“How long?” she asked again.
Dragon turned in place. “Until my firebox shatters beneath the weight of aloneness, and my firebreath is snuffed out.” He laid his chin over his feet and then sighed, the sound vibrating within the cavern. “One hundred of your years, witch, and then I will pass into memory without a Dragon-friend to warm my heart and stoke hopeful fires.”
“You must eat the offerings on Dragon’s Day,” she said. “Swear it.”
Dragon growled and shook his head.
“It will give me more time to finish my task, Dragon. Make this promise now.”
“I so swear,” Dragon said after long moments.
At that, the crouched, wrapped the tooth in her kerchief, and tied it to her belt. “This will become the talisman for your next Dragon-friend. I will see this done, Dragon. You have my word.”
“As you will.” Then Dragon turned in a circle and pointed his snout toward the rear of the cave, his patience ended. In this new age, Dragon-friends were as scarce as Dragons themselves, so he settled in to wait for the end of all things.
Many Years Later
Dragon rolled over in his stone bed, adjusting to loosen the corset of plates that squeezed his heart. The fracture in his firebox had grown a little more each year. It wouldn’t be long until loneliness stole his fire breath, forced his heart apart, and released a dark poison into his veins.
A dragon could live without fire, but the firebox shards would kill him.
His inevitable end loomed over every moment he spent awake, but he had been asleep for almost a year, ignoring the problem with no solution.
Dragon’s Day was his due, and he had given his word of honor.
A trench split the cavern into two parts. Water dripped from the ceiling into the stream that ran into the underground lake in a rhythm that never changed. The sound echoed backwards and forwards like a clock ticking.
As time passed, his loneliness had grown large enough that he wondered if he might not fit through the mouth of his lair this year. A breeze tripped in, and the cool of winter tickled his nose. The cold season came early in the mountains, and it meant late summer in the valley. The time had almost come.
He had not heard from the she-mage in a dozen Dragon Day’s. She could have given up, forgotten him, or worse. It mattered not which it was, Dragon would keep his promise to eat at least once a year.
Dragon shifted until the rocky points scratched the itchy places between his armored plates. A pleased groan vibrated in his throat. He had been hungry since the air turned hot, but the village needed time to gather livestock enough to feed him his annual meal.
It was the agreement that kept the town safe, an agreement he’d made impulsively in his youth. He had wanted to please his first Dragon-friend.
The exchange had been in place for a millennia. Dragon didn’t mind waiting for the men of Rivenbourne to amass his offering. They treated him like a diseased king, but he hadn’t counted on the increasing misery of solitude.
Dragon himself was probably the only one left who remembered the circumstances behind Dragon Day, and he was the only one sworn to uphold it. The Rivenbourne men had almost forgotten the words their grandparents passed on from their grandparents.
Centuries ago, the Master of the Keep had called him forth from his home. The man had braved the Hatred Caves to strike a bargain. His bravery had touched the fire in his dragon’s breast and stoked something more than hatred.
The dragon agreed to eat only what the town offered. For three hundred years he had reveled in the freedom of not having to hunt, and for the first eighty of those, the hero visited every full moon. To his last breath, the man begged the dragon to keep the covenant.
Dragon smacked his lips. He tried to remember what fresh meat tasted like. It had been a long sleep since he had tasted red mutton and flossed his teeth with wool. His stomach groaned. The vibration knocked boulders from the ceiling. They landed in a pile near his clawed feet.
The bonds of his oath were whip’s teeth in the hands of forever. Ravenous hunger swelled his stomach. He lumbered to his feet, roaring into the empty places, sending gouts of fire through his lair. At the next full moon, he would consume his due.
Dragon had awakened.
Market Day
Rivenbourne Township
The she-mage tried to find a comfortable spot on her pile of rags. How her bones ached of age, hollowed out and weakened by time. It had been so long since she’d donned a new face and taken a new name, she didn’t recall the other. She wished to return to the wind, but she still had a promise to keep.
