The Dragon Seed Box Set

by Resa Nelson

  They’re not asleep. They’re dead. The berserkers killed them, too.

  Benzel didn’t know what to do. Mama said the people of Bubblebrook would help him. But the people of Bubblebrook were gone. Now what would he do?

  A baby’s cry drifted up again.

  Maybe it’s a trick. Maybe the berserkers knew I got away. Maybe they made Mama tell them where she told me to go. Maybe one of them is crying like a baby to trick me into going into Bubblebrook. And then they’ll kill me.

  The cry sounded like it came from a real baby.

  Benzel thought about all the times he’d come to Bubblebrook with Mama. She liked to visit her sister here because they had stories to tell each other and laughed all the time. Benzel remembered one day when he and Mama walked with his auntie to another village.

  Unlike Heatherbloom, Bubblebrook had the mountains to its west and hills surrounding its valley in all other directions. The village had two paths: one leading up the mountain and another leading through the hills.

  We took the path through the hills. It goes straight to the next village!

  Even better, Benzel remembered meeting another auntie in that next village. But to get to the path leading to the next village, he would have to go down to Bubblebrook and walk through it.

  Benzel squinted at Bubblebrook and wondered where the berserkers had first struck: in Bubblebrook or Heatherbloom. And if they’d destroyed both places, did that mean they must have attacked the next village, too?

  But then Benzel noticed something. From his vantage point on the mountain pass, he saw that the river running by Bubblebrook branched in different directions, one of which carried on toward Heatherbloom. In his home village, the river snaked from the hills and then on toward the sea. Here, he saw the river rumble from a waterfall.

  Papa said berserkers traveled by ship, because Northlander ships were the best in all the world. A Northlander ship glided through rivers as easily as it cut through ocean waves.

  But a ship couldn’t sail up a waterfall. More likely, the berserkers had come in from the sea and then sailed up the river to attack every village they found on its shores.

  Benzel studied the shore alongside Bubblebrook and saw no ship at all.

  If the berserkers had attacked the next village, they would have had to leave their ship here. They must have sailed back out to sea.

  Determined to make his way to the next village before the berserkers could change their minds and come back, Benzel hustled down the path leading to Bubblebrook. Once on its flat ground, the boy decided to skirt its edge so he could dash into the forest in case any berserkers lingered behind, lying in wait in case someone came to Bubblebrook.

  When he circled around the village’s edge, Benzel saw more than he wanted. The bodies of men, women, and children, battered and bloody, littered the dirt roads. Although he’d seen the same sight from high above, now the scent of blood and burnt ashes made the boy’s stomach twist into knots. He kept his attention on the route he chose because he didn’t want to see anyone he recognized.

  Once more, a baby’s cry echoed through the village, loud and persistent.

  If a baby lived, maybe the baby’s mother and father still lived. Maybe they could go with Benzel to the next village and protect him. Dragons were likely to be far away in the upper Northlands at this time of year, but other dangerous animals lurked near paths. Benzel would feel better if a big man carrying a sharp dagger walked by his side.

  Benzel decided to follow the sound of the baby’s cry but keep his gaze on the ground and ignore the terrible sights surrounding him. He wound his way through the village until he came to a home that stood intact. Bracing himself in case he encountered a berserker, Benzel crept into the home with caution.

  The embers of the hearth fire in the center of the home offered little light, and Benzel paused to give his eyes time to adjust to the dimness. The first thing he saw was the naked body of a woman sprawled on her back. A baby with a milky mouth and soiled clothing sat on the dead woman’s chest. It wailed at the sight of Benzel.

  “Hush!” Benzel said. In case a stray berserker might be nearby, Benzel knew he should rush out of the home and hightail it to the path toward the next village before being found out.

  But he’d heard the baby crying for a long time. If its cries were to draw a berserker out of hiding, that should have happened by now.

  As Benzel’s eyes adjusted more, he saw how the woman’s day had been disrupted. Torn clothing that she must have been mending spread across the floor near his feet. A basket of parsnips had overturned, scattering the vegetables in all directions.

