by Resa Nelson
Shaken out of their stupor, his clansmen followed orders. One by one, swords clanged against the floor.
Drageen owned no such weapon. His memories of his mother and father had faded over the years, and he knew the same had been happening to what he used to be able to recall about his grandparents.
One thing he couldn’t forget was that no weapon had been passed down to him from anyone in his direct family. Drageen thought he had a memory of his father’s dragonslayer sword, which Bee claimed Gloomer had stolen and hidden away—or traded away—after the day Drageen’s grandparents died.
Drageen approached Gloomer and said, “What are you doing? And why?”
Gloomer ignored the question and directed the Scaldings as if he were their leader, not Drageen. “There are three doors to this tower: the front entrance, the door to the caves below, and the door at the top of the tower. Take five swords for each door. Except for the door to the caves, drive each sword through like a nail. Hilt inside the tower. Blade on the other side of the door. Wait to put the swords through the door to the caves until I tell you. Leave whatever swords are left on the floor.”
Gloomer walked a few steps higher on the staircase.
Drageen followed him. “What good will our swords do if they’re driven through doors?”
Finally, Gloomer acknowledged Drageen’s presence. With a stern look, Gloomer said, “What are swords made from?”
Such a simple question startled Drageen into silence. He collected his thoughts and said, “Iron. Except for the leather wrapped around the grip, swords are made of iron.”
“And what is the one thing that will stop a dragon in its tracks?”
Drageen blinked in surprise at the question. “A sword, of course. It’s why we have dragonslayers.”
“Wrong.” Gloomer shook his head. Disappointment filled his eyes. “Dragons become weak in the presence of iron. It isn’t the sword that kills dragons. It’s the iron. It’s the iron that weakens them to the point where they can be killed by mortals.”
Gloomer pointed at each door. “Driving blades through each door creates a barrier stronger than the door itself. It isn’t the door that will keep the dragons from entering the tower. It’s the swords we drive through the doors that will keep them out.”
Drageen considered his uncle with amazement. “How do you know this?” Drageen said.
Gloomer shifted his attention to his kinsmen as they gathered the swords from the floor and split into groups to address each door. “It’s remarkable what you can learn when you’re out in the world, which is what the Scaldings used to do. Meeting all types of people and learning all types of things from them.” Gloomer cast a brief look toward Drageen. “It’s equally remarkable how little knowledge one can acquire by doing nothing but staying on this island.”
Drageen bristled. In recent years Gloomer had lobbied for the Scaldings to plan expeditions that would take them around the world with the intent of looting and bringing the riches back to Tower Island. Although many Scaldings liked the idea, Drageen had the final word, and his word was no. He knew Gloomer’s resentment for him grew by the day.
Gloomer climbed up the tower stairs to oversee the work on the door at the top. Drageen shadowed him.
Why didn’t I know about iron and dragons? Why didn’t anyone ever tell me?
Drageen immediately knew the answer. Scaldings like Gloomer had close kin to guide and teach them. Drageen had lost his parents and grandparents at such a young age that only Astrid remained as his close kin.
I’ve had no one to teach me.
In a short time, the tower’s top and ground-level doors became fortified with the impaling swords and barricaded in place. Drageen realized that Gloomer had succeeded in wasting no time when the sounds of prowling dragons scraped both doors and rattled them loudly.
On the main floor of the tower, many of the Scaldings cried out in fear.
“No need to worry,” Gloomer shouted from his perch mid-way up the tower staircase. “We’re safe.”
He hurried down the steps to the main floor and gestured for the men to surround him.
Once they’d huddled around him, Gloomer spoke in a hushed voice. “The dragons will give up on trying to enter the tower at the main entrance and from the top. That leaves only one way in. They’ll go back into the sea and the caves below the tower.”
Gloomer pointed at the single interior door. “Listening is key. Half of you take your place at the cave door. You’ll hear the dragons’ approach. When they’re at the door, drive five swords through it, just as you did with the other doors.”
One of the Scaldings matched Gloomer’s hushed tone. “What should the rest of us do?”
Gloomer nodded toward the door to the caves. “Once they start driving swords through that door, remove the barricade from the front door and take the rest of the swords with you.”
Another Scalding paled. “You want us to fight the dragons head on?”
“Won’t be necessary. When the dragons see they can’t come through the two doors impaled with swords, they’ll have to go below. That’s when you make a run for the ships.”
Drageen had been listening intently, but Gloomer’s instructions seemed so strange that he couldn’t stop from speaking up. “The ships? You’re saying we’ll leave Tower Island to the dragons?”
Gloomer cast a demeaning glance at Drageen and then said, “Take most of the ships to the sea mouth facing the entrance to the caves. Tie the ships together. They’ll form a blockade to keep the dragons trapped below. Between the swords in the door and the ships, they’ll have no way to get into the tower or out of the caves.”
“There’s little iron contained in each ship,” Drageen said. “How can a blockade of ships be enough to contain an army of dragons?”
A hint of a smile crept onto Gloomer’s face. Although he answered Drageen’s question, he didn’t look at him. “Once the ships are tied into a blockade, drive the remaining swords through the railing of each ship where it faces the cave entrance. It won’t just be a blockade of ships. It will be a blockade of iron.”
