Dragon Lessons

by Eve Paludan

“I’m accustomed to it. We dragons, as a species, are much maligned.”

  “All the supernaturals are, I think,” I said.

  “You know others with great powers?”

  “I do. A growing number, in fact.”

  “Pray tell, other dragons?”

  “Let’s just say I know other supernaturals… I don’t want to mention who or what they are, in case it puts them in danger.”

  “From me?” He looked a little hurt.

  “No, Thorn, from others who may be listening.”

  “Others? I don’t understand. Since we appear to be alone, who would that be?” he asked.

  “Evil powerful beings with the ability to know what is being said miles away, or a world away.”

  “Such evil exists in your world, beyond that evil creature we killed yesterday?” he asked.

  “In all worlds, I assume. Or even the ignorant people who might be passing on the street could overhear and grab an opportunity to hurt someone if they are desperate or mean. Those kinds of people might try to kill what they don’t understand.”

  His reddish eyebrows rose a tad. “You are wise for a mere girl.”

  I smirked. “There’s nothing ‘mere’ about me, Thorn.”

  “Forgive me for underestimating you.” He laughed. “Answer me this, then.” He nodded at the Pep Boys sign hanging over our backyard. “Who are those men?”

  “It’s a sign for an auto parts store.”

  “What is that?”

  “Nothing important. Just advertising.”

  “Like a sign with a shop proprietor’s name on it?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why did they put it over your backyard?”

  “It was there long before our house was, I think.”

  “Ah, merchant squatters.”

  “I guess you could call it that.” I looked up at the sky. “I want to tell you some things before you fly off tonight and do whatever dragons do at night.”

  “Very well. What do you want to tell me?”

  “That I’ve read to the end of the story, an epic poem actually, from long ago.”

  “What is the title of that epic poem?”

  “Beowulf.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath from Thorn. “I came out of that same writing in the library, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Then please tell me why was the epic poem not called The Dragon, Thorn?”

  “Two reasons. First, you have no name in the poem and are referred to as ‘the dragon.’ The villagers nicknamed you Thorn for your crest of quills, but Beowulf didn’t really mention your name, other than just once to call you Thorn.”

  “The very nerve! I am without my formal given dragon name in a poem that is clearly about me?”

  I held in a chuckle. “None. What is your formal given dragon name?”

  “I don’t use it except for outdoor ceremonies in the company of dragons only—to say it indoors to a mortal might break their eardrums.”

  “Good to know. I’ll just keep calling you Thorn if that’s all right.”

  “Of course it is. Go on,” he said. “What is the second reason the poem is not named after me?”

  “Secondly, because you die in the poem.”

  “No!” He put his calloused hand on his sword. “Beowulf kills me?”

  “No. You kill Beowulf by biting him, and he dies of your poisonous blood.”

  “Nonsense! I am not venomous.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I asked.

  “Verily! I’ve healed the sick by spitting on their wounds.”

  “That’s amazing. I had my mom save Max that way the other day when Beowulf stabbed him with his sword.”

  “He is healed, right?”

  “Yes, he’s fine, physically. He’s still pretty steamed that his occult book room got wrecked when I let you out of the book.”

  “I should have been there to heal Maximus. It’s one of my dragon-born gifts. Suffice it to say, I have no venom.”

  “You’re sure about that?” I asked.

  “Watch.” He turned his head and spit on a dead rosebush and within a minute, it leafed out and was in full bloom.

  “Wow, that’s incredible!” I shrugged. “Obviously, you aren’t poisonous. Maybe in the epic poem, the bite just got infected and Beowulf died of the infection. Or one of his enemies used the wound as an excuse to put poison on him instead of medicine, so they could end his life and someone else could steal the throne like he did to old king what’s his name.”

  Thorn looked impressed. “That last theory sounds much more plausible than Beowulf’s lie that I possess venom. And then, what happened?”

