April 3rd 1260
Dublin, Ireland
Saoirse Dragoon POV
Dragons start attacking but the only thing I want to do is get closer to them. And I do, a female I believe. I may be eight but I am proud to state that I don't sound like a baby or even act like one but instead I bow to her and I wait until she tells me to move away or let's me show her attention.
She soon lets me know I can approach and I pet her and come back with blood.
''You're injured. If I may go get something to help you, I'll treat you right away.'' I say.
The dragon nudges me so I can get what I need to get. I go to return to her side when the male snarls at me and I bow and tell him that I am trying to treat the female.
When he sees she's injured, he has this look that speaks of killing her to put her out of her misery.
''NO!'' I yell as I get in front of her. The male looks at me in surprise as he probably thinks I am like the other villagers but I am not.
''Please don't kill her. Please give me a chance to heal her.'' I beg him as I cry.
He suddenly starts to comfort me and nods. I guess he thought the villagers would have followed her and killed her. And they would.
''I have a paste but it's going to hurt.'' I say, lip wobbling as I don't want to hurt any of them.
The dragons let me put the paste on and I cry as the female flinches from pain and I want to do something but I don't know what to do.
''You're as beautiful as a ruby you know? And he's gorgeous like an amethyst.'' I say.
The other dragons land and snarl at me but I just bow and show them the respect they need to be shown.
I suddenly cry out as the other villagers throw rocks at me and call me a witch. The dragons snarl at the other villagers and they pick me up and take me to their cave.
Westminster Abbey, London
April 3rd 1270
Ten years have passed and the dragons have gone into hibernation. Suddenly, there's the sound of movement and I get ready to fight. St. George comes in and I battle him. Sword clashes with sword but before I can defend myself, he takes a knife out from a pouch and stabs me in the heart.
I hear crying and hope he will take pity on my son and daughter. Yes, the dragons had met my husband and thought him a worthy choice for a mate. Michael died by a villager who had seen him with a dragon but not even trying to kill her.
My babies, my Lilliana and my Gabriel please be raised by good kindhearted people.
Children's voices sing the haunting strains of a Dies Irae - the Requiem Mass which prophecies Judgment Day.
Westminster, London
August 9th 2000
Quinn Abecromby POV
A series of stained glass portraying a pageant of medieval Kings and armored knights. Heroes of the past commemorated forever in glass mosaic.
And on a rendering of the most mythic warrior: St. George. Lance lifted, warhorse rearing, he's shown charging into battle against his fabled foe: a gigantic winged dragon.
An ominous rumbling suddenly builds. The window begins to shake. Only, it's a bulldozer, loudly lumbering; down a street below.
I now see the windows are the facade of Westminster Abbey. A city caught between the 12th century and the 20th; where the medieval spires of the Tower of London compete for space with office buildings of glass and steel.
The bulldozer rumbles through the city's afternoon traffic toward a nearby construction site. A high barrier surrounds the site, from which hangs a banner: Jubilee Line Extension Project: Taking London into a millennium.
The dozer stops by the banner, lowers its bucket to the ground. Revealed inside is a young passenger. Me, Quinn Abecromby. age 12, a "forward moving chap" just stalled on the border of puberty. I hop out of the bucket with a nod to the driver.
''Cheers, Jake.'' I tell the driver of the dozer
Bookbag in one hand, some bags of fast-food in the other, I enter a door in the barrier marked SITE ENTRANCE. Quinn walks through the site. Around him, workers labor over a lattice d' girders. Huge cranes lift material down a fifty-foot-wide hole which leads to subway construction below.
Karen Abecromby POV
I am standing by a table, going over a schematic. I'm a working-class matron in my 40's, full of life, sturdy as the buildings I help construct. My assistant, Stuart nudges me.
''There's your man.'' Stuart tells me. I look up and see Quinn approach.
''What are you doing without a hat?'' I ask.
''Bringing you supper.'' Quinn says as he brandishes the food bags.
I take my hard hat off and toss it to Quinn.
''Aww mum...'' Quinn says.
''Oh, ''mum'' yourself. You know you can't be here without protection.'' I say.
''Don't believe it, Quinn. If she'd had protection, you wouldn't be here at all.'' Stuart says.
''Watch it mate...'' I say.
A workman calls from nearby.
''Karen! Jess needs you downstairs.'' the workman says.
''Can't it wait? We're just havin' our tea.'' I say.
''He says it's urgent.'' he says.