw earth-dragons around it. I figured refugees from Dragon Forge were using it."
Burke looked down at his missing leg. His armpit throbbed. He thought of Vance's restored vision and Bitterwood's regrown hands. Could he one day walk again?
Zeeky looked up from the crystal ball with a serene smile upon her lips. "We shall all be healed."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX:
RESPONSIBILITY TO MANKIND
Burke gripped the edge of the saddle so hard his knuckles turned white. The long-wyrm flew across the landscape at a breakneck speed. They avoided the main road, splashing along the twisting beds of a stream as they raced eastward toward the Free City. The creature veered up a steep river bank, running perpendicular to the water below. Given the speed with which they traveled and the ruggedness of the terrain, Burke couldn't believe he hadn't been thrown off the beast. His butt stayed planted firmly on the smooth saddle, as if it were a powerful magnet and the seat of his pants were steel.
As strange as the circumstance of his ride were, there were stranger things still on his mind. Bitterwood rode on the saddle before him carrying Jeremiah in his arms. The boy's face was corpse white, glistening with sweat. The boy somehow slept through the convolutions of the long-wyrm, his mouth hanging open. His gums were puss yellow. Bitterwood risked his life by carrying the boy. Yet, not only did he hold him, he cradled him. He stroked the boy's brow and whispered encouragements.
"This is a side of you I've never seen, Bant," said Burke. "I didn't know you had such fatherly instincts."
"I wasn't always the Ghost Who Kills. I had a family once, long ago. I would rather have lived my life as a father than as an avenger."
Burke shook his head as his own regrets welled up. "I've had the opportunity to live as both and I've failed at both. I have no idea where Anza is. You tell me she's gone off to try to recapture the shotgun Vulpine stole, but that could be anywhere, and it will be heavily guarded. It's a terrible risk to chase after it. She'll keep trying to retrieve it until she succeeds, or she's killed. Why didn't I tell her that her life means more to me than the gun does? What if I never learn of her fate?"
"Anza struck me as a woman who could take care of herself," said Bitterwood.
"Maybe. But then what? She'll return to Dragon Forge looking for me, and Ragnar's men will ambush her. Ragnar has a whole army to throw against her, all armed with the guns I designed. Anza's fast, but not faster than a shotgun blast. I can't believe how badly I've let things spin out of control."
Bitterwood narrowed his eyes. "This has always been your great flaw. You treat the world as if it's a giant machine, and if you can only find the right screws to tighten, you can make the whole thing hum."
"Someone's hand needs to be on the controls," said Burke.
"There are no controls," said Bitterwood. "There is no mainspring. Your pride blinds you to this simple truth."
"What have I done to piss you off?"
"You started another revolution you couldn't finish," said Bitterwood.
"Technically, Ragnar started it," said Burke. "One might even argue that you started it by killing Albekizan."
Bitterwood turned his back on Burke.
Burke reached out with his crutch and poked him on the shoulder. "I'm not done talking."
"I am," said Bitterwood.
"I've listened to your criticism. You're going to listen to mine. I'm not angry that you killed Albekizan. Your guerilla warfare tactics of the last twenty years have been far more effective than I would have guessed. But I've never figured out what it was you were hoping to accomplish. Ridding the planet of one dragon at a time isn't going to save humanity."
Bitterwood looked back. His face was in shadows beneath is hood. "I care nothing for the fate of humanity. I only want to make certain that dragons suffer at least a fraction of the pain they've caused me."
"That's where we differ. All I've ever wanted was to give humans an equal footing-or better still, an upper hand-when dealing with the dragons. That's never going to happen while men choose to follow fanatics like Ragnar. Mysticism and charisma have a way of trumping logic."
"'Choose' is an interesting word," said Bitterwood. "Did you ever offer the men of Dragon Forge a choice? Did you ever say to them, 'I lead, or Ragnar leads, decide?'"
Burke shook his head. "Ragnar gathered the army. They were loyal to him. They cheered his firebrand speeches. What did I have to offer anyone other than gadgets and advice on sanitation?"
Vance, on the saddle behind Burke, spoke up. "I would have chosen you as the leader in a heartbeat. So would any of the sky-wall team."
Burke shook his head, rejecting Vance's words. "The members of the sky-wall team cheered Ragnar on during his little fire-sermon before the invasion. They lift up their hands in rapture whenever he preaches of war."