Katja huddled near the tree, out of the worst of the wind. Maybe she should just roll out her bedroll and hunker in to rest for a while. As she debated the wisdom of losing more time and energy by sleeping, a sound startled her.
Turning, she caught a glimpse of something moving behind a nearby stand of fir. Silently, she slid her bow off her shoulder and brought an arrow to bear in the general direction of the noise, pausing as she waited for whatever it was to show itself. She had learned patience from her mother, who was a brilliant shot, and she had learned how to skin the animals from her father. Together, they had made an unbeatable team—that is, until the wolves had brought them down.
The sounds coming from the copse weren’t those of an animal. No snuffling or growling, no sound of trampling either. Katja waited, her arrow still nocked and ready to fire. As she tried to follow the sound, gauging its proximity to her, a sudden hush fell over the area. It was as if a thousand tiny sounds suddenly stopped and the only thing she could hear was the sudden fall of snow as the storm began in earnest.
A soft flurry of snowflakes spiraled around her and she blinked, trying to see through the sudden whirl. When the gust died down, she realized that a tall man in a long white robe was standing in front of her. Silver hair flowed down his back. He was beautiful—pale as the snow itself. And his gaze was locked directly on her.
She faltered, slowly lowering the arrow, though keeping it in hand just in case. He was no bandit, though, not by the looks of him, and the robe seemed thin and light. So either he was a spirit of the cold, or he was unaffected by the weather.
“Who are you? Identify yourself.” Katja kept her voice even. She’d had to learn to force the fear back—it threw opponents off guard and helped her keep her mind clear.
But he made no move to attack her. Instead, he leaned against a nearby boulder, and his hair swirled up to coil around his shoulders. She suddenly froze, then lowered the arrow. Only one creature had hair that could move like this.
Dragon.
The fear rose up again, this time so far beyond her ability to control it that she stumbled back, dropping her bow and arrow. She lost her balance and went tripping back to land butt-first in the heavy, wet snow.
The dragon began to slowly walk toward her. He didn’t look in a hurry, though, and he carried no weapon. Maybe there was some way she could get out of this alive.
The next moment, he was standing over her, staring down at her prone figure. She curled into a ball, trying to protect herself. Dragons weren’t above eating people. They were dangerous and fearsome and nothing she could do would make a dent. Even if she stabbed him with her skinning knife, the blade would only nick him lightly—if at all.
To fight a dragon…took an army.
As he leaned down, Katja whispered a prayer to the goddess of the hearth. Please, let my sisters and brothers be safe. Let someone take them in and keep them alive and healthy.
“Woman, sit up.”
She forced herself to obey, waiting for whatever torment he might inflict on her. She was determined to meet her death the way her people had taught her—with courage and strength.
“What’s your name?”
The question caught her off guard. Dragons didn’t usually talk to humans. She blinked, not certain what to do.
“Do you understand me? Can you speak, girl?” His voice was gruff, but with no underlying threat behind it.
Katja cleared her throat, stuttering as fear infected her words. “I’m…I’m Katja. Please…are you going to kill me?”
THE LOOK ON the girl’s face was one of absolute terror. Iampaatar frowned. While he was used to intimidating other creatures, something about her fear unsettled him. In fact, seeing her cower back in the snows didn’t suit his fancy at all. She looked petrified. Petrified and…exhausted. Her clothes were threadbare, if neat. Her bow and arrows looked worn, but well maintained. She couldn’t be very old—at least not in human terms. All in all, she was as much of a threat to him as a gnat was.
“What are you doing out here in the woods alone, Katja? Dangers lurk everywhere. There are wolf packs running wild, and bandits, and avalanches waiting to bury the unwary.” He took her hand and drew her to her feet. The wonderment that spread over her face amused him.
She curtseyed. “Lord…Dragon…”
“So you know what I am?”
“Yes, milord. Your hair betrays your nature.”
