The Dragonslayer's Heart

by Resa Nelson

  The Dragonslayer’s Heart

  by Resa Nelson

  The Dragonslayer’s Heart

  Copyright © 2019 by Resa Nelson

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Cover Art © 2018 by Eric Wilder

  First Edition January 2019

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the invention of the author, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, event, or locale is entirely coincidental.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many thanks to my fellow authors, Carla Johnson and Tom Sweeney, who read this novel before publication and gave me excellent feedback.

  CHAPTER 1

  When Lumara was a young dragon, she loved to hide in the tall grass, lie in wait, and then pounce on crickets when they jumped. She relished the warm scent of sunshine and the way the grass tickled her dark, mottled scales. She respected the way the soft earth felt when she dug her curved claws into it.

  Lumara couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful than living her life as a young dragon in the Far East.

  But when she came of age, everything changed. First, she discovered by sheer accident that she could shift her shape into that of a mortal woman.

  It happened one day while Lumara stalked a group of wading birds at the ocean’s edge. The young dragon slithered through the high beach grass growing by the sand. The wading birds talked to each other in peeps and chirps, none the wiser that Lumara would soon have a few of them for lunch.

  But when Lumara sprang from her hiding place, she stumbled on the clumsy arms and legs of a mortal instead of sprinting on her mighty dragon legs. The birds flew up in unison, and the beating of their wings whipped Lumara’s new-found black hair across her face.

  Then her sister—the dragon goddess of fire—stepped through empty air and planted her own mortal form on the beach.

  The dragon goddess Fiera wore a flame-colored gown whose bodice and high-standing collar were covered with orange, red, and yellow gems. Her own black hair swirled around the goddess’s head like wisps of smoke while sparks danced around her arms. “Sister,” Fiera said, “your time has come to shine.”

  Fiera might as well have driven a dagger into Lumara’s heart.

  Lumara felt unimportant and weak.

  How can I shine? I’ve never done anything to prove I’m worthy. Not like Fiera. Not like any of the dragon gods and goddesses.

  Fiera looked down at Lumara, naked from having just transformed from her dragon body and still on her hands and knees after attempting to run on them.

  Lumara’s skin itched from the transformation as well as the sand covering it. She took care in speaking to her sister, partly because Lumara respected her elders and partly because Fiera scared her.

  As far as Lumara knew, Fiera scared everyone.

  “Fiera, please forgive my appearance. I don’t know what happened.”

  The dragon goddess plucked a gemstone from her collar. She used its sharp edges to cut long ribbons of beach grass. “It’s your nature,” Fiera said. “When you’re older and more experienced, you will gain the power to shape your appearance. Right now, it’s shaping you.” She arranged the grass blades on the sand and then tossed the gemstone on top. A beam of sunlight pierced the gem, causing it and the pile of grass to catch fire.

  Lumara cried out and backed away, still on all fours.

  Fiera laughed and stepped into the fire. “You forgot who you are, Lumara. Or is it that you haven’t figured it out yet?”

  Lumara watched in stunned silence while the fire wrapped around Fiera until she disappeared in it.

  It’s killing her!

  Lumara didn’t know whether to feel terror, grief, or relief.

  After all, Fiera had lived for hundreds of years, maybe thousands. Since the day they left their own realm nearly 100 years ago, all dragons knew her as the Imperial Dragon that lived in the royal city of Zangcheen in the Wulong Province. Everyone knew that as Imperial Dragon, Fiera served as a trusted ally and advisor to the emperor.

  Lumara was nothing but a young dragon who enjoyed chasing crickets before eating them.

  As abruptly as the fire had begun, it snuffed out and left a column of thick smoke behind.

  Fiera stepped out from that smoke and held a bright red dress in her hands. “This should suit you.”

  The conflicting feelings Lumara felt now turned to guilt. “You made that?”

  Fiera smiled and handed the dress to Lumara.

  Instead of the rough texture of the beach grass, the red dress felt as soft as spider silk. With Fiera’s guidance, Lumara shrugged into the dress. She marveled at the way its touch caressed her skin.

