Dragons Seduced Read online

  Dragons Seduced

  Laura Wylde

  Contents

  1. Irene

  2. Heath

  3. Damian

  4. Orson

  5. Barnaby

  6. Damian

  7. Irene

  8. Orson

  9. Heath

  10. Barnaby

  11. Damian

  12. Irene

  13. Orson

  14. Barnaby

  15. Heath

  16. Irene

  Afterword

  Also by Laura Wylde

  Irene

  Here I am, on the top of White Mountain, the highest point in Crete. I had to suck in my breath a moment to take in the view. The horizon seemed to go on forever. It was easy to imagine the legendary war ships floating in the water, the armies of gods, demi-gods and powerful men. Here, it was said, was the cradle of Zeus.

  We arrived behind a bus filled with chattering tourists, who rolled out with their cameras and immediately began snapping pictures. I wasn’t as interested in the ancient alter to the birth of a god, as I was the magnificent scenery. I had been promised much more than a cave that had drawn tourists for decades. I had been promised an undiscovered link to Greek mythology.

  The rest of the team showed the same indifference, looking beyond the crowded cave entrance and stood with their hands fingering the straps on their backpacks, their feet crunching gravel as they paced in impatient circles.

  “The new cave we found is just two miles west of this one,” said Dr. Schneider, pointing away from the clumped visitors to a shelf that curved to the left and dropped slowly. “It’s been covered over for centuries. A young boy found it first when he was chasing a goat. He expected it to the climb the cliff, but it didn’t. It just disappeared. The boy figured there must be a hole, so he went over to check.” He turned to the group that had begun following him. “It was a hole, alright. About a three- foot depression alongside the rock face, and at the bottom of it, the opening to a cave.”

  He said all this hiking jauntily over a trail that imprinted thinly in the loose earth and gravel. Nearly all plant life was discouraged at this altitude, with a few green things popping up disinterestedly. Some of the team lagged, but it was easy for me. It wasn’t much different from rock climbing in New Mexico, something I began learning to do as soon as I was out of diapers. Hell. Maybe while I was in them!

  I’m not an outdoors person. I live outdoors. Living out of tents to hunt, fish, ride horses and explore Carlsbad Canyon was part of my everyday life for as long as I can remember. We were - and remain - a family driven by passions. We throw our whole lives into everything we do. We like camping. We also love the arts, music, dance and the quest for knowledge. Questing is the driving word in our household.

  Where I live, history is so old, you can hear the whispers of the indigenous spirits. It was only natural that I would incorporate into my passions, a love for archeology. And I discovered, there was nothing better than being a cave archeologist. It allowed me to combine my two greatest passions - caving and a fascination with ancient history.

  History is all connected once you get down to the basic levels. All the fantastic fabrications drawn into the first caves and carved on the first temples are similar and time consistent. There is congruency in the ancient myths and that’s what makes them so fascinating. Dr. Schneider had his theories and believed he could prove a time period of gods and powerful civilizations even older than any previously recorded.

  The team was made up of experienced cavers. We had been to the Vézére Valley in France and Skara Brae in Scotland, always under the leadership of Ezra Schneider. I felt a sense of loyalty to the man, even a sense of awe. He was my teacher, my inspiration – a man of great vision with a doctorate in paleontology. He kept us working together like well-oiled machinery.

  We were a good team. Professor Arlington was a crack decoder of hieroglyphics and ancient languages. She had even helped piece together a few fragments of the Mayans’ Bible. Tim Derry and Joe Fritz handled the very technical and delicate aspect of photographing our finds. We had learned from experience that even the wrong lighting can damage fragile paints and dyes. Everything they did was to record the maximum amount of data with the least amount of disturbance. We didn’t expect to find artifacts beyond relics of prehistoric human, possible communal cooking pits and with luck, some cave drawings. We were hoping for more.