She had become Sahar, seller of potions and lucky baubles for the superstitious. She didn’t partake in magic, not exactly, but it was an easy way to remain hidden in plain sight.
Sahar unwrapped the dragon’s tooth and pulled it into her lap. Carefully, she selected a small chisel and began carving at the tip. She’d carved intricate designs into the surface, telling everyone it was the horn of the Breidbore Brhino.
The mayor’s wife, the first customer of the morning, stopped to examine the she-mage’s wares. She pursed her lips, obviously displeased with the same talismans she’d seen the day before.
What would the people of Rivenbourne say if they knew it was an invaluable Dragon’s tooth? She scoffed. If it were up to the mayor, he would find some way to confiscate it.
“Do you have anything new, Sahar? I think I’ve seen all these and tried most of them twice.”
“What you see is what I have,” Sahar murmured, turning the tooth in her hand.
The woman leaned forward. “What an interesting horn,” she said.
“It’s not for sale.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Come now. Everything has its price.”
Sahar glanced up.
She stared down her nose at Sahar. “Don’t make me go to my husband, the mayor, Sahar.” She paused long enough to arch an eyebrow. “That would be unpleasant for all of us.”
Sahar glanced up. “Marl has returned from his country with a bride, I hear.”
The woman gasped and spun around, peering into the growing throng of shoppers. “I heard she is as cross-eyed as an inbred Pike cat. Do you see her?”
While the woman was distracted, Sahar snapped her fingers. One of the amulets turned bright red and stood on its edge. Sahar twirled her finger, and it spun slowly.
The woman turned back around, her expression crestfallen. When she spied the dancing ornament, she swiped it from the table and clutched it to her ample bosom.
She shrugged as though she didn’t care. “I suppose I’ll take this one… as a kindness to you, Sahar. How much will it be?”
Sahar shook her head. “A gift for you, my lady,” she said, her gaze returning to her task. “For being such a good customer.”
The woman hurried away.
As Sahar continued her work, a boy passed by the mayor’s wife and stopped in front of her booth. He had the look of a child on the cusp of the awkward phase before manhood.
“What can I interest you in, young master?”
When he grinned, his brown eyes sparkled. “I have no money. I can buy nothing.”
Sahar etched another flourish into the ivory. “Then I have no time.” She spoke without irritation.
He nodded. “This is a fact of survival.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Astute.” Another moment went by, and she glanced up at the young man that still waited. “Then why are you still here?”
He gestured the way the woman had gone. “She did not pay you.”
“That is my business.”
“She is leaving Rivenbourne for Dragon’s Day. Her husband is taking her.”
“That is their right.” No matter how cowardly it may be to leave their people behind to hide from the dragon. Though, she did not say her thought out loud. Such words made Rivenbourne citizens disappear.
He placed a large, perfectly ripe pitahaya fruit on her table, and her eyes widened. By the look o
f it, it would be sweet and juicy citrus, and her mouth watered. How long had it been since she had tasted such a delicacy?
Sahar tipped her head to the side, appraising the young man with new interest. “Where did you steal that?”
“I did not steal it.”
“Why do you place it on my table?”
His face softened, and he pushed it closer. “So you can eat on this day.”
“How did you come by that?” And how did you come to give this to an old woman? She lowered her project to her lap.
“This pitahaya was a gift for helping the grocer catch a thief. I also helped him find an important gold ring. This is my reward.” He paused. “I think you can use it more.”
She cleared her throat, and she blinked rapidly to clear the rush of moisture. Such kindnesses did not come often. “What is your name, boy?”
“Matteo. What is yours?”
“My name is Sahar.”
He bowed and then straightened. “Please accept my gift, Lady Sahar.”
She studied him for long moments. He did not cringe or shy from her gaze as she expected. So many did. They could not carry the weight of wordless conversation between souls.
