Redeeming the Dragon (Into the Enchanted)

Chapter 2

T he storm broke with a sudden vengeance. Throughout my nineteen years, I had witnessed many a gale, some fiercer than others. I’d never witnessed a storm such as this.

“It sounds as if legions of Dragonkind have flown in to attack,” groaned Marisa, who huddled in Mama’s old rocker, her hands pressed over her ears.

I resisted the urge to follow her example. The fiendish winds were piercing, keening, screeching, yowling. As I stood at the closed shutters, peering out between the cracks, my gaze was riveted to the glimpses of swirling colors beyond the window. What storm had flashes of copper and gold, rather than natural bright lightning? What clouds sparkled with a fierce greenish hue—actually sparkled, the emerald glow lit by trillions of cold raindrops?

“Lorna, come away from that window!” Mama hissed as if just having noticed where I’d placed myself.

Even as she spoke, a stern bellow of thunder preluded the crackle of lightning. I witnessed the giant tesia tree in our yard, which had stood guard for centuries between our home plot and the beach, being struck by green-red lightning. I jumped in horror as the grand old tree was split in half. The crack reverberated throughout our small cottage, shaking its walls.

“Was that the house?” Neena cried. “Have we been hit?”

“No, it was the tesia tree,” I answered, spinning from the window and retreating to the center of the room, where Mama sat before the woodstove, trying to gain strength and solace from its cheery flames.

“What?”

The noise of the storm had hidden my words.

“The tesia tree was struck,” I nearly shouted, dropping to my knees beside my mother.

Mama’s head whipped around and she gave me a dark frown. “Don’t shout, Lorna. The extra noise is unneeded.”

I opened my mouth to reply, then snapped it shut, shrugging my shoulders instead. Unfair, yes, but Mama was as worried as the rest of us. Perhaps even more so. If the storm was so terrible here, on the island, how was Father faring out on his vessel?

The thought of my father, our island’s chieftain, helpless on the rough seas caused my stomach to sink like lead. Rather than cling to anger, I leaned my head into Mama’s lap and gave myself to gazing into the belly of the stove, past its open door, seeking whatever comfort I could find. Though winter never truly gripped our archipelago, as it did other portions of Aerisia, chilly rains fell in the winter season without measure, bringing temperatures cold enough that a fire was welcome. It was not necessarily cold today, but there was a certain security to be derived from the snapping and crackling of the flames.

“He’ll be alright, Mama. Won’t he?” Neena faltered.

I pressed my lips together, in my mind’s eye envisioning the poor tesia tree.

No.

No, Father would not be alright. How could he be?

Powers of Good, please, I prayed into the silence of Mama holding her peace, refusing to utter false hope. Please. I will do anything if you’ll spare his life.

A particularly violent gust of wind howled around the corners, shaking the cottage to its foundation, causing us all to jolt. I sat upright, glancing about in fear, meeting my sisters’ eyes. The panic in theirs was, I’m sure, reflected in my own. Mama’s hand, which had been resting on my back, tightened in my tunic.

“Is the whole house coming down?” I said, fearing the worst.

Overhead, the roof creaked and groaned. I could have sworn the walls flexed, bowing with the force of the gale.

“I’ve a feeling we won’t survive till midday,” Marisa whispered.

“Hush, child,” Mama said, and her voice was low and thick. “Hush, and pray…”

Her orders were cut short by a sudden banging against the door. The stout wooden beam that barred it closed bent. Neena gasped. Mother’s words choked into an unintelligible cry which was smothered by a second bellow of thunder. The bar across the front door bent and snapped, splintering into a thousand pieces.

Marisa screamed. Mama’s chair squeaked as she bolted to her feet. Pushed off her lap, I rolled to my hands and knees, pressing back on my heels, my body instinctively ready to fly, although there was nowhere to flee. If the house collapsed, would I dart out into the night? That would do me little good.

“Powers of Good,” I heard Mama breathe, and then the door itself bowed in. The brightest flash yet, the light orange and green, filled the room, creating an absence of sound that set my ears to humming. Deep in my bones, a peculiar tingling pain burned, as if something inside me responded to the force of the storm. I couldn’t name it, couldn’t define it, but I could define what poured over my heart.

Terror.

Sheer terror.

A crash of thunder shattered the spell of silence, and the door, just like the wooden bar, exploded into thousands of splinters flung about the cottage. We all threw up our arms to shield our faces. I felt dozens of pricks as slivers of wood impaled themselves in my clothing. My sisters were screaming. Mama was gasping a plea to the Powers of Good. I could not speak. My vocal cords were frozen, but I split the fingers over my face so I could watch the storm take me.

Watch my fate coming.

Face my death.

Instead of the storm coming for us, a body was hurled into the cottage’s common room, eliciting more shrieks from my sisters. I heard my breath seize in my throat, then recognition struck.

