Dragon Castle

by Joseph Bruchac

  “Because we can count,” Jedovaty said. “Because you are stupider than the stones of this mountain. Because one wise man is better than a thousand morons. Because—”

  “Shh,” Pavol said, trying not to smile. “Sedem,” he shouted again. “Come out. If you do not try to harm us, we will not hurt you.”

  There was a longer pause and then the dragon answered, its voice no longer a falsetto.

  “Ano. I come out. I no try harm you.”

  The voice was followed by the sound of heavy scales rasping along the rough stones deep within the cave. As that sound came closer and closer, Pavol chucked Jedovaty in the side with his heels, quietly urging him farther back from the cave mouth and behind a very large boulder as the dragon began to emerge.

  But not headfirst. First slid out a sharp ridged tail, as long and stout as the main beam of a great hall. As soon as it emerged, that mighty tail swished back and forth, crushing rocks and sending sprays of dust into the air as it scraped the surface of the ledge where the young man and his steed had stood. The tail’s intention might have been lethal, but it was ineffectual. Pavol and Jedovaty were safely sheltered by the cottage-size stone.

  “Oh no,” said Sedem as he turned around, raising up a crested head that was surprisingly small and deficient in dentition compared to its deceased brothers, whose snaky necks were even now being absorbed back into the dragon’s massive body. Sedem looked left and then right, slanted yellow eyes hooded in a clever expression. “What my stupid tail do by accident? I no try harm poor human and horse.” His voice was tinged with theatrical regret.

  “No harm done,” Pavol said as he and his steed stepped out from behind the stone.

  “Not yet,” Jedovaty added.

  It would be an understatement to say that Sedem the dragon was abashed by his lack of success in accidentally dispatching his enemies with his tail. Rather like saying that the razor-edged sword Pavol swung high in his strong right hand was slightly sharp.

  The dragon closed his eyes and cowered, certain that the last sounds he would remember would be the quick snick of a brilliant blade through scale, muscle and bone.

  Instead, Sedem heard no more than his own rather labored breathing. Dragons are prone to asthmatic attacks when upset, a not uncommon ailment among those whose throats must intermittently bear the force of fire.

  Sedem cagily opened one eye. There was his armorclad adversary and his magnificent, albeit sarcastic, steed. Both a good double tail’s length beyond the dragon’s reach. The man was actually smiling. An equally amused expression was on the horse’s face as well.

  Sedem ventured a cautious intake of breath.

  Prince Pavol’s smile grew grim. “Nie,” he warned, tapping the hilt of his sword against his blackened but no less strong shield. “Fireproof. Remember?”

  The dragon attempted an ingratiating grin, managing only to look even more evil and untrustworthy than before.

  “Why you think I shoot fire at you?” the dragon said, swallowing down a sizeable gout of flame and then burping a conspicuous smoke ring out of the corner of his mouth that he tried to fan away with his foot. “Nie, nie. I no do that. That my bad brother Shtyri. He hotheaded. Ho ho ho? Now he gone.”

  The dragon lifted his head to look down the slope where the impressive array of decapitated reptile noggins lay scattered among the stones. A shudder ran down the length of his scaly backbone.

  “Me good,” Sedem added, an assertion that seemed at least half plea.

  “Hmmm,” Pavol said, tapping a fingertip against the pouch that hung at his waist. “So, you will surrender to me and do as I say?”

  “Ano, ano. You say, I do.” The dragon nodded his last remaining head with great enthusiasm. “I promise.”

  Jedovaty stomped his right front hoof against the ground and whinnied. “Hah! The only promise likely to be kept by a dragon is from a beast that is deceased.”

  Pavol nodded. “Based upon our experience thus far, my friend, I would tend to agree. However,” he added, untying the pouch with one hand while still holding his sword firmly in the other and keeping his eyes on Sedem, “I do have these.”

  He took two objects of metal from the pouch. The first was a bronze bracelet that Pavol slipped over his wrist. He held up the second item he’d removed from the pouch—a small iron ring.

  “Kruh!” he commanded. “Circle!”

