Page 7 of Don't Fae With Dragons

I wait for a moment, then the wind swells around me, lifting my hair in an arc around my shoulders. There’s the sound of the tree sighing, then the branches lift up around me before falling gently again. I smile –she wants to speak with me, too.

“Hello, grandmother.” I take a deep breath, thinking of what to say. As if encouraging me, the branches lean down and brush my arms and shoulders. I laugh. “Thank you. It’s been a hard day or so, grandmother.”

The tree sighs again, and energy sinks low to the ground. I spread my fingers wide, listening close for the message in thebark, and just breathe. I sit there for a few minutes, meditative and open, before speaking again.

“Grandmother,” I say “I had a ... dream. Chrysthinia, who’s the solar wizard of Ethelinda and a dear friend of mine, told me they fear it was a warning vision. In the dream, the Moon created daggers and claws from its rays. They came into my room and cut my hair, and kept me from calling out in fear.

“I just ... I needed to talk to you. I don’t know anything about the Moon, I never thought her to be malicious, but I feel that I might be in danger. I worry most of all thatEthelindamight be in danger, and that there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” I sigh, exasperated. “I’m sorry, this all sounds so intense. I’m just worried, Grandmother. What does itmean?All I have is guesses; I want to know where the danger is so I can stop it. Where is the danger, and how do I find it?”

For a moment, the sugar maple stands entirely still. It’s as if I can see my grandmother thinking through what I’ve told her, sitting patiently to process it. Then, it starts to move. Like some magick I’ve never seen, the back branches transform into leafy daggers.

The leaves twitch and lengthen, sharpening into vicious points, and slowly extend towards me. I don’t move my hands, although the memory of the Moon’s threat warns me:run, run, run. As the leaf-daggers reach for me, the branches closest to me conceal them, forming a curtain of green and gold.

“A hidden danger,” I say. “The threat is a secret? It will conceal itself from me?” Even as I ask, though, frantically grasping at my grandmother’s meaning, I know there will be noanswer. The magick she must have used to create the warning was heavy, and I know she will have no strength to reply further.

I sigh, shaking, and tell Grandmother goodbye quickly. I give the tree a small kiss on a lower branch before picking up my blanket and walking home.

A hidden danger.

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The walk home is eerie, the woods quieter than usual. The toadstools are closed and locked, and the usual sound of forest nymphs flying through the canopy is absent. I purse my lips and frown –where is everyone?

Just as I stop for a moment to scan my surroundings, a deafening scream pierces the air. I whirl around, searching for the noise, then I hear it: the sound of someone tumbling rapidly through the branches above. I look up, nearly blinded by the Sun, but manage to see a figure falling through the trees.

Without thinking, I launch a pillow of air underneath them, barely slowing their fall as they crash to the stone path.

“Oh, curses!” I whisper before sprinting over to the figure. It’s a man, wingless (though this makes it even more alarming that he fell through the trees) and seemingly unarmed (though I should really make sure). I go to him quickly, and roll him over to lay him on his back. There’s a horrible lump on his forehead, and a small pool of blood trickling from his temple. I shout, “Curses, curses, curses!” He’s not a creature from Ethelinda but he’s here now, so without a second thought I start to heal him.

I rest both of my hands on his head, and he doesn’t even moan – he must be entirely unconscious – as I recite anincantation. I mumble quickly, chanting prayers to Ethelinda, prayers to Grandmother, and prayers to the Realm. As I speak, his limbs twitch, and I see lacerations on his arms, legs, and torso, probably from the canopy. But the wound on his forehead is strange. What could have caused it?

My eyes well with panic seeing the state of him, and noticing how unresponsive his body and spirit are. I close my eyes, feeling the sting of my fearful tears, and continue praying.

Mother of Ethelinda, Mother of this Realm, here lies a body, one of your own. Here lies a man, here lies your child. Grandmother, guide my prayer. Hum, hum. Grandmother, guide my prayer. Mother of Ethelinda, bring bodily health, Mother of this Realm, clear the mind. Grandmother, guide my prayer. Hum, hum.

I chant, over and over, every plea I can imagine. I call upon the Mother of Ethelinda and the entire Realm, praying for peace and regeneration of the man’s body, mind, and spirit. I howl incantations in three languages to the sky, and mutter wordless, guttural, instinctual prayers to the earth. Once I’ve grown desperate, I even recite verses of faerykind’s ancient holy texts (though they’re not known to have any real effect).

I pat my pockets and grab the first bottle I feel, a tincture for preventing injuries from progressing out of control. I continue chanting as I lift his chin and gently tip the antidote into his lips. Watching his throat for a swallow shows nothing; I can’t even be sure if he consumed it.

“Gods,please!” I cry out, burying my head in the man’s chest. I hear his heart beating faintly, and press my hands to its quiet rhythm. I focus all my energy on the lifeblood withinthat vessel, the heart, and breathe. Slow, deep breaths;take my energy, take what you need, I say without speaking.Take it all.

CHAPTER 6: PORT

From the other side of the volcano, I hear Cory and Max laughing loudly together. They’ve gotten along very well; it’s surprising, given the turbulence of their first encounter. Still, I’m happy Max has settled in so successfully.

The two of them have fire powers, so they have a general understanding of each other. I, however, am a water dragon; my temperament isn’t so ...boisterous, one could say. Their raucousness can overwhelm me. Usually I’m happy to be around Max alone, but Cory is such a powerful personality that together they become even wilder.

I’m not bold in the way that they are; although we get along well as a group, the bantering and teasing is better left to just those two. I get overwhelmed quickly with taunts and vicious jokes. I suppose you could call me more of a sensitive soul – that’s what I’ve been told in the past, anyways. It sounds almost like an insult, but I try to see the positive in it.

That’s what draws me to the water, I think; the intuitive nature of it, the flow, the strength paired with flexibility. I curl my fingers under the surface of the water and watch a small wave rise and crest at my command.

Water is underestimated, too, which is a large part of what makes it so valuable. One imagines a forest fire or violent winddestroying their home, but doesn’t often picture the damage that little drops of water can silently do to erode any structure over time. More often, though, the water is the destroyer. Rain can bring life, and it can snuff it out. I don’t partake much in the violent whims of the water, but I can be violent when I need to. I just do it in a subtler way than my Max- and Cory-like companions.

I sigh, hearing another peal of cackling laughter tear through the volcano, and sink deeper into the bathwater. I’ve been spending a lot of time here, in the steaming bathing chambers, playing with my powers, practicing small water spells and enchantments. Being around such fiery characters makes it hard to embody the sleek power of the water; I make sure to continue training myself in the water, in what makes me powerful.

It hits me again in a flurry of warmth and sensuality: the faery’s scent. I don’t know who she is, but she’s somewhere in the town far below the volcano. Cory’s told us it’s called Ethelinda, a land of peace and prosperity. The volcano falls within its territory, but since dragons have such a ... questionable reputation, Cory and his fellow guardians don’t get many visitors, and they don’t pay any visits to town either.

I breathe in deeply, savoring the sweet floral energy of this mysterious faery. I haven’t mentioned it to Cory or Max yet, although I’m sure they smell her, too. She smells to me of honey and blackberry. It envelops me in sweetness, and I want to hold her back.

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