The Temptation of Dragons (Penny White Book 1)

by Chrys Cymri

  ‘Well, people are talking. I thought you should know.’

  ‘Thank you for telling me,’ I said automatically. Priests either develop a reflexive politeness, or they leave the profession. ‘I’ll visit April this week.’

  I drove home and had my Sunday lunch. This was the same lunch as any other day of the week, namely a cheese sandwich. Even if James hadn’t started to disappear on Sundays, I couldn’t face trying to cook a roast on top of taking services.

  Clyde trilled as I came into the study. His terrarium was bright with a number of early autumn leaves. I lifted the top and held out my hand. ‘Step up,’ I told him, and he obediently slid onto my palm.

  Morey wouldn’t be back from his own church for another couple of hours. I sat down at my desk, turned on my computer, then placed my hand level with the wooden top. ‘Down,’ I told the snail shark.

  Clyde zipped around the desk, climbing over and around my computer and desk lamp and leaving behind a faint smear of slime. I checked my emails, logged into Facebook, and wondered what to do with the rest of my afternoon. I could visit April, but something in me bridled at being guilted into action by my churchwarden.

  The snail pup slid to a halt, his tentacles vibrating as he looked out the window into the back garden. 'Dragon green.'

  ‘Green dragon,’ I corrected automatically as I stood to look over the computer screen. Five weeks after I’d adopted him, Clyde’s English was improving, but he still used Welsh sentence construction.

  Raven stood in the midst of the overgrown grasses, his hide glowing brighter and greener than even the rain washed bushes behind him. My heart thumped as he turned his head, blue-green eyes meeting mine. His jaw dropped open in a smile.

  'Step up,' I told Clyde. I transferred him from desk to tank, and threw in a half dozen crickets before snapping down the lid. Somehow I resisted the impulse to make a quick check of myself in a mirror. Instead I changed slippers for trainers and joined him outside.

  'The indomitable Penny White,' Raven greeted me.

  I walked under his head and raised my hand to touch the scars on his right leg. 'These are healing well.'

  'Of course. Dragons recover quickly.'

  'Would have helped me to know that,' I told him crossly. 'I haven't seen you since the snail shark attack.'

  His warm breath wafted through my hair. 'Were you worried?'

  'Don't flatter yourself.' I stepped back. 'What brings you here today?'

  He lowered himself to the ground and crooked out his left leg. 'Come fly with me.'

  'Where?'

  'There's somewhere I want to show you.'

  I could go back into the house, contemplate the readings for next Sunday’s sermon, or even drive over to see Alice. Or I could once again ride on a dragon’s back. There was never really any question which option I would choose.

  I zipped up my fleece. The climb up to his back seemed easier this time, or perhaps I was getting better at mounting dragons. Plus, after hearing from James that he'd been taking riding lessons in New Zealand, I'd taken several trips out to a local stables on my day off. So it was with a new confidence that I tightened my legs against his shoulders.

  'Ready?'

  'Ready.'

  The sudden pressure of his spine against my back was lessened by the thickness of my fleece. I turned my head to look down, intrigued to see my vicarage from the air. A couple of roof tiles looked loose, and I made a mental note to contact the diocese when I was back at my desk.

  I felt a strange prickling at the back of my neck. The air shimmered. And then the green fields of Northamptonshire were gone. Black lava fields slid past below us. The slight chill of early autumn was replaced by a sudden heat which slammed into my neck and made my back break out in sweat. Ahead of us was the sloped sides of a volcano. A few tendrils of dark smoke rose into the air, and the distinct scent of sulphur ached down my nostrils.

  Raven made a slow turn, obviously having decided to be more cautious in flight than the last time he'd carried me. Although the lava flows were set, the black rock was barren and clean, and I wondered how recently the volcano had erupted. In the distance blue sea glinted. Were we above an island?

  Raven beat his wings, taking us up further into the deep blue sky. I longed to undo my fleece, but I didn't dare remove a hand from his spine. We rose above the volcano, skirting around the fumes, and I had a brief glimpse of the red-black centre of the caldera. Then we were over the other side.