  The ring lifted from Pavol’s palm, spun in the air, and grew until it was a great glowing hoop. Pavol pointed his finger. The ring began to circle the dragon. Once, twice, three times it spun as Sedem stood, transfixed by the glitter of the shimmering ring. Pavol closed his fist. The iron ring dropped like a diving hawk to slide over Sedem’s huge head, slip halfway down his snaky neck, then shrink in size to an exact fit.

  Sedem coughed once. “Ring tight,” the dragon said.

  “Tight enough to prevent any, shall we say, inadvertent discharge of flame.” Pavol smiled. “But nowhere near as tight as it will become if you attempt anything, intentional or accidental, that might bring harm to me or mine now and in all the years to come.”

  “Well-worded,” Jedovaty observed.

  “Dakujem,” Pavol replied with a bow.

  Pavol gestured toward one side with his sword. Sedem nodded and shifted his great bulk away from the mouth of the cave. Now Pavol could view what was within. The cave was large, but it was not its size that led to his low whistle. A great store of treasure filled it from side to side, from floor to ceiling. Only a few narrow corridors of dragon’s-width lent access to the stacks of gold and silver and precious stones.

  Also, just inside the cave mouth, in what was clearly Sedem’s dining room, were the skeletal remains of numerous dragon-sized meals. Most were the bones of cattle, save those that had been encased in armor—piled neatly off to one side, peeled away like the husks of chestnuts.

  “Pretty,” Sedem said, peering over Pavol’s shoulder into the cave.

  Does he mean the treasure or the piles of bones and armor? Pavol thought. Probably both.

  “You defeat dragon, treasure yours,” Sedem growled, his voice markedly resentful. Then his tone brightened. “Dragon gold bring much bad luck.”

  Pavol reached out to place his palm on the necklace that encircled Sedem’s neck. “I have thought of that,” he said. “So I have a proposition. The treasure may remain yours if you share a bit of it with me—and mine—every now and then. Gold given for good, never gotten by greed. Thus reversing the curse.”

  “Nerozumiem,” the dragon rumbled, shaking his head. “I no understand.”

  “You will,” Pavol replied, turning his head to peer up at the eagle that was still circling.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Onward and Downward

  I LOOK UP from the scroll. I’m back under the oak tree, again released from Pavols’s quest—perhaps because it is too dark now to read. No moon or stars shine in the sky. All round, nature seems to sleep. Not even the hunting call of an owl comes from the fair forest far below. I am wide awake. I stand and so do Ucta and Odvaha. After their refreshing slumber, they are ready.

  Fortunately, someone has left a light burning in the highest room of the castle. It shines down brightly, illuminating the very tree I’d been sitting beneath. The way that beam strikes, it seems that it might have been aligned for just such a purpose. Who climbed up to that high room while I slept? Who lit that lantern and left it there?

  A smile crosses my lips. Georgi, of course. Who else but our family’s most faithful retainer would be so aware of my need? How, though? How much does he really know about not just the present, but also the past? Well, when things quiet down a bit—if they ever do and if I am still breathing when such calm finally arrives—I must have a talk with our omniscient majordomo.

  Time now to try what I was taught by my mother when I was seven. She tried to give it to both Paulek and me, but I was the only one who learned it. My brother was already paying little attention to anything unless it had t
o do with horses, hawks, weapons, or military tactics.

  “You’re the one who will remember things, brother,” Paulek said to me. As if I didn’t know that already.

  As Mother explained, there are certain magical formulas that one can learn to find and open hidden entrances. Those charms are like verbal keys. However, unlike a metal key, just remembering such a formula does not mean one can use it. One must remember it for seven full days after it is taught or it will never allow itself to be learned. Further, there are precise gestures, marks, or signs that must also be employed. Plus, one must have a certain affinity for such things for them to stick in one’s mind. As you may have gathered by now, I have an unusually sticky mind. It’s rather like facts are iron filings and my mind is a magnet. Sometimes it feels like I remember far too much.