He blinked once, but his pleasant expression didn’t change. “I must return to my master’s keep. I had permission to assist the grocer, but nothing else.”
Sahar nodded to the citrus. “Don’t forget your treasure.”
“I will leave it for your enjoyment. May it bring strength to your bones. Happy day, Lady Sahar.” Matteo darted away, leaving as silently as he had arrived.
Sahar stared after the retreating figure until he disappeared into the increasing market day crowd. Slowly, a smile grew on her face. Matteo would soon meet his destiny. She gathered her wares and went after him.
In the Keep
Rivenbourne Township
The Master’s Estate
Dragon’s Day Eve
Young Matteo rolled over on his sleeping mat. He’d been worried about Sahar, the elderly woman in the market the day before, and nightmares had kept him awake, and the thin straw did not make up for the discomfort of the hard, stone floor in the master’s storage room.
By dream, fire and ruin were coming on leathery wings. It was up to him to intervene. It happened over and over in his dream. If Matteo did nothing, Mary and the rest of Rivenbourne would burn on Dragon’s Day.
Matteo laid his arm across his eyes, willing his mind to quiet. The sun would be up soon. He should get more sleep before the stars disappeared. He still had to earn his keep in the master’s house. Chores needed to be done. He would not leave them undone. Even in hard times, laziness would not be his legacy.
The famine in the country impacted all of them. The maidens no longer giggled and gossiped about the stable boys while they folded linens. Cook spent portions of her day fretting over the larder. Most livestock had already been made into meals. Guilt salted the meats, and dread flavored the watery soups and stews. They all knew what was coming.
That morning, Mary’s cousin, the mayor of Rivenbourne, had fled to the mountain caves to wait out Dragon’s Day. Some said only the poor and foolhardy remained. It took donkeys, horses, and money to flee.
Oh mio.
A breath of wind crept along Matteo’s spine. He didn’t want to be eaten, but he didn’t have a choice. Destiny does not wait on convenience, his father had always warned. He turned over again. What was Sahar doing for Dragon’s Day?
Dragon Day.
It comes every year, but this one is different. This one seems…
Matteo smelled the air. Angry somehow.
The village had nothing left to feed the hungry beast. The dragon wouldn’t care that a drought had killed the town gardens. Their harvest withered in the field. Winter would starve them all.
If the dragon did not dine on their bodies and pick his teeth with their bones first.
No hero would stand against the winged horror to defend Mary or the people of Rivenbourne. That was the truth the daylight would bring.
He recalled the odd encounter of the day before…
Yesterday, Sahar had followed him to the gate of the master’s keep.
She caught his before he entered. “Sit with me a moment, Matteo,” she said, gesturing to the corner of the fortified wall.
“I can’t remain for long, Lady Sahar,” he said.
She took a seat on a stump. “Did you know we can all read the future by recalling the past?” She had reached for his hand.
Matteo squeezed her cold hand between his warm ones. “Fear does not guide me, grandmother,” he said, using Rivenbourne’s honorific term of endearment
Sahar beamed at him. “Soft years make weak men, but a boy shall lead them all.” She had uttered the words as though they were a benediction and then she moved the pitahaya aside and rummaged in her basket of wares. When she pushed beneath her stock of tattered rags, three short swords glinted in the sunlight.
“Don’t stare, Matteo,” she whispered as her hand hovered over them, as though all elderly women carried a trio of swords. “I have a gift to give you in exchange for the fruit, and I will fulfill a vow in doing so.”
“I beg your pardon, Sahar,” Matteo murmured.
She went on as though she had not heard him. “Hard times make criminals of the weak-minded.”
“Yes, grandmother.” Perhaps she wasn’t altogether right in her mind.
