Chapter 3
“ H e wants—he wants what?”
Mother’s reaction was a mixture of ferocity, fear, and disgust. She rose to her feet, balling her fists at her sides, looking as if she was prepared to take on our otherworldly visitor in defense of her girls. I could easily envision her flying at the dragon, attacking him with her fists or any weapon she could find, giving her life without a second thought if it meant defending her children.
“He is not taking my daughters,” she asserted staunchly. “I will die first.”
At this, the dragon, who hitherto had appeared calm and unhurried, reacted. His head snapped up, his golden eyes sparking with fury. His massive head jerked up so far, so fast, his snout struck the doorframe, cracking the wooden beam. His mouth opened, displaying cruel white fangs. He hissed balefully, and in that hiss, I saw sparks of fire.
We all screamed and lurched back, even Mama. Her face had gone stark white, but her fists remained clenched in defiance .
“Careful, Avigale,” Father soothed. Pushing weakly to his feet, he caught Mama by the shoulders, drawing her away. “Careful what you say to this one. He understands your words. He can communicate. Not all Warkin beasts have the ability, but this one does.”
“Then, if he can communicate, he should know this. He cannot have one of my daughters!” Bravely, Mama stalked forward, her stare never leaving the beast’s. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, the storm far enough away now that the silence, compared to the former fury, seemed deafening.
Or was that due to the terror in my heart as I gawked at this mythical beast brought to life? The blaze of his golden eyes rivaled the glow of the stove. His scales gleamed in the half-light of the receding storm, shimmering with his every movement. Something in my brain clicked as I observed the colors of his scales and saw the outlines of his leathery wings, folded along his back.
The eerie colors of the storm were akin to the colors of this dragon, I thought. The taste of fresh fear filled my mouth. The first clouds I saw resembled a dragon’s wings. Did this beast—did he bring the storm? Has a dragon that much power?
Difficult to say. We knew so little about them. The realm of the Warkin, the Dragonkind, was on the mainland of Aerisia. Even then, they were said to exist in the deserts, rocks, high plateaus, and soaring plains, in a remote territory where most of the continent never ventured. Generally, folk knew that the Dragonkind existed and little else. Save, perhaps, that they were ancient rivals of the Tearkin, a fabled race of giants, about whom I knew as little as the Warkin.
“Father,” I ventured quietly into the mute war between my mother and the beast. “What happened out there at sea? How came this dragon to…fetch you home? ”
At the sound of my voice, the dragon’s giant head lifted. His forked tongue flicked in and out of his gleaming jaws as he emitted a low, hissing sound that made Marisa gasp.
“Hush, Lorna,” Mama demanded sternly. “Draw not his attention.”
Too late. His attention was already lured to me. He stared, unblinking. The buzzing, tingling pain in my bones increased, as did a peculiar feeling that compelled me to step towards the beast.
No.
Was I mad?
In a show of defiance, I stepped away, keeping my motions slow and controlled, exactly as I reacted when I came across one of the venomous reptiles that slithered about our islands. So intent was I on watching the newcomer, praying he didn’t decide to lash out and gobble me up, that it took a moment to realize my father was speaking, replying to my question.
“I was in my vessel when the storm came on,” Father said. “Such a storm it was, outdoing any I’d seen before. You should have witnessed it, Avigale,” he said to my mother, his voice taut with the fear that must have swarmed him. “The waves that rose from the deep. Ancient waters drawn upward that hadn’t seen the surface in years. The wind was a living thing—furious and hungry. The rain attempted to drown me as it fell from the sky. The colors were unholy—the entire thing was unholy. I knew straightway neither my vessel nor I would outlast it. I tried, but the vessel—the vessel went down. I was tossed into the sea. Scarcely did I have time to cast my mind over my girls, wanting my final thoughts to be of you, when the sea closed over my head. I knew I’d not survive.”
“And then…?” Marisa prompted when he hesitated .
“And then I heard a voice in my head, asking, What would you give to return to your family? Without thinking, I answered, Anything. Because I did not think—I could never have dreamed…”
Here, Father stopped, his voice choking on a sob. Horrified, I shifted my stance, ripping my gaze from the serpent’s, and turning it on him. The cottage around us creaked as it settled from the violent beating it had taken during the storm, emphasizing the shocking sight of my father breaking down. When had I ever witnessed this? A few years ago, aye, when his mother, my grandmother had died. Otherwise, never. What could be so terrible about Father’s pledge? What could have put him in this state? The dragon’s demand for one of his daughters?
Of a sudden, I knew. I think Mama did too. Our eyes connected. She pinned me with a long, solemn stare. I felt a rush from my head to my toes.
Was it me? Was Mama trying to warn me? Did she know? How could she?
Regaining control of himself, Father completed his tale.
“Once I answered, I felt myself pulled from the waves by a force mightier than the storm itself. It lifted me, and I was flying through the air, grasped in those talons. Beneath me was the sea, where my ship now rests. Above me was the fury of the clouds. The beast’s wings shielded me from their rage. In my head, I heard him speak. And he told me I had pledged to give him whatever he wanted in return for saving my life. I could not go back on my word. The price would be high, but he would keep his reward safe, hoarding it as lovingly as his kind hoard their piles of treasure.”
Again, Father paused. The tenor of his voice changed to sadness, tinged with horror .
“It was not until we approached the island, saw the light of our cottage—and, strangely, he knew precisely which home was ours—that the beast admitted the truth. The price was to be one of our daughters.”
