Walking upright, I carefully step among the sick and their attendants occupying the floor of the cobra temple. Taur steps just outside the doorway to allow me to pass, then resumes his spot at the threshold, which is a strong tactical position where he can't be outflanked.
The leader of the daywatch stands in the street outside the temple with a dozen men backing him up, all of them carrying polearms, spears, and sandbags on staves. I see a tiger fork, a kung-fu weapon in the shape of a trident designed to take on large predators like tigers, but would actually serve pretty well against oversize geckos.
The leader of the daywatch draws himself up. He wears civilian clothing of a loose shirt and short pants with an elastic below the knee, but is identifiable by the hat he wears, which has a copper badge and a plume that flutters in the breeze. “We have a report that you are healing under false pretenses.”
I walk out into the street to face him, standing upright. “I'm not healing anybody—it's God the Healer who has healed a little boy today.”
The men of the guard look at each other, exchanging glances, subconsciously adjusting their grip on their weapons, and fanning out to flank me.
“Funny, we just got attacked by madmen who were stupid enough to think that they could become snakes. Where were you guys?” My tail sneaks up from the ground and the tip points right at the face of the captain of the daywatch. I'm happy, because it's a much more effective, unsettling gesture than trying to point with my short arms and stubby broad fingers. “So you guys aren't the daywatch, you're what, street sweepers? Trash collectors?”
“Watch your tongue, lizard man!” The captain stands up straighter and adjusts his shirt. He is the only one carrying a sword, so he draws it now. “We are the daywatch, maintaining order for the queen!”
He's only talking to give his men a chance to encircle me, even though that's complicated by the presence of Taur in the doorway.
“Speaking of street sweeping and trash collecting, you'll need to get the bodies of the red mob from the alley—we killed them all. And there are a couple in the street, too.” I speak as if I can't see the men circling me, even though I have nearly 360 degree vision. “So you're saying I can't heal anybody?”
“No, you can't,” the captain replies. “By the authority of the queen I place you under...”
Humans never see it coming. I guess they never watch geckos, never see how quickly geckos move, jumping large distances from a position of motionlessness. Admittedly, I look comical, but humans never consider the implications of a gecko writ large, blown up to six feet.
I shoot across the gap and seize him by the throat with startling speed. If I weren't so focused on this Barney Fife I might have seen the other men jump in alarm. It's so much easier just to crush a guy's skull, but I go for the more challenging move, and seize the captain's throat. I throw him to the ground, careful not to break anything, and lift up my bloody snout while pinning him with my shackled foot.
The cautious daywatch want to charge in, but they're scared, so they point the tips of the polearms at me.
“Stay back, or I'll kill him.” My tail idly switches back and forth in the dust. I lean into his face and see panic. Blood is streaming from his throat, and he's scared. He should be, because he's dying. “Do you want me to heal you?”
He looks at me, knowing that the blood running down his neck and pooling under his back is his life pouring out of him. His eyes start to dim, but fear makes him force them open.
“Do you want me to heal you?” I ask again, speaking loudly for the benefit of his men, who warily maintain the circle.
“Yes,” he gasps as the blood streams from the gash in his throat.
“They can't hear you.” My tail lifts up and sweeps the daywatch, pointing to indicate them. “Louder!”
“Yes! Heal me for Ashera's sake!” He is on the verge of weeping, and he's desperate to live.
“This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.” I raise my hand, and grimace when it catches fire, sending a wave of pain throughout my entire body that I can feel right down to the tip of my tail. I lay my burning hand onto his throat, making the blood boil for an instant before it dries, cooked by the fire.
The captain twists and flops, so I am forced to pin him down while he writhes in pain. He's not used to having his throat burned with a red hot fireplace poker, and I'm tempted to think this panty waist wouldn't last fifteen minutes in purgatory. Of course, he would last fifteen minutes in purgatory—that's the whole point—because you can't escape the flames and have no choice. You can't die when you're already dead.
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The captain with the fancy hat is shrieking in pain, flopping and drumming the dirt with the heels of his boots. I guess he hasn't considered that I'm not feeling so great, either, with my hand on fire. At last I decide that I've cauterized the wound, and extinguish the flames in my hand. If you've ever spent your daylight hours with flames engulfing your body in agonizing fire, it's a great relief to be able to shut them off at will.
I rise and stand above the captain, who is still in pain, but relieved to be alive.
“God the Healer has given you your life back,” I tell him. “Remember that as long as you live.”
Humans never see it coming. Yes, I'm repeating myself. You'd think that after these Keystone Cops saw their leader get taken out by a gecko pouncing on him with blinding speed, that they'd be prepared, but I've caught them flat-footed again. Of course, I've struck on the off-beat, leaping over the tip of a spear and seizing the head of a guardsman, then breaking his neck as I land.