  Dr. Schneider hoped this was an entrance to that elusive time-period before our recorded civilization; one that was even older than the early humans who left their handprints as a reminder they had been there. Whatever we discovered - it was bound to add to our understanding of our origins. Even one more clue would be satisfying.

  The cave opening was a descending one. It looked much like a volcanic fluke, although the three-foot high tunnel was covered with cracks from which dirt and roots had poked through and the floor was thick with earth and rocks. We crawled through the hole, our headlamps noting a twenty- degree slope that swung sharply to the left, continued down another fifteen feet than opened into a large chamber. The chamber surrounded a dark, yawning cavern. Dr. Schneider broke a glow-stick and dropped it into gaping maw. It tumbled end over end about sixty-five feet and lay still, its light reflecting dimly. He adjusted his headlamp and gave us a nod. “Are you ready, team?”

  I was more than ready. This was the type of expedition I’m talking about – a descent into the unknown. I clipped the carabiner to my belt and tested the weight. It was secure. “Last one down is a knuckle-dragging Denisovan,” I yelled. I bounced over the edge in a lieback, my feet gripping the splintered sides, bits or gravel and rock sliding away from them.

  “You’re Shirley Temple!” Called Tim Derry. He was smearing the cliff just a few feet above. I fed my rope a little more slack - letting it rush through my hands as I scrambled to stay ahead of him. That’s how it is with me and Tim. We’re competitors. For us, I think half the thrill is in racing each other into the deep recesses of earth and be the first one to step foot within a new discovery. It was close, but I still beat him by three seconds.

  At first, the new cave was a little disappointing. We were hoping to see something besides stalactites and stalagmites. It was a very large cave, however, with several branches leading into smaller chambers. We poked around, our headlamps looking for the marks of prehistory. I had just finished a sweeping through a small when I heard Tim whistle from one of the antechambers. “Over here. Look. These bones. They weren’t just animals that came in and died. They are all in one location. They were put there.”

  That was odd. We could find no pictographs, no human skulls, no firepit evidence, but the bones had been clearly swept into a single pile. This evidence of intention, though, was enough to make us search hungrily for more. Professor Arlington found more. She called to the crew excitedly. “Pottery shards! Look. These are pottery shards.”

  “This deep in the earth?” Pondered Dr. Schneider. The pieces were small and blanched. They looked the same as the millions of pottery pieces they had crunched under their feet when visiting the sites where civilizations had piled on top of civilization. The only thing extraordinary was, they shouldn’t be there. “Bag it up and bring it back for carbon dating,” he told her. “Crew, there’s a mystery here. Let’s see what more we can find.”

  We weren’t locating much; a few more pieces of pottery and two stone carvings. The carvings weren’t like anything else we had seen on a dig. Instead of the realism of classic early sculptures, they were abstract and curved in on themselves. “They don’t even seem to be from this world,” whispered Dr. Schneider, rubbing the unfamiliar stone thoughtfully. His voice trembled with excitement. “Bag it. What other surprises does this cavern hold for us?�
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  While the others were combing the floor of the cave, I began exploring along the walls with Tim, brushes in hand, dusting away at anything that looked like it might have a formation underneath. “Hey, what’s this?” Asked Tim. “Look! There’s a hole.” He shone his light into it. “It could lead to another chamber. Maybe our mystery people lived deeper inside.”

  “It’s small.”

  He nodded. “Too small for you?”

  I scoffed. “If I can get my head through, I can get the rest of me through.”

  “It’s pretty tight.”

  “Watch me.”

  I stuck my head through experimentally, then turned it sideways. I’ve got an inherited trait. I have a few double joints and the rest are so supple, I can curl up like a pretzel. I pulled one arm in and stretched it over my head, reaching for pulling power. I began elbowing forward and slid the other arm through, flattening my stomach and wriggling with my legs in time to my arm strokes. Inch by inch, I crept forward, bits of earth tumbling over my hard hat, butt flattened to keep from scraping the top of the hole. My fingertips found the edge before my headlamp did. It was easier now. The hole sloped slightly downward.