  “And then, after Beowulf dies in the poem, a thane named Wiglaf kills you. In the story that I’ve read another version of, that was what happened, too.”

  “That wheezing, overfed, pompous donkey’s rump of a bumbling King’s highwayman kills me in the world from whence I came?” Thorn was appalled.

  “He does. And he steals the treasure, too. I think he hides it in a cave. A sea cave, I think. I’m pretty sure that was when the Cup of Forgiveness got stolen, too.”

  “He’s the one?! I was to protect it at all costs and somehow, Wiglaf purloined it from under my nose and hid it back in my very own seawater cave?”

  “I believe so. The thing is, Thorn, you can’t just go charging back into the book, I mean, the poem, or other copies of it. If you did, you’d die. And…” My chin started trembling. “And then we’d never see each other again. I’m glad the book you came from is destroyed. Now you can live, as long as possible.”

  He put a hand over his heart a bit dramatically. “But I do not know the outcome in the end. Just tell me this: Do I recover the treasure in the poem?”

  “No. You’re killed in it, I told you already. The bad guys win. Game over if you go back into that story, even through a modern copy of the same story. So, don’t try it. In every world but this one, it’s death. In this world, you have a chance, a prayer, a future.”

  Thorn blew air through his lips, appalled. “This is unthinkable. Unconscionable, even. That evil triumphs.”

  “I agree.”

  “I must retrieve at least the Cup of Forgiveness, Lady Tam, if not the treasure.”

  “But in the poem, you don’t recover it. You lose, Thorn. You lose everything, even your life. You don’t even have a freaking name in the poem! It’s dedicated to singing the praises of Beowulf and his men, who killed Grendel, his ogre mom, and then, you the dragon—all of these other supposedly brave acts that Beowulf did completely reeked of evil.”

  “I don’t understand how he can claim valor and victory. That sniveling liar, Beowulf! He hides behind a magic sword that was not even meant for the filthy likes of him. And he hides behind Wiglaf and claims the man’s triumphs as his own. How can his evil soul even dare to triumph in the end?”

  “Because that’s what happens, in my world, too,” I explained. “Sometimes, the bad guys actually… win.”

  “Tam. Are movies the truth?”

  “No, they’re just for entertainment. Well, unless they are documentaries. Documentaries are for informational purposes.”

  “How confusing,” he said.

  “Not really. Here in America in the twenty-first century, we learn to tell reality from fiction from when we are just children.”

  “How?” he asked, his ice-blue eyes innocent and looking into mine with so many questions. “How do you know what is truth and what is a pretty lie? Or, as you call it, fiction?”

  “Well, I used to be ordinary, before I could read minds, ha! And I knew if there was a happy ending, a story was probably fiction. You know, a ‘pretty lie,’ as you call it.”

  “How absolutely terrifying.”

  “Yeah, I know. You should see it from inside my head, looking out.”

  “So, there are no happy endings in true life?” he asked.

  “Not many,” I admitted. “Not unless you make a huge
effort to change the way things are going, and even then, there are no guarantees. You get what you get, no matter how hard you try. Unless fate or God or whomever makes the outcome go your way.”

  “What a world,” he said, deflated. “To be pre-destined to fail, to die. It is a travesty of magnificent proportions.”

  “I agree. There’s no way that I know of to change the outcome once a book has been written,” I admitted.

  Thorn sighed. “As much as I want to stay and abide with you and your family forever and a day, I must seek the Cup of Forgiveness. If I do not recover it, evil will not just win once at the end of one poem or story, milady. It will win all of the time, over and over, in every world, until there is nothing but evil left in the worlds and not any goodness ever again.”

  “But if you go back in any Beowulf book, you’re going to die at the end, Thorn. I mean, you slay Beowulf, but his nasty henchman gets you!”

  “You’re absolutely sure?”

  “I’m positive. It’s that way in all of the Beowulf versions I’ve read.”

