Scales and Flames

by Catherine Banks

  “Graaaarr!”

  Hanna kept running. Delso heaved his mighty club at the stairway. More wood shattered and splintered. The stairs lurched and peeled from the wall. Hanna fell flat against them as they slued into a nearby tree.

  “Delso make girly scream.”

  The guardian jumped for the stairs. As he landed, he, Hanna and her escape route smashed into the trees. Branches and foliage scraped wood that ground against bark. Hanna didn’t need to look. She knew Delso was close.

  “Jump, Hanna.” Wokwan’s voice sundered the night. She sensed the dragon was near but couldn’t see. A cherry-red glow poured form the tower. Then eeling between the boughs came a silver-grey stream. Hanna jumped. Wokwan caught her with an outstretched claw.

  “You have it, Hanna.” Wokwan’s claws raked earth as tears welled in the dragon’s eyes.

  “Wokwan, tell me. What did I steal from Bab Yaga?” Behind her the tower glowed in the dark as the inferno consumed the inner wood and baked to breaking the masonry. “And why wouldn’t you come near the tower when I entered?”

  “Step closer, Hanna.” Hanna did so. Wokwan’s head twisted on its neck and flicked a tear over her. Liquid poured like quick-silver over her body. A chill rush over her and she shivered violently. “Rub my tear into your wounds, Hanna. Quickly.”

  Hanna’s hands rubbed moisture into every sore and cut and bruise and her brow bent with each smart and sting as her mind fogged with questions unanswered. As she massaged the abrasions of battle, they melted away. “What? What’s happening?”

  “Never waste a dragon’s tear, Hanna.”

  “They cure every malady.”

  “Not every malady.” Wokwan smiled at her. “You are no thief, Hanna. You have returned something to me stolen a long time ago. It weakened me. Halved me. Now, thanks to you, my child, I am whole again. I am one. I am once more truly Wokwan the Mighty.”

  “But what is it?”

  “My heart.”

  “But, Wokwan, I could feel your heart while.” As the eastern horizon grew light, the sun shone on her understanding. Wokwan’s eyes glowed in the deepening shadows of Crepuscular Forest. The heart in the pouch beat a stead rhythm. “You are leng-nuhi in Skrawan’s tongue, aren’t you?”

  “I am now, once again.” Wokwan pulled her lips to a broad grin. “I am become a she-dragon again. Thanks to your bravery, Hanna. You have helped make me whole again. So, Bab Yaga will be here soon hunting for a sneak thief and arsonist. We must go now, for we have more pressing concerns. Bab Yaga’s angst can wait.”

  “Where are we going to? What about Mika? Surely, we wait for him?”

  “We will, Hanna. But not in Bab Yaga’s realm. Come. Let us be gone.”

  Four

  Hanna walked a familiar road towards her father’s shop standing at the far end of the High Street. Wokwan lumbered behind casting a shadow on Hanna, taking away warmth from an early sun. “Why couldn’t we just fly to Father’s shop?”

  “Some folk do not like dragons landing by their houses.”

  “What’s that outside Father’s shop?” Hanna pointed as people began appearing on the sides, watching them. A creaking dog-cart elongated by a narrow box overhanging the tailboard and draped in night-dark cloth rocked on its wheels as its powering horse fidgeted in the dawn cold. Bright splashes of colour covered the cart’s flanks and the lid of the box while rose and butter-yellow and snow-white bunting looped from the driver’s seat to the tailgate.

  “Stay back with me.” Wokwan trod softly on the firm sod of the street. Her sail ship wings cracked in the silence as she flexed.

  “No.” Hanna’s voice broke.

  “Hanna,” Wokwan said, but she found no words came.

  From behind the cart stepped Sheriff Knapp. His mail shirt clinked softly under the cherry-red jerkin of his office and his leather boots creaked with each step on the rutted road. His deputies, dressed in similar fashion, followed behind. And behind them, an elegantly attired mourning lady emerged from the tailor’s shop door: Hanna’s stepmother, the former Mrs Craiss. Another gentleman finely clothed in silks and ermine, offered the widow his arm.

  “Good morning, Sheriff,” said Wokwan, mildly.

  “What brings you to our village, dragon?” Knapp stopped a few feet from Wokwan. One hand held the hilt of his sword, the other rubbed the fire-red beard covering a pockmarked face. “Your kind ain’t welcome in these parts. And why’s this here girl unclothed?”