The Scalding with the hushed voice said, “Won’t they be able to swim under the ships? Can’t they escape that way?”
“No,” Gloomer said. “The iron will repel the dragons. It will force them away from the ships.” Finally, he turned to face Drageen. “When all others are doing what they should, you take one of the remaining ships and sail it to the Northlands.”
Even though Drageen had suffered by having no close family to teach him things about iron and dragons, all Scaldings learned three things by doing them: fighting with weapons, swimming, and sailing. Drageen considered his sailing skills good enough to get a ship to the Northlands. Madam Po’s warning to leave Tower Island nagged at him. He didn’t know whether he should believe her or not.
But now an opportunity to escape presented itself. He didn’t know why Gloomer wanted him to leave the island, but Drageen decided this was not the time to turn his nose up at any opportunity.
“Fine,” Drageen said. “I’ll take Astrid with me.”
“Leave her here,” Gloomer said.
Drageen bristled. “I’ll go nowhere without her.”
“She’ll be as safe here as she is now.” Gloomer paused. “Safer, because she has the entire clan to protect her instead of just you.”
Drageen knew Gloomer had to be right. If he took Astrid away from here, they could cross paths with a dragon or brigands.
What if I get killed? What would happen to Astrid?
“Go to the Northlands and find the best blacksmiths you can,” Gloomer continued. “Get them started on forging iron bars for us. We’ll need to fortify the island to keep any more dragons from attacking.”
Drageen frowned. “And what about the ones you plan to trap below? What will you do with them?”
A slow smile that lingered on Gloomer’s face terrified Drageen.
“Do with them?” Gloomer said. “There’s all kinds o
f things we can do with dragons.”
Gloomer’s response made Drageen want to have nothing to do with the old man’s plans. Drageen thought of an excuse. He held out his unadorned arms. “But I have no silver. No blacksmith would agree to work without some kind of payment upfront. I have nothing to offer.”
Gloomer raised his voice so all could hear. “Everyone wearing silver. Place it at my feet for the good of all Scaldings.”
The Scaldings waivered but began stripping their arms and hands of silver bracelets and rings.
Drageen watched the silver pile up around Gloomer’s feet.
“There’s more where that came from,” Gloomer said. “Plenty more. Make sure the blacksmiths know.”
Gloomer’s words took Drageen aback. He’d never seen more silver on Tower Island than what he’d seen the Scaldings wear, most of which now laid at Gloomer’s feet. “I won’t lie.”
“It’s no lie.” Gloomer smirked. “You don’t know what we did in the old days. You don’t know the treasure we found. And you don’t know where it’s at.”
In that moment, Drageen was glad to be a Scalding. He’d hate to be a mainland Northlander and be attacked by his kin. Being a Scalding ensured his own safety as well as the safety of his sister.
He reconsidered leaving Tower Island—except for a mission to seek out the help of blacksmiths.
Madam Po is wrong. Tower Island is the best place for us to be. We’re in no danger here.
The interior door rattled fiercely, signaling that the dragons had reached it from beneath the caves. Had the door not been blockaded, it would have burst open.
Drageen heard a cacophony of snorts and clawing from the other side.
The Scaldings stationed around that door picked up the swords and hammered them through the door.
At the same time, other Scaldings tore away the barricade from the tower entrance, flung the door open, and scooped up the remaining swords before racing outside.
Drageen ran with them to the dock. While the others steered ships around the curve of the island on the way to set up a new blockade, Drageen claimed one of the smallest ships and set a course for the mainland of the Northlands.
He prayed to the Northlander gods that he’d made the right decision and that Astrid would stay safe during his absence.
CHAPTER 18
Every year Seph happily anticipated the migration of dragons from the Southlands to the Northlands. For one thing, he looked forward to working his Northlander route as a dragonslayer with his son.
Even more, Seph treasured the stop he and his son made along the way in the Midlands at the Temple of Limru. Although he was a native Southlander, Seph had spent years talking to Midlander dragonslayers about their beliefs in tree spirits, which appealed to him. Every spring and autumn he made a point of paying respect to them and praying for the spirit of his dead wife, Bruni.
Traveling on foot through the Forest of Aguille, Seph smiled when the sight of the outdoor temple came into view: a huge circle of ancient trees formed a lofty canopy. The limbs of the trees sparkled with thousands of silver and gold offerings made to the gods, mostly chains and bracelets and rings. Legend said the first offering had been made a thousand years ago and remained in place to this day.
His son DiStephan nudged Seph and held up a hand bearing a large silver ring shaped so that it looked like the face of a bear. “How about this one?”
Seph frowned, trying to remember how his son had acquired the ring. “Is that from the last village?”
DiStephan laughed. “Yes. I got it from a silversmith. He’s worried about the lack of new dragonslayers and gave it to me as encouragement.”
Seph didn’t like the sound of those words. “Encouragement? For what?”
“Continuing to be a dragonslayer.” DiStephan nudged his father again in a playful way. “Don’t worry. I told him nothing can tear me away from dragonslaying. I told him it’s my calling.”