  Paulek, of course, promptly forgot everything Mother tried to teach about the finding and opening of hidden ways. But not me. On the morning of the seventh day after Mother gave it to us, I went straight to her and repeated it back to her exactly as I’d been told.

  “Ano,” she said, then went back to her knitting.

  And with that word of agreement the door-opening spell was mine to use in whatever way I needed it. Such as to enter our castle through this hidden way. As I now plan to do.

  Ready? I ask my two companions.

  They nudge their heads against my side.

  Born ready.

  I take out the dagger given me by Uncle Jozef. Starting from my right and moving toward my left, I lightly scratch the outline of a door on the wide trunk of the second oak tree. Then, holding the knife blade up in front of my face, I place the palm of my left hand against the exact center of what I hope will transform itself into an entrance.

  “Strom dvere, otvorte sa!” I command, moving my fingers in a certain way. “Tree door, open.”

  Predictable and unpoetic as those words are— having come, after all, from my mother—they’re effective. A door shapes itself in the bark and then swings open smoothly. The light from the high window shines on the hewn stone steps leading down through a passageway narrower than I remember. Much narrower.

  Did I mention how much I dislike dark, tight spaces?

  Once I’ve gone past the limit of that lantern’s glow, how will I be able to see my way? When Paulek and I last negotiated it from the other end, four full years ago, it was with the aid of torches. I little like the idea of feeling my way blind down along a winding passageway.

  But I don’t have to—at least not without light. Though my mother may not be the best person in the world with words, she is thorough. She thought of this and gave me the word.

  “Svetlo,” I say. “Light.”

  In answer the walls of the passageway immediately emanate a silvery glow.

  No excuse now not to do this. I swallow hard and take the first step. Then another. At least I’m not alone. Ucta is in front me, Odvaha close behind. Three steps, four.

  Thwomp!

  I should have expected it, but it makes me jump. The door in the tree has just closed solidly behind me. I don’t bother to look back. It will just make the lump in my throat larger. No way to go but onward. And also downward.

  Why is it that I am not overly fond of being squeezed into lightless places where my chest feels as if it is being stepped on by a giant? Perhaps it comes from Paulek’s game of “Lock Rashko in the Wardrobe” from when we were small.

  Breathe, Rashko. You are not in the closet now.

  We continue down the tunnel. The lustrous light flows along the walls with us. It’s bright enough to drive away the near dark, but all is unsettlingly black but a few arm’s-lengths before and in back. I reach my hands out to measure the distance between the walls. No, the tunnel is not getting narrower. Despite the sweat that now beads my brow, it is not getting hotter in here.

  Ucta looks back over his shoulder at me and growls, sensing my discomfort.

  “Cesta,” I whisper to myself. Follow the path. Stay on the Way.

  “Esta, sta, sta, sta . . .” an echo answers me.

  One trick that Uncle Jozef taught me—after the day I spent locked in the closet—was how to make time pass more quickly. It’s a technique to use when stuck in some seemingly interminable situation. It might be listening to a boring speech from a visiting dignitary. Or it might be while trying to keep going and not freeze to death as your foolhardy brother tries to lead you back home after luring you out into the midst of the blizzard.

  It is done thusly. Count to yourself slowly, one, two, three, and so on, while drawing in a single deep breath. At the count of thirty, pause briefly and then begin to breathe out and count again. A single breath in and then out—and a minute will have passed. Do it sixty times and an hour will be gone.

  I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, the one not gripping the dagger that I’m holding out in front of me as if it is a candle. I keep counting.

  One, two, three, four, five . . .

  By the time I reach ten breaths, I reassure myself, I will reach the other side.

  And I will not think right now about what may be waiting for me there.

  THIRTY BREATHS COUNTED. And still counting. This tunnel is longer than I remember or I’m breathing much faster than I intended or it is somehow, against all logic, farther going in than getting out. Perhaps it is all three.

  But even if this heaven-forsaken burrow is curled like a snake around its prey (and why did that image have to come to me just now?) should I not have already reached the end of its tight, stuffy, unpleasant length?

