Dances With My Dragon

by William David Ellis

  Lizzy smiled and said, “If it’s any consolation, he told me for years he had worked for the British secret service and I always thought he was teasing… but apparently he was not.”

  “So what’s up, Lizzy, why are you telling us this?” Jamie interrupted.

  “Jamie, I know my dad trusted—trusts? I don’t know which word to use—you and Barry. And if he had a problem or needed advice, you are the ones he would seek out. So his journals… I don’t know how to say this… those journals changed. Overnight they went from saying one thing to saying something else.”

  Jamie’s and Barry’s eyes widened and Barry’s eyebrows moved to the top of his head.

  “What ya mean by changed, Lizzybeth?”

  “I have been reading Dad’s journals.” Lizzy paused to take a long drink of coffee. “Last night I started reading, it was the next entry but he wrote about Sarah. Our Sarah. I couldn’t believe it. So after I calmed down, I went back and reread the last few journal entries… they had changed. He was now writing about Sarah and… about the library story time, and about me. He was writing as though the events of last summer had just happened and were in his past. But the words were written seventy-five years ago! And they changed last night… Jamie, they changed last niiiiight!” Lizzy rubbed her tired eyes and threw up her hands in exasperation.

  Barry leaned back in his chair, scratched his chin, and looked at Lizzy. He said nothing for a minute or two. Jamie, who was never at a loss for words, set a new personal record for silence and just stared at her.

  Finally, Barry said, “Lizzy, last year no one in Moab believed in dragons. No one believed a local clergyman could be a Satanist and lead folks we had known all our lives here into horrible evil. But we do now.”

  Jamie leaned into Lizzy, nodding at her husband’s words. Then she recovered her voice and was bent on making up for lost time. “Lizzybeth, I think this is a good thing. It means your daddy’s not dead. It is confusing as hell, yes. But it’s a good thing.”

  Barry nodded and added, “As much as it pains me to admit it, Jamie’s right. Yer father is alive and apparently he has gone back in time… and—” Suddenly Barry got a faraway look in his eye and smiled. “Lizzy, have ya ever looked at one of those glass snow globes? Ya hold it in yer hand, shake it up, and it looks to be snowing on whatever little model is in the globe’s base. Ya’re on the outside looking in. If a teeny person lived on the inside, that place would be their universe, but not yours. This is much like that. Yar outside watching the journals of yer father as he gives you a front-row view of his life and adventures.”

  “I see that, I really do. But I have another question. Why did only that particular time in his journals change? I read on and it looks like the journals revert back to the time before Sarah enters his life. Why the time conflicts?”

  Jamie piped up, “Oh, girl, that’s simple. The time that changes is the time he is living in right now. Or right now back then… oh hell, you better know what I am talking about, Lizabeth, because my brain hurts just playing with it.”

  Lizzy laughed and answered, “I see, Jamie, I really do. It makes sense. I can’t be absolutely certain, but it really makes sense. Now one more question, and I really do not know what to do about this… I started library day up and told the kids because they are extremely aware of my dad’s story that I would tell them tales from his exploits in England… but they have also been asking about Sarah… and now I don’t know if I should tell them?”

  Jamie cocked her head back and crossed her arms. She set another personal silence record for the day and then said, “Trust your heart, Lizzy; those kids have been through a lot. They are stronger and wiser than a lot of grown-up folks I know. They may surprise you with how much they understand, and they may also give you insight you wouldn’t have had if you didn’t talk to them.”

  Barry leaned into the table and laughed. “I must really be losing it because this is the second time in a single conversation I agree with Jamie. Trust the kids and trust your heart. You love them and would never do anything to hurt them. It’s going to be okay, Lizzy.”

  “Okay then, I will tell my little dragon babies the whole truth and… well, hang on, I may change it a bit if things get too graphic… but yeah, they are not your normal children.”

