Chapter 4
“ M ama, no,” Marisa keened. “No, Mama.”
“Father, Mama, you cannot be serious!” Neena sounded angry, as well as horrified. “And who will you send? Who will test the tender mercies of a dragon?”
“I—I do not know,” Father admitted. By the tone of his voice, he was a broken man. “Would to the Light that I had died during that storm!”
“Do not say that, Father,” I shushed.
Throughout this time, even when the dragon’s vision seared my mental eye, my physical gaze remained locked with the monster outside our door. His golden eyes glittered in the gloom. Every so often, his eyelids would drop in a long, slow blink. He resembled the tiny lizards that ran freely about the island, impossible to keep out of our homes and bedchambers. If I hadn’t witnessed the terrifying spectacle of this beast shooting flames into the sky, a living volcano of flesh and scales erupting on the sand outside our door, I might have been fooled into thinking him as harmless and complacent as them .
“I will say it!” he raged. “I should have let myself be taken by the sea. I am your father. I am meant to protect you—”
I could bear it no longer. Not my father’s self-remonstrance. Not Mama’s quiet, muffled sobs. Not my sisters’ anger and tears, no matter how justified. Also, I remembered my earlier promise concerning Father: Please. I will do anything if you’ll spare his life. Filled to the brim with a wildness born of desperation, and the desire to make things right, I spun to face my family.
“I will go with the dragon,” I proclaimed. “Marisa, Neena, no choice must be made. I have made it. You two will remain here. You will marry the men you favor, you will raise babies for Mama and Father to dote on, and you will, I hope, name a daughter after me so that I am not forgotten. That is the end of the matter. I will go with the dragon.”
Syllables began to pour from lips. To seal the matter I whirled, addressing our antagonist.
“I will go with you, Dragon,” I said.
I was not expecting to hear a reply. Apparently, the dragon had spoken into my parents’ minds. This was the first time I’d heard him speak into mine. Though I’d never heard his voice before and had no idea how a beast’s voice would sound, I knew instantly where the words came from.
I accept.
The voice was quiet, sinuous, soft. If a serpent could speak, this is how I would have imagined it to sound.
Meet me at the Wailing Cliffs, on the morrow, as the moon rises. Do not fail to honor your word.
I opened my mouth to speak, to reply verbally, then paused, answering in my mind instead .
I will be there, I said, and though I had capitulated, my voice was cold. Even my mental voice. Have no fear on that score.
Fear? The serpent laughed inside my head. A cold, deadly sound. I have no fear. You are the one who should fear. If you come, you will be safe. No harm shall befall you. If you fail to keep your word, I will annihilate your island. Take heed.
There was no chance to reply before the dragon’s head snapped up. His wings ruffled, and he rose off his belly as he pushed himself onto his massive legs with a great deal of grace and swiftness, given his prodigious size. In an instant, he’d retreated from the house, melding with the receding storm. I heard a curious sound, akin to the sound of laundry hanging on the line snapping in the breeze during a particularly windy day.
His wings.
Mama always groaned when we hung out the wash and a stiff breeze came up, fearing the clothes would be torn to the ground and soiled, then have to be washed again. Complaining about the laundry seemed so small, so silly, in comparison to what we now faced as the newcomer lifted himself into the air. Mere seconds were eclipsed before he was gone, vanishing into the gloomy sky above the clouds.
Unsettling silence fell over our group in the wake of his departure. I think no one knew quite what to say.
I had promised myself to a dragon.
How did one speak to that? How did one respond?
Marisa, at last, splintered the heavy silence by whispering, “Lorna, you will not go, surely? You will not go to the Wailing Cliffs? You cannot mean to sacrifice yourself to a dragon.”
Emotions roiled through me. I wanted to laugh at the silliness of her question. I wanted to shout at its idiocy. I wanted to coldly ignore it.
Instead, drawing a deep breath to calm myself, I faced her and said,
“What else can I do, Marisa? What else can any of us do? Better I be taken by a dragon than our entire island obliterated.”
I looked upon each of my family members in turn. They shared one expression—grief. I could not bear it. I had one night and one day more with them. I should have had so much to say. Words of love and gratitude. Words of condolence and comfort. Instead, I had nothing. I did not know what to say. My throat swelled with emotion until I couldn’t even draw breath.
“Leave me be,” I pleaded in a whisper. “I love you all, but please…leave me be.”
Turning, I scurried away into my bedchamber, shutting the door behind me. I brushed the splinters from the ruined door off my clothing, picked a few slivers from my skin, and crawled into bed, drawing the light, embroidered coverlet over my shoulders. Outside, the storm had receded enough that insects began to chirp and birds to sing, but their cheerful music did little to comfort me.
I kept to my room the remainder of the day and throughout the following night, not even opening the door when Mama rapped lightly on it, announcing that she’d brought a meal.
“Thank you. I’m not hungry,” I said, and she went away.