  I stop walking and drop down to one knee. With the ceiling of the tunnel no longer brushing the top of my head I feel a little less confined. I reach out my arms to Ucta and Odvaha.

  Come here.

  We’re with you.

  The feel of their thick fur against my fingers is comforting. I press one side of my face against Ucta’s neck as Odvaha licks my other cheek. How much harder it would be to do this alone!

  I have to think logically. As Baba Anya says, every journey, no matter how long, must always have an end.

  So how much longer must we be trapped in here?

  No, be logical. I am not trapped. I’m free to move forward.

  Forward toward whatever peril may await at the other end.

  An encouraging thought. Crouched here, though, I take note of something I missed. The long flight of downward steps ended when I reached the count of twenty. I’d been walking along a level floor since then. But now, from this perspective I can see that the floor before me is slanting upward and just ahead are stone steps leading upward. I stop counting and start climbing the stairs that spiral up like a corkscrew through the living stone. I’m so eager to reach the end that both Ucta and Odvaha fall behind me now as I climb. Up we go, up and up. My legs are strong from years of training. So, though the way is steep, I am not tiring but going faster. The ceiling is high, so there’s no chance of my hitting my head . . .

  Thonk!

  But I did just run into a solid wooden door around the last turn of the stairs. I bounce off it and am saved from tumbling back down the stairs by my two canine companions close behind me. They slow my backward sprawl and Odvaha grabs the end of my tunic firmly with his teeth.

  As I stand again and brush myself off, I notice their mouths are open and their tongues are hanging out. Wolfish grins. They love me, stand ready to defend me with their very lives, but they also allow themselves to be amused whenever I do something foolish.

  I grin back at them.

  Dakujem. Thank you.

  Za nitch. It is nothing.

  I turn back to study the oak door, and study what is before me. What must I do to pass through this portal? Will the opening charm serve me here? I lift one hand up to cup my chin in careful contemplation.

  Ucta whines and then lifts up a large paw to the right side of the center of the door. One of his claws catches the simple latch that I’d not noticed. It clicks and the door swings open
. The silver light that had accompanied us is replaced by the golden glow that gleams from the great room beyond.

  Ucta turns his head to look back over his shoulder at me. He even raises one eyebrow.

  Tu je to. Here it is.

  I have to chuckle at my own foolishness. Nothing seems to stand in our way. I step through with Ucta and Odvaha on either side. My laughter is cut short by the warning growls of both my four-legged comrades and the sudden whirlwind of dust that rises up before us.

  “Password?” intones a slow voice, cold as a dark winter night.

  A chill wind whips over us. That black breeze emanates from the breath of the tall skeletal warrior clad in iron armor who has now manifested himself from the swirling cloud. He seems as solid as what he holds in his bony hands—two long, sharp swords.

  “Password?” the colossus repeats in a grim voice that echoes through the cavern.

  Password? Think, Rashko. Password?

  “Alebo smrt,” the skeletal warrior adds with an eager, toothy grin. “Or death.”

  He spins his lethal blades and moves toward us.

  The armored skeleton’s singing swords are now only a double arm’s length away. Ucta and Odvaha are moving farther out to my left and my right. They are ready to attack from either side should I give the signal.

  But will their strong jaws and sharp teeth pierce the iron greaves strapped to the skeleton’s stout shanks? And even if they did, they’d meet naught but bone. No flesh remains on the dread figure before me.

  I have no sword, only a short knife and a wooden club. But even with my favorite blade in hand, could I hope to stand against a being with no mortal parts to wound?

  What is the password? I was never told it. What might my mother, with her deceptive lack of cleverness, have chosen?

  Wait? Could it be as simple as . . .

  “Prejdi!” I shout. “Pass.”

  A friendly grin comes to the gaunt giant’s jaws. The spinning of his weapons halts. He tosses both blades aside.

  “Prejdi, Pavol,” he replies, bowing deeply. He gestures past himself with one arm as gracefully as a host inviting a welcomed guest into his home. Then, in a swirl of dust, he disintegrates.