  He thought for a moment. “This is grim. I had not thought of going back in that book from whence I came because the Cup is here. But if I go early in the book, mayhap I could keep it from being stolen?”

  “Let’s not go there, to turn back time. I have been warned against it and my third wish will not be turning back time.”

  “But you used it to unmake the fire that would have destroyed the library.”

  “I didn’t know any better then and I didn’t think about the far-reaching effects of my wish. I was only thinking of that moment.”

  “The third wish, Tam. Have you decided what it shall be?”

  “Almost. But can we please talk about something else for a few minutes?”

  “Of course, milady. I mean, Tam.” He thought for a moment. “Your culture is strange to me. At seventeen, are you not considered far past marriageable?”

  I laughed until my sides hurt. “No, I’m too young for that. I shouldn’t even get married yet. Except maybe in a dream.” I winked at him, and he grinned crookedly.

  “This makes no sense that you are too young at seventeen. How long do you expect to live?”

  I shrugged. “Unless I have an accident or get a disease or get murdered, maybe seventy-five or eighty years. Something like that. Maybe longer, if science manages to develop the technology to overcome the aging of cells. Or cancer, which you could probably cure with your dragon spit. If only people knew that dragons are good.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a fine thing, that a dragon would not be reviled for who he is?”

  I nodded while he considered all that we had spoken of.

  “Eighty years thee shall live, Tam? Life must be of a good quality here. Where I come from, mortals are fortunate to survive forty summers, if that.”

  I was shocked. “That’s all? Forty and your humans are cold in the grave?”

  Thorn nodded. “I come from someplace primitive, compared to your world. Life is fleeting for humans there, but long here.”

  “Do you like my world?” I asked.

  He looked me in the eyes. “I don’t know if I ‘like’ your world. It’s a very confusing place, albeit with lovely comforts like hot running water and pretty maids unashamedly wearing very little in the way of decent attire.”

  I laughed. “It’s summer in Southern California! Get over it. You are going to see bare arms, bare legs, and more. I could take you to the beach, so you’d get an eyeful, but I don’t want to corrupt you.”

  “I do not yet know if I am corruptible, as I am still young for a dragon and few temptations have come my way, thus far. And, I don’t know if I like your world, but I love you, Lady Tam.”

  He was staring at me, and I felt a blush starting in my cheeks and spreading warmth just about everywhere. “I love you, too, Thorn.” Very much.

  “When will you be of marriageable age in this world?” he teased.

  “Are you asking for a friend?” I joked back.

  His handsome face got mock-serious, but he teased me more: “Do not toy with my affections, milady.”

  “I’m not. It’s just that… no one has ever actually proposed to me before, in this world.”

  “I haven’t proposed. In this world. At the moment, I’m just gathering the stars in your eyes while you look at me,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling.

  “You’re joking, too?”

  “I never jest about my dragonheart,” Thorn said.

  “This is my first marriage proposal in this world. Let me think.”

  “Take as long as you like.”

  I closed my eyes and poked around in his head. He was brilliant and kind and… in love with me.

  “I’m going to stop joking around with you. Here they are, my thoughts: If only I were a dragon,” I said, and swallowed hard. “And then we’d fit each other better. I mean, if we were a couple as I am now, every night you would go off and do what dragons do and go where they go. And every night, I would be alone.”

  “That cannot be helped. Dragons must eat a lot of meat to maintain the flames in us.”

  “I can eat a lot for a girl, kind of, when I’m depressed.”

  “Mayhap you are a dragon and you just do not know it yet. Mayhap you have not reached the age of majority for a female dragon.”

  “How could I be a dragon and not know it?” I asked.

  “Because you haven’t been raised to believe in dragons.”

  “I’ve learned to believe in the paranormal… supernatural things.”

  “How?”

  I searched his eyes and found them sincere, and I read his mind and that was sincere, too. “As you already know, my mother is a vampire.”

