She sat down, resting her hands on her knees as she glanced at the yellowed handle. The humble bone gleamed like precious ivory, polished and oiled by a lifetime spent in my sweaty hands. Take it, I prayed. Take it. Her face was lined with deep furrows around her lips as she frowned. She looked as if she was about to cry, but, always when she was on the verge, she’d swallow. Her fists would go tight, and the moment would pass. Her eyes turned away from the tiny tombstone. I sensed that my prayers would go unanswered. Still, as long as she still lingered by my grave, there was hope.
At last the sun came up. The water danced with colors to rival the sarong still draped around her shoulders. Gulls wheeled in the air above the cliff, calling out to one another. Clouds drifted leisurely overhead, white as lambs in a distant field. I wanted to tell her that she’d done a good job. My bones had to rest somewhere, and this was a fine choice, a grave any ghost could be proud of. As much as I wished to continue to journey by her side, I knew my time had passed. If I was now a prisoner to eternity, this peaceful, sun-drenched bluff would be an acceptable jail.
By my count, Infidel had been awake for almost forty hours. Her endurance was superhuman, but not infinite. Her head sagged as she watched the endless dance of the waves. At last, she stretched out on the white sand of my grave. She used her arm as a pillow, and her fingers brushed against the handle of the knife. She looked at it again, her eyes bloodshot and bleary. She snatched the knife free of the soil, clutching it to her invulnerable breast like a doll. Then, with a shudder, she gave herself to sleep.
She slept fitfully through the day, undraping the cloth of her sarong and using it as a blanket pulled over her head to block out the light. As someone who’d shared campsites with Infidel, I knew she talked in her sleep. Mumbled, more accurately. Many a night I’ve lain awake and tried to make sense of her slurred half-words. Usually, I can’t interpret them. But, as she turned from one side to the other, three unmistakable syllables escaped her lips: “So sorry.”
She thinks she killed me. She thinks that as we fell toward the river, she was the one who drove the knife into my gut.
Perhaps.
I wish I could tell her that I don’t blame her. She shouldn’t ignore the fact that we were out robbing that temple because I was the one in debt, because I’m the one who needs to buy the company of crowds, because I’m the sucker who can’t resist a good sob story from any down-on-his-luck bum who begs me for a few spare coins and winds up with my entire purse.
Of course, I wouldn’t have been in debt when she got back from the pirate wars if I’d sold the map for even a fraction of what it was worth.
That damned map.
A year ago, Infidel had hunted down a fallen Wanderer by the name of Hurricane. Wanderers have a longstanding pact with Abyss, the primal dragon of the sea, that prevents them from ever drowning as long as they spend their lives without touching dry land. Their behavior is guided by ancient and elaborate laws; transgress these laws, and a Wanderer can find himself put ashore on some distant desert island. Hurricane had suffered that fate, due to acts of piracy against fellow Wanderers. But, he didn’t live out his days on his island prison. He’d built a raft, fled to the Isle of Fire, and resumed his piracy. The Wanderers placed a bounty on his head, a price large enough to catch Infidel’s eye.
Finding Hurricane was no great challenge. He’d set up camp in a sea cave on the western side of the island. Infidel made swift work of his crew, and took Hurricane out with a single punch. We were searching his treasure chest when we found the map in a hidden compartment at the bottom. Even before we opened the thing, we knew it was something special. It was embroidered onto metallic cloth spun from threads of gold far finer than silk. When we unrolled it, it made a musical sound, like tiny guitar strings plinking. It showed the central volcano of the Isle of Fire and plotted out several key buildings from the Vanished Kingdom. I knew this area well, both from my own explorations and my grandfather’s detailed surveys. At the building I call the Shattered Palace, the map showed a tunnel leading into the volcano. Depending on how you held the map to the light, different layers were revealed; there were tunnels beneath tunnels. Someone had used ordinary ink to trace out some of the pathways, and there were notes near these paths, written in a code I couldn’t decipher. I could only scratch my head as I turned the map from side to side, pondering the different images. Beneath the overlapping layers I spotted an ‘X’, and two words written in old-tongue that were perfectly clear.
Greatshadow. Treasure.
Greatshadow is the primal dragon who lives in the central volcano of this island. I’ve never seen Greatshadow, but my grandfather wrote that he’d been on the island once when the dragon was awake, and he said that the big lizard had a wingspan half a mile wide. The heat of Greatshadow’s breath will turn iron armor into hot white syrup dripping off the blackened bones of any knight foolish enough to face him. Like all dragons, Greatshadow has an eye for gems and precious metal. What he does with them, I can’t even guess. It’s not as if he strolls down to the Black Swan from time to time to buy a round. Still, he’s been hoarding riches during the rise and fall and rise of at least two civilizations. If a man could sneak into that treasure vault for even five minutes, he could snatch up enough wealth to carry him through a dozen lifetimes.
While I deciphered the map, I was thinking out loud, pitching my thoughts and theories to Infidel. Almost instantly, I regretted it. I could hear the wheels turning in her mind. We’d been tomb-raiding together for a long time. Why not go after the ultimate treasure?
Here’s why: Greatshadow isn’t just another monster. He’s the living embodiment of fire. He may be wrapped in scaly hide, but he’s fundamentally an elemental being, a sentient force of nature. A fraction of his intelligence is present in every flame. You can’t kill something like this with just a strong arm and sharp sword.
Infidel is tough, but her skills as a thief tend toward the smash and grab. There was no way she could reach Greatshadow’s treasure without confronting the dragon, and, if it came to that, good as she was, Greatshadow would win.
So, at my first convenient opportunity, I ‘lost’ the map.
This was really the only time I’ve ever deceived her, other than the daily, ongoing, unspoken lie that I wanted nothing more of her than friendship. It’s weighed heavily on my conscience for the last year, mainly because she’d accepted my lame explanation of how I’d lost the map down a privy hole on the docks in Commonground. She’d reacted to my story with her easy-come, easy-go shrug and never mentioned it again. Maybe she’d known all along the adventure was too big for her. If so, that makes my lie even worse. If she could have been dissuaded from the lair by simple reason, we could have sold the map for a small fortune, perhaps even a large one. I didn’t need to betray her trust. We could have been living it up in Commonground rather than out robbing pygmies with the same foolish bravery of young boys throwing rocks at a hornet nest.
She turns again in her slumber, moaning softly.
I’m sorry, I pray to her. So, so sorry.
Infidel returned to Commonground the following day, making good time as she bounded along the shore. In open terrain, she’s fast as a jack-rabbit, using her super-strong legs to propel herself in skips that cover a dozen yards a stride. Around mid-morning she found the wreck of a ship; it couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. She didn’t take long to explore it, but did manage to pull a damp, sand-covered yard of canvas from the wreckage. She wrapped the dragon skull in this — a wise precaution. Even with Infidel’s reputation, Commonground is full of thieves who would be tempted by the sight. It’s a lawless city, a bad place to call home. Of course, there’s not a lot of choice in addresses when you live on the Isle of Fire. Commonground is the only real city on the island.