  If being mortal feels this good, I may never go back to my dragon shape again.

  Fiera fussed over her for a moment, adjusting the dress to make sure it fit and arranging Lumara’s hair so that it spilled over her shoulders in an attractive way. “There,” Fiera said. “Now you’re ready.”

  Lumara felt frightened by Fiera’s words, even though there seemed to be no reason for it. “Ready? For what?”

  “To meet with our kin. There are problems afoot in this mortal world.”

  Every passing moment confused Lumara more.

  The incoming tide rushed up and nipped at Fiera’s bare foot. It sizzled and trailed a thin tendril of smoke as the water retreated back to the sea. Fiera snapped at the water. “Horrid ocean.”

  Lumara had never so much as stuck her nose in the water, but she decided to take no chances that she’d fare any better than her sister. “What do problems in this world have to do with me?”

  “Everything,” Fiera said. “Because you’re the solution to those problems.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Twelve-year-old Skallagrim didn’t mind his daily chore of collecting eggs from the hens’ nests. His family lived in the stone house farthest from the shining gold tower that gave Tower Island its name, so the walk across the courtyard to the large wooden hen house was short and easy. He didn’t even mind carrying the kind of basket that girls used to gather herbs and vegetables, because his mother had made it.

  Skallagrim could feel her love woven into it.

  Most of the hens clucked and scratched at the ground outside their shelter. Two birds fussed at each other and flapped their wings until Skallagrim shouted at them to stop.

  When he opened the door to the hen house, the boy wrinkled his nose at the stink inside. He didn’t understand why he never got used to the smell. But underneath the offensive odor lay the pleasant scent of fresh-cut hay that Skallagrim had put down yesterday at Father’s request.

  A single chicken left in the hen house cackled as the boy approached.

  “Good morning, Miss Bitsy,” Skallagrim said. “How’s my pretty girl today?”

  The chicken stood up with a soft squawk to let the boy reach into the nest.

  “Two eggs!” Skallagrim said in surprise. He placed the eggs from Miss Bitsy’s nest into his basket with great care. “That’s the best you’ve ever done in one day.” Before moving on, he gave the bird a tender scratch on the back of its neck.

  Miss Bitsy gave a few soft clucks and then settled back down in her nest.

  Skallagrim gathered several more eggs and then counted them. He had a dozen, and Mother said that should be enough. He looked at Miss Bitsy before leaving the hen house. “It’s a fine morning. Don’t you want to take a walk outside and get some fresh air?”

  The chicken failed to answer. With closed eyes, it appeared to be asleep.

  Skallagrim said the words Mother told him every night when he went to bed. “Sweet dreams.”

  The boy climbed out of the hen house and cried out when the sharp edge of a rock hit hi
s leg. Skallagrim held the basket of fragile eggs to his chest and wrapped protective arms around it. “Who threw that?”

  Another rock whizzed past his head.

  “Stop it!” Skallagrim shouted.

  The chickens on the ground surrounding him squawked as if echoing his sentiment. Their darting heads looked in all directions. When another rock landed in their midst, they squawked louder and hurried to hide on the other side of their shelter.

  “These eggs are for everyone,” Skallagrim shouted, still holding the basket close. “If you break them, you’ll have less to eat. Don’t be an idiot.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” A lilting voice from a hidden boy mocked him.

  Skallagrim ground his teeth, recognizing the voice at once.

  Frandulane!

  Skallagrim considered his choices. He could put the basket down and challenge Frandulane to fight, but that would probably result in a basket full of broken eggs. Or he could high-tail it home and hope to make it to safety before Frandulane caught up.

  Skallagrim opted for the most logical choice for a boy who looked forward to eating eggs every day.

  He ran.

  Hearing Frandulane’s heavy footsteps on his heels, Skallagrim zigged and zagged around the hen house and then across the courtyard until he spotted Mother chatting with a neighbor woman in front of his home. Taking no chances, Skallagrim ran at top speed until he reached his mother’s side.