They start to close the circle on me, but forget Taur, who connects with a powerful two-handed blow to the skull, a swing for the fences that shuts off the lights for a sloppy member of the guard.
As I land I sweep my tail, catching the lead foot of a guardsman as he steps forward. It's as though he's hit a banana peel, and he falls, which causes the man charging behind him to fall when he tries to hurdle his fallen comrade.
Several others are forced to confront Taur, and they are confident that they have the advantage of reach against the giant man with the bull's horns. They do have a reach advantage, but Taur has a power advantage. The bull man strikes his metal club against the end of a spear, causing a powerful reverberation throughout the shaft of the weapon, which forces the wielder to drop it. At this point Taur closes and smashes the guardsman's skull with a rising blow like he's hitting a cricket pitch.
My tongue shoots out past the tip of the tiger fork and latches onto the face of a guardsman. When I retract my long tongue, he is yanked off balance, enabling me to scamper up the shaft of his pole to catch his head. I drop and pivot, flinging him as easily as a Barbie doll, before they started making Morbidly Obese Body Positivity Barbie.
Taur doesn't parry long weapons, but bashes them, sending the wielder off balance so the guardsman must fight to regain his weapon, but by then it's too late.
The muscular bull man turns to find a spear point inches from his throat, but the blade stops. To his relief, he sees that Liana has climbed the back of the spearman and thrust her blade downward into the top of his skull, causing him to collapse over his own feet.
We've made quick work of the guardsman, who are not used to fighting. They have allowed the Red Riot to do their fighting for them, and mainly just show up in overwhelming numbers against unarmed citizens who have offended the goddess, have failed to worship with enough fervor, or have been guilty of blasphemy, which means saying anything the people in authority don't like.
The captain gets up and briefly surveys the bodies of his men as he spins in a dizzying circle. He starts to bend down to retrieve his hat and his sword, but thinks better of it, and runs down the street. He doesn't get very far before he collapses and sprawls face-first into the dust.
I shake my head. “Blood loss. Gotta look out for that.” He'll recover in time, but for now he's pushed himself too hard after a near escape from death.
We return to the temple of the snake, and those crammed inside are genuinely surprised that we're back. They caught glimpses of the guard and their weapons, and thought we'd be easy pickings.
“Excuse us, please,” I say as we wind our way back to the boy who reminds me of Max. The boy actually looks energetic, and is playing with the clay cup.
I kneel beside the boy and gently run my hand over his curly hair. For the first time, he smiles.
“His fever has broken” his mother says, and hopefulness lights up her tired face.
“His healing has just started.” I pull the boy into my pale white chest. “Today the scripture has been fulfilled: 'His venom is poison to the faithless and medicine to the believer.' God the Healer has made your boy whole.”
This is how it has to be. I cradle the boy in my arms, extending the moment. Max is gone, out of my hands forever. I can't go back, can't get him back, so I have to see Max in the face of every child I meet.
“You're bleeding,” the woman says upon seeing a drop of blood slide from my eye and fall to her son's mat.
“Liana, can you help this lady and her son?” I stand and let Liana, our treasurer, take over. “Taur, we've got to get rid of that damned statue.”
“Yes, I'm ahead of you on that one.” The big man loosens up his shoulders as we carefully make our way to the stone cobra image.
We must clear a path in front of the image, causing the sick and their attendants to pick up their mats.
“Don't worry,” I tell them, as they pack up and move away from the spot in front of the statue. “Once we've got this garbage out of the way, you'll have more room.”
Taur climbs between the wall and the neck of the serpent. With his scarred back against the wall, he presses both feet and pushes off. He pauses, and with a groan, he shoves again, until the body of the snake snaps, and it topples to the floor. The crowd gasps when the statue hits the floor and shatters. Pieces roll over the floor as dust descends.
“Ashera the demon will fall, as will all who worship her,” I announce.
With a groan, Taur lifts up the stone coils of the serpent statue and flips them upright like a tractor tire, before slowly wheeling them out the door. With a heave, the coils roll in a circle before hitting the corpse of a guardsman and flopping down on top of him.
Taur, Liana, and I make our way down the street, happy with our work. We meet up with the captain, who has an obvious wound in the form of a fresh scar at his throat.
“Street sweeper,” I bark at him, “get back to the temple and pick up the pieces of the fake god.”
Liana smiles, and Taur and I laugh as the captain clutches his throat and turns back to the temple.
* * *
At nightfall I stand atop the abandoned chapel where the three of us have taken refuge. I kneel in prayer, and hear the flapping of leather in response. I raise my hands skyward. Talons seize my arms, pulling me upward into the moonless sky.