  Chapter Ten

  Belle Rodum dove from the window sill of Hitler’s upstairs apartment and landed like a cat. She hit the ground running. Fuming, her first thought was to get as far away from the dragon rider as quickly as she could. She had little doubt the jörmungandr would survive its encounter with the man. The demon beast had rushed in where angels fear treading, and it had died. Its assault had bought her time to kill the girl. She was grateful. She didn’t mourn the creature’s loss; there was always another beast to conjure.

  She ran through the night, putting several blocks of Munich between her and her assailant. As she hastened through the dark streets, she thought, The assassination took place. At least I accomplished that. But the audacity! The sheer arrogance of that brute to think he could stand against her and her plans, and then he had the nerve to slap her. He slapped her! She reached for her cheek, thinking she could still feel the sting. No one had ever slapped her! A thought like an ice-cold bucket of water poured over her unsuspecting heart. He had resisted her at every level, stopped her killing blow, didn’t bother to strike back, and when he had it had not been with his fist or his sword. He had simply slapped her! Chills ran through her and she trembled. The truth paralyzed her. The man had been in control the whole battle.

  He could have killed her at any time. But he did not. Why not? What was he? He called himself Harry and the way he phrased the words “at least I am told” seemed to imply he was new at the job. As her mind sorted through the memories, she found fear and anger and something else she couldn’t quite identify. He was a good-looking beast no doubt. And he did not fear her. Belle Rodum had never in her short life had a man stand up to her and live to tell the story.

  She had no frame of reference for a man with integrity and courage and who showed restraint.

  “Harry,” she whispered his name, like a person trying a new food that was an acquired taste. Had she been close to a mirror she might have wondered why her attempt at a smirk changed into the whisper of a smile.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sarah walked up on the beach and sighed. “Well, here I am, now what?” She looked around and saw no one. There were no palm trees nor much foliage on the beach, and as the morning grew long and the sun beat down, it became obvious the beach bordered a desert. Her huge dragon stomach rumbled. “Good grief, glad I’m by myself.” She stared at the breaking ocean waves—the ocean held fish. So, when faced with the options of sitting hungry on a hot beach or fishing off the bottom of a cool sea, she chose the latter.

  After a couple hours of feasting on some delicious redfish, she knew she had to decide. She couldn’t wait there forever. The sword had not told her that anyone would be waiting; he just said he was sending her to… She remembered the sword’s words vividly… “I am sending you to a man called Kusaila. He is a great teacher and also the leader of his people. He lived/ lives in North Africa and is of a race of people called the Berbers. They also call him the Leopard.” Sarah thought, Well, I think I will take advantage of my flying skill and go up and look around. Maybe I can see more from the clouds. But before she did, she stopped. I am going to call Harry. The sword said we could communicate and oh my gosh it is past time for a talk… She addressed her invisible mentor. “Sword, are you there?”

  “Yes, Sarah.” Immediately General Washington appeared to her.

  “Then, you know why I am talking with you. I want to talk to Harry. So dial up and put me through to him.”

  “Sorry, Sarah, I can’t.” The avatar looked apologetic.

  “What do you mean you can’t? Is he on another line, or out of the office?”

  “Sarah,” he began in a deep masculine Virginia accent. “Harry is in another ti
me, actually in another time reality, to be exact. Time has changed where he is. If he were in the same time reality as you are, it would be an easy matter for me to put you through to him as you requested, but I can’t right now… it takes too much power and I am powerful but not that powerful… I am sorry, Sarah. I can, however, leave him a message. More like a text rather than a voicemail. So if there is anything you want to say, I can relay it word for word.” He drew out a pad and quill and pretended to be ready for dictation.

  Sarah’s face fell and her shoulders sagged. She sat down on the beach and curled her tail around her. “Well, if that’s the way it is… that is what I have to deal with. Okay, let me think… should I start with Dear Harry… yes, I suppose it is kind of like transcribing a letter, isn’t it? Let me begin…”

  After Sarah finished the letter, she took to the skies and was soon high enough in the air that the temperature had dropped and she could see for miles down the coast. Not knowing which way to go, she looked for the first sign of people and flew toward it. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where this Kusaila character is, do you, Sword?”