  Thorn asked, “Is she terribly evil at times? I have been afraid to ask. I’ve never known a blood-sucker before to be as full of integrity as your mother.”

  “No, no, she’s good, I assure you, she’s very good.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “She hasn’t drained me yet. I’ve really made her mad at me a lot, and she never gave me any reason to fear her drinking my blood.”

  “Well, vampire’s daughter, you have an unusual mother because every vampire I ever knew was a killer.”

  “I didn’t say she never killed anyone. But if she did, I’m sure they deserved it.”

  “Is it right that a vampire, or a dragon, for that matter, should be judge, jury, and executioner of evil humans?”

  I pondered that one. “It’s complicated, the times I know about when she had to, you know, kill someone. You should ask her that.”

  “Is your brother a dragon?”

  “Anthony has a Fire Warrior living inside of him and arms that light up with flamethrowers if the occasion demands it. But I’m pretty sure that Anthony isn’t a dragon, or he would be bragging about that, too.”

  Thorn laughed lightly. “There is love between you and your brother, and yet, extreme rivalry for your mother’s affections.”

  “That’s pretty normal.”

  “I would not know, since I never had siblings.”

  “I don’t know if I should offer my congratulations or my condolences,” I said.

  “Where is your father?” Thorn asked. “I would speak to him of you.”

  My heart twisted. “He’s deceased.”

  “My deepest sympathies. If he were here, I would like to tell him how you have honored me with your love.”

  “Thank you,” I said as we laced our fingers together. Never had any male been this serious about wooing me. I was trying not to freak out that the word wooing was now in my mental vocabulary.

  Suddenly, I felt him in my mind. “Thorn, can you read my mind outside of our dream world. I mean, without me knowing it?”

  “I do not have to let you know that I can read your mind, but I just confessed it.”

  “If that’s true, what am I thinking right now?” I challenged him and closed my eyes and thought of something really hot and fairly wicked.


  After a moment. Thorn said huskily, “Hark! Thy thoughts tell me that you are fair aching for my kiss. And so much more. Lady Tam! If I did all that you desire, and if you had a father living, he would have me horsewhipped in the town square.”

  “Calm down. We don’t do that here. A kiss is just a kiss, Thorn.”

  “There is no sin in kissing in your world? I ask because I have stolen so many from you already that I cannot count them.”

  “No sin, not if they both want it, and no one is a child. My world is kind of big on a thing called consent.” I opened my mouth to say more and found the warmest, sweetest, most tender lips that had ever touched mine, not that my lips had much experience, mostly because the boys at my school were either shy nerds or disgusting players. And if one of the second group ever tried to kiss me at school, they usually met with my fist to their groins. And some swear words.

  But the thought of other guys soon left my mind when Thorn pressed his mouth against mine. We kissed and kissed and kissed until I was breathless. A warmth spread through me that had never been there before—it was both shocking and pleasurable. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed back like I meant it, because I did. When I was out of air, I drew back and gasped.

  Thorn’s eyes were gentle and serene.

  “Did I read your mind accurately? That you are completely wanton for me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said in a hoarse voice. I kissed him all over his face and then burst into tears against his neck.

  “What’s wrong, dear heart?” he asked, quite alarmed.

  “I don’t want you to go away. I want you to stay here. With me!” I blurted.

  “I cannot. I must find the Cup of Forgiveness, before the evil-mongers find it and use it, or the fate of the entire world will be heading toward its actual end.” He paused and wiped away a tear that slid down my cheek. “Whatever time we have together, Lady Tam, is time that we steal from my quest for the Cup. Even these few moments in time.”

  I bit my lip. “I know you’re right.”

  “That does not change my heart. It knows the truth of your heart is in your eyes and in the earnest press of your lips.”

  “I believe your lips and eyes, too.”

  “Dragons cannot lie. And I would never lie to thee.”

  The sun was about to set. “Let me come with you tonight when you fly, Thorn. Let me see you in your dragon form and let me… ride you.”