Zaria Fierce and the Dragon Keeper's Golden Shoes

by Keira Gillett

  “Did you know that the shoes that trapped him in the Under Realm were gold? Or that they’re enchanted to follow him into every form he takes?” asked Hector.

  Zaria shook her head. “No, but I should have guessed. I should have been more observant.”

  Hector gave her a stern look. “Stop that,” he said. “The point, Pekka, is that the giant tribes need to be warned. They must gather at the Gjallarbrú. Olaf will be sending his army to confront the elves and ellefolken, and we will need numbers. If the giants are still with us – if they are still our allies – they must send aid, and soon.”

  “What will you be doing?” Pekka asked.

  “We’ll be rescuing my son, so I can reverse the rot that has spread like a plague through the Golden Kings.”

  Pekka left them soon after that, disappearing to the north in a whirl of color. Zaria wondered if they would see him again. She thought so, but she knew from experience that getting giants to take action took time, which might mean that the adventure would be over before Pekka could get the rulers of the giant tribes to agree to send aid. If only younger giants ruled the tribes, then everything would be all right, because the younger giants were more impetuous than their older counterparts and she liked them better for it.

  “Were you able to reach Queen Helena?” Hector asked, once Pekka was out of sight.

  “We tried,” Aleks said. “The mirror wouldn’t or couldn’t locate her.”

  “That’s troubling,” Hector said, “but it’s been that way for every other form of communication we could have with her.”

  “Is she going to be all right until we can get to her?” asked Zaria.

  “I have faith in her. You should, too,” Hector said. “Now, I have something for you all.”

  Madam Brown assisted Hector in unshrinking several packages from his bag. He handed them to the children one by one. Christoffer opened his first and revealed a pair of daggers.

  “Cool,” he said, pulling one out of its sheath.

  Zaria opened hers and found a scabbard for the Drakeland Sword. Aleks got a bow and a wrist-quiver. Filip and Geirr each got short blades.

  “Put them on,” Hector said. “You might need them where we’re going.”

  After they did, Madam Brown directed the boys to clean up their impromptu campsite, and soon they were on their way again. Hector led them, keeping his necklace handy. The forest was bright and cheery with soaring trees and gently sloping hills and valleys.

  “So, I’ve been thinking,” Filip started.

  “That’s dangerous,” Aleks deadpanned.

  “Whatever, mate,” Filip said, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking, after we rescue Hart, what’s next?”

  “We get to the Gjallarbrú,” Hector said. “Everyone will be congregating at the bridge for both sides of this. All of Olaf’s army of conspirators will be there – hags and banshees, maybe some ogres, and who knows what else.”

  “Ogres? We haven’t met any ogres yet,” Christoffer said. “What are they like?”

  “Smelly,” said Hector. “They’re so odiferous you’ll be able to smell them several kilometers away.”

  “Nothing can be worse than Pekka’s feet,” Christoffer denied, wrinkling his nose. “That guy needs to bathe them every day for at least a month.”

  “Do they have a kingdom of their own?” asked Zaria.

  Hector shook his head. “Ogres are lone wolves. They generally stay in caves and eat local wildlife, but they remember days in the past, when they could prey on humans. They want those days back, and I’m certain if Olaf met with any of them, that is what he promised in exchange for their aid. Getting a bunch of them together in one spot, though, would be difficult – that’s what will work in our favor.”

  “And do you expect dwarves to be there, too?” she asked.

  Hector frowned and looked at the necklace again. He pondered his answer. “I expect we’ll see dwarves from both Jerndor and Malmdor there. The question remains to be seen which side they’ll be on.”

  “Wouldn’t the dwarves from Malmdor be with Olaf?” Geirr asked. “They’re all bad, from what we’ve learned about them. Isn’t Malmdor where Olaf threatened to sell Christoffer in the slave markets if Zaria didn’t get him the Hart of Gloomwood Forest?”

  “I wish I had never met Olaf,” Zaria said darkly, scuffing her shoe against the dirt.

  “Nah,” Christoffer denied. “Don’t say that; then we wouldn’t be here having a grand adventure.”