  A shrill cry broke from above, shattering Sarah’s focus. It sounded like a hawk but louder and deeper and caused the small hair follicles on the back of her long dragon neck to stand at attention. Instinctively she bowed her head and dove. Hours of tormented training paid off as muscle memory took over and she flipped and turned out of her dive. A huge black-striped dragon swiped at her with its blood-stained claw missing her by inches. She felt the heat from its body and smelled an unwashed serpent odor. She was focused on too many things and failed to twist away, allowing the black dragon’s tail to lash back against her as it flew downward. Sarah screeched a response as the dragon swept past. Its tail slammed against her, and she saw stars and slumped; she quickly recovered but had begun to fall from the sky.

  The attacking dragon twisted around when it flew past her, and now faced her—talons forward and fiery breath streaming from its dark throat. The beast was twice Sarah’s size, and when its bat-like wings stretched out against the desert sky, it threatened to blot out the sun. Sarah gulped and mimicked the battle position of the dark dragon. It screamed at her and she replied, her screech sounding more like a bleating sheep to her ears. The dark dragon paused. Intense red laser eyes glowed deep in the beast’s head. It threw its head back and opened its mouth to screech again. Sarah attacked. Her talons feinted one way and tore another. She ripped away at the dark dragon’s chest, raking it like fingernails across an ancient blackboard. She blew fire from her throat while striking with the barbs of her tail. She was a mask of wind and fury striking in angry rage; she doubted she could win the battle but she intended to make her attacker wish he had never seen her. She struck from three directions—with flame, claw, and tail. She incessantly pounded her assailant, who seemed shocked at her fury and only able to defend himself. She knew as soon as her strength gave out she would die, so with renewed fury she pushed on.

  The dark dragon retreated from her pummeling, dodging her every attempt to strike until, exhausted, her claws fell to her side. She drooped and slowly on weary dragon wings glided back to the ground. The dark dragon followed silently. At last she settled on the desert floor and prepared for her final defense. She turned to face her adversary only to find herself staring down on a tall, dark-skinned Berber chieftain. The man watched her for a few very long seconds and then, with arms crossed over his chest as though evaluating something at market, said, “You’ll do.”

  Sarah’s yellow slitted eyes widened, her heart beating so hard she could feel it against her chest. She glared at the man she was supposed to train with and fell exhausted onto the ground.

  When she awoke, it was night and she was lying on a carpet of sweet grass in the middle of a pasture. She was also surrounded by a hundred tents and campfires. Sitting up, she was sore and bruised and stiff and hungry.

  Sarah heard movement behind her and turned. The man she had fought stood before her. “Finally you wake from your nap. Some of my councilors were beginning to worry that I may have injured you in our first encounter. I told them no but that you might have hurt yourself, as careless and reckless as you are.”

  Sarah huffed and a large cloud of smoke blew out her nostrils. The man grunted and continued, “Obviously you are a new dragoness. We have much work to do. Change now—it is easier to feed a young woman than a large dragon.”

  Sarah looked at the man and mumbled, “I can’t.”

  A frown crossed his dark face. “What do you mean you can’t? Of course you can.”

  She grimaced and if a dragon could look sheepish, which is hard for them to do, she at least tried. “I cannot shift back into human.”

  “You shifted from human to dragon, yes?”

  She nodded.

  “That is harder for most people than from dragon to human.” The man sat on the grass in front of Sarah and picked up a straw. Dawn was breaking and a dewdrop slid down the long piece of grass. He watched it and then stuck the grass in his mouth. “Sarah, my name is Kusaila. I train dragon people. I am also the king of my people. I usually have a lot more time to devote to individual mentoring than I do now. Now my people are at war with the locust of the east; they are a horde licking up kingdoms. I do not have as much time to train you as I would like, and our training may be interrupted at any time by an attack. Our enemy has hurt us and is pushing us back from our lands and homes.”

  Smoke curled from Sarah’s nose involuntarily. Her scaly brow rose when Kusaila told of the danger to his people. “Then why take the time to train me?”

