The Stone Demon

Twenty-six





The presence spoke, inside her head and all around her: Donna Underwood of the Alchemists, Daughter of the Dragon, thank you for awakening me.

Donna gasped, trying to push down the visceral urge to heave.

“Are you in pain?” asked the voice.

“It’s … ” She licked her lips, trying to form the words

in her head but still having to whisper them aloud. “It feels like too much. Too … loud.” She pressed her hands over her ears and crouched on the floor of a shadowy version of the Ironwood, keeping as low as she could, somehow figuring that might protect her. It was pure instinct to make herself small against the sheer power of that voice. A voice that belonged to a creature as old as the stars.

“Is that better?”

The voice still vibrated through her body, making her bones ache, but her ears no longer felt like they were going to start bleeding.

She peeked out from behind her hair and gave a tentative thumbs-up. “Better.”

The dragon—oh god, the dragon—took a gliding step toward her. It moved with the fluidity of water, its wings iridescent in the dawn light and its sinuous body reminding her of a giant snake. Where its tail flicked back and forth, trees fell and small animals ran for new cover. It was magnificent and just so, so big, its beautiful scales the color of silver and gold, each one as large as her hand.

The battle seemed to have disappeared, but Donna knew that wasn’t possible. Somehow, her own power combined with that of the Philosopher’s Stone had transported her into a pocket of existence one step removed from reality. Maybe they were somewhere like Halfway, although she could still recognize her surroundings. It was like a mirror image or something; the ley line had been a doorway of sorts. Despite the fact that she was talking to a freaking dragon, Donna had to admit that she preferred this absence of blood and thunder, away from the alchemists, demons, and fey clashing in the real Ironwood Forest.

Adrenaline made her heart race, and her vision narrowed until all she could see was the majestic creature in front of her. Donna concluded that she might really be losing it. She could handle almost anything: iron tattoos, alchemy, the existence of Faerie and all kinds of fey creatures, even demons. All of these things—and more—she could somehow adjust to. Her mind would stretch and stretch, like a rubber band put under the worst kind of pressure but which would eventually snap back into shape and let her move into her new understanding of reality. Each time that Donna’s world became just a little bigger, she had handled it.

But this? A … dragon?

She realized that she was sitting on mossy ground beside a stream. It was cold right where she had collapsed, but she didn’t care. She wondered if splashing water on her face would help.

The dragon moved again, shifting its wings and bringing down another tree in the process.

“Stop!” Donna cried. “You’re destroying things.”

The massive head swung toward her, lowering until the giant black eyes were almost on the same level as hers. It blinked. Donna could count its eyelashes, and she had to squash a hysterical urge to reach out to touch them to see if they were real.

The dragon’s snout puffed out a breath that blew Donna’s hair away from her face. It was like being caught in a hurricane, and reminded her of what had happened when she’d created the Stone. She got a strong whiff of burning wood and held her breath. Fire flickered around the beast’s cavernous nostrils. Donna thought she might pass out.

She figured that would be perfectly acceptable under the circumstances.

“You called me,” the dragon rumbled. Its voice still came from directly inside Donna’s head, taking her by surprise. “I am here.”

“I … I … ” She shook herself. Get a grip, Underwood.

“You called me.” The tone brooked no argument.

“I’m sorry,” Donna whispered. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I believe that you did.” The dragon nodded its mighty head and waited.

What was it waiting for? In the part of her brain that hadn’t quite lost the plot, Donna knew that this was part of the process—the Blackening—and yet she hadn’t realized there would be an actual dragon.

Like, for real. She desperately wished that Xan and Navin could be here to share the moment, but she also realized that would be impossible. This was a moment for her, and her alone. Somehow she knew this was true.

Maybe it was some kind of vision, like the lucid dreams she had, when signs and portents seemed to flow through her the way the dragon’s wings flowed with their own inner light.