  A pot hung over the embers.

  Benzel’s stomach growled. He edged his way around the scattered parsnips, the dead woman, and baby that clung to her toward the pot. Touching its side, Benzel found it barely warm. He dipped a finger inside to discover a well-cooked meal of beans, onions, and carrots. Collapsing with relief, Benzel devoured the contents of the pot. When he finished, he noticed the baby staring at him with a look of dismay.

  “What?” Benzel said. “It’s nothing you’re able to eat. Mama taught me that.” He stared at the dead woman. “Besides, there’s milk on your lips. That means you’ve been feeding. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t have something to eat, too.”

  The baby whined.

  Benzel licked his fingers clean.

  Now that he’d figured out the berserkers must have come and left by ship, Benzel felt a bit more at ease. It might not be a bad idea to spend the night in Bubblebrook. After all, this must be the middle of the night, far past his bedtime. After hiking for what felt like hours to Bubblebrook, the boy could hardly keep his eyes open.

  The baby pushed against its mother’s skin and whimpered.

  Benzel wondered why the berserkers would do something so strange as to leave a baby alive with its dead mother.

  Did they have a game of Just In Case, too?

  Benzel frowned. The baby looked older than an infant but didn’t appear old enough to walk. Had the baby crawled to a hiding place?

  The boy studied the small home’s interior. Like his own, beds lined the walls like benches. He walked to the nearest bed. Although it appeared to rest on a solid wooden platform, Benzel knew that most people built storage spaces beneath their beds, whether drawers, doors, or panels that removed easily. He popped a panel free and discovered a space full of onions. If the baby had been hiding, there should be an open space showing where it had been.

  Benzel saw none.

  Taking a closer look, he saw a small overturned cart, the kind some people made to let their children wheel around small things like heads of lettuce so they could feel like grownups. A simple cloth lined the inside of the cart and sprawled onto the floor. It looked like it had covered something hidden inside the cart when it had been upright.

  The baby!

  Benzel imagined what must have happened: the berserkers rushed inside this house after the woman hid her baby inside the cart. Maybe the baby was asleep. Or maybe the berserkers made so much noise that they never heard the child if it made a sound. And then after the berserkers left, the child fell or climbed out of the cart and crawled to its mother.

  We’re the only ones left. The only ones to survive.

  Even if the berserkers were long gone, Benzel didn’t like the idea of staying in Bubblebrook for another moment. He wanted to go to the next village. He didn’t know if he could remember what his aunt in that village looked like, but everyone would know her.

  Maybe she’d take care of him.

  Benzel headed toward the door.

  The baby whimpered again.

  Benzel stopped, but he didn’t turn around. He stared straight ahead at the door so he wouldn’t have to look at the baby. “You’re too heavy. I can’t carry you. I’ll tell my aunt about you and someone will come here.”

  The baby stopped whimpering, but he could hear it breathing in short puffs as if on the verge of tears.

  Be
nzel considered the small cart where the woman had hidden her baby.

  He turned around and approached the baby. It reeked.

  Remembering what Mama had taught him about caring for the new baby she carried in her belly, Benzel knew the baby should be cleaned up. Holding his nose with one hand, he wiped the baby clean with a cloth he found on top of a bed. He noticed the child’s gender.

  A girl. The alchemist said Mama was going to have a girl child.

  He then swaddled the baby in the cloth that lined the small cart.

  Once wrapped, the child stared at Benzel with wide eyes but stayed quiet.

  It took all the strength Benzel could muster to pick up the swaddled baby and place her inside the cart.

  Within moments, the little girl fell asleep, pale as a parsnip and now shaped like one in her swaddling cloth.

  Benzel picked up the parsnips that had fallen on the floor and piled them in the cart around the girl child. Mama had taught him to never let food go to waste. He couldn’t carry all of the food left in Bubblebrook, but he could at least take some parsnips.