  “You’re still too optimistic,” she said wryly.

  “You can’t let one or two bad experiences ruin it for you,” he replied. “Come on, you’ve got magical powers. You’ve won the lottery, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Sure,” Zaria agreed, cautiously, “if I could use them that would be cool, but I can’t. I can’t even feel magic. The fairies all laughed at me, remember? So what good are they?”

  “Princess,” Hector said, “Koll can’t take what you don’t give him. Remember, his power is animal magnetism. It’s about convincing you he knows better, changing you into something else, and taking from you what you would not freely give. Know yourself, and he will be unable to reach you. This is important. You can’t let him win.”

  Zaria wanted to do that, but she wasn’t even fourteen yet. She didn’t know what she wanted to eat for breakfast from one day to the next, let alone know herself. It was too frustrating and impossible.

  “How?” she demanded. “How do I do that?”

  “Sometimes it’s easier to know what you’re not,” Hector said simply. “You’re not mean, or cruel, or evil, or guilty. You’re not prone to self-loathing.”

  “I’m not?” she asked, glumly.

  “No,” Hector said firmly. “You’re not. Koll made it clear he built that up in you to get to you, so you’re free of that. That’s not you.”

  Zaria liked that. It relieved her of a burden she didn’t even know she was carrying. She stood a little taller and walked with a lighter bounce in her step.

  “You’re right,” she said, feeling out the words in her head and heart. “That’s not me. I’m also not moody or easily annoyed. Sorry Christoffer. You’re right, this is an adventure. We should be having fun.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying all along,” he said with a grin. “Welcome back.”

  Zaria smiled, and it was easy. She bumped shoulders with him before turning back to Hector. “How do I detect magic? When we were with the fairies you said that the rope had been enchanted, but I couldn’t sense that.”

  Hector thought for a moment and then shrugged. “Magic is intangible. How do you describe something that appears to be invisible to others, but to you is like a sunset of colors?”

  “I guess like that,” Zaria laughed. “But that doesn’t help me. How do I see it?”

  “It’s more like a gut feeling. The intent in the magic can be felt, too. You should be able to distinguish something enchanted to do harm from something enchanted to do good.”

  “So good magic is like what – being embraced by sunshine?” asked Filip.

  Hector waved his hand in the universal gesture that meant maybe. “Not quite, but yes, you could say that.”

  “And bad magic would be like getting hit by an icy blast of wind?” asked Zaria.

  “Maybe it’s better to say that good magic feels like someone is giving you something, and bad magic feels like someone is taking something away,” said Hector. He shrugged. “I honestly don’t know how to describe it, Princess. I’ve never had to before. It’s been instinctual for me ever since I was a small lad.”

  “I still feel like I’m missing something,” Zaria sighed. “Good magic feels good; bad magic feels bad. Not exactly helpful. How do I detect it? How do I use it?”

  “I wish Helena were here,” Hector replied, studying the beam of light cast by the necklace. He pocketed it and kept walking. “She’d be able to teach these things to you. I don’t know much about sorcery, Princess, and
for that I am sorry. Maybe Madam Brown can help with this. She has a little magic herself.”

  Zaria looked behind her at the brownie, who was diligently working her way over the uneven terrain, climbing over a log, after Geirr had cleared it. Madam Brown refused help from her friend and continued on her own. When she caught up with Zaria and Hector, she stopped.

  “Tis there something you need, Stag Lord?” she squeaked.

  “Yes,” he said, gesturing to Zaria. “Can you explain to Zaria how your magic works? She needs some clarification, and I’m afraid the only magic I know how to describe is the transformations that the ellefolken make from elk to being to tree. We’ll take a quick break, rest our feet for a moment, and then move on. We should reach Malmdor before nightfall.”

  Madam Brown, her head tilted slightly to the side, took in Zaria with her beady eyes. Then she clapped her hands and motioned for Zaria to bend down. Zaria did so and the two stared at each other for a moment unblinking. Frankly, it made Zaria a little uncomfortable, but she tried not to squirm.