The conclusion of his tale was met with silence. Silence, until Mama replied sternly, “I understand you’ve gotten yourself into a bind, Monreth. However, the children are mine too, and I do not consent. He cannot take one of our daughters.”
“Avigale…”
Father’s warning was not even uttered when the beast drew its head out of the house, recoiling as swiftly and smoothly as a viper. He thrust his head upwards towards the heavy clouds and opened his mouth, releasing an unholy shriek that caused the walls to tremble. The scream was jarringly similar to the ferocious, unnatural cries of the wind during the storm. The beast didn’t stop at that. He also released a great gout of fire, a volcano erupting from his throat. His belly glowed as ruby-red as the belly of our stove when the coals were kindled to their hottest.
Father swore and shouted both of our names—Mother’s and mine—warning us to retreat. My sisters screamed. Mama yelped, a funny, strangled croak of fear. I, alone stood transfixed, gazing at the fearsome sight as one might gaze upon their impending doom.
“You’ve angered him, Avigale,” Father warned once the ear-splitting scream had faded.
“I’m sorry, Monreth. I’m sorry. Girls, I’m so sorry.”
The fact that she had switched to whom she was addressing was not lost on me. Nor on my sisters. Finally, I tore my focus from the dragon outside our door to perhaps an even more fearful sight—that of my mother, sinking to her knees, her hands clasped before her in supplication. Pleading. For forgiveness ?
“I heard his voice, just as your father said,” Mama wept. Tears rolled openly down her cheeks. “He threatens to burn the village, the entire island, and all of the neighboring islands, if we do not give him what he wants. He says it is his reward. He saved your father from the storm, and your father made a promise. If your father does not fulfill his oath…”
She broke off, sobbing, too overcome to speak.
“No, Mama, no!” I heard Marisa beg. “You cannot give one of us to this dragon.”
“He’ll devour us alive,” Neena chimed in. Her voice betrayed her terror. “Is that what you want?”
“We have no choice!” Father insisted. His voice was broken; he pleaded for understanding. “Had I known what I was promising, I would have happily drowned. But I gave my word. There is no going back now.”
A cold, icy sensation sluiced over me. Even as the dragon rolled his golden eyes towards us, trapped inside the cottage and entirely at his mercy, I swiveled to stare at my sisters. They were pale, their faces practically glowing in the gloom of our common area. Who would my parents choose? Neena, the eldest? Marisa, the middle? Or me, the youngest daughter? Who would be sacrificed to a dragon to pay our father’s debt?
Or would the dragon himself choose?
“He has promised to keep you safe,” Father went on. Though his voice trembled with grief, he infused calmness into it. Assurance that what he claimed was true. “He did not harm me. He saved my life. Why should we think he would break his word, or do any differently to you girls?”
“Because he is a foul, vile, evil creature who probably saved your life to get a virgin sacrifice,” Marisa hissed .
The notion was confounding, that a beast, even one like a dragon, could think so far ahead—plan so far in advance—as to rescue my father from a sinking ship only to demand one of his daughters.
“Marisa,” I interjected quietly, “how would he know Father has daughters? He is an animal. Fearsome, aye, and possessing elements of magic. But how would he know we existed?”
“Father said they were approaching the island when he told him the price of rescue,” Neena reminded me. “So, he knew. The question is, how?”
How.
The word hung heavily in the storm-laden air. With one accord, every member of my family shifted to stare at that terrible monster. How had he known? Why were the colors of the storm similar to his? Why the strangeness of this tempest, only to herald a dragon, which—so far as I knew—had never been seen upon the shores of the Jeweled Isles?
“There is more here than meets the eye,” Mama said quietly. “Some strange witchery is afoot.”
“And yet, fearing that, you’ll simply turn us over to this beast?” Marisa cried. “How could you?”
“It’s not that simple!” Father snapped.
I wanted to agree with my sister. I wanted to say, “Yes. Yes, it is that simple. I would never consider turning my daughter over to a monster.”
However, as if the beast had read my mind, its baleful glare sought me, pinned me. Ice, then fire, coursed through my blood.
Even the worst of that storm cannot compare to this evil, I thought, as the golden eyes raked me over coals of mental torment.
In that instant, I fully understood why Father was considering capitulating to the serpent. Why Mama, who’d been prepared to fight the beast with her bare hands, was doing the same. The sense of fear at what this creature could unleash on our island shook me to my bones. A vision overcame me of our entire island laid to waste, scorched and blackened and withered in intense heat. Of charred bodies, left to rot in the sun, since there was nobody alive to bury them. Of animal corpses with white ribs exposed amongst the soot. Of mighty tesia trees, toppled by the blast of nostrils, torched like kindling.
He could ruin this island. All of the islands in our archipelago.
He would ruin them if he was denied what he’d been promised.
I did not have to say it aloud. Mama spoke for me.
“The things I see in my mind,” she choked. “The visions he plants in my brain…”
She broke off with a sob. I knew precisely what visions she meant, what things she’d seen, for I’d seen the same.
The dragon is sharing these visions with us. What sort of power does he hold?
“He can bring fire, death, and destruction upon all of us,” Mama faltered. “My daughters, my loves, I am so sorry. But I see no other way. Your father’s promise must be kept.”
She drew a shuddering breath.
“Either we trust that the dragon will keep his word and protect you, or we doom all of us to a scorching, unimaginable fate.”