He smiled faintly. “What are you doing out here?”
“Hunting for game. My brothers and sisters are hungry, and thieves took all the food I managed to put up this summer. They’ll starve if I don’t find some meat to take home. They’re young, milord. They need me to protect and fend for them.” The words came out in a breathless rush, and as she glanced up at him nervously—she was very short and Iampaatar was six-foot-four—a rosy blush hit her cheeks.
She was comely, he’d give her that. And brave, if she was out hunting alone. “What about your parents? Why isn’t your father out here?” While Iampaatar had no quarrel with women hunting or fighting, it did rankle him that her family sent her out alone. That was as good as a death sentence.
She ducked her head, the blush on her cheeks dying down. “They died early last year. A wolf pack tore them to pieces. I was there, and I only managed to escape because my mother sacrificed herself. Da had stepped in to protect us, and they caught him. The curs were after me, but Ma threw herself between us. She screamed for me to run. There was nothing I could do to help, so I ran and managed to make it back to the house. It was the end of the winter, and we had been out looking to the fields to see if the soil could be tilled yet to plant barbury roots and high corn.”
“How many brothers and sisters do you have, Katja?” His voice was softer now. The matter of fact way that she told her story hit him squarely in the heart. The girl had seen her parents killed and she had taken up as best as she could, which was more than many a man would do. It was more than he expected his father would ever do.
“Three brothers, four sisters. Pieter, the oldest, is twelve. I’ve been teaching him to hunt, but the game near the house is scarce and winter has been long this year. I would move us into the village but we’ve no money for that, and I’ve no skills to earn our keep other than hunting and tending the garden. And I think it’s healthier if they grow up in the countryside. The soot from town fires weakens the lungs.” Her voice cracked.
As he gazed down at her, she looked up, pleading. He recognized the look. She was begging him not to kill her, because doing so would effectively destroy her brothers and sisters.
That, right there, made up his mind. Thinking of his own siblings, and the fact that he suspected his father of filicide—several times over—the sight of this slip of a girl trying to protect her brothers and sisters and play both mother and father to them touched him in a way that nothing else had for a long time.
“Come, then. If you need food, we’ll find you food. What have you eaten today?” He looked her up and down. She was too thin and gaunt.
“I had an apple. That’s all we had left.” She was staring at him like he’d grown another head. “What do you mean…we? You’re going to help me?” The disbelief in her voice both irritated and amused him. Nobody ever believed dragons could be helpful.
“I mean just that. Come then, I want you to close your eyes. I promise, you won’t be hurt.” He pulled her close. Her heart was beating like a drum afire and he knew she was terrified. As he brought his hair up to wrap around her shoulders, she gazed up at him and—whether from hunger or fear—fainted.
That makes things easier, he thought with a faint smile. Without another word, he lifted her into his arms and with a soft sound like snow falling on snow, vanished into the Ionyc Seas.
“WHAT DO YOU expect to do with her? Are you mad, son? You know what will happen should your father find her here. You know what he’s like around humans.” Vishana stared at her son. Iampaatar could be a h
andful, but at least he was always open about his intentions. But now—bringing a human into the dreyerie?
At least Hyto was out, no doubt down in his caverns toasting some poor girl over a spit after he had used her for his pleasure. Vishana had recently been toying with the idea of denying him. Divorce in the Dragon Reaches was almost unheard of—there had to be good reason to deny a spouse, and killing humans didn’t play into it. Now, killing offspring…That was another matter. But she couldn’t prove that her husband had been behind the deaths of their children. Until recently Iampaatar had been one of the younger sons. Now that most of his brothers were dead, he was the oldest. He was the ninth son of a ninth son—and that made him special.
Iampaatar shook his head. “I don’t plan on keeping her here, Mother. But she’s starving, and so is her family. I couldn’t think of where to take her in order to get food.”
“What about her village?”