“Father!” I screamed, darting towards the prostrate figure.

“What? Monreth?” Mama gasped. She was not far behind me. I heard the swish of her skirts as she ran to her husband, dropping next to him on her knees.

Quickly, carefully, we rolled him over. Mama’s hands were passing over his face, his neck, his chest, and shoulders, feeling for signs of life or seeking injuries. His skin was pale and a little blue, either from cold or lack of oxygen. However, I saw his chest rise and fall.

“He lives!” I shouted joyously.

Over my cry, Mama begged, “Monreth? Monreth? Come back to us! Monreth?”

“Um…Mama?”

Neena’s voice was quiet, so quiet I probably should not have heard it over the noise of the storm, not to mention the commotion over our father. There was something in it, though—a note of absolute shock, dread, and terror that seized my attention as nothing else could have.

“Mama…look.”

I glanced up from my father to my eldest sister. Her face had gone stark white. Her arm was lifted, her finger pointing at the doorway. In the stove’s flickering light, I could see her arm trembling. A sick feeling of excitement churned in my belly. Slowly, I turned to see what she indicated.

Mama’s choked cry told me she’d done the same. For my part, I made no outcry. I was too stunned. Instead, pressing my lips together, I swallowed hard. Anything to force my body to react. Anything to keep my blood from freezing in my veins. Anything to keep my heart pumping and my breath flowing.

“Av—Avigale,” Father gasped. It was the first sound he’d made since the door had burst and he’d been flung into the room, rolling to a stop in front of the stove.

“Avigale, must warn you…”

From the corner of my vision, I saw Mama’s hand go to my father’s chest as she braced herself by touching him.

“I see it, Monreth.”

I saw it too.

Backlit by a flash of green-gold lightning, I saw a monstrous serpentine head. Slitted, golden eyes gleamed out of the darkness. The head filled the doorway, its short horns and small, tufted beard giving the creature an almost demonic appearance. Shiny scales glittered with raindrops. Elongated nostrils flared with each breath.

A dragon.

“Father,” I breathed. Without thinking, I rose to my knees, either to snatch up a weapon and attack, run for the back door, or charge the beast .

“Lorna, stop!” my mother hissed, calling me back to my senses.

“He—he won’t hurt her,” Father choked. Pain made talking difficult, yet he wheezed, “This creature saved my life.”

“How did—how did a dragon save your life, Father?” stammered Neena. Cautiously, as though fearful her movements would attract the beast’s attention, she crept to us, kneeling on the floor beside Mama.

“Yes,” Marisa echoed from her seat in the rocking chair. “How do we know it didn’t save you so that you might lead it here, where it would have five of us to devour instead of one?”

“Marisa!” Mama rebuked sternly. “That is enough. There will be no talk of devouring.”

“A dragon is an animal. How can it plan such a thing anyway?” I murmured, my gaze still latched onto the beast.

The burning pangs in my bones had altered into something else entirely. A quiet, peculiar buzzing. Pungent, as if all the blood in my body had rushed to my head. I could neither explain nor clarify it. All I knew, as I stared at the dragon, a beast from folklore and myth brought to life, one I’d never dreamt of seeing on my quiet island, was that it seemed to be staring back at me.

Not into my house. Not at my family members. At me . Its slitted eyes were sentient. Despite my affirmation of the opposite, I could have sworn this was no mere animal with an animal’s capability and intellect.

Father confirmed it.

“Help me, Avigale,” he implored. And with Mama placing an arm behind his back, and Neena tugging on his hands, he worked himself into an upright position. Carefully, he swiveled around on his rump to face the dragon that gazed into our cottage.

“Avigale, girls,” he said quietly. “This creature saved my life, but it was not without cost. ”

“Cost? What cost? What do you mean, Monreth? How could a dragon demand payment? What can we give it? Our horse, the cows, a goat? Is it hungry? How did it communicate with you?” Mama sputtered, aghast.

“Nay,” Father answered. “He doesn’t want our animals. He wishes something far more valuable.”

As he said this, the beast shifted its giant head gently from side to side, its eyes leaving mine to peer around the room. The hypnotic spell of its gaze broken, I awoke as if from a trance. I jumped back, blinking furiously, as the serpent rolled its neck, peering from one family member to the next. He—somehow, I knew it was male—was studying us. With each motion, his wet scales sparkled in the low light from the stove and lanterns as well as the hazy flashes of orange and green lightning, growing ever distant as the storm rolled back out to sea.

“He wants something we cannot give, yet I fear we must,” Father replied. To my surprise, his voice sounded choked from emotion. Possibly tears.

Tears? Father never cries.

I swung about to look at him, removing my attention from the serpent, only to hear him say,

“He wants one of our daughters.”