Page 6 of Redeeming the Dragon

“He is not taking my daughters,” she asserted staunchly. “I will die first.”

At this, the dragon, who hitherto had appeared calm and unhurried, reacted. His head snapped up, his golden eyes sparking with fury. His massive head jerked up so far, so fast, his snout struck the doorframe, cracking the wooden beam. His mouth opened, displaying cruel white fangs. He hissed balefully, and in that hiss, I saw sparks of fire.

We all screamed and lurched back, even Mama. Her face had gone stark white, but her fists remained clenched in defiance.

“Careful, Avigale,” Father soothed. Pushing weakly to his feet, he caught Mama by the shoulders, drawing her away. “Careful what you say to this one. He understands your words. He can communicate. Not all Warkin beasts have the ability, but this one does.”

“Then, if he can communicate, he should know this. He cannot have one of my daughters!” Bravely, Mama stalked forward, her stare never leaving the beast’s. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, the storm far enough away now that the silence, compared to the former fury, seemed deafening.

Or was that due to the terror in my heart as I gawked at this mythical beast brought to life? The blaze of his golden eyes rivaled the glow of the stove. His scales gleamed in the half-light of the receding storm, shimmering with his every movement. Something in my brain clicked as I observed the colors of his scales and saw the outlines of his leathery wings, folded along his back.

The eerie colors of the storm were akin to the colors of this dragon,I thought. The taste of fresh fear filled my mouth.The first clouds I saw resembled a dragon’s wings. Did this beast—did he bring the storm? Has a dragon that much power?

Difficult to say. We knew so little about them. The realm of the Warkin, the Dragonkind, was on the mainland of Aerisia. Even then, they were said to exist in the deserts, rocks, high plateaus, and soaring plains, in a remote territory where most of the continent never ventured. Generally, folk knew that the Dragonkind existed and little else. Save, perhaps, that they were ancient rivals of the Tearkin, a fabled race of giants, about whom I knew as little as the Warkin.

“Father,” I ventured quietly into the mute war between my mother and the beast. “What happened out there at sea? How came this dragon to…fetch you home?”

At the sound of my voice, the dragon’s giant head lifted. His forked tongue flicked in and out of his gleaming jaws as he emitted a low, hissing sound that made Marisa gasp.

“Hush, Lorna,” Mama demanded sternly. “Draw not his attention.”

Too late. His attention was already lured to me. He stared, unblinking. The buzzing, tingling pain in my bones increased, as did a peculiar feeling that compelled me to step towards the beast.

No.

Was I mad?

In a show of defiance, I stepped away, keeping my motions slow and controlled, exactly as I reacted when I came across one of the venomous reptiles that slithered about our islands. So intent was I on watching the newcomer, praying he didn’t decide to lash out and gobble me up, that it took a moment to realize my father was speaking, replying to my question.

“I was in my vessel when the storm came on,” Father said. “Such a storm it was, outdoing any I’d seen before. You should have witnessed it, Avigale,” he said to my mother, his voice taut with the fear that must have swarmed him. “The waves that rose from the deep. Ancient waters drawn upward that hadn’t seen the surface in years. The wind was a living thing—furious and hungry. The rain attempted to drown me as it fell from the sky. The colors were unholy—the entire thing was unholy. I knew straightway neither my vessel nor I would outlast it. I tried, but the vessel—the vessel went down. I was tossed into the sea. Scarcely did I have time to cast my mind over my girls, wanting my final thoughts to be of you, when the sea closed over my head. I knew I’d not survive.”

“And then…?” Marisa prompted when he hesitated.

“And then I heard a voice in my head, asking,What would you give to return to your family?Without thinking, I answered,Anything.Because I did not think—I could never have dreamed…”

Here, Father stopped, his voice choking on a sob. Horrified, I shifted my stance, ripping my gaze from the serpent’s, and turning it on him. The cottage around us creaked as it settled from the violent beating it had taken during the storm, emphasizing the shocking sight of my father breaking down. When had I ever witnessed this? A few years ago, aye, when his mother, my grandmother had died. Otherwise, never. What could be so terrible about Father’s pledge? What could have put him in this state? The dragon’s demand for one of his daughters?

Of a sudden, I knew. I think Mama did too. Our eyes connected. She pinned me with a long, solemn stare. I felt a rush from my head to my toes.

Was it me? Was Mama trying to warn me? Did she know? How could she?

Regaining control of himself, Father completed his tale.

“Once I answered, I felt myself pulled from the waves by a force mightier than the storm itself. It lifted me, and I was flying through the air, grasped in those talons. Beneath me was the sea, where my ship now rests. Above me was the fury of the clouds. The beast’s wings shielded me from their rage. In my head, I heard him speak. And he told me I had pledged to give him whatever he wanted in return for saving my life. I could not go back on my word. The price would be high, but he would keep his reward safe, hoarding it as lovingly as his kind hoard their piles of treasure.”

Again, Father paused. The tenor of his voice changed to sadness, tinged with horror.

“It was not until we approached the island, saw the light of our cottage—and, strangely, he knew precisely which home was ours—that the beast admitted the truth. The price was to be one of our daughters.”

The conclusion of his tale was met with silence. Silence, until Mama replied sternly, “I understand you’ve gotten yourself into a bind, Monreth. However, the children are mine too, and I do not consent. He cannot take one of our daughters.”

“Avigale…”

Father’s warning was not even uttered when the beast drew its head out of the house, recoiling as swiftly and smoothly as a viper. He thrust his head upwards towards the heavy clouds and opened his mouth, releasing an unholy shriek that caused the walls to tremble. The scream was jarringly similar to the ferocious, unnatural cries of the wind during the storm. The beast didn’t stop at that. He also released a great gout of fire, a volcano erupting from his throat. His belly glowed as ruby-red as the belly of our stove when the coals were kindled to their hottest.

Father swore and shouted both of our names—Mother’s and mine—warning us to retreat. My sisters screamed. Mama yelped, a funny, strangled croak of fear. I, alone stood transfixed, gazing at the fearsome sight as one might gaze upon their impending doom.

“You’ve angered him, Avigale,” Father warned once the ear-splitting scream had faded.

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