  The neighbor woman’s face went slack when she looked at Skallagrim and then beyond his back. “Your day seems to be getting busier, Snip,” the neighbor woman said to his mother. “I’ll leave you to it.” The neighbor woman then walked away just as Frandulane ran up.

  “It’s not my fault!” Frandulane insisted.

  Skallagrim’s father walked up at the same time.

  “Sven!” Mother said to Father. “What are you doing back so soon?”

  Father pointed at the sky. Only moments ago, it had been clear and blue. Now, angry clouds darkened it. “That’s a sky begging for lightning. It’s not safe to be outside until the storm passes. Everyone inside.”

  Still clutching the basket of eggs, Skallagrim marched inside their home and plopped down on one of the benches lining the walls. He checked the basket, relieved to find none of the eggs broken.

  Frandulane sat on the opposite side of the room.

  “What have you done,” Father said to Frandulane, “that is not your fault?”

  Instead of answering, Frandulane stared at his feet and brooded.

  “He hit me with a rock!” Skallagrim protested. “I could have dropped the eggs, and he would have said I tripped.”

  “Did not.” Frandulane shot a glare at Skallagrim. “Liar.”

  Mother crossed her arms, and Father stood by her side. He kept his voice calm and even when he spoke. “I told you boys yesterday that I want this to stop.”

  “He started it,” Frandulane said.

  Skallagrim scoffed. “All I did was what Mother asked!” He placed the basket on the ground and rolled up his pant leg. He pointed at a swelling red spot. “See? That’s where the rock he threw hit me. I’ll have a new bruise by lunchtime.”

  “Stop!” Father said.

  Skallagrim didn’t want to make his parents angry. But Frandulane pestered him more than ever, and there seemed to be no end in sight.

  Yesterday had been especially bad, and Skallagrim had kept quiet about it with the hope he wouldn’t need to tattle on Frandulane.

  But Skallagrim now felt so full of desperation and hurt that he couldn’t keep quiet any more. He pointed across the room at Frandulane. “He said there’s something wrong with me.”

  “Liar,” Frandulane said in response. His face became more troubled.

  “He said you make me gather eggs because I’m not good enough to do anything else.”

  Frandulane scowled, too angry to answer Skallagrim’s charges.

  “He said there’s something wrong with me.” Skallagrim’s voice choked at the memory of yesterday’s accusations. “He said I’m not a Scalding. He said I don’t belong on Tower Island. He said I’m not your son.”

  The room fell into a hush.

  Mother and Father stared at Frandulane in dismay.

  “Frandulane,” Father said. “It this true?”

  Once more, Frandulane looked at the floor, unable to meet Father’s gaze. Frandulane shook his head in anger.

  “He said,” Skallagrim continued, “that I’m not your flesh and blood. He said someone brought me here and made you pretend to be my family.” Startled by the way the words still cut deep when he repeated them from yesterday, tears streamed down Skallagrim’s face. “He said I’m a foreigner and you need to kick me out to protect the real Scaldings in this family.”

  “Frandulane!” Mother said. “Explain yourself!”

  When Frandulane looked up again, he scowled. “Uncle Urial says the alchemist gave him to you because it was so many years until I was born that you can’t have any more kids of your own.” Frandulane jabbed an accusing finger at Skallagrim. “Just look at him! He doesn’t look like anyone else on Tower Island. He doesn’t even look like a Northlander!”

  The boy’s words cut through Skallagrim like a sharp sword through a thin film of ice covering a pond.

  It’s true. Everything Frandulane says is true.

  All Northlanders stood tall. They had pale yellow hair and blue eyes.

  Although Skallagrim stood almost as tall as others his age and had blue eyes, his hair was brown and his skin several shades darker than any Northlander. He heard rumors about people who had his coloring, and they came from the Midlands.

  “Am I a Midlander?” Skallagrim blurted before he could think better of asking the question.

  Frandulane nodded his head in vindication.

  “No,” Mother said. “You’re our son.”