  As I slipped through, I gasped with astonishment. “Hey, guys? You’ve got to get down here.”

  “I don’t think we can,” Dr. Schneider shot back. “Not until we make the hole a little wider. Is it stable enough to do that?”

  “Yes. Be careful of the top, but the floor used to be much larger. It’s all loose dirt now. It can be moved. How long will it take?”

  “How long is the tunnel?”

  “About twelve feet.” I snapped a couple of photos with my cell phone. “Does this motivate you?”

  “Holy shit!” Said Dr. Schneider irreverently. “We hit the jackpot.”

  Heath

  Usually, I didn’t mind our retreat in New Haven, England. It’s scenic. It’s got a lot of upbeat artists and mournful musicians. It’s a vacation spot, but really, anything more than two weeks makes me feel like I’m live in a retirement community. We bust up some of the most vicious crime rings on the face of the planet – the ones who will do anything to steal treasures of immense value. They are ruthless cut throats of the worst kind, murderers with no regret, often aided by mythological creatures. Human words, not mine. I prefer the word, other worldly as they were all created during the wars with the Titans. Barnaby, who is so anal retentive, he’s practically brain dead, prefers “unclassified species.”

  I argue with him about it. Technically, they are classified, at least in the books of the Ancients. It’s only the modern world that is confused. That’s also human error. Just because they hadn’t seen a creature in several hundred years doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Like sea monsters. A few sea monsters get killed off in the twelfth century and humans think that’s the end of it. Sea monsters have very long lives and don’t breed often, but every few hundred years, there’s a population surge. Then you’re in trouble. In case you’re wondering, yeah. Sea monsters are on the rise, as are dwarves and leprechaun, who are always trying to steal gold from the international gold vaults. Those buggers never give a dragon shifter a good night’s sleep.

  I was sitting at the desk, moping, and browsing through some old case file histories, when the alert box flashed across my screen. I opened the encrypted window to see what it contained. It wasn’t a gold vault needing guarding, but it was something as good. Ancient artifacts. As a forensics expert on prehistory, I always get excited when something is found worthwhile enough to send for us. “Red flag!” I shouted. “We’ve got a red flag. AMP is sending us to Crete.”

  Orson, who had been standing by the window enjoying the evening air blowing off the ocean, appeared to wilt. He was a slender, lithe man with a dancer’s movement, so his wilting was as visible as a plant without water. “Not Crete! Do you know how many of Poseidon’s spawn I’ve had to battle because they were causing shipwrecks? And the water sprites. Always confusing you, making you see things that aren’t there.”

  “Don’t worry.,” I assured him. “It’s not on the coast. It’s at the top of White Mountain. It’s probably dwarves stealing ancient treasures.”

  “It’s not dwarves,” said Barnaby, who had also received notice. “An archeological team found something. Since nobody knows what it is, AMP froze the expedition They are pissed and want to return to their dig. The Greek Archeological Society is suspending their permit unless an AMP team goes along.”

  Orson scoffed. “You’re kidding. Since when are we babysitters for an archeological expedition?”

  “Don’t know,” said Barnaby, shrugging. “New policy, maybe. They say we’ve gotta do it, we do it. Where’s Damian?”

  We found Damian in the garage, soldering a front grid to his already well-armored jeep. “Team meeting!” Said Barnaby loudly.

  “Fuck your team meeting,” Damian grumbled. “I’m racing the obstacle course tomorrow. The only rule is to be the first one to the end of the course. I’m going to win.”

  “We have to be in Crete tomorrow.”

  “Fuck!” Damian ripped off his safety helmet and threw it to the floor. “I hate Crete. They captured my great-grandmother and locked her away for a hundred-fifty years, you know.”

  “She shouldn’t have been burning down villages.”

  “They were very annoying villagers, always prodding and prying her with sticks.”