“And he let you keep the ring?”
DiStephan’s voice softened. “He remembers my mother. He said she saved some of his kin in the Northlands when she was a dragonslayer. He said to say a prayer when I offer it up at Limru.”
Seph gave a nod toward the temple a short distance away. “Go ahead.”
DiStephan paused in surprise. “You always offer up the silver. You always go first.”
“Not this time. You’re old enough to make the offering on behalf of us both.” Seph winked at his son. “After all, you’re the one who got it.”
DiStephan looked at the silver ring and then back at his father. “Will the gods understand it’s from us as a family, not just from me?”
“They will if you state it plainly.”
“And my mother? Will she understand?” DiStephan’s voice faltered. “Will she recognize me?”
“Of course, she will. You’re her son.” Seph gave his son’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “If she’d been a Midlander like the folks here at Limru, I’d tell you that the tree spirits guided her safely to the other side. But I’m certain her Northlander gods did right by her.”
DiStephan frowned. “Will I ever see her again?”
Seph slid his arm across his son’s shoulders. “You listen here. Your mother had her Northlander gods. Are you worried because you and me were born in the Southlands, where we have different gods?”
DiStephan nodded. “We’ll go to different places when we’re done on this world. How can we ever be a family again?”
Seph kept a tight grip on his son. “I don’t think we go to different places. We may have different gods than your mother, but I find it hard to believe they’d be so callous as to separate people from the ones who love them. I think the gods are the guides who take us to the ones we need to be with.”
DiStephan took a hard look at his father. “Is that what the Southlanders believe?”
“It’s what I believe. It’s what my instinct tells me. And you know what I’ve taught you about how every dragonslayer must respond to instincts.”
DiStephan nodded. “Follow them. They always lead you to a true place.” Easing out of his father’s embrace, DiStephan took a step toward the temple. He held up the silver ring. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”
Seph laughed. “You do that.” He watched with pride as his son walked toward the temple, greeting all the Keepers of Limru as he met them.
Most Keepers dressed in white gowns, while some dressed in green. Although no one had ever stolen any offerings made at the temple, the Keepers provided a certain degree of guard. Mostly, they kept the grounds in good order and made sure no squirrel or magpie took off with anything offered to the gods.
Lagging behind, Seph spotted a little girl skulking among the trees at the outermost part of the temple. She carried a large handful of purple and yellow and white lacy flowers.
Seph smiled. Every time he came to Limru, he looked forward to seeing this girl, who had become his favorite child of any Keeper.
There’s a meadow not far from here. She must have found the flowers there.
The little girl looked sharply in Seph’s direction, as if he’d called her name and she’d heard him. She placed a stern finger against her lips.
Seph gave a brief and subtle wave of acknowledgement, pretending to shoo away flies while casting a clandestine look at the girl.
She gave a quick nod and returned her attention to those inside the temple of Limru.
Seph looked beyond her to watch DiStephan enter the temple, make his prayers, and climb up one tree to place his offering of the silver ring on a branch. When finished, DiStephan made his way down and entered into a lively conversation with some of the Keepers.
The little girl slithered through the trees, closer and closer to DiStephan.
By the time Seph made his way to join them, it took all his resolve to keep a straight face. “Good morning,” he said to the Keepers. The sensation of young arms embracing his waist failed to surprise Seph. He looked down and smiled. “Hello
, Margreet.”
The little girl no longer carried a handful of wild flowers, although she had a bright yellow one tucked behind one ear. Instead of answering, she giggled.
DiStephan nodded to acknowledge the girl. “What have you been up to, Margreet?”
She giggled again and shifted her stance to hide behind Seph.
Seph guffawed but then made an act of coughing in an attempt to cover it up. Margreet still clung to him, and he felt her body shake with stifled laughter.
DiStephan stared in frustration at both of them. “By the gods,” he said. “What has she done this time?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Seph said. He cleared his throat and focused on being serious. “I didn’t see where you placed our offering. Can you show me?”
DiStephan’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Truly? You didn’t see?”
With all the gravity he could muster, Seph said, “No, son. I’d like to know where you placed it.”
Still harboring suspicion, DiStephan turned his back on his father so he could point up at the tree he had climbed. “There it is, three branches up on the left.”
When DiStephan turned, his back displayed all the wild flowers Margreet had carried, now tucked neatly under his belt.
Like a bursting dam, Seph doubled over in laughter.
Margreet skipped and jumped by his side, clapping her hands in delight.
DiStephan spun back to face them. “What?”
The Keepers who had kept DiStephan busy talking now melted into quiet smiles.
DiStephan stared at them in dismay. “Truly? You were in on it?” He looked over one shoulder, then the other. “What has she done to me this time?” Seeing nothing out of sorts, he turned in place like a dog chasing its tail.
Margreet squealed with joy. She held her arms up to Seph, who picked her up and rested her against his hip. Margreet flung her arms around Seph’s neck.
Noticing how much she’d grown and the heaviness of her weight against his hip, Seph wondered if this might be the last year he could pick her up. Despite her childlike ways, Margreet would be headed toward her young womanhood in a few years.