  Eventually, Madam Brown must have seen in Zaria what she searched for, because she clambered onto a rock and sat down, motioning for Zaria to join her. When she had, the brownie undid Zaria’s braids and combed them out into a soft fluffy cloud of hair. It tickled against her skin as the wind drifted softly through the trees.

  “Um,” Zaria murmured. “What does this have to do with magic?”

  “Shh,” said Madam Brown, sounding almost motherly. “This tis how my mother explained magic to me.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Zaria, fidgeting a little. She couldn’t help it.

  “My mother was not a Madam. She never earned that title during her lifetime. She did not regret her life, because her charges were us, her children. She didn’t want to be a protector of a place. Her eccentricity aside, she knew a lot about magic and helped my sisters and me to reach our full potential.

  “Growing up, my sisters had a quick and clear grasp of magic. Meanwhile, I had the hardest time performing even the simplest of magical tasks around hearth and home. I couldn’t figure out basic things, and it made me the laughing stock among my older siblings.

  “My mother had more patience than I did. At night while combing out my hair, she would explain over and over how magic worked. She said it would unblock me to think of something simple, like my hair. I’ll never forget the night when magic finally began to make sense to my young mind.”

  Madam Brown paused, reminiscing. Zaria listened attentively, no longer fidgety, as she was eager to hear the secrets of brownies and their magic.

  “She told me that the secret to magic was merely believing you could do it and refusing to accept that you couldn’t.”

  Zaria frowned; that explanation didn’t seem very helpful at all. Really, it was just another variation of the speech all parents give their children – believe you can do it or become it, and you will. She believed in magic, didn’t she? She’d seen evidence of it ever since Olaf appeared that fateful day on the bridge.

  “That night after she combed my hair and tucked me into bed, I got up, dressed in my warmest cloak, and slipped outside. I’d wanted to master gardening magic. I hate seeing plants wither and die. I took her advice and refused to let it happen. I earned my Madam the following winter because the plants in that garden never browned, but stayed evergreen.”

  “How does that help me, though?” asked Zaria, turning around to face her. “I haven’t been able to perform any magic. Or sense it.”

  “I believe,” Madam Brown began sagely, “that you are simply under the misapprehension that you lack magic and the power to make it real.”

  Zaria had nothing to say to that, because a part of her thought that it was true. After all, hadn’t Koll stolen it from her? How did she even get it back? Glumly, she thought, perhaps she wouldn’t. She got up and joined the others, braiding her hair again as they pressed forward, lost in thought as she searched for magic.

  Chapter Four: The Malmdor Beastie

  Hector was right that the group wasn’t far from Malmdor. They reached the entrance before night fell, and in the gloomy dusk that slipped around them like a cloak, they reached the edge of the forest and stopped. Below them in a wide clearing was an abandoned quarry filled with water.

  The lake was nestled at the bottom of a deep, steep pit. Its deep blue water was smooth and glassy, protected from wind by the rocky walls and surrounding forest. Zaria could see the lakebed in the shallower areas. Something large swam in the center, too deep to see clearly.

  “What is that?” asked Filip, having spotted the creature at the same time.

  Hector said, “It’s a water-wyvern.”

  “Is that like the Loch Ness Monster?” asked Christoffer. “Cool. No wonder they can’t find it in Scotland.”

  “You haven’t seen a winter-wyvern,” Zaria said. “I bet it’s more like Norwick.”

  “The flying snow leopard-bear-bat thing you told me about? Even better,” Christoffer said, rubbing his hands together in glee. “Do we get to meet it?”

  “Is it friendly?” worried Geirr.

  “The beastie is not friendly,” said Hector, grimly. “And yes, we will be meeting it. Water-wyverns are wild, unpredictable creatures. This one is particularly nasty. It was captured and transported to this quarry lake over a century ago. It can’t escape – water-wyverns aren’t able to live out of water for very long. This makes it very angry. The lake is too small for him.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Geirr said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “So, can it eat us?”

  Hector nodded. “It once devoured an entire legion of dwarf handlers because they smelled bad. They’ve showered regularly ever since.”

  Geirr looked at Zaria. “Why?” he moaned. “Why do we