Page 4 of Redeeming the Dragon

I opened my mouth to reply, then snapped it shut, shrugging my shoulders instead. Unfair, yes, but Mama was as worried as the rest of us. Perhaps even more so. If the storm was so terrible here, on the island, how was Father faring out on his vessel?

The thought of my father, our island’s chieftain, helpless on the rough seas caused my stomach to sink like lead. Rather than cling to anger, I leaned my head into Mama’s lap and gave myself to gazing into the belly of the stove, past its open door, seeking whatever comfort I could find. Though winter never truly gripped our archipelago, as it did other portions of Aerisia, chilly rains fell in the winter season without measure, bringing temperatures cold enough that a fire was welcome. It was not necessarily cold today, but there was a certain security to be derived from the snapping and crackling of the flames.

“He’ll be alright, Mama. Won’t he?” Neena faltered.

I pressed my lips together, in my mind’s eye envisioning the poor tesiatree.

No.

No, Father would not be alright. How could he be?

Powers of Good, please,I prayed into the silence of Mama holding her peace, refusing to utter false hope.Please. I will do anything if you’ll spare his life.

A particularly violent gust of wind howled around the corners, shaking the cottage to its foundation, causing us all to jolt. I sat upright, glancing about in fear, meeting my sisters’ eyes. The panic in theirs was, I’m sure, reflected in my own. Mama’s hand, which had been resting on my back, tightened in my tunic.

“Is the whole house coming down?” I said, fearing the worst.

Overhead, the roof creaked and groaned. I could have sworn the walls flexed, bowing with the force of the gale.

“I’ve a feeling we won’t survive till midday,” Marisa whispered.

“Hush, child,” Mama said, and her voice was low and thick. “Hush, and pray…”

Her orders were cut short by a sudden banging against the door. The stout wooden beam that barred it closed bent. Neena gasped. Mother’s words choked into an unintelligible cry which was smothered by a second bellow of thunder. The bar across the front door bent and snapped, splintering into a thousand pieces.

Marisa screamed. Mama’s chair squeaked as she bolted to her feet. Pushed off her lap, I rolled to my hands and knees, pressing back on my heels, my body instinctively ready to fly, although there was nowhere to flee. If the house collapsed, would I dart out into the night? That would do me little good.

“Powers of Good,” I heard Mama breathe, and then the door itself bowed in. The brightest flash yet, the light orange and green, filled the room, creating an absence of sound that set my ears to humming. Deep in my bones, a peculiar tingling pain burned, as if something insideme responded to the force of the storm. I couldn’t name it, couldn’t define it, but I could define what poured over my heart.

Terror.

Sheer terror.

A crash of thunder shattered the spell of silence, and the door, just like the wooden bar, exploded into thousands of splinters flung about the cottage. We all threw up our arms to shield our faces. I felt dozens of pricks as slivers of wood impaled themselves in my clothing. My sisters were screaming. Mama was gasping a plea to the Powers of Good. I could not speak. My vocal cords were frozen, but I split the fingers over my face so I could watch the storm take me.

Watch my fate coming.

Face my death.

Instead of the storm coming for us, a body was hurled into the cottage’s common room, eliciting more shrieks from my sisters. I heard my breath seize in my throat, then recognition struck.

“Father!” I screamed, darting towards the prostrate figure.

“What? Monreth?” Mama gasped. She was not far behind me. I heard the swish of her skirts as she ran to her husband, dropping next to him on her knees.

Quickly, carefully, we rolled him over. Mama’s hands were passing over his face, his neck, his chest, and shoulders, feeling for signs of life or seeking injuries. His skin was pale and a little blue, either from cold or lack of oxygen. However, I saw his chest rise and fall.

“He lives!” I shouted joyously.

Over my cry, Mama begged, “Monreth? Monreth? Come back to us! Monreth?”

“Um…Mama?”

Neena’s voice was quiet, so quiet I probably should not have heard it over the noise of the storm, not to mention the commotion over ourfather. There was something in it, though—a note of absolute shock, dread, and terror that seized my attention as nothing else could have.

“Mama…look.”

I glanced up from my father to my eldest sister. Her face had gone stark white. Her arm was lifted, her finger pointing at the doorway. In the stove’s flickering light, I could see her arm trembling. A sick feeling of excitement churned in my belly. Slowly, I turned to see what she indicated.

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