SAVAGE SAINTS, page 23
Maybe I’m not the master of Saint Mark’s?
Maybe I’m a key too?
I can see how I might be. My bloodhorns are unique. I don’t have a great cross-section of monster civilization to compare things to, but there are fifty-three monsters inside these walls at the moment and I’m the only one with bloodhorn inside me.
I’m not the only one with hooves, or wings, or fur, or horns.
I’m the only one with bloodhorn.
And I was made by Ostanes—one of her last creations before she shut that whole chimera breeding program down. So why wouldn’t she do something special with me?
Tomas is unique here too. Aside from the fact that before Pie came, he used to be… an apparition, or whatever, and now he’s wearing a physical body, he’s also the only dragon chimera.
Not just that, either. Before he was the only dragon chimera, he was the only dragon.
Maybe even the last dragon anywhere.
At the very least, he’s the only one with dragon scales.
And Pie as well. She’s the only one with moth hands and, of course, this new bag of rings seems to be part of her magic.
I mean, I could say we’re all unique. Eyebrows is some kind of fashion designer. Cookie is some kind of chef. And Batty is a rock mage.
But that’s not what I’m getting at here. Everyone is unique in some way. And that’s not unique. That’s just a truth.
The way in which we three are different feels important. The bloodhorn, the portal doors, the rings, the dragon scales. Not to mention, we are all here. Stuck in Saint Mark’s. Together.
It feels intelligently designed. Like we’re part of a plan. And even though the last two thousand years have been pretty boring, with almost no progress whatsoever, the last few weeks feel like a whirlwind of growth.
It feels like a storm coming and we’re all gonna get swept up.
Like we’re on the verge of a precipice.
This is how I pass my morning. Deep in thought about our place here, and in the grand scheme of things at large. And when I look up and realize that the sun is high overhead, I also realize that the bag is done. I have chiseled Pie’s entire spelling onto the metal plate.
“‘A bag and rings to hide inside. Keep them safe from prying eyes. Invisible they will be. Cloak them up, no one can see.’”
I hold it in my hand, my clawed fingertips passing over the smooth, soft iron rings. It bends like fabric—supple, but also strong.
I braided wire together to make a drawstring ribbon that can open and close the bag with small tugs on each end. I check this relentlessly, opening and closing it. Watching for the wire to weaken and break, because that’s the nature of wire under stress.
But it doesn’t weaken, even though it does soften and the motion becomes smoother.
That doesn’t make sense, but neither does the bloodhorn inside me.
If I’m the key to walking through portal doors, then perhaps I’m also the key to making magic bags?
Puzzle pieces are everywhere.
And I’m close, I think.
I’ve very close to cracking this curse and getting the hell out of this place. With the help of Pie, of course. And probably Tomas too.
But one thing at a time. The new bag is not quite done. It needs rings, obviously. But also magic words from Pie, dragon fire from Tomas, and my breath to seal it up.
I take the bag of rings out of my pocket, shake them out onto an old wooden table, and pick them up one by one. I hadn’t really looked at them before now. Before this moment, they were a collection. Not individual things.
But I now notice details about the rings. They are all very different. Some are pewter. Some are silver. One is platinum. About a dozen of them are copper. There are dull, almost brassy ones. And one very soft high-content gold ring that, when I slip on my finger, expands to my monster-size hands.
I quickly take it off and set it back onto the table because that feels weird. These rings are not for me, they are for Pie. I’m sure of it. They are part of her magic, not mine.
This realization leads me to a new thought. What if we don’t want to seal them up? What if we want to use them?
My eyes wander over to another table where the book I took from the apothecary lies open. I walk over, sit down, and read the section on bags and rings. Then recite the poem out loud:
“Rings and bags are hard to tame
They must be sealed with dragon’s flame
Blackened iron, ammolite
Nuts and bolts and smote and smite.”
It’s a spelling, obviously. And now I’m wondering if my breath is necessary. The poem doesn’t say anything about breath. It says ‘sealed with dragon’s flame.’ And that’s Tomas.
I should maybe not fuck with this spelling by adding something new. I will need to talk this over with Pie. But this bag has to be better than the old one so I get back up, walk over to the rings, push them all into a little pile, scoop them up, and sprinkle them inside the new iron bag.
The bag is different when full. It’s even more supple, and smooth, and soft. It feels heavy and substantial now that the rings are inside. Like by itself it was one thing and filled up it is something else.
I stare at it, holding it in my hand, tilting it this way and that to get every angle, to see every tiny ring of chainmail, and smile. Surely more than a thousand years have passed since I’ve made something so beautiful.
A glint of firelight sparkles off to my right and my gaze wanders to the table where a single gold ring is sitting.
Did I miss it?
No. I picked it up. I saw it in my cupped hand. I watched it fall into the bag.
But there it is. The soft gold ring I had slipped onto my finger.
I pick it up, put it in the bag, and look at the table.
Where it still sits.
“Fuck,” I mutter. I, of all people, should know better than to put rings on. “No,” I growl at it. “No.” I point at it. “I’m not interested in ring magic. Get back in the bag.”
It, of course, does nothing.
I pluck it up, drop it into the bag, then look back at the table.
“Ha!” It’s gone.
But then I notice a glint of light coming off my hand and—“Fuck.”
There it is. On my finger!
I’m about to start tugging it off when a shimmering portal appears off to my right.
I take a step back, momentarily startled. Then squint my eyes, trying to see past the door’s frame.
Is that my tomb?
I walk towards it, but not through it. I know better than that. And sure enough, it is the woods inside my tomb.
Maybe this door and the door we saw this morning are the same one?
This thought intrigues me. Because it means that Pie and I both control the same door.
What are the odds of that?
Then I get a new idea. What if I can wear more than one of these rings, the same way Pie can?
What if I can make more than one door?
What if these doors lead all over the fucking world?
And… what if I can walk through them, the same way I walk through the gates of Saint Mark’s?
Well. There’s only one way to find out.
I step through and then come out inside my tomb.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN – TOMAS
Batty is going on and on about his plan for tonight. He squawks at me. “Yes, yes,” I tell him. “But are you sure—”
He cuts me off with some growling.
“Well, I know that, Batty. I’m not an idiot. But I have concerns about your lack of empathy for the humans.”
He goes off, ranting and raving. Hands waving in the air. Wings flapping.
“All right, all right.” I push my open palms at him, giving in to shut him up. “I understand that part. But if anyone gets hurt, I’m holding you responsible.”
He sighs. Smiles. Wins.
“Good,” I say. “Now”—I look around—“where did Eyebrows go?”
Batty squawks at me again.
“I know his name is Clarence, thank you, Darrel. But Pie calls him Eyebrows and you Batty, so now his name is Eyebrows and yours is Batty. Anyway. I need to find him. I would like an outfit for tonight. So I will see you later. Do not”—I say these words sternly, then repeat them for emphasis—“do. Not. Leave here without me.”
He shoots me a coy look. And babbles on and on about how he’s trapped here like everyone else.
But it’s not true.
I caught Batty flying over the wall earlier this morning.
Turns out there’s a zone high above the sanctuary walls where the curse doesn’t work if one is a magic flying thing with rock mage powers. He has been out in the woods every single night since Pie brought that little sandstone rock back from Tarq’s tomb.
If I had known about this loophole from the beginning, I could’ve left Saint Mark’s eons ago.
But then I would be a dragon forever and not this handsome specimen of a man who could attract a perfect woman such as Madeline.
So I think it all evens out.
“We shall have another chat before I leave, do you understand?”
Batty is already walking away, so he makes a dismissive motion in the air with his hand that probably isn’t agreement.
But what can one do? I am not in charge of anything here. I am but a simple dragon chimera who would rather leave this place for good and be a human man with a human wife—named Madeline, of course—and never think about monsters again.
I push Batty out of my mind and go searching for Eyebrows. I must have a new outfit. Something worthy of both a hunt, and a date. Because I envision this hunt taking about an hour, and then I envision going to town and meeting up with Madeline so we can practice our kissing.
Perhaps we might even practice other intimate things?
I find Eyebrows up in the hallways in a room filled with luxurious fabrics and sewing paraphernalia. He’s making a coat for Pie, but when I tell him I have a date, he claps his hands and tells me to climb up on a stool so he can fit me up.
He chats non-stop while he pins flannel to my chest and denim to my legs, talking all about some long-ago party he went to in another world. This party is filled with monsters like us. Dressed in elaborate finery. Gold threads woven into luxurious skirts, and waistcoats, and pantaloons.
And the food! At one point during the fitting, Eyebrows sends a small monster on an errand to the kitchen, asking Cookie to make him a snack right out of his memory. When the boy returns just a few moments later—the time in here is weird—he is holding a whole tray of pastries made of pastel-blue dough with gold icing.
I eat seven of them.
Several seamstresses appear at one point. But they are from the other time, so they flit around us like we are not here. Because to them, we are not. I like watching them though. It takes my mind off how much I yearn for Madeline.
I think I love her.
I think I will marry her.
I think I will get Batty to whip me up a magic rock spell that will let me leave forever.
Or, at the very least, a few decades. That’s all I want. Just twenty or thirty short years to myself. To have a real life, and maybe a real family.
Not that I don’t love my Saint Mark’s family. I do. Very much. Especially Pie.
But when I picture my Madeline with small children who may or may not breathe fire and shed scales, I just… I don’t know. I get this overwhelming feeling of… satisfaction and happiness.
This is what I want, I decide. And I deserve it. More than even Pell. I have been trapped in this place for millennia. I have paid my dues. I even helped with Pie’s banishing spell.
My reward has been earned.
This thought is still floating around in my head when Eyebrows snaps his fingers at me and tells me to leave so he can sew in private. He will be quick and deliver the garment to the back patio where we listen to the radio at night.
I leave through a door, end up in medieval somewhere just in time to place a bet on a joust, then continue on my journey home by way of a Venice canal. You have to love magic hallways.
When I finally arrive back at the stairs, I descend into a large gathering outside near the radio.
I lean in to a shoulder. “What are we doing?”
This monster tells me that Big Jim is doing an interview with the Love Doctor. Talking all about the hunt for monsters.
When this last word comes out, there is hushed mumbling.
They are afraid. “Oh, come on now, monsters! He’s not looking for you, he’s looking for Pell! And I’m going to be there. They will never find this place. Batty and I have made sure of it.”
But they are not convinced. Not at first, at least. They tremble and fret about Big Jim and Sheriff Roth. Batty doesn’t help, either. He hypes up their fear, cajoling them into more fretting.
It gets so bad that I have to whistle with my fingers and yell, “Shut up, all of you!” in order to get their attention. “No one is coming over the walls. The only monsters the hunting party will find tonight are me and Batty. We’re going to scare the shit out of them and they will never come back into these hills. Tell them.” I look at Batty and narrow my eyes.
I have taken care to nurture an air of innocence and a personality of meekness over the past several weeks with these monsters. Because even though I am no longer a dragon, I am still the remnants of one.
And yes, Batty’s kind are quite… terrifying. Ugly. Violent. Somewhat mad.
But the dragons—though there is only me here, now—are several hundred thousand levels of frightful above the batty things.
And while this human world outside the gates hasn’t seen a dragon in the skies in over two thousand years, these monsters don’t come from this world. They come from worlds that are something else altogether. Places where the massive heavy wingbeats of giant creatures are still a common thing. Where fire from a mouth can blister entire cities and make whole mountains shake and tremble from the wrath of things like me.
So when I look at Batty and instruct him to soothe them, he sees these cruel things behind my kind eyes.
And he does as I say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - PIE
I’m one step through the doorway when I realize something fairly critical.
I forgot my dragon scale.
And just as that thought manifests, I’m in Vinca. Standing in the lobby, as per usual, as many, many office workers pass by me.
And three things hit me all at once.
One. Wow. I didn’t need the dragon scale. What’s that about?
This is a fairly big realization which, under normal circumstances, would occupy quite a bit of time and space inside my brain. But these aren’t normal circumstances because…
Two. Instead of the office workers being mostly humans with a smattering of monsters, it’s all monsters. Which leads me to…
Three. They are all naked.
Gone are the pretty fashionable clothes and now, front and center, is… well. A full-frontal of everyone. “What the fuck,” I mutter.
And just as these words come out of my mouth, everyone in the entire place stops what they are doing and just looks at me.
That’s weird thing number four. Because all the other times I’ve come through, no one really noticed. They just acted like the whole walking-through-a-portal thing was normal.
Then I hear a voice calling me. “Pie!”
I turn and find Luciano rushing towards me. “Hey—”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“What?” I’m so surprised by his angry tone, I take a step back. “What do you mean?”
He grabs my arm—kinda hard—and tugs me into a nearby hallway. It morphs as we walk. And I’m a little bit distracted by this because I’ve never actually seen a hallway move like that. Not in real time. “What are you doing?” Luciano growls again.
I yank my arm from his grip and stop walking, forcing him to stop too. “What are you talking about? I’m not doing anything. It’s a work day, right?”
“Work day? This has nothing to do with a work day. What the hell are you wearing?” He’s looking me up and down and then his eyes stop on my hand and he gasps. “Holy shit!”
I hold my hand up to see the ring. “What the—”
“Where did you get that ring?” Luciano is seething.
The ring isn’t my ring. It’s not even the new, double ring that was just there on my finger a few moments ago. It’s a wide band of gold covered in pavé diamonds, with one ginormous center stone that I cannot identify. It’s not a diamond because the facets shimmer like a rainbow when my hand moves. But it looks more expensive than some fake heat-treated quartz crystal.
And from the look Luciano is shooting me, it must have more meaning too.
“Why are you so angry?”
“Because you are wearing the queen’s jacket and”—he lifts up my hand—“the queen’s ring! How did you get these things? Were you in the palace? Did you make a door into the palace?”
Once again, I yank away from his grip. And one more time I ask for clarification. Only this time, I’m just as angry as he is. “What. The fuck. Is happening?”
“What’s happening?” Luciano is practically squealing. It’s not a good look for him. “You’re wearing the queen’s clothes and flaunting the queen’s ring! On Fireday!”
“Luciano.” I force myself to stay calm. “I’m new here, OK? I don’t know what any of that means.”
“I’ll handle this, Luciano.”
Luciano and I both look down the hallway—which is still morphing and changing in real time—and find Tarq—also naked!—standing between two shimmering, almost shapeless, walls.
“Go back to the lobby and convince everyone that they did not see what they thought they saw.” Tarq flicks a finger at him. A very dismissive, and regal, gesture that implies absolute power.
And this right here, yeah. This is the Tarq I expected on day one. A massive monster with polished ebony horns, polished ebony hooves, and nothing but fur and skin from top to bottom.
“Holy shit,” I say. “Where are your pants?”
