Page 19 of Don't Fae With Dragons

I haven’t even admitted it to myself, yet: I don’t knowwhatthis blight is. Maybe it’s connected to the nightmare I had of moonlight coming down, sharpening into fangs, then twisting into daggers at my window. It feels so long ago, I haven’t thought about it much lately but Chrysthinia always said I should take it as a warning. It can’t be related though, that nightmare was a threat to me, but this is destroying the whole town, polluting and tormenting the good people of Ethelinda. It must be something else. I refuse to believe it’s happening just to bring me down. The sickness has taken many forms, which makes it hard to discern if it’s one disease, or many; even though all I’ve done is heal and comfort the sick, I haven’t had time to actually think about it, much less to actually study it and determine suitable antidotes.

Without Chrysthinia here helping me, as they have been doing for the past fortnight, it’s all but hopeless, my fight to protect my people. It hits me, solidly in the chest:there’s nothing more I can do.

As soon as the thought enters my mind, I shove it down, deep into my stomach, and gently motion for Helennia to give me room. She moves aside, and I kneel beside Chrysthinia and pull a small necklace out from under my silken blouse – my most prized sachet of healing herbs. I bring it with me everywhere, but only use it in the most dire of circumstances.

Perhaps it’s selfish, using the remedy on my closest confidant, but I justify it to myself quickly. Chrysthinia is as much a healer of Ethelinda as I am; it’s only the two of us powerful enough, really, to ensure the wellbeing of its inhabitants. Ethelinda needs them as much as I do.

I grab a mortar and pestle from a nearby end table and pour in the herbs –Chrysthinia leaves their magickal items strewn casually about the house like wildflowers in a field. Echinacea, dried garlic, thistle, turmeric, feverfew, and allspice tumble in tiny dried bunches out of the sachet and into the small stone mortar.

“Can you pray?” I ask Helennia, urgency coating my words.

She nods, and I set to work grinding the healing spell into a powder. I focus on Helennia’s words as I work, turning the pestle in a circle, over and over ...

Mother of Ethelinda, Mother of this Realm, here lies a body, one of your own. Here lies a person, here lies your child. Mother of Ethelinda, guide the faery’s hand. Mother of this Realm, wake the child’s spirit. Hum, hum. Here lies a body, one of your own. Here they lie, helpless and prone. Guide the faery’s hand, wake the child’s spirit. Hum, hum.

Once the herbs have formed a coarse powder, I breathe heavily and let myself focus on my emotions. I think of Chrysthinia, of our lives intertwined. I recall when they first came to our home, when I was just a teenager and they were so angry and hurt from their past. Images of them stomping through Ethelinda, rugged and defensive from their painfulupbringing, flash through my mind. I think of everything we’ve been through, the spells cast together, the healing done.

After a moment, I feel my tears spilling down my cheeks, and let them fall into the mortar. I crush the herbs into the saltwater and form a mixture, fragrant and strong. Once it’s combined well, I place small beads of the poultice on Chrysthinia’s forehead, collarbones, shoulders, knees, and feet. I press them in as Helennia keeps chanting,hum, hum, and sigh deeply.

Then, we wait.

–––

After hours, the Sun began to fall over Chrysthinia’s home. Still, they did not stir.

I wanted to stay, but I knew the other people of the town needed me. Aurora would wake soon, too, and I didn’t want her chaotic energy to disturb the spell (which, I prayed, was doingsomethingfor Chrysthinia). Sensing my trepidation to leave, Helennia promised to stay; that brought me some peace, and so I left on weary legs to go back home.

On the sunset-lit walk back through town, there are almost no townsfolk in the street. The stores are dark, and passersby walk amongst each other without so much as a friendly smile in each others’ direction. All the while, the volcano looms above.

The volcano,I suddenly think.The volcano ... and that godsdamned dragon.As a flash of lightning strikes up in the distance, suddenly a bolt of rage flies through my body, all theway from my hair to my feet, setting my ears on fire. How ... howdarehe?

How in the Realm is that dragon, secluded, powerful beast that he is, content to sit so high-and-mighty atop his volcanic perch? Why, with all of the godsdamned power I know he has, is he content to just hide away while everything falls apart in the town? How dare he justsit thereand watch all of Ethelinda wither away? Clearly the devastation hasn’t affected the volcano, otherwise he would have cared to do something about it and help me. I’m sure he’s sitting on his ass, enjoying his life while smelling amazing. Oh but he’s definitely smelling good enough to eat. All my senses are weakened but I can still feel his intoxicating spice in the air from time to time. When I catch a whiff of it in the air, I don’t know if it’s comforting me or not letting me focus. Maybe both.

Then a whisper on the wind breezes by my ears. I whirl around as it reaches me, the small hairs on my ears pick it up so clearly.Go to the dragon,it hums,and you may summon the rain. I realize quietly that it’s an answer to my prayers; the Mother of the Realm is, at last, answering my prayers. She’s guiding me.

I cry out in an overwhelming moment of both relief and agony, joy and fear, then take off running back to my cottage. I sprint through the door, not worrying about the sound it makes as it hits the wall, and throw on a cloak, stiff muslin pants, and sturdy boots. As I walk away from the wardrobe, I glance in the mirror. It’s the first time I notice my reflection since the devastation started. I look so pale, so sickly. Anyone laying theireyes on me these days would probably be frightened. I can’t help but regret that I will not be quite myself when I meet the dragon.

“Mili?” Aurora mumbles, half-asleep still. I silently roll my eyes as I throw my small pack of emergency traveling gear over my shoulder (including medicinal herbs, stones and driftwood carved with protective runes, and dried nuts and berries).

Once I’ve grabbed the essentials, I quietly whisper a sleep-inducing chant over my shoulder to make sure she doesn’t wake up. After her breathing slows again, and I’m sure she won’t follow me, I hurry out the front door.

The Sun has already set, but my eyes are sharp in the darkness while the Moon is out, so I start my walk through the town, headed North – straight for the dragon’s lair.

CHAPTER 13: PORT

Honey and blackberry. The scent reaches me just as Max and I are wrapping things up in the forest after another grueling workout session.

I turn to face him with wide eyes. “Do you–”

“I smell it, too,” he says. His nostrils flare as his eyes close, soaking up the smell. “Gods, she smells just likecinnamon and chocolate.”

One of my eyebrows shoots up at this revelation. “That’s what she smells like to you?”

Max nods. “What is it for you?”

“Honey and blackberry.”

The smell grows more potent by the second, and our conversation quickly withers away as we turn to face it. It’s like she’s getting closer, but that can’t be. Can it? She certainly shouldn’t come to the volcano; it’s flaming hot, anyway, not to mention catastrophically dangerous. I assume she’s some sort of faery of the Earth, unfit for a dragon’s fiery, rocky existence. Moreover, Cory said she’s the protector and healer of the town, why would she venture out this way?

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