  The blue-green wings tipped. We spiralled down, the breeze cooling the sweat on my face. The landing was taken as a jog, Raven lifting his feet quickly to avoid his claws snagging on the uneven ground. I gritted my teeth as I jounced against his hard back, and focussed on holding on.

  Raven lowered himself onto his stomach and I slid off. The heat from the lava field made me sweat even further. I took off my fleece and tied it around my waist. As the sun glared down I wondered uneasily if I’d return to England with an unexplainable sunburn.

  ‘This way.’ Raven set off at a careful pace, skirting around lava tubes and crevasses where the rock had split apart. I felt my shoes scrape against the sharp stones. From time to time I scented another whiff of sulphur. How active was this volcano?

  A wall rose ahead of us, black and gleaming. Obsidian. It looked to have been formed out of many chunks, melted around the edges and forced together. The structure circled away from us, left and right, and it was obviously our destination. I hoped that there might be some water available. The heat, from both the lava and the sun, was making me thirsty.

  Raven drew me off to the right. There was a gap in the wall, and we walked alongside the glass-like rock towards it. I stretched out my hand, and marvelled at the smooth surface.

  Another dragon emerged as we drew near, slightly smaller than Raven, but with the same glittering green-black scales and tufts of feathers. A torc of translucent glass rested around the neck. ‘So, you’ve finally brought her.’

  The voice was a higher pitch than Raven’s, which I assumed meant that she was female. ‘Penny White,’ I said. ‘Vicar General of Incursions, Nenehamption Diocese, Earth.’

  She snorted. ‘Here you are Hrafn’s friend, nothing more. And your safety rests on that fact.’

  ‘Easy, Tyra,’ Raven said. ‘Penny isn’t here to slay dragons.’

  I nodded. ‘I saved him from a snail shark.’

  ‘My leg, from a snail shark,’ he amended.

  ‘So, I saved your limb, if not your life.’

  Tyra lowered her head, and I held still as her nostrils flared. She took in deep breaths of my scent, then raised her head, alarmed. ‘She carries steel.’

  ‘House keys.’ I rattled my pocket. My Swiss army knife rested alongside, but I was suddenly reluctant to part with it.

  ‘She doesn’t have a sword on her,’ Raven said, sounding bored. ‘Let us in.’

  Tyra’s teeth were still exposed, but she backed up to allow entry.

  The first, and welcome sight, was that of tall tents erected against the inside of the wall. Shade was available in this hot place. Then I heard the distinct sound of water splashing. I strode over to the fountain, pausing only briefly to note that it was also of obsidian before I plunged my hands into the waist-high pool.

  When I’d finished drinking, I stepped back to admire the structure. Other than the size, which was at dragon scale, it would have been at home in any human garden. Water bubbled from a cone-shaped top, and flowed down through three basins, the top the smallest, the bottom the largest. I touched the smooth glass.

  ‘Forged,’ Raven told me. He reached past me to dip his muzzle into the water, and he drank deeply. Drops glistened on his nostrils as he lifted his head again. ‘By dragon flame.’

  ‘It’s amazing.’

  ‘I’ll tell the sculptor you said so.’

  He turned and strode away. I hurried after him. The lava had been evened out and smoothed, making for a much easier walking surface. ‘And where is this place?’
I asked his back.

  ‘My home.’

  I nearly stumbled. Then I jogged up to his side. ‘Where humans aren’t entirely welcome.’

  ‘They aren’t, but you are.’ The arrogant swagger was back. ‘You’re with me.’

  The entry flaps on many of the colourful tents were propped open. I glanced inside as we passed. In some, the dragons were sleeping, green-black bodies spread across woven rugs. In others, dragons occupied themselves in various ways. I saw one working at a loom, another using his claws to carve a design in a block of wood. In one large tent, several dragons were using intense white-blue flame to mold obsidian into new shapes.

  ‘Fire breathing dragons,’ I found myself muttering.

  ‘Actually, we breathe oxygen,’ Raven said. ‘We exhale flame. When we want to. Can be hard on the teeth.’

  We turned down a passageway between tent sides. I admired the woven material, shimmering in bright reds and purples in the sunshine. Although I could no longer see in, I could hear sounds which left me intrigued. An instrument being strummed, sounding like a high-pitched guitar. A loud voice reciting something in Welsh. And what must have been the cry of a young dragon. ‘What do you call baby dragons?’ I asked Raven.