“I can’t very well walk into the inns in Ryddinton, can I? They’d mark me as quickly as she did, and there are some talented swordsmen there who would love to build their armor from the hide of a dragon.” Iampaatar frowned. “I know it wasn’t the wisest thing to bring the girl here, but I had no other choice. I’ll gather enough food to see them through the winter, and take her home.”
Vishana stared at her son. He was her shining hope, and though she didn’t let him see it, right now she was terribly proud of him. “You are fond of her. You’ve always had a soft spot for the mortals, haven’t you? You’re as fascinated and fond of their culture as your father is disgusted by it. Very well, do what you will with her. But remember, my son,” she touched his arm lightly with her hand, “You are engaged to Harasha. The day will come when you must do your duty, marry her, and take up your responsibilities here. She is a gold dragon. She is worthy enough to join our clan. And you are my son. The Council will be waiting for you to take your rightful place when you’ve gotten your wanderlust out of your system.”
Iampaatar glanced around the chamber. It was regal, and brilliant. Looming over everything was his mother’s coat of arms. The splendor that marked the status of his family was to be found in every trinket, in every stitch of cloth. He did love this place. His mother’s dreyerie was beautiful and magnificent and…home. But it was home to a maniac, as well.
“I cannot live here. Not while my father does. Mark my words, Mother. He will destroy all of your children. He cannot stand to think they are accorded higher status than he is. He cannot face that they will inherit your wealth instead of him. His envy will taint us all someday. Get rid of him while you still live, or he may decide that you should meet with a fatal accident.”
Speaking to his mother like this gave him no pleasure, but he was out of patience.
Vishana said nothing for a moment. Then, very softly—“I will consider your advice, my son. Meanwhile, take your pet, and take as much food as you like, and a bit of gold if you want, and return her to her home. Don’t let your father know, because—”
“You don’t need to finish the thought. I know what he’d do. He’ll never know she exists.” And with that, Iampaatar took his leave.
KATJA WOKE TO find herself in a strange room. Lush and opulent, it smelled like roses and jasmine, like geraniums and fresh mint. A maid, who she immediately pegged as dragon, silently motioned for her to undress and step into a tub of steaming water. Cowed, afraid to say no, Katja did as she was told.
Soothing herbs had been steeped in the water, and soap bubbles glided along the surface. Still in shock, she softly leaned back and closed her eyes, luxuriating in the warmth. As the water eased her muscles, the maid brought over a tray. On the tray was bread and meat, cheeses and even fruits and sweets. Her stomach aching from a gnawing hunger, it was all Katja could do to force herself to eat small bites. If she stuffed herself, her body would rebel and she would throw up. After the bath, she was given clean, heavy clothing that kept out the chill. She continued to eat, small but steady nibbling. No one came to speak to her, no one said a word. Tired and worried about her brothers and sisters, Katja finally curled up on a fur-covered bed, and within moments, she was asleep, her dreams quiet and clear as she rested.
WHEN SHE WOKE again, she was on the edge of the forest, near her house. The dragon was with her, and so was a sledge filled with bundles and bags. A full grown reindeer lay across the sledge, cleaned and gutted. Katja glanced around wildly, trying to figure out whether she had dreamed being in the fortress at the top of the world, or whether it had been real.
“What is this?” She looked up at her companion, realizing she still didn’t know his name. “Who are you? What’s your name?”
He grinned at her. “Dragons never give their names, surely you know that. But you may call me…” As he paused, he hiccupped and a puff of smoke appeared. He snorted as she stumbled back. “That happens. Don’t let it startle you.”
“Smoky…I’ll call you Smoky.” Katja smiled then, suddenly feeling relaxed. He was a dragon, but he hadn’t killed her. She was dressed in clothing that kept the chill at bay. Her stomach was full and she had slept deep in safety. That made for a good day.