  With a heavy sigh, Benzel took the handles of the cart. He wheeled it outside the house without looking back at the girl’s dead mother. He avoided looking at all the other dead bodies that cluttered the roads of Bubblebrook and focused instead on getting to the path that would lead him to the next village.

  CHAPTER 3

  Benzel arrived in the next village when its people had just come awake and prepared for the day ahead. At first, a handful of children spotted Benzel pushing the cart toward the clusters of wattle-and-daub houses. They stared at him as if he were a dragon.

  “My aunt lives here,” Benzel shouted to the children. “I have to find her.”

  Like a herd of skittish deer, the children ran toward the heart of the village, brushing past a man wielding a hammer.

  Benzel knew the man must be the town blacksmith because Heatherbloom’s blacksmith had hammers like that.

  “Here now,” the blacksmith said. He approached Benzel and placed his fists on his hips. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Benzel.” The boy lowered the handles to let the cart rest on the ground and give his arms a rest. “The berserkers attacked Heatherbloom and Bubblebrook. We’re the only ones left alive.”

  The blacksmith followed Benzel’s gaze toward the baby sleeping inside the small cart and then gave the boy a questioning look. “Berserkers?”

  Benzel nodded. “They sailed up the river. They won’t be coming here.”

  The blacksmith looked beyond Benzel and toward the path the boy had traveled. “You sure?” the blacksmith said.

  “Pretty sure.”

  The blacksmith stared at Benzel. “You look like Kjartan’s boys.”

  “My aunt lives here.”

  “Helga?”

  “I don’t remember,” Benzel said. “I was little the last time I saw her.”

  “Got to be her,” the blacksmith muttered. “Follow me.” Without another word, the blacksmith turned around and marched toward the center of the village.

  Benzel scrambled to pick up the handles of the cart and wheel it behind the blacksmith.

  Several minutes later, the blacksmith planted himself in front of a house constructed with stone walls.

  Looking at the house, Benzel knew it belonged either to the blacksmith or to the village’s thatcher, because those were the only two men in any village whose work was so in demand that it afforded them stone walls instead of wattle-and-daub.

  “Kjartan!” the blacksmith hollered. “Helga! There’s someone here you need to see.”

  When the wooden door of the tiny stone house flew open and an angry woman emerged, the sight startled Benzel so much that the handles slipped from his hands and his end of the cart thumped to the ground. “Mama,” Benzel whispered, staring at the woman’s face.

  Apparently, she heard him. Sending a sharp glance Benzel’s way, the woman said, “What are you up to now, Thorfinn? Didn’t I tell you to gather up eggs from the chickens? Stop wasting time messing around with that cart of parsnips!”

  The blacksmith laughed. “That’s not your son!”

  “This is no time of the morning for your foolish jests,” the woman snapped at the blacksmith.

  Snickering in delight, the blacksmith pointed at Benzel. “Take a closer look.”

  Benzel cleared his throat and spoke up. For a moment, his heart filled with hope. “Mama?”

  She marched toward him. “Thorfinn, when your father hears about this—” The woman pulled up short. Her eyes glazed in confusion and her voice softened. “You’re not Thorfinn.”

  “He’s your nephew, isn’t he?” the blacksmith said. “Found him at the edge of the village just now.” To Benzel, he said, “This is your Auntie Helga, boy.”

  The hope fell away from Benzel’s heart, leaving it cold and empty. He stared at her.

  “Alone?” the woman said to the blacksmith. “He came alone?” She glanced at the cart. “Why would my sister send him alone with a cart of parsnips?”

  Three boys near Benzel’s age tumbled through the front door in a fit of giggles, followed by a large man with bright and shining eyes. The boys scattered, but the man stopped in mid-step when he saw Benzel and stared at him. To the woman, he said, “Wife, is there something you need to tell me?”

  She jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Stop that nonsense. It’s Benzel, my sister’s boy. She sent him with a cart of parsnips. I don’t know why. I didn’t ask for any. We’ve got plenty of our own.”

  “Benzel!” the man said. He stepped forward and dropped to one knee to come eye-to-eye with the boy. “The last time we met, you stood only as high as my knee. Look at you now! Practically grown up.”