From beside the weapons, she swiped an ivory tusk. “This is the horn of the Breidbore Brhino. It will keep you safe from the dragon’s magic, Matteo, and keep your mind clear. Use it when you meet your moment.” She pressed it into his hands, climbed to her feet, and then lifted her basket to her hip. Before turning, she paused. “If ever you meet the beast, remember that dragons do not break their promises. They cannot.”
A frayed tassel hung from the middle of the horn and tickled his wrist. The white shape was the length of his hand and nearly as heavy as the milk bucket. He admired the intricate carving she had loving spent so much time on. It was not an equitable exchange. The ivory tusk was worth so much more than the pitahaya.
When he looked up to tell her so, she had disappeared in the throng.
Matteo rolled over on his mat once more and placed his hand over the tasseled relic of the Breidbore bear. The owning of it had already increased his bravery. In the night, each time a nightmare ended, he woke up and touched it. The feel of it in his hand gave him courage, but maybe she had known that. He would stand on the crest of the Hill to wait for the appearance of the fell beast.
In all the times before, the mayor secured the gates that led into the walled city. A beast could fly over the walls, but the sense of being closed-in calmed the inhabitants. With the cowardly mayor gone, who would see to it?
Rivenbourne would feel wide open to the hungry beast. Perhaps not even the Master would remember to close the gate to hide the village. Out of sight. Out of the mind of the beast. Dragons never craved what they couldn’t see. So it was said.
Matteo shivered. He didn’t want to be eaten, but he didn’t know if anyone else would protect Rivenbourne. He would make his stand at the entrance to the city. The dragon could come to feed, and Matteo would beg for mercy on Rivenbourne.
If the dragon was too hungry to give mercy, then Matteo would offer himself in place of Rivenbourne. He hoped he would be enough of a meal.
If Sahar was right, all he had to do was make a pact with the beast, and Rivenbourne would be safe.
He climbed to his feet and dressed.
The day would pass quickly, careening toward another restless night, no doubt.
What teeth would the morrow hold?
Mary
Rivenbourne Township
The Master’s Estate
Dragon’s Day
Something tickled Matteo’s nose, and he snorted at it, unwilling to stir.
“Feathers, is that you?” he mumbled.
That hen would be the death of him. He was always chasing h
er out of the kitchen, back into the barnyard, and finding her eggs in strange places.
“Get up, sleepy bones.” Somebody giggled.
Chickens don’t giggle.
Matteo cracked an eye and peered around the storeroom. “Who’s—"
Cold rained down on Matteo’s face, and he bolted to his feet, sputtering.
Mary, the water girl, stood nearby. Her brown hair had been braided and then twisted together on top of her head. Her hands rested on her hips, but her eyes sparkled with mirth. Even the freckles across the bridge of her nose seemed to dance. It was obvious that the dousing pleased her.
At her feet, an empty bucket rested on its side. She made a perfect replica of Cook when the older woman studied the storeroom.
“Serves you right, Matteo,” Mary said. “Sleeping away the mornings. You’re almost as bad as my cousin.” She nodded her head, but only once.
“We don’t all have someone else to wake us up at a decent hour.” Matteo scowled at her and crossed his arms. He would never be as bad as that coward of a mayor.
She laughed again as though she hadn’t a care in the world. “But I wokes you, so you do, too.” She glowed with self-satisfaction. “The creatures wants their breakfasts.” Mary always spoke with too many s’s. When she was a girl, her father was an angry drunk, and he’d been angry every night. Cook said Mary’s speech came from being mishandled when she was a babe. She had come to live with her auntie Cook on her sixth birthday. She’d been Matteo’s friend ever since.
“I haven’t slept later than the rooster in a long time.” Matteo couldn’t remember ever having slept late.
“Maybe so, but Cook said once was too many.” Mary tapped the bucket with her bare toe. “She sent me to wakes you so she coulds inventory the spence.”
Matteo waved toward his night shirt. “Go on then, let me get dressed enough to be decent.” Her jovial mood disrupted his focus. She didn’t understand what would happen later that afternoon.
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