I slept little, if at all. When the sun finally rose, its light was not glorious and warm like yesterday. It seemed sluggish and slow. Humidity, a byproduct of the storm, choked my bedroom to the point I could scarcely breathe. I’d kicked off the blankets hours before, too hot to sleep. I lay there, flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, imagining everything that had happened the day before and wondering such vain and foolish thoughts as,
Should I pack a bag? What does one prepare when they go to a dragon? Do I need clothing? Food? Shoes? Toiletries? How will a dragon provide for me? Where will he keep me? And that’s if he honors his word not to hurt me. He may devour me there on the Wailing Cliffs, making these problems moot.
Outside my closed door, I could hear the scuffling and shuffling of my family members. I’d no doubt Mama had spent the night weeping in her room. Father probably hadn’t been much better. Never mind our collective reluctance to see the sunrise—the one thing no one could control was time, and the sun had risen, meaning we were forced to start the day. Rolling over to my left side, I gazed at the wall while absentmindedly smoothing my palm over the wrinkles in my sheets.
How does it feel to be devoured by a dragon? Will it be a single gulp? Or will I feel his teeth gnashing my bones? Will it be quick? Or slow and painful? Is this how animals feel when facing the butcher?
As quickly as those thoughts intruded, others pushed their way in.
He swore not to hurt you if you complied. You’ve no reason to think he plans to devour you. If he were hungry, it would be a far simpler matter to snatch a horse or a pig or a goat off the island. Or a deer from the forest. Why go to all the trouble to rescue Father, bring him home, and demand one of his daughters simply to eat her? That makes little sense. Do not give way to despair, Lorna. Make the matter no worse than it is.
Emboldened, I pushed myself up on one arm, lifting my face towards the sunlight creeping in through the shutters.
Powers of Good, if you are there, please help me face my destiny. If the dragon does plan to eat me, help me meet my end with courage, knowing how many lives I am saving. And if the dragon has other plans for me—give me the courage to endure.
Petition said, I rose and dressed as though it had been any other morning. I put on clean clothing, combed the snarls and any splinters from my hair, and plaited it into a quick braid. Afterward, I opened my door and walked out into the common area of the house. I might have wished the day was like any other, but my family members froze when they saw me. Every last one of them was gathered together, likely to share in their grief. They gazed at me in shock, their eyes red from weeping.
Trying my best to ignore their pitiful countenances, I said gruffly, “Good morning,” before hastening past the blanket someone had hung from the cracked beam as a makeshift door.
Never mind if I had to face a dragon tonight. Morning chores must be done. The animals still had to be fed. Fed, let out, and brought to pasture since they’d spent all yesterday locked inside due to the storm. Water still had to be drawn from the well and carried inside the house. Limbs and branches from the downed tesia tree were strewn about the beach, the area closest to the house, giving testament to the violence of the storm. They had to be picked up and carried to the wood pile behind the kitchen, to be used in the future as kindling for the stove.
On one such trip, I passed the area before our front door where the dragon had landed, where he’d crouched, where he’d taken off and flown away. There, in the sandy soil, were footprints. Massive feet split into three toes, tipped with claws. Yes, he had been there. No, it was not a dream.
Shuddering, I hastened away.
At one point, as I cleaned up around the house, Father came outside to join me. At first, we worked in silence, aware of each other’s presence, but sharing no words. I preferred it that way. What was there to say? However, I noticed him casting me sideways glances. He was working up the courage to speak. I wished he wouldn’t. I feared he was going to apologize, again, over something outside his control.
My fears were right.
“Lorna,” he began hesitantly, stopping his work to lean on the rake and gaze off at the distant green hillsides. “You must know, had I ever dreamt this would be the outcome of that beast saving my life, I happily would have drowned instead.”
Because it would have been disrespectful not to acknowledge him and what he was saying, I also paused my work. Clasping the wooden handle of my rake between my palms, relishing the rough sensation against my skin, I also lifted my gaze to the distant hillsides. Rather than see them as my father did, the spine of our island, a verdant picture of health and life, I saw them blackened, withered, blasted by fire from a dragon’s throat.
“Father,” I said, “I lay no blame at your feet. Please lay no blame at mine. You would have given your life to save mine. Now I give my life to save our island. To save you, Mama, Neena, and Marissa. Let me do what I must. Grieve not overmuch.”
“You don’t know the depths of my love for you if you think I will not grieve,” he answered roughly.
From the corner of my eye, I saw his head turn towards me. I glimpsed a tear on his cheek.
I couldn’t tolerate seeing his sorrow.
I allowed my focus to drift down to the pile of sticks and branches at my feet.
“I know,” I whispered. “But the dragon swore to keep me safe.”
Hastily, before the conversation could continue, I went back to raking leaves, twigs, and branches tossed upon the sandy soil by the storm. My mind was made up. I could not bear to hear such talk, fearing it would dissuade me from my purpose. And my purpose was set. I would give myself to a dragon.
There was nothing else to do.