The Death Artist

The Death Artist

By Alexander Jablokov

Something moved heavily in the darkness, and a row of chairs overturned with a clatter. Elam turned away from the pool. His heart pounded. A burst of laughter sounded from across the pool. The party was continuing, but the guests were impossibly far away, like a memory of childhood, unreachable and useless.

A head rose up out of the darkness, a head twice the size of Elam’s body. It was a metal egg, dominated by two expressionless eyes. Behind dragged a long, multi-limbed body, shiny and obscene. Elam screamed in unreasoning and senseless terror.

The creature moved forward, swaying its head from side to side. Acid saliva drooled from beneath its crystal teeth, splashing and fizzing on the marble terrace. It was incomprehensibly ancient, something from the long-forgotten past. It swept its tail around and dragged Elam towards it.

For an instant, Elam was paralyzed, staring at the strange beauty of the dragon’s teeth as they moved towards him. Then he struggled against the iron coil of the tail. His body still had traces of oil, and he slid out, stripping skin. He dove between the dragon’s legs, bruising his bones on the terrace.

The dragon is not dead. Photo by Elena

The dragon whipped around quickly, cornering him. With a belch, it sprayed acid over him. It burned down his shoulder, bubbling as it dissolved his skin.

“Damn you!” he shouted, and threw himself at the dragon’s head. It didn’t pull back quickly enough and he plunged his fist into its left eye. Its surface resisted, then popped, spraying fluid. The dragon tossed its head, flinging Elam across the ground.

He pulled himself to his feet, feeling the pain of shattered ribs. Blood dribbled down his chin. One of his legs would not support his weight. The massive head lowered down over him, much pouring out of the destroyed eye. Elam grabbled for the other eye, but he had no strength left. Foul-smelling acid flowed over him, sloughing his flesh off with the sound of frying bacon. He stayed on his feet, trying to push imprecations between his destroyed lips. The last thing he saw was the crystal teeth, lowering his head.

(Excerpt from The Year’s Best Science Fiction, eight annual collection, edited by Gardner Dozois, 2008)