  “I am Wokwan, Sheriff, and I have business to conclude here. Does it bother you greatly that one of your daughters stands before you with such honesty? She came to me dressed as you, Sheriff, intent on slaying me to satisfy Bab Yaga’s intent.”

  “Don’t mention that hag’s name here.” Knapp spat his words out. A pale scar creeping up his face glowed.

  “I come for one of her confederates,” said Wokwan.

  “Is that so? And what of this girl?”

  “You know who she is, Sheriff. Try naming her.”

  “I recognise Hanna,” said Knapp. “Our late tailor’s daughter. But why is she as we see her?”

  “My father?”

  “Hanna.” Wokwan’s head nudged the tearful girl. “Your daughter, folk of this fine village, came before me intent on slaying me for my heart, as payment for her brother. I asked her to stand in a suit of truth. Thus, she has remained. She asked me to help her free Mika from Bab Yaga’s thrall.” People began muttering. Knapp’s men looked at each other.

  Knapp regarded Hanna. “Wolves carried her brother away.”

  “No,” Hanna cried. She raised an accusing finger and held it out for her stepmother. “She sold Mika to the witch. But my brother left me a trail of pebbles to follow.” The muttering intensified. Knapp turned on Mrs Craiss. The Gentleman looked from his lady to his Sheriff and then stepped forward.

  “Flog er,” someone shouted. Knapp glared at the crowd.

  “Hush. All right, Hanna, speak now. Tell us what you found.”

  “I found Mika with Bab Yaga, Sheriff, and told her to give me him back. She laughed at me and set her wolves on me. That was the last I saw of my dear Mika.”

  Everyone was staring at Mrs Craiss.

  She stepped forward. “I’m still your mother, girl. Go and make yourself decent this instant.”

  “I stood before Wokwan in this apparel.” Her scarf brushed a cheek and she caught the Princess’ fragrance. “I did so to tell the truth. Have you the courage to wear the same? Mother?” People laughed. “Tell us, Mother. Tell the whole town. Do I lie?”

  “I will not shame myself as you do, dragon-whore.” The gentleman patted her hand. “The sooner you are married, the better. But what decent man would take you now, hey?”

  Hanna looked her mother in the eye. “How did my father die?”

  The older woman flinched. The horse pulled at its harness and the cart rattled.

  “The physician says he died of a broken heart, Hanna,” said Knapp, shuffling his feet. “He’d lost both you and Mika and he.”

  “He was old,” said Mrs Craiss. “Your loss weakened him. Your running away like that, just after Mika’s death, killed him.”

  “He was a strong man.” Hanna’s words carried venom. Wokwan felt ruby and marigold leap in her like flame. “I sent him word from Xai City. I told him what happened to Mika and where I was and what I was going to do. I thought he might come to me and talk me out of my folly. I hoped together we could find a way to get Mika back safely.”

  “We received no such word from you, girl.” Mrs Craiss raised herself, arms folded across her chest. “She lies, Bertrand. She’s never liked me. She’s a wicked, scheming girl.”

  “Be calm, Melda,” said Bertrand. Wokwan snorted. Knapp glanced at her.

  “But you did.”

  People wheeled at the sound. A young man wearing in a blue tunic and grey breeches tucked into his black leather boots stepped from the them. The Post Office Cadet, Grieg, stood at the centre of the argument.

/>   “Speak, boy.” Knapp glowered at him. Sweat formed on the boy’s brow and his throat needed succour. His deputies fidgeted. “What do you know of this?”

  “Do not listen to that wretch.” Mrs Craiss turned to Bertand for support. “He’s in love with Hanna and will say anything to curry favour with her.”

  The boy coloured and looked down. He almost turned away.

  “Speak up, boy,” commanded Knapp.

  “Is this necessary, Sheriff? We have a beloved husband to bury.” Bertrand glared at Grieg.

  “Aye, Bergermeister, it is. Accusations have been made.”

  Wokwan’s head floated down to Grieg, who flinched. “Fear nothing, young man. I know the truth. Tell your side plainly.” Her warm breath ruffled the boy’s golden hair. He backed away.

  “I took a letter to the tailor, sir. From Xai City. I recognised Hanna’s hand on the envelope. There’s only few here who know their letters. It wasn’t just me who seed it. Mrs Wald, the Postmistress, sawed it too.”