Arching one eyebrow, Iampaatar shrugged. “As you like. I’ve never been called that before but it will do. I’ve stores here, for you and your family. There’s food to last you through the winter, and weapons, and clothes for your brothers and sisters. I’ll put in a store of wood for you, and here…keep this hidden and don’t let anybody know where you put it.” He pressed ten silver coins—a small fortune for one of her status—into her hand.
Katja stared at the money. “What do I have to do to earn this?” A thought crossed her mind. She’d heard of some dragons who took women for mistresses. The thought didn’t necessarily displease her, but she wanted to know the terms of his friendliness before she agreed to take anything. Better to starve a beggar than die a serf.
Iampaatar heard the question behind the question. He lifted her hand and gently kissed the top of it. “Nothing, Lady Katja. You are in need. I can give help. It pleases me to know that your family will not starve. You’ve shown yourself brave and loyal, and I respect that.”
And with that, he guided the sledge over to the door, which burst open as a passel of children converged on her. She hugged them one by one as Pieter began to unpack the sledge. As she turned to introduce Smoky, to her surprise, he had vanished as quickly as he had appeared. She glanced into the sky. Faintly, near the treeline, she saw a speck of white winging away, and she wondered if she’d ever see him again.
TIME WENT ON. Her brothers and sisters grew, and oddly enough, no other bandits ever made their way to the door. Every few months, Katja would go out hunting, but in addition, each season there was always an an elk, or reindeer or other animal left near the house, cleaned and carved into pieces for easy carrying to the smokehouse.
Now and then, there would be a bushel of apples, or a bag of clothing. One day, she took her siblings into town to buy them new shoes and a few supplies like grain and honey, and when they returned, the house had been mended. Everything that had been broken had been fixed, and new blankets covered the beds, and a new cooking pot had replaced the old one which had sprung a leak. The village assumed she was working herself to the bone in order to take care of her brothers and sisters, and finally the headmaster of the school offered them free lessons. So she sent them to school each day, except for Pieter, who did not want to go.
Another winter passed, and another, and each time, there was food to spare, and supplies when they most needed them. Katja grew strong and beautiful, though she resisted any attempts by the men of the village to court her. Instead, she kept her gaze trained on the skies, always watching for a sign that Smoky might be returning. But she always managed to miss him, and so she spent her days wandering the woods, learning the way of the herbs and plants, listening to them and learning their speech and how to use them for healing.
Another three years out, and yet another th
ree, and she had become the wortcunning woman for the village. By then, everybody knew her family was receiving some sort of help, but she never spoke of it, and a protective aura lingered around their cabin. No one said a word against her or her family and they became respected in the village. By then, Katja was twenty-five, and her sisters were of marrying age. She arranged good matches for them with village lads, and warned that if they were mistreated, she would send her spirits to harm them. Her brothers left home one by one to find their fortunes. One moved into the village and took up smithery. Pieter stayed by his sister’s side, though.
One day they were down by the creek, talking.
“Where is the dragon?” He glanced at her, smiling. The usual stores for the winter had arrived a fortnight ago.
“What dragon?” She stared at Pieter, startled. In all these years, she had never once mentioned Smoky’s name, or her adventure in the woods. She had kept her secrets, hiding them away like she hid away the silver coins that arrived with the supplies. There was a tidy store hidden in the floor of the cabin by now.
“The dragon who rescued you. I’m not stupid, Katja. I figured out several years back. Oh hell, I saw him. All right? I saw him bring the supplies one year. I was up early, visiting the outhouse, when he appeared with the sledge. I can tell a dragon when I see one.” He leaned back, staring as the lazy leaves began to tumble down in a sudden gust of wind. Autumn was rolling in, and the snows were close behind.
Katja then, for the first time, told Pieter about her desperate hunting trip, and what had happened. “I’ve never seen him since then, though I’d like to.”
Pieter glanced down at his older sister. He’d grown to be a tall, burly man. “You should marry, Katja. You should marry someone and be happy and make babies of your own.”
Otherworld Tales Volume 1 Page 12