  He climbed the stairs, anyway, shrugging out of his overalls as he went and kicking them to one side. When he reached the conference room, he flopped in a chair, scooting it away from the table. “What you got?” He asked lazily.

  Barnaby read the memo out loud. “Five archeologists were exploring a recently discovered cave a few miles west of the Cave of Ideon. There is a hundred- foot tunnel with a gradual twenty-five- foot descent. It arrives at a cavern with about a sixty-five- foot drop, making an overall descent of ninety feet. At the bottom of the cavern, they discovered another complex with several corridors. One of the scientists found a cave with a very small opening. She squeezed through and discovered this.” He laid three photographs on the table to show the panoramic dimensions.

  I felt the blood rush to my face as my amused fantasies about humans and their excitement over fossilized bones and childlike carvings suddenly turned to completely dumbfounded and thunderstruck awe. “Fuck no!” I said, trying to find my voice. “Oh hell, no. This can’t be.”

  Orson picked up the photographs, trying to understand my reactions. “A bronze wall. We’ve all seen bronze walls.”

  “Not this brass wall,” I explained. “What is it doing ninety feet inside a mountain? It shouldn’t be there. Cave dwelling humans, thousands of years in the past did not have that type of technology.”

  “Maybe bronze age humans did it.”

  “Why would they? There is no sign of human settlement; not even fire pits.”

  “What about this?” Asked Barnaby. He slid another photograph across the table.

  I pressed my lips together and shifted my chair, accidentally causing a small quake. I do that sometimes when I’m upset. I don’t mean to, but I’m a cave dragon. My element is earth. It sort of rumbles when I rumble. “Where did they find these?”

  “Inside the cavern, along with some pottery samples. They carbon dated back 35,000 years. So did the bronze wall.”

  Orson jumped from his chair, his pale face growing incredibly paler. “That’s not possible. Unless… “

  He was wildly calculating the possibilities in his head, arriving as I had, at some disturbing conclusions. “Barnaby’s right. We have to go.”

  “Why?” Asked Damien, shoving the photographs back to the center of the table. “For some weird paleontology findings that show early humanoids were a little smarter than they first thought?” He scoffed. “I’d rather be hunting pirates.”

  “That show a civilization even older than the Minoan,” Orson corrected. “Do you remember what happened when scientists first began uncov
ering the tombs in the pyramids”

  “Oh, yeah, a lot of bad things,” Damian mumbled truculently.

  “We’re still cleaning up the mess. That’s how AMP was first formed.”

  “Roger that,” said Damian, saluting mockingly. “We’re saving fools from their folly.”

  Damian wasn’t going to rain on my parade. This was the type of assignment I liked best, one that would take them deep inside the earth to the magical realm where time lay frozen. As an earth dragon, I was the best caver among them and where there wasn’t a cave, I could quickly make one. I once helped the team apprehend an international band smuggling the Queen of England’s Crown jewels through the subway system and a series of tunnels by blasting my way underground straight to their retreat. I did a little structural damage to one of the subways and to a sewage tunnel and apologized for it. The main thing was, we got the jewels back.

  We left as soon as the sun set, shifting into dragon form and flying high above the clouds of England. “The English Coast is never really that nice this time of year, anyway,” said Barnaby, glancing down. “It rains too much.”

  “What do you know?” Snarled Damian, veering off. “Do you think I spend my time sunbathing?”

  Barnaby belched a ball of fire and Damian avoided it easily. “Oh, you want to fight?” He taunted, flashing a metal bar from his talons. “I can still hit you with a steel beam.”

  “We will not fight!” Said Orson, spraying them both with water. It cooled down Barnaby’s dragon breath and caused Damian to put his bar away, although his black metallic scales rippled with silvery indignation. “Look,” Orson pointed out rationally. “They put us up in one of those fancy tourist hotels so we could be close to the archeologists. Bikinis, swimming pools, cocktails, hello!”