  “Is that right?” barked Knapp.

  A small woman dressed in a fine sky-blue chiffon robe stepped into the road. “Aye, it is, sir. I remember it. I was thinking when I see it, who should be sending our tailor an urgent letter from such a grand city?”

  “It was his Hanna,” Grieg said, eagerly.

  Mrs Wald glared at him before continuing. “I told Grieg, here, to take it to the tailor directly. He came back and said his wife there told him the tailor was busy and could not be disturbed.”

  “She took the letter from me,” said Grieg.

  Knapp turned to Mrs Craiss. “Is this true?”

  “I… I don’t remember any letters coming from Xai City.”

  “So, where is this letter now, your ladyship?” Knapp stepped towards her. Bergermeister went to step between them but thought better of it.

  “Sheriff, this is hardly the time.” The Bergermeister let the widow’s hand go. “Can’t you see Mel? Our tailor’s widow is grieving the loss of her beloved husband?”

  On cue, Mrs Craiss sobbed into a handkerchief. Hanna frowned.

  “Sire, it’s my duty to investigate such accusations.”

  “Really.” Bertrand’s voice was feeble.

  “She sold my brother, my father’s heir, to a witch, Bergermeister.”

  “So you claim, Hanna.”

  “They’re making all this up, Bertrand.” Melba could feel her only ally faltering.

  Wokwan leaned forward. “If that is the case, ma’am, then you would have nothing to fear from letting our minds be one. Let me see into your heart and soul.”

  “Who’s not to say you’ll weave some fell dragon magic, hey? When I’m condemned, you can get more favours from your little whore, can’t you?” Melba stepped back towards the shop. The horse stomped, and the cart shook again. A bouquet fell into the road.

  Alarmed by the widow’s distress, Bertrand rallied. “Indeed, what assurances do we have of this? This dragon’s honour? Is this not the bane of the fishing folk of our great neighbours? And is this not the beast that has slain many a brave knight?”

  “Wokwan could easily have killed me, sir.” Hanna stepped back into the fray. Her hand touched the silk around her neck as she came and ran a hand along Wokwan’s snout. The dragon’s eyes shut. The pouch pulsed against Hanna’s tummy. “I have seen those slain knights you speak of, sir, with my own eyes. They did not die by Wokwan’s claw or breath. The great spider, Raka, poisoned them. Wokwan knew of my Quest yet she spared me. So, I ask you, Mother, to submit to Wokwan if you really have nothing to hide.”

  Knapp stood closer to Melba. His shadow blended with her mourning. “Aye, let’s hear it. And, Dragon, if I suspect any fell work on your part, me and my men will do for you. Understand?”

  Wokwan looked from one deputy to the next. A smirk played on her thin lips. “As you wish, Sheriff. Mrs Craiss?”

  Bertrand withdrew from the widow. “Go ahead, Melba. Your honour will shine through the lies of this fell beast.”

  “Yes, Bertrand.” Melba spoke in a thin voice that matched her smile. She stood alone, and she knew it. “What will you have me do, dragon?”

  “Let me look into you,” said Wokwan, and moved closer.

  Wokwan’s breath fell on her with the rush of a sirocco twisting about her, through her. She felt light. “Do not resist, Mrs Craiss.” Light wrapped in spirals, corkscrewing to crepuscular.

  “Where am I?”

  “With me.”

  “Where are we?”

  “In your mind.”

  Wokwan circled a room. Melba reclined on a four-poster bed carved of oak with heavy woollen drapes tied against each post. Crisp white satin stretched out over the mattress under her naked body. Wokwan stood over her and smiled and sniffed the binds on her wrists and ankles. Warm breath caressing the widow’s neck, and breasts. And lips.

  “Why?” she asked, swallowing a scream. “Why am I pinioned thus?”

  “Your thoughts might wander from the question.” Wokwan moved her head over the woman and breathed in her scent. “Now, let’s see the day Mika went missing.”

