25 Picarats

Veronica rowed to a craggy island jutting out of the waters of Lake Shinhua, to speak with the dragon there. She had hoped that the dragon would lend Veronica aid, but the dragon, like many dragons, had been persecuted and pursued by humans for most of her life, and it turned out she would sooner burn a human invading her island to a crisp than parlay with it. Veronica was cowering behind a scorched rock, considering her options, when the dragon spoke.
"I smell the scent of the Gods Below upon you, wormling."
"T-that does not surprise me, dragon."
"I smell dragon, as well."
"A vest, of dragonscale. Freely given, by a dragon named Lumus."
"You wear the skin of a dragon?! Your seconds are numbered, Godtouched wormling."
"It was fashioned by her mate, Namos. Surely he would have been the first to object."
"It makes no difference, wormling. You defile my home with your footsteps. In respect of Namos and late Lumus, however, your death will at least be honourable. You shall be the one to bring about your end, not I.
The dragon continued, "There are nine wells on this island, and the water in each has been touched by one of the Gods Below. The water may look inviting, but drinking from any one of the wells will cause the Gods to take root in your mind, and you will never be rid of them -- unless..." the dragon smiled a toothy grin, "you drunk from the well of a more powerful God soon after. The elder God will spend its power driving the lesser God away, until it only has the tiniest clawhold in your mind."
"So what happens if you mix water from two different wells?"
"The elder wins. The water is not as potent, but it is potent enough."
"Okay. If there's nine wells, and only eight Gods, then--"
"There are nine Gods. Each well is a different God."
Veronica interrupted. "Wait, nine Gods? Everyone's sure there's only eight. Well, seven, now."
The dragon paused. "There are nine. The God of Deceit has... diminished, but its well still holds a little power. The God still lives. And the Eldest God guards its secrets very tightly."
"Then, thank you, dragon. You have provided me with aid, after all. It is a shame that I will not live to see it through."
The dragon bowed her head, colour fading from her spikes. When she spoke, her voice was hollow, the bravado gone. "I am so weary, wormling. I have been pushed to a place where only the Gods will set foot. I am so used to humans that hate and fear and lie. I know who you are, wormling. There are few wormlings that smell so much of the Gods Below and still feel fear. I know that you are why the God of Deceit is so diminished, and I know what it means for Namos to gift the skin of his mate to you. I am too set in my ways, wormling, and I know when my time has passed. Your sentence is a battle of wits. Your life, or mine.
"An hour hence, we shall meet back here, and present each other with a flask of water. We shall drink as much as we can stomach, in front of each other, and then we shall leave each other be. If you have not brought about my end then, wormling, I shall bring about yours. Do you understand?"
Veronica nodded.


As Veronica rowed away from the island that evening, she reflected on the ninth well, that of the Eldest God. It had been well out of reach, at the very peak of the island crag. The dragon had flown up there, after their exchange, and had died there, thrashing about in fear and pain. She had felt horrible about it, at first, but the dragon had chosen its own end, and giving the Gods a way into her mind, even briefly, was always terrifying. It was hard to feel too much guilt. Still, she had aid, of a sort: knowledge. Also, that well-water would probably end up being useful as a poison.

How had Veronica survived?