  ‘Pufflings.’

  ‘That’s what baby puffins are called.’

  ‘What is a puffin?’

  ‘A type of bird.’

  ‘A large predatory bird? A terror in the skies?’

  ‘I’ll show you a photo sometime.’ The next time his ego needed deflating. So, probably just a few minutes from now.

  The tents ended and we emerged into an open area. Eight green-black dragons were curled up in the sun, their wings draped loosely across their backs. Raven came to an abrupt halt, and by the angle of his ears I realised he was not happy to see these dragons.

  The largest dragon rose to his feet. His Welsh was quick and fast. Along with my horse riding lessons, I had connected with a Welsh speaker for one to one tuition. But even so, I struggled to follow the conversation. I caught ‘mamaliaid’ and ‘budr’. Seems I was some sort of foul mammal.

  Raven was responding in the same dialect. ‘Cartref’, Welsh for home, and ‘gwestai’. Guest. A few wisps of steam punctuated his words.

  The other dragon growled. The rest stretched and stood, jaws open in draconic grins. ‘Well, outsider,’ said the leader, ‘Hrafn thinks to speak for you is enough. We don’t agree. What do you say?’

  Raven hissed a warning as I marched forward. I tipped my head back to look at the largest dragon. ‘I say that I come in peace. Rwy'n dod mewn heddwch. Dyna fy mwriadau. Those are my intentions.’

  ‘Profwch y mamaliaid,’ said one of the other dragons.

  A forefoot snaked out and caught me around my middle. I grabbed uselessly at the strong fingertoes as I was lifted into the air. Tents, wall, ground, dragons spun past my eyes as my captor turned me one way, then another. I gritted my teeth and hoped my stomach would behave.

  Then I was dropped. I tried go into a roll, expecting to hit the stone floor. Instead I found myself sliding down smooth skin. Dragon skin. A joint rumbled past my side, and I realised that I was on a wing.

  The wing lifted and tipped. I fell off onto another wing. I twisted onto my stomach and stretched out my hands, scrabbling for purchase. If I could only catch myself on one of the long fingers which formed the wing structure--

  The skin moved under me, this time pitching forward. I was thrown into the air. As I tumbled I was able to gain a glimpse of the circle the dragons had formed, facing inwards, their wings spread out and nearly overlapping. One dragon lunged forwards, bringing his wing to catch me. The skin gave way, cushioning my fall. Then he, too, twisted the joint, causing me to slide yet again.

  So far it was only my ego which had suffered injury. As I yet again tried to grab at one of the bones under the skin, I wondered grimly if this draconic version of ‘pass the parcel’ would continue until one of them dropped me. And when the music stopped, it would be more than paper wrapping which would be spilled across the ground.

  I realised that I was not frightened, but furious. Furious with this rabble of dragons, playing games with my life. Furious with Raven for bringing me here. Furious with myself, for allowing the enticement of Lloegyr to pull me away from my parish responsibilities.

  I channelled my anger into strategic thinking. I needed to change tactics. Actually, I needed to change the game. Do something unexpected. As I slid across yet another stretch of wing, I turned onto my left side and dug my other hand into my right pocket. The Swiss Army knife was warm and solid under my fingers. I pulled it out, and shouted above the general laughter and calls between the dragons, ‘Dur! Steel! Mae gen i ddur! I have steel! And I know how to use it!’

  The skin under me suddenly levelled out. Silence. The wing lowered, and the dragon snaked his head towards me. ‘Dur? Mae gennych ddur?’

  ‘Oes.’ I held out my fist, not wanting to unfold the knife blade while still so far above the ground. ‘Mewn yma. So put me down carefully.’

  ‘Rhowch hi lawr,’ said their leader. But the dragon was already lowering wing and belly to the ground. The other dragons had drawn back, heads and ears low, teeth well hidden.

  The skin flattened across stone. I waited a moment, forcing strength back into my legs by will alone. Now was not the time to stumble. I put my free hand down to help me rise to my feet. A swagger was beyond me, but my steps were still steady as I left soft wing for solid rock.