  Her body shook, went rigid and convulsed again. Ropes cracked as they pulled tight. She lifted to Wokwan’s mouth. Her own fell open in a soundless scream. History poured from her. Wokwan watched…

  … A woman dressed in a green jerkin with brown pantaloons and leather boots to match. In her hand, she clutched Mika’s little palm. Together they hurried through the great Crepuscular Forest. Mika lagged behind, stumbling. He asked where they were going and glanced about at shadows and sharp sounds. “Come on. Keep your feet, boy,” his stepmother spat. From his pocket, the boy picked out pebbles and dropped them one by one. Melba didn’t notice. Ahead of them, a crofter’s cottage settled on its single chicken’s leg…

  Crepuscular Forest crumbled to white light that spiralled – “Let’s see more, Mrs Craiss” – and rolled into another image…

  … floating above a river. The current was strong. In the shallows out of the undertow stood a woman dashing dirt from her laundry. She worked alone. Wokwan caught the glimpse of Hanna in her countenance. It was a balmy day. Pleasant to be by a river.

  Another figure appeared on the bank. A woman dressed in a green jerkin with brown pantaloons rolled over her knees. She crept into the water behind the washer-woman. Bare feet sank in the pebble bed. The rushing river masked her approach. A breathless word, a name spoken drowned in the swell. The washer-woman turned. A fist clutching a stone swung. Rock crashed into a sweet, soft face. The washer-woman fell, dazed at first, and the vindictive current gripped her. A bare foot lifted from the water and plunged down on the washer-woman’s back. A few bubbles drifted from her mouth as the tide carried her away. The woman in the green jerkin replaced her boots calmly, before running back to the hamlet screaming.

  Wokwan lifted to her full height and spread her wings. Melba shuddered in the wake of the dragon’s cry and sweated tales from her pores.

  “Here you are, my lord,” she said. Her smile was sweet and loving. The jerkin was gone but a blood-red gown draped over her shoulders and flowed down her fine body instead. Jewels caressed her neck as she placed a plate of victuals before her husband.

  “Did you make this yourself, my darling?” said Mr Craiss. He was a large man, substantial in his trade and long in years.

  “Yes, sire. I gave the cook leave. It was such a lovely day. And I wanted to surprise you. I love you so much. You have given me more than I deserve.”

  “You deserve everything I can give, my treasure.” The Butcher pulled his wife close to him and kissed her neck.

  “You are too kind, sire.”

  “I only ask one thing of you, my love.”

  “You have only to tell me, my lord.”

  “You are young, my sweetness, and I need an heir.”

  “I am trying, my lord.”

  “There is no time like the present. Let us make haste to our chamber so you can beget me my son.”
/>   Wokwan laughed with scorn and derision while the black widow shuddered.

  Mr Craiss ate with vigour and relish and soon the red robe flowed over a stout armchair like blood in water. She lay on the four-poster, still and naked. He leaned into her. She watched him, her breathing heavy and deep. His small dark eyes feasted upon her charms as he untied cords and released clasps. He pulled down his under garments. Acrid sweat caressed her senses. She clenched her fists as he opened her. The Butcher’s ruddy face reflected in his wife’s eyes. Beads of sweat dripped from him. Wokwan bared her teeth as Mrs Craiss smiled.

  “Lie still, my treasure. Let your lord and master make a baby in you.”

  Before he could, he convulsed, heaved up and backwards. Like a feral beast he yelled. Then plunged onto her. She lay under his deadweight for a moment while his urine washed over her. With effort, she pushed him off.

  Wokwan stared her in the eye as she lay on the bed. “You are worse than Raka.”

  Grey cloud engulfed them, and they stood before Bab Yaga’s cottage. The woman in the green jerkin pulled Mika forward. “Here you are, as promised. Once I married his wretched father, you could have the boy.”

  “Yes,” crooned the sorceress. Her wizened face smiled. The cracks in her countenance folded up and withered away. Her bent body straightened. She grew younger. “What a bargain I have struck. While I have that dragon’s heart, Melba, you will be free of any suspicion of the deeds you have done. But beware of his sister. She is beyond my power.”

  “There is an odious merchant who comes to town. A friend of Mr Craiss. Mr Vanus Whelp. He desires Hanna. He can marry her and rape some obedience into the little tart. He’ll pay good money for the little whippet, too.”

  “Do it soon. But if she does come looking for her brother, I will know what to do with her.”

  “Feed her to your wolves, perhaps? Turn her into a mouse so your cat can worry her to death?”

  “No. She can perform a little task for me. One that is only half done. Now, go. Begin your wedding plans for Mr and Mrs Whelp lest Hanna comes after you.”