  Skallagrim felt as if he’d taken a step off the top of a steep hill. Momentum made it impossible to go back. All he could do was tumble down the hill. “Then why don’t I look like Frandulane?”

  “Because Frandulane looks like your mother and me,” Father said. “You look like the woman who gave birth to you.”

  Mother looked at Father with wide and frightened eyes.

  An explosive crack of lightning made Skallagrim jump in fright. Moments later, thunder roared, and the ground trembled.

  Still staring at Father, Mother said, “Don’t.”

  Father knelt by Skallagrim and said, “Your mother was a Midlander and a very dear friend of ours. She died when you were born. It was our honor to take you into our home. You’ve been family ever since.”

  “I knew it!” Frandulane cackled. “He’s a Midlander, not a Northlander.”

  “He’s half Northlander,” Mother said. “And that’s plenty for this household.”

  Frandulane pointed at Skallagrim again. “That’s why his eyes aren’t lavender like a proper Scalding. They’ll never be lavender!”

  Too many emotions swirled like a blizzard around Skallagrim. His parents still felt like his parents, and knowing they weren’t made him want to reel as if he were seasick.

  But Frandulane’s insults pushed Skallagrim into frustration and impatience. He aimed an accusing finger back at Frandulane. “Look who’s talking! Your eyes are as blue as Mother’s and Father’s. How can you call yourself a proper Scalding if you don’t have lavender eyes?”

  Frandulane recoiled as if Skallagrim had punched him in the face.

  “Stop it!” Mother said. “Lavender eyes is nothing to be proud of.”

  Frandulane sniffed as if offended. “Uncle Urial said Scaldings used to have blue eyes. He says something strange happened, and he thinks it has something to do with the alchemist. He says we shouldn’t allow her or her husband back on the island.”

  “You shouldn’t spend so much time talking to your Uncle Urial,” Father said.

  Frandulane sat up straight and lifted a proud chin. “Uncle Urial says I’ll have lav
ender eyes one day. He says I’ll earn them. And he says you and Mother will always have blue eyes!”

  “I hope he’s right about us,” Mother said. She acted anxious and seemed to be working herself into a snit. “And I hope he’s wrong about you.”

  The tip of Frandulane’s chin tilted higher. “Uncle Urial says I’m the best suited of anyone on Tower Island to become a dragonslayer.”

  Skallagrim’s heart leapt at the mention of dragonslayers.

  Every time a merchant came to Tower Island, all the Scalding boys and girls cornered and peppered him with requests for stories about dragonslayers. No island needed a slayer, because no dragon had ever bothered to swim to an island in this part of the world.

  While other children throughout the Northlands, Midlands, and Southlands had the chance to meet a dragonslayer from time to time, no Scalding child had ever had that pleasure.

  Stories about dragonslayers and their exploits were worth their weight in gold.

  Lightning cracked through the skies above their home, and rain pelted down on the thatched roof. The sudden and violent sounds made Mother jump so high that her head almost touched the roof.

  “It’s too close,” she said. “We’re running out of time.”

  Skallagrim stared at her in confusion and wondered why they’d be running short on time.

  But Father gave her a knowing look and didn’t appear confused at all. He announced, “We’ve made arrangements for a Scalding boy to train with the dragonslayers in the Southlands.”

  Frandulane jumped to his feet. “Father, I can do it. I’m ready!”

  “I think not,” Father said. Still kneeling next to Skallagrim, he looked at his adopted son and said, “If you’d like to become a dragonslayer, Skallagrim, we believe you’d make a fine one.”

  “No!” Frandulane’s face drained to the palest color Skallagrim had ever seen. “Uncle Urial says I’m the best!”

  The rain pattered harder on the thatch roof. Mother paced to the home’s single door and locked it as if worried an uninvited visitor might enter. Turning toward Frandulane, she said, “But your Uncle Urial has no say in choosing a boy for dragonslayer training. It’s up to us. You’ve proven you don’t have the heart for it. Skallagrim does. He has the heart of a proper dragonslayer.”