  Slowly, casually, I opened the two inch blade of my knife. I looked up, but none of the dragons laughed. Seems they regarded any length of steel, no matter how short, to be dangerous. I hid the shake in my hands by using the sharp end to clean under my left thumbnail. Then I glanced at the dragon who had last caught me. ‘Thank you for putting me down. I would have hated to cut you with steel.’

  The leader translated, quickly and nervously. The other dragon backed away, head low, eyes avoiding mine. I wondered if other inhabitants of Lloegyr also feared steel. Or, if all the old legends were true, more likely it was the iron that repelled them.

  I lifted the knife, and the dragons hissed with fear. My vision flipped. They might be the twice the size of a horse and covered with scales, but they were like seven year old boys in a playground. Bullies, trying to see if they could make the little girl cry. I detest bullies, and I had no desire to become one in return. So I bent the blade back into the handle, and shoved the knife back into my pocket. ‘Dur i ffwrdd. I have no desire to hurt you. Heddwch? Peace between us?’

  ‘Heddwch,’ the leader agreed. The others muttered the word in turn, heads bobbing, ears still flat against heads. Then they shuffled away, disappearing down the space between tents and wall. I found myself wondering whether I could find a legal way to carry a larger knife.

  Raven joined me in the empty space. ‘And where were you during all that?’ I snapped. ‘Standing by and having a good laugh?’

  He cocked his head. ‘Not laughing. Waiting.’

  ‘Doing nothing!’

  ‘And would you have wanted me to charge in? The brave dragon saving the maiden from the nasty knight?’ He snorted. ‘Don’t you want equality in your relationships? You can obviously take care of yourself. Besides, you’re not a maiden, are you?’

  My face was suddenly hot, and not from the sun still blaring overhead. ‘And you’re no Saint George.’

  ‘No, my duck, he’s a drake. And they don’t have the sense they’re born with.’ The speaker sounded female. Her green scales were greyed with age, but her eyes glimmered with humour as she studied us from her tent. She had nosed the back flap up with her muzzle, and the material draped around her thick neck. ‘Come round to the front and have a cup of tea. On the house.’

  So, ten minutes after I’d been bouncing on dragon wings, I was sitting on a cushion and sipping very good Oolong tea. Somehow the café owner had a human sized mug in her possession, and I politely ignored the cracked handle. Raven sat across fr
om me, his own larger container steaming in front of him. There were other dragons enjoying an afternoon drink. A few glanced at us both, but otherwise we were left alone.

  The tea settled my nerves and my temper. ‘So,’ I asked, calmer now, ‘what was all that about? Was that your version of “meet the relatives”?’

  ‘We’re related by an accident of birth. Not by blood.’

  ‘Do only search dragons live here?’

  He studied me. ‘I never told you that I’m a search dragon.’

  ‘You’re not my only source of knowledge about Lloegyr.’

  ‘But your best source about dragons. Don’t you think?’

  Tea, I thought, taking another sip. Tea doesn’t ask silly questions. Tea understands. ‘So, source of all knowledge, tell me about search dragons and why you live on a lava field.’

  ‘We can find anything.’ His tone was matter of fact. ‘There are those who don’t want things to be found.’

  ‘Bet you were never picked to be “it” for hide-and-seek.’

  ‘Nor are we chosen to remain with our blood families,’ he said sharply. ‘All families have secrets. All families prefer to keep things hidden. And we sniff them out. So, when we’re old enough to pull down our own prey, we are asked to leave.’

  ‘And you go to a lava field?’

  ‘It’s remote.’

  I frowned. ‘I thought thin places in one world led to pretty much the parallel one in the next. But we don’t have volcanoes in Northamptonshire.’

  ‘Land thin places do. Those in the water and the air seem to follow different rules.’

  ‘And how do you locate the air ones?’

  ‘We can find anything,’ he reminded me.

  I put down the mug. ‘Then find me a way back home. I’ve had enough of your settlement for one day.’

  ‘But--’

  ‘Home,’ I said firmly. ‘More some other time.’

  He looked down at me, blue-green eyes glowing. ‘There will be another time?’