But the enemy dragon had encountered Meriwether’s abilities before, did not forget how Meriwether had wounded it severely, nearly tearing out its throat, and he flew guardedly. Reaching up and slashing, Meriwether managed to rake his talons along the creature’s tail.
His spirit dragon fought for height, for breath, for strength, and he played the aggressor. He attacked the enemy dragon again and again, knowing that if he failed to kill, or at least drive off, this adversary, then all his friends would die.
Far below, on the ground, the eccentric priest was singing, swinging the aspergillum in hand, sprinkling holy water on Charbonneau’s grave to complete the ritual. With frequent nervous glances up into the sky, the two expedition men filled the grave. Sacagawea was shouting something in her own language, and her baby wailed. Seaman kept barking. Villagers ran about throwing water on fires.
Meriwether watched through his dragon eyes, saw Sacagawea hand her child to a woman nearby, then drop to her knees, swaying. Suddenly an eagle flew out of her, a large bird of prey, that winged up into the air. Joining Meriwether’s spirit dragon, she harried the enemy dragon, pecking at it. The enemy twisted its long sinuous neck and shot flame at her, singeing the beautiful feathers of her eagle’s wing.
Meriwether plunged in to attack again, but he feared he wasn’t strong enough to win this battle, even with the help of Sacagawea’s spirit eagle. The enemy dragon was twice their size, seemingly drew its power from the anger of the land, and could shout in streams of fire. Meriwether attempted to do the same, but no flame came out of his mouth.
He tried to press his attack, but the enemy dragon seemed to dance in air, easily eluding the eagle form and Meriwether’s spirit dragon.
The evil voice boomed inside his head. You are lost dragonling, and the little bird too! You can do nothing to stop me. I shall destroy the expedition and the village, and I will continue to remake the land in its primal, angry form. With a wicked twist, the voice added, Envy the dead man Charbonneau, for he’s the only one who will not feel my vengeance.
Meriwether could feel the despair at the words seep into his mind, darkening his thoughts like an inkstain. His dragon wings flapped, but seemed to catch less air, and he found himself falling, spiraling.
Then the talons of Sacagawea’s eagle snagged his tail, sending a jab of sharp, insistent pain into him. It was like being rudely awakened. Meriwether responded by flapping his wings frantically to break his fall, and did not give up.
In his spirit dragon form, he wasn’t large enough or powerful enough to defeat the enemy sorcerer. The giant flying form was in his own element, drawing upon his own reservoir of power. Then Meriwether realized that if they couldn’t take the adversary in his own element, fighting with his own rules of magic, perhaps he could attack the physical manifestation of the creature with the weapons of civilized steel he’d brought with him. He remembered the devastating effect his knife had on the fire demon, on the attacking flock of ravens.
No, he couldn’t defeat this monster if he remained a spirit dragon. But maybe he could do it as Meriwether Lewis. Hastily, he forced himself into his human body.
Like a reverse birth, this was considerably more difficult than merely releasing his spirit form. As he plunged back from the sky and the powerful freedom of his giant reptile form, his human body felt turgid, too small, too heavy. But Meriwether took control of his limbs, breathed deeply in his stale lungs, and got to his feet. As Captain Clark shouted to him and Seaman bounded after him, he stumbled toward his tent.
He seized his air rifle, pumped it, loaded it. Bullets of metal, civilized metal, forged to be used with a civilized firearm. Sacagawea’s eagle disappeared from the sky, and he watched her collapsed form stir and then struggle up from her knees.
Above, the enemy dragon was still laughing, seeming to think his opponents had surrendered and fled. Plunging down to the village, the monster opened its wide jaws to breathe again, to exhale a miasma of fire onto Meriwether. With undaunted bravery, Seaman stood in front of his master, growling up at the monster.
Defeating him with just a gun seemed less likely than with his dragon form, but the dragon form had failed. If he sent it forth again, it would be weaker.
Meriwether stood firm, did not let his aim waver. He fired several shots, aiming for the creature’s heart and head and eyes. The rifle balls seemed trivial, little biting gnats, even if he had tried to imbue them with his own magic, his civilized counterdefense. He thought that he had missed, as the monster’s mouth opened wider, building up the fire boiling within it.
Bowling Seaman over with him, he threw himself sideways, rolling away from the thin stream of carefully targeted fire that hit where the two of them had been.
But the fire guttered out quickly, impotent. And then the dragon disappeared.
He didn’t explode, or collapse into rotting component parts as the other deadly apparitions had done. Instead, the adversary simply vanished from the air, leaving behind a suggestion of laughter, and the memory of words, Bah, dragonling. You can only win against my projection. If you dare come to where I really live, you shall be destroyed.
Oddly, the last taunt seemed more like an invitation than a threat.
With the enemy dragon gone and the fires still smoldering around the village, people rushed at Meriwether, jabbering questions. The eccentric and unkempt Father Avenir stepped up and solemnly splashed holy water on Meriwether’s face and clothes, then for good measure, he sprinkled the dog, too.
While Cameahwait fussed over Sacagawea, little Pompy was wailing in the arms of one of the village women.
Clark and York rushed to help him stand up, brushing him off, checking him for injuries. Clark cried out, “Good God, Lewis—your hands!”
Looking down, he suddenly felt the pain from his wrists down. He flexed his fingers, saw that his hands were red and blistered, and he remembered when the adversary had scorched the tips of his wings when he was in the form of the spirit dragon.
Sacagawea held out one of her hands, looking at it strangely, as if wondering at the burns she found there too. Meriwether coughed, found his voice. “York, go fetch the herbal salve I make for burns. It’s in a sealed jar among our supplies. Both Sacagawea and I can use it. And bring linen strips for bandages, too.”
The man bounded off and returned swiftly. Though his own hands could barely function, Meriwether insisted on tending Sacagawea first, but finally York and Clark took the salve away and forced him to become a patient, spreading the salve on his hands, followed by strips of bandages.
Sacagawea kept talking as she endured the ministrations. “The dragon sorcerer is too powerful. Even if the revenants gave you hope in the land of the dead, they do not know everything. We do not have the power to kill a creature like that. The enemy has already eaten many lives and it is full of power, as the land swells into summer. We cannot defeat it.”
Her words echoed with the remembered taunts of the other dragon, but that only increased his resolve. He might fail, but he couldn’t give up. He needed to defeat this evil, for himself, for his people, for civilization, for the whole of sundered America.
If he surrendered, he would just as surely die as if he had fought to the death. No, the only answer lay in trying every method they could find, use any weapon, and hope.
Dearest Julia,
I am sending this letter with some of the Shoshone people and members of our expedition in hopes of keeping them safe from the immediate wrath of the dragon sorcerer. Perhaps they can reach Fort Mandan, and from thence dispatch the letters with a trapper heading east.