  “That’s your Uncle Kjartan,” the blacksmith told Benzel. The blacksmith ignored Auntie Helga and spoke directly to her husband. “Nobody sent the boy here. He says Heatherbloom’s been taken by berserkers. Bubblebrook, too.”

  Auntie Helga spat out a laugh. “Nonsense! If you knew anything about boys—and believe me, I do—you’d know how they always tell tales.”

  “Not so fast,” Uncle Kjartan said. He peered deeply into Benzel’s eyes. “If that’s true, Benzel, how did you get away?”

  Benzel fought a lump forming in his throat. He stared at Auntie Helga. “Mama and Papa taught me Just In Case.”

  Auntie Helga snorted. “See? He’s speaking nonsense. The day’s wasting away, Kjartan.”

  Uncle Kjartan ignored her. He placed a steady hand on Benzel’s shoulder. “What does that mean? Just in case?”

  “A game,” Benzel said, now willing his eyes not to fill with tears. He was a big boy now, and big boys didn’t cry. “A hiding game.”

  Uncle Kjartan nodded with understanding. “Your mama and papa taught you to hide. That’s why the berserkers didn’t find you?”

  Too choked up to speak, Benzel nodded.

  Uncle Kjartan squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “That makes you a very brave young man. Good work, Benzel.”

  Auntie Helga shook her head in dismay. “If you want to swallow everything the boy says whole and unbroken, you’re a fool. I’ve got better things to do.” She headed toward the door of the tiny stone house.

  The swaddled baby inside the cart piled with parsnips stirred awake and cried.

  Auntie Helga turned around and stared at the cart. “What’s this now?”

  In that moment, Benzel felt a kinship with the girl child he’d found and carted to this village. “She’s my sister!”

  Auntie Helga’s eyes narrowed. “That child looks to be a year old. My sister isn’t due to have her new baby for weeks to come. That can’t be your sister. It’s impossible.”

  Everything that Benzel had experienced and felt during the past day and night came down on him like an avalanche. He’d done what Mama and Papa wanted—he saved his family by saving himself.

  But he needed more than himself to be his family. He needed a sister who’d been throug
h the same thing. He needed someone who knew what it felt like to lose everything without warning.

  “She is too my sister,” Benzel said with determination. “I’m the one who found her. I’m the one who took care of her, just like Mama taught me.”

  “You found her?” Uncle Kjartan said in a gentle voice. “Where did you find her?”

  “Bubblebrook.” Benzel sniffed back his tears. “They killed her mama. The berserkers ruined her home, so I’m her family now.”

  “All right,” Uncle Kjartan said. “Then you and your sister have a new home with us now.”

  “What?” Auntie Helga protested. “Don’t I have enough tykes already? Who do you suppose will take care of them?”

  “There’s always room for more,” Uncle Kjartan said.

  “You will be the death of me yet,” Auntie Helga muttered.

  Uncle Kjartan took Benzel’s hands inside his large, meaty paws. “What name does your sister go by?”

  Benzel didn’t hesitate to answer. “Parsnip.” Before Auntie Helga could protest, Benzel talked fast. “But I call her Snippa for short. Or just Snip.”

  “Snip it is then,” Uncle Kjartan said with a smile. He stood and spoke to the blacksmith and Auntie Helga. “I’ll go to Bubblebrook and Heatherbloom to see what happened and see if anyone else survived.”

  “I’ll join you,” the blacksmith said.

  Auntie Helga heaved an exasperated sigh and looked at Benzel. “You must be hungry.”

  Benzel nodded.

  Auntie Helga held the door to the little stone house open. “Come on in then. And bring the little girl with you.”

  Worried that Auntie Helga might change her mind, Benzel picked up the handles and steered the cart through the open door.

  CHAPTER 4

  Twelve years later, Benzel climbed down a ladder leaning against a neighbor’s house and admired the repair work he’d just completed on its thatch roof. The neighbor woman, carrying a babe on her hip, sidled next to him. “Done so soon?”