Chapter 5.5 The Road
Cherry leans forwards, eager for more story, but Marton rubs his jaw, smiling sheepishly at me. "I know it isn't much to go on."
"It's nothing to go on! Has no one actually seen this monster? Described it? No human remains, no blood. Just disappearances. They could have been done away with by robbers with clubs and buried in the woods."
Marton blanches a bit at my blunt description, but tries to answer. "I thought the same, on first hearing the tale. But it's the closest legend site to our present location, and I hardly think it could hurt to check. You were real, after all. Why couldn't this creature be real as well?"
I rub at my forehead. "You're right, I suppose. It just seems..."
"Outlandish?" His tone is wry, his eyes glowing.
A smile tugs at my lips. "So you're determined you'll believe in every legend you hear now that you've met a dragon?"
Marton starts to respond, but Cherry interrupts, "So I am to marry a blood-thirsty killer?"
I contain my flinch, hands tightening in my skirts. "You said you had inured yourself to the possibility." Inured was her word. I know because I had to ask her what it meant.
Cherry scoffs. "That's different. There's someone who's killed, like you have, when they had to. And then there's someone who does it for sport."
"The stories about Tarah are no more or less pleasant than the one we're following now," Marton says, tone defensive. "The only difference here is that we know her side of the story. I'm sure this...person, if there is a person...has reasons for their actions."
"No doubt." Cherry straightens regally. "It doesn't then follow that they will be good reasons."
"We won't know until we check—" Marton's brow is furrowed, and I can tell this is on its way to devolving into another argument between them.
"Perhaps we ought to get some rest instead of continuing this debate," I interject.
"We're already bound where we're bound. We'll see what we see.
You get the final word on who you marry, of course, and if you marry at all," I vow to Cherry.
Gradually, she and Marton both seem to put away their verging hostility, satisfied with this resolution.
As we go to bed, the fire banked to the barest glow of embers, Cherry pulls her bedroll close to mine.
In the shadows of the canyon, with a cool wind whistling over the lips of stone around us, Marton's story seems to spring to new life, fed by the darkness and our solitude here, far from the beaten path.
Cherry shivers, though it's not cold, and I obligingly lift a corner of my blanket to tuck around her. She huddles close to my side, and we drift off to sleep like that.
Even in my dreams, I'm warding off the dangers that threaten her.
We arrive at the village where the rumors of the beast originated less than two days later.
I'm in favor of striding straight into the wilderness with nothing but our wits for guidance and my claws and teeth for defense, but Marton maintains the need to arm ourselves with additional information.
I hang back behind him and Cherry as we enter the village.
I'm wary of every human we pass, ducking my head and tugging down my sleeves to hide as much of my appearance as possible.
I'm not worried about being recognized as Tarah of Ithyma, but I am worried about being recognized as something wrong and shadowy.
A creature of death.
In an already professedly superstitious village, my slightly off appearance seems likely to excite even more adverse reactions than it has in the past.
But Marton and Cherry walk through town without any apparent concern.
Marton's eyes are intent, darting around, surveying every cottage and shop, every ordinary human face we come across, searching for some place to start gathering information.
Cherry has her head held high, chin up, affecting grandeur even in her shabby handsewn gown.
I can tell by the way her eyes follow a similar path to Marton's that she's excited to be out of the tower, among civilization for the first time in years.
Marton leads our party into the dining area of the village tavern.
As good a place as any to start asking questions, I suppose, and probably a better place than most.
We take seats in a corner where I can hide myself by facing the back wall. Marton and Cherry, seated across from me, continue looking around the room. My spine prickles at having my back exposed, but I ignore it.
After a moment, a tavern girl comes over to wait on us. I keep my face turned away, hardly listening as Marton orders food and drink, accepting Cherry's overexcited questions and interjections about the kinds of dishes they serve.
The tavern girl inquires, in a friendly way, about where we're coming from. Marton replies, "My cousins and I are— Well..."
My eyes dart to him as he pauses with seeming embarrassment.
"We're sort of...treasure hunters." The tavern girl's eyes widen, and I note with some distaste that she's eyeing Marton warmly before I quickly look away again.
"Only we're on a hunt for magic." The tavern girl gasps, and I fight a roll of my eyes.
"We're following a few of the best, most legendary tales that we've heard coming from throughout the realm, trying to find out if there's any truth to them.
"
"My goodness," the tavern girl is all aflutter, and I have to reluctantly admit that Marton's cover story is a good one.
True enough to get right to the point, but hiding all the parts that need to stay hidden.
"But you must be here about the legend of the singing boy. "
My head jerks up, startled—singing boy?—and Cherry quickly touches my hand to remind me to act casual.
The fact that she's remembered this and I haven't is a sure sign that I'm being too obvious.
I steadfastly glue my eyes to the wall, disinterested, ignoring when I feel the tavern girl glance at me in concern.
"Singing boy?" asks Marton with interested, recovering her attention. "We had heard a story about a monster."
"Oh, yes!" gushes the girl. "It's perfectly horrid.
They say travelers going along the trails outside the village hear a voice—a beautiful voice, like a young boy singing a clear, high soprano.
The voice is so overpoweringly wonderous to hear that it lures travelers right off the path, deeper into the dark forest at the base of the mountain.
And that's when the monster strikes, swallowing them whole!
"
Marton's eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open in amazement.
The tavern girl laughs delightedly. "But your face! " she cries.
Marton recovers himself, clearing his throat. His face is a little pink as he asks, "Were you only jesting?"
"No," the girls promises. "The stories are just as I've told you.
All the old folk in the village believe them.
They tell us that if we are ever to hear singing coming from the edges of the village, or anywhere in the mountain passes, we are absolutely under no circumstances to follow the sound.
We must plug our ears and run straight home. "
After a little more talk that yields no new information, the girl moves on to carry our order to the kitchens, and we bend our heads close in discussion.
"What does this mean?" Cherry asks at once, frowning.
I shake my head. "This is sounding less and less like a dragon."
Marton rubs at his mouth. "There are legends of singling creatures that entrance and lure their prey. Mermaids and sirens and the like. But those stories usually take place near water."
"All the same, real or fake, a siren doesn't do us any good. It's dragons we need."
"It's the swallowing travelers whole bit that makes me think there's something here," says Marton. "Your mouth in dragon form is almost large enough..." he trails off when I give him a hard look, and he starts stammering apologies, blushing.
I just sigh. "Well, we're here already. We might as well go wandering into the forest."
"I'm not sure that's..."
"What other plan is there?" I ask him. "What better method of finding a monster than traipsing into its hunting grounds like a willing meal?
" The thought makes me feel bitter, recalling all the idiot men of my past, with their swords and armor that were like so many cobwebs and twigs for me to plow through.
"If we knew more about it—" Marton begins.
"What is there to know? The tales that humans invent are all nonsense. Only encountering the beast itself will give us any information."
Neither he nor Cherry looks particularly excited at the prospect.
I frown at them. "The two of you don't have to go with me. I know it will be dangerous, but I can defend myself, and I've never met a weapon that could pierce my scales."
"This won't be like a human weapon," Marton says, but I wave him off.
"I'm not afraid. If there is another monster like me out there, I want to know about it.
I want to meet them. I'm going into the woods today.
Whether you two come with me or not is your choice.
I'd encourage you to stay in town, even.
I'd feel better that way. As it is, it will be hard to protect you both—"
"I'm going with you," Marton says at once, in a tone that brooks no argument.
"Me too," says Cherry, eyeing Marton in a way that indicates she doesn't like to come second to him in declaring her loyalties, any more than she does in seating.
I sigh. I saw this coming, somehow.