Heart of a Dragon

Chapter Thirty-Three

The yard behind the clubhouse danced with shadows. Torches and candles flickered on poles planted in the ground and on every horizontal surface. In the center there was a larger fire; Snake stood alone beside it. He stared at the back door of the clubhouse, and as Salvatore stepped through, the two locked gazes, just for an instant.

All around that central fire, the Dragons stood in rows. There was a passage open from the back door of the clubhouse to the center, but it seemed as if every other square inch of ground was occupied. Where there were no men, there were shadows and flickering light. Salvatore tried to ignore them.

Jake had a hand on his shoulder, and the big man escorted him through the crowd toward the fire. Salvatore was glad for Jake's presence, but he wasn't frightened. Something in Snake's gaze drew him forward, and he felt a sense of purpose he'd never experienced — a sense of belonging. Martinez walked at his side. The old man said nothing. He looked neither to the right nor the left. He held his head high. This was Snake's moment, but it also belonged to Salvatore, and to Martinez. Salvatore felt a great many things converging, coming together in that clearing and binding them all.

They gathered by the fire. Snake stood very still. He barely acknowledged their arrival. Jake took his place behind Snake, and Salvatore stood beside Jake. Martinez stepped a little off to the side, but not so far as to seem separated from the group. The crowd drifted and covered the trail that led back to the clubhouse. Salvatore stared out into the flickering torches and candlelight. He saw shadowed faces. Eyes glittered, but he could not make out the features on their faces.

Snake began a slow circuit of the fire. He stared out into the gathered Dragons. He met their gazes, and, at last he came back to stand at Salvatore's side. Snake didn't move like he had the last time Salvatore had seen him. He seemed taller, quicker and stronger. His eyes glittered even when there was no light to cause it.

He stepped closer and took Salvatore by the arm. Salvatore detected no unity among those gathered, though they stood so closely packed it was difficult to tell where one ended, and the next began. There was fear in the air, some of it directed at Snake, and some of it beyond the yard and the clubhouse into the night. There was nothing holding them together but the iron will of the man they called Presidente and the presence of the crazy old man, Martinez, at his side.

Jake stepped forward and handed a long pole to Snake, who slammed the base of it into the ground at his feet. Salvatore saw that the canvas he'd painted on had been wound around the top of that pole. He stared at it, mesmerized. He knew what was to come, or thought he did, but he couldn't imagine the effect it might have on the gathered Dragons.

When he was certain that he had their attention, Snake reached up and untied the string at the top of the banner, letting the sheet uncurl from the pole. Opening it carefully so that the design remained concealed, he stood, tall and ominous, full of a strange energy that Salvatore felt rippling in the air.

"Tonight," Snake said, staring out into the darkness at some point beyond his followers, "I fight Los Escorpiones. Alone, or with you — I fight." He swept his gaze over the gathering, catching the few that started guiltily at his words, boring through them mercilessly."They have come to the very borders of our streets and homes. They have killed our brothers — they have dishonored our colors. If we allow this to pass, we are nothing."

He turned to Salvatore, and Salvatore felt the grip on his arm tighten. A part of him wanted very much to run, but he stood his ground.

"Here stands Salvatore Domingo Sanchez," Snake said. "In his heart live dragons! There are those among you with whom he has shared their flame. He is what we should be. He is what we must become. I don't know when or where I lost the way, but he brought me back. He can bring us all back. Somehow he looked inside of us — of me — and found the Dragons. He found them, and he called them back."

Salvatore turned, ignoring those gathered, to stare at Snake. No one had ever said such things about him. No one had ever made him feel such honor.

"The old one," Snake gestured at Martinez, who stood still and silent, a knowing smile on his lips, "assures me that he knows what is to come. He has had a vision. He has seen the coming battle, and Los Escorpiones die tonight. They cease to exist. Who, among you, do you suppose will bring this about? The biggest? The strongest? No. It won't be me, and it won't be any of you, because we don't deserve it. We lost our way. We lost our power. It will be Sal who saves us; he bears our power. In his talent, and his art beats the heart of a Dragon!"

A wave of nervous energy rippled through the clearing. Salvatore picked up snippets of thought, though not clearly enough to tell which came from which man. He'd never been able to read minds, but somehow he knew that this was new…something different.

They were still scared, and now they thought Snake was crazy. They expected a fight, and they knew what they were up against — or thought that they did. This wasn't supposed to be a weird ritual like Anya Cabrera used against them — it was supposed to be a rally, and a battle. — the last act in a war. Nobody had quite the strength or the courage to voice their doubts. Snake was a dangerous man. If he was crazy now — well, then he would just be more dangerous. They waited for him to make sense, and for the call to leave, a call they all dreaded.

Snake reached up and whipped the flag open. He almost yanked the pole from Salvatore's hands, but Salvatore clung to the pole with all his strength and dug his heels into the soft earth. Snake's dragon floated into the air on its background of white. The sheet rippled and whipped in the wind with a snap like thunder.

Salvatore stared up at the creature. He remembered it — knew it so well he could have traced its outline in the dirt with a stick and brought it to life — but he didn't remember the painting. His stomach lurched, and now he clung to the flagpole for support. He saw the city, rising up to meet him. He felt the air whistle past his years and saw the glowing towers below. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came. He felt the dragon's claws clutch him tightly. The sensation of falling became one of soaring — gliding flat just clear of the turreted towers and massive stone walls.

And then he stood, hands clutching the flagpole so tightly his fingers felt as though they would snap from the strain. Snake gripped his shoulders and held him upright, and that other world faded into a wall of faces reflecting firelight. His first thought was that they would think that he was crazy. Surely they hadn't seen that city — hadn't seen what he had seen. After a moment, he relaxed in Snake's grip. There was no laughter. They all stared up and over his head, where the flag and the dragon waved in the wind. Not a man among them spoke.

"It's time," Snake cried. "We ride…we fight."

He turned and yanked the flagpole from the dirt and Salvatore's hands. Salvatore fell in behind, and they passed through the crowd, who parted like a dark, brooding ocean. Martinez stayed by the fire. This would not be his fight, but Salvatore had been swept up in the moment. Snake didn't hesitate as he passed through the clubhouse and back out the front. He strode to his bike and Salvatore hurried at his heels.

Snake swirled the flagpole briskly, wrapping the dragon tightly. He handed the pole to Salvatore, who held it without question. Snake pulled a bit of rawhide from his pocket and tied it around the flag, securing it to the pole. When he was finished, he turned to Salvatore.

"You'll ride with me, Sal," he said. "When we get where we're going, you'll carry the flag. Whatever happens, you stay with me. No matter what you see, no matter what happens, you keep that dragon flying. Understand?"

Salvatore nodded. Snake climbed onto his bike, and Salvatore slipped in behind him, leaning on the tall sissy bar. He clutched the flagpole like a lance, letting it rest on Snake's shoulder. He grabbed Snake's jacket with his free hand and held on for dear life as the big man kicked started the engine. All around them, the Dragons poured out of the clubhouse, mounted their bikes and started their engines. The roar of the powerful machines reminded Salvatore dimly of the far-off cries of those other dragons.

They pulled away from the curve and roared into the night. Martinez stood in the pool of light from the clubhouse doorway, watching as they disappeared into shadow.