Page 6 of All Out of Flux
“Why would you rely on such pitiful spells, little lion, when you have the raw power of draconic might waiting in the wings?”
Tiamat’s voice drifted in from the busted, unfurnished open area I thought of as the living room. Strange. I could smell the seawater in the air, hear the faint rush of waves. Somehow I hadn’t noticed her coming this time. Maybe I was too wrapped up in bitterly complaining to my mother.
“Hi again, Tiamat,” I said, playing it cool and casual as I peeled myself off the bed.
I walked into the living area, carefully avoiding the puddles of saltwater. Honestly, I had to mop the place every time this woman made an appearance. There she stood, her gemstone scales sparkling in the sunlight that trickled in through the ratty curtains.
“What brings you to my peasant hovel on this fine morning? And mind you, an Alcantara blasting hex can really ruin someone’s day. It’s not just a pitiful spell.”
I knew the lady could bathe me in her bluish-green dragonfire with a simple snap of her fingers, but I figured I’d throw that in. I had to stand up for my lineage. Dragon goddess or no, I couldn’t just let her badmouth my many mothers.
“My apologies, Leonardo Alcantara. Of course, of course. Human magic can still be very potent indeed. But why limit yourself to curses and hexes when the window to Emanation remains wide open?”
A shiver ran down my spine. I tried not to give those little moments too much thought, the bursts of exhilaration and sheer power I experienced each time one of the dragons Emanated through my body. But I couldn’t deny how deeply I enjoyed every instance, whether it was channeling Tiamat’s hellish flames or Bakunawa’s raging waters.
She was about to introduce me to another dragon.
“Ah. Then you’ve deduced why I am here. I will not dally. Come forth, brother.”
A hot breeze blew in through the window, stinging and brisk. This wasn’t the same warmth of ocean wind that accompanied Bakunawa’s coming. That had felt like a rush of breath, nearly comforting, a reminder of the many islands where I was born. Memories of beaches, the rush of waves.
This wind was different. Older, something that had been blowing for far longer. But above all else I could not ignore its heat, almost suffocating in its dryness. Even the lightest touch against my skin seemed to sap me of my energy, and I’d only just woken up.
And then there he stood, a figured swathed in robes. White, I imagined, to stave off the desert heat, and loose enough to let the air circulate all over the body. Not that this man needed to worry about such things. I had to remind myself that these were only dragons wearing human skin.
These vestments were only symbolic, a way for them to mark the cultures and civilizations they hailed from — or perhaps, most appropriately, the ones that remembered them. He stared at me with piercing eyes, his beard full and dark, swarthy skin weathered by the sun and wind.
On his head, a white cowl, to protect him from the glare of the sun. The cloth was affixed in place by a golden circlet, almost like a crown. This was someone ancient, important, perhaps even as old as Tiamat herself. It was odd to think of the seadragons in terms of age, but Bakunawa came from a younger place, a newer nation.
This man filled the room with his presence, clotted the air with the smell of time.
“It is an honor to meet the one they call Witch Boy.”
His voice was kindly and soft, the wind through the palm fronds, a refreshing breeze at an oasis. This was someone who could afford to speak so sweetly, adjusting his tone and volume for fragile human ears, a delicate human mind. If I closed my eyes, I knew I would hear it in the depth of his voice. This dragon was as old as the world itself.
I bowed my head, something I hadn’t intended, and something I didn’t recall happening when I met either Tiamat or Bakunawa.
“The honor is all mine.”
What was I saying? This wasn’t me, and yet something about the man in the white robes commanded authority. I had no idea who he was, or where he came from, but his very existence tugged at that inherent Filipino impulse to respect my elders.
Tiamat smiled as she gestured at the man, arm flourished as if presenting him at a grand event. “This is Bahamut, among the oldest and greatest of our kind.”
He shook his head and chuckled. “I am humbled, sister.”
“Oh, humility isn’t called for here, dear brother. I merely speak the truth. How do you refrain from attributing greatness to a serpent who carries the very world upon his back?”
My jaw fell open, but I quickly snapped it shut. It was coming to me now, if only in bits and shreds. There were so many different versions of this same story, of some colossal creature bearing the actual Earth on its back, the only thing preventing our world from plunging into a great ocean of void.
The beast in question changed with each of these creation myths. Sometimes it was a great turtle, a gigantic fish. In this case, Bahamut was a serpent. A sea dragon, just like his kin.
“Or so the story goes in old Arabia,” Tiamat continued.
Bahamut bowed his head, eyes twinkling as he smiled. “Or so the story goes.”
Tiamat took one step back, placing Bahamut squarely between us. “If you will allow it, little lion, my brother would very much appreciate the opportunity to manifest through you. To Emanate.”
“Yes, little one. It truly has been so very long.” Bahamut sighed as he rolled his shoulder, squeezing it in one hand.
