Chapter 25
D id you keep your promise?
Beneath an evening sky, streaked with red, purple, and gold, I wended my way homeward on the back of the dragon. His powerful wings beat in a steady rhythm, keeping us aloft. His breath rushed in and out of his lungs like bellows on a mighty forge. I clutched the spikes on the back of his neck, marveling at the smooth scales beneath my fingertips, scales that glistened in the moonlight.
He’d said nothing when he landed on the beach. He hadn’t needed to. I knew why he was there, as did my family. They had shied backward from him as he’d fluttered his wings, settling himself on the sand. I’d held my ground. By now, I knew I had nothing to fear from this monster, other than long, silent hours in a cave.
After embracing my family, I’d climbed onto his back, secured myself, and said aloud, “I am ready, Dragon.”
Within moments, we were soaring above my island, I’d waved a final time to my family, who watched with a mixture of sadness, anger, and fright, and then we’d circled the island and were back out to sea. For a time, I’d immersed myself in the grandeur of sea and sky—a sight few, besides the Warkin, were ever privileged to see. The realm of Aerisia, my corner of it, anyway, whizzed by far below. From the back of a magnificent dragon, I marveled at the line of Jeweled Isles, dots of green and gold, which truly resembled a necklace of tropical jewels in the bosom of the deep-blue sea.
And then the dragon spoke in my mind, uttering the fateful question.
I always do my best to keep my promises, I spoke back, answering in my mind.
The dragon was silent for a moment. Then, That is not exactly what I asked.
You asked me a question and I gave answer, I said stubbornly. Make of it what you will.
His wings beat sharply two or three times, as though he vented his frustration.
Lorna, he said, if you listened to your mother’s advice, it will bring heartache. Know this.
I would never intentionally cause heartache to you, to my family, or to anyone else, I replied. I pledge you that.
I pledged him that, even as I knew I was lying. I did intend to intentionally cause him pain, one day. I planned to break free of him. And I truly feared, with a growing knot in my belly, that my mother had a point. If I were to know what manner of hold this dragon had over me, what sort of connection he had to me, I must find out what type of creature he was. Truly Warkin, as he’d claimed? Or something far worse? A Cightweigh of the living dead? A hideous troll? A dreaded, immortal Simathe?
I shivered.
Are you well, Lorna ?
Had the mighty beast sensed the tiny action, even as he beat his wings to keep us aloft?
I am well, Dragon, I replied.
Suddenly, the view around me was not nearly so entrancing. Suddenly, I wished to be home in my bed. Either in my bed in the cottage, listening to the echoes of the sea through wooden shutters, or back in the gentle silence of the cave, lying next to the unknown man, letting him hold my hand.
I am simply weary, I said, not admitting that even a fraction of my soul longed for the place to which we returned.
Lay your head down and rest, the dragon said. I won’t let you fall. Sleep. You’ll be safe.
So that is what I did.
I wakened the next morning back in my cave. Initially, I was confused, for I’d heard the soft rush and pull of waves against the shore.
I thought the dragon brought me to his cave, my mind said, perplexed. Am I back on my island? Why do I hear the sea?
Lifting my eyelids, I glanced about, seeing an iron-grey ceiling, rough, craggy walls, and dim, unnatural light.
The cave.
I was in the cave. Why, then, did I hear the sea?
Still abed, I glanced to the left and spotted the mirror. It was already awake, depicting my little window into the Jeweled Islands. I saw the beach in front of my cottage, the grass, the curve in the cove, the golden sand. From it, I heard the gentle roll of the waves and the angry squawk of gulls.
The mystery explained, I climbed out of bed to begin the day. My emotions were turbulent and confused. When I’d been home with my family, part of me had missed the silence of the cave and the presence of the mysterious dragon-man at night. Now that I was in the cave, the silence quickly grew overwhelming. I missed my family, the freedom of wandering an island, going where I wanted, when I wanted, and speaking to whom I wanted.
“Perhaps it is me,” I said aloud, seating myself in front of the mirror after breakfast and opening my sewing kit. “Perhaps I am the problem. I cannot be satisfied anymore. I am a restless creature, destined for unhappiness.”
No, I mused as I turned the blue fabric, stitching and ripping, re-stitching, tucking, cutting, and rolling. No, I did not think I was the problem. The problem, I decided, snipping a length of thread with my scissors, was that I’d gone from one vastly different world to another. All of this switching back and forth between one life and the other—it was bound to leave one restless.
Moreover, there was a part of me that unabashedly longed for my family and former home, and also a part of me that missed the dragon. Or, not the dragon, but the man.
Sighing, I laid the sewing in my lap, my attention flitting between the cave’s craggy grey walls and the mirror with its window to the island.
“I want both. That is the problem,” I mused aloud. “I want my family. I want my island. I want freedom. And I don’t want to lose whatever strange relationship I have with the dragon in his human form. That is impossible. I cannot have both. I cannot have it all.”
Discouraged, I rose and paced for a time, attempting to get my thoughts in order.
If I cannot have both, what do I do ?
My mother’s advice rang in my ears. Her final admonition to carry through with my plans. Again, like the wind chimes under the eaves, the dragon’s warnings also rang in my mind. His inquiries on whether I’d disobeyed him. His caution that there would be grief if I listened to my mother.
Dear Light, what do I do? I begged, pausing a turn in the middle of the floor and pressing my palms to my eyes. Help me decide, because I truly do not know!
My torment lasted throughout the day. I ate little of the meals magically provided by invisible servants. I paced beyond the confines of my room, longing for the endless loops of shoreline on my island, where I could walk for a full two or three days before I’d come back to a starting point. I wished desperately that I was of such a stalwart heart that I could happily choose my family with no regrets about leaving the dragon behind.
And I realized, when I reached the end of pacing the stone tunnels, facing the thickest darkness where the boundaries of the cave would allow me to go no further, that it could never be. Nothing in life was ever chosen without regret. Were any choices untainted by “what if” or “suppose?”
Gazing into the shadowy border, I felt my resolve harden.
Perhaps I will miss the quiet little talks and how he holds my hand, I thought, yet I will not live as a prisoner. I will not live being told by magic that I can’t pass certain boundaries, any more than I will live on an island, told by the sea that I can go no further. On the island, I can take ship and go to another island. Or I can take ship and sail to the mainland, where I can explore to my heart’s content. Folk might advise against it, but there is nothing to truly stop me. Here, I am bound by the magic of the cave, as surely as a prisoner is bound by iron doors.
I will not live like that.
I will heed my mother’s advice. I will discover what sort of creature holds both me and a corner of my heart captive. Maybe his strange power over me means that he is my mate, or maybe he lies and has bespelled me. Whatever the case, I will choose my own path. If I want to go home to my island, I will go there. If I choose to take a ship for the mainland of Aerisia, visit Laytrii and see the capital, or find a fairy vale and visit a fairy, I will do that. One thing I will not do is bow to the whim of fate.
I am Lorna of the Jeweled Isles, and I will choose my destiny.
Settled, fully committed for the first time since I’d been wrenched from my former life, I spun about and marched back to my room. Consequences be hanged. My course was set. I would enact my mother’s plan and I would do it tonight.
May the Powers of Good be with me.