  “Dragon riders are a very special people. They rescued me many years ago.”

  A frown crossed Sarah’s face. What could Kusaila possibly have done to need rescuing?

  “I was young and foolhardy. I went to battle with these same hordes and was overwhelmed. Had the dragon riders not been there for me, I would have died. But because they were there, not only was I spared, but the invasion of my lands was temporarily halted. I owe them.

  “And since you are special to them, I will train you. That training began yesterday. The attack was an evaluation under duress.”

  “If that was the first day of training, I am in trouble!”

  The vestige of a smile flew across Kusaila’s face. “Had you been prepared for it, there would have been aspects of your abilities and character that I would not have understood as well as I do now. We do not always test our candidates under such extreme conditions. But considering the pressure I am under with our enemies pressing us, it saved a great deal of time. It was a risk. You could have been injured and I could have been as well. But what I know about you now is worth the price I paid to find out. I tell you this because I know that you are very gifted for such a young dragon person, and along with that gifting you also have a strength of heart that is absolutely necessary to survive and overcome the challenges that are coming your way. So when you tell me you cannot change back to your human form… well, I am confused. Why do you think you cannot change back?”

  Sarah sighed and once again a puff of smoke threatened to strangle Kusaila. He surprised her by inhaling, fiercely sucking the smoke in and clearing the air. The action took a few seconds and left Sarah staring wide-eyed.

  “We will work on some of your control issues,” he added smugly.

  Sarah’s claws lifted and her shoulders shrugged in an isn’t-it-obvious motion. “I do not know how to change back; no one ever taught me.”

  Kusaila’s eyes narrowed, his head tilted, and a frown crept across his face. “No one should have had to. Shifting from one to the other takes effort, but it is like learning to breathe; it also comes naturally. No one taught you how to exhale, and obviously you do that very well.”

  Sarah smirked at his jibe. He ignored her and continued.

  “Think about it. Close your eyes and think…” As he spoke Kusaila’s voice changed—deeper, slower, more methodical. He kept saying, “Think about it, Sarah;
what comes to your mind when you are searching for the reason you cannot change back? Open your mind, allow it to go where it wills, look closely. There should be pictures forming. Can you see them?”

  Sarah’s breathing grew slower; she could actually feel her heart calming. It felt like she was going to sleep, yet she could hear every word Kusaila said. As she allowed her mind to wander, pictures did form. She resisted them at first.

  “It is all right, Sarah. Allow your heart to show you. This is what you need to see; look closely… do not be afraid,” Kusaila said.

  Sarah relaxed. Instinctively she knew she could trust Kusaila. She had been furious with him at first, but after hearing him talk about his people and the war he waged, she understood his motivation. She was still sore and stiff and to be honest a bit afraid—actually a lot afraid—but she also trusted him…

  “Sarah, you are not allowing your spirit to flow; you are tying it up with thoughts. There is a time to clothe your feelings with words, and there is a time to let them go where they will and show you what you are unwilling to see. This is the time to let them show the way.”

  Sarah made a conscious effort to still her thoughts, and the visions returned. She knew where they would lead and she did not want to go. They led her to the cave where the dragon had imprisoned her and…

  ****

  Sarah opened her eyes. Centuries had passed. The memories she had reluctantly followed had taken her back to the dragon’s lair. She felt herself pull against the chains that leashed her like a wayward dog to the cave wall. The only light burned dimly from the small campfire. All the details she would have rather forgotten returned vividly. She took a deep breath and smelled the wet limestone of the chilly cave; she had not bathed in weeks and it was painfully evident. Harry had not contacted her in two days. The only visitor was the horrible beast, the dragon that had captured her. Twice a day, he brought her food she cooked over the fire. She drank from a little spring that broke from a small cleft near where she was chained. She slept, ate, and cried. Every time the dragon visited, he tried to talk with her. She’d resisted for as long as she could. But the loneliness wore her down, and the last time the dragon visited she asked him questions.