She forced herself back to her feet, her knees trembling but just about holding her upright. Time to take control of the situation. She glanced at the immense creature before her and stifled a burst of hysterical laughter. Control ?

The dragon settled back onto its mammoth hindquarters, folding its wings against its body and regarding her with an almost human expression of benevolence.

Donna cleared her throat. “How exactly did I call you?”

“You died. You came back.”

“Dying means someone can summon dragons?”

There was an awful trumpeting sound. Snorting and snuffling followed by a spurt of fire, which ignited a bush on the far side of the stream.

Donna realized that the dragon was laughing. At her. She stood taller. “Hey, I’m new at all this.”

“If you are so untrained, child, you should not be in possession of such power,” the dragon rumbled.

“I’m just doing the best I can. That’s all. Please … won’t you explain?”

“The ability to call the dragon has been sleeping inside you since your birth. You knew that much, yes?”

“No … I didn’t know anything about dragons. Not real ones, anyway.”

“You have the dragon spark in your soul. Why do you think the Demon King wants you so badly?”

“Dragon spark? You mean, the first matter?”

If dragons could shrug, Donna was sure that’s what it would have done. “If that is what you call it. The prima materia. Dragon spark. Names change. The nature of the power does not.”

“Does this mean that you’ll fight for us?” Donna asked, suddenly seeing things more clearly. “I think that’s what Maker wanted.”

“Maker?” the dragon mused. “So he still lives in this world, does he? I can’t say that I am surprised.”

She stared at the noble, ancient creature. “You know Maker ?”

“Of course, child. All of the old ones know him.”

Donna didn’t know what to say. She wanted to ask more, to find out once and for all just who Maker really was. But there was a war to fight. That mystery could wait—at least until a little later. It would give her something to anticipate, if she survived.

She swallowed smoke and ashes. “What do I do now?”

“You have the Stone,” the dragon replied, which was no reply at all. “Use it to command me. It is no more complicated than that. You are the Twice-Born Daughter of the Dragon.”

“I … ” She watched the magnificent beast’s slowly blinking eyes, still trying to wrap her head around what was happening. Maybe this was a shamanic vision, like how she’d relived the past while in Demian’s realm. Except for the part where the freaking dragon actually knew Maker. That sounded pretty real.

The dragon continued to wait. It had all the time in the world.

Donna shook her head, trying to clear it. “I’ve never commanded anything before.”

“Does that mean you can’t do so now?”

She frowned. “I don’t know how. I’m not sure I like the idea of … controlling others. I get that done to me in my own life, you see.”

If dragons could smile, Donna was pretty sure this one was doing just that. It was surreal and beautiful all at once. “You created the Philosopher’s Stone. You found me beneath the Ironwood. All you have to do is tell me what you want of me, and it will be done. But only once, do you understand?”

“One command?”

“Yes. After that, every last drop of the dragon spark within you will be gone. That is the price you pay for commanding dragons.”

Donna paused, wondering if that meant what she thought it must. Would she lose the first matter for good? Her heart lifted and she almost smiled. That was supposed to be a cost? She would gladly pay that price.

She took a tentative step forward and laid her hand against the great leg of the dragon. The scales rippled cool and smooth, hot and jagged, all at the same time. It was like touching the bark of a great tree, and yet it was nothing like that at all.

It was everything she had ever dreamed of.

It was magic.

Donna took a deep breath and steadied herself. This was it. What she said now would change reality. It would affect her life forever—assuming she survived.

She held tight to the Philosopher’s Stone and commanded the dragon: “Help us end the war and send the demons back to where they belong.”

The creature bowed its head, and Donna could almost swear that she saw a flash of pleasure in its bottomless gaze.

Reality shifted, and she heard the rush of giant wings. Darkness descended and then lifted. The real world returned to her like a wall of heat, quickly enough to knock the breath from her body as the sounds of battle resumed.

Then Donna got the hell out of the way, as her dragon took to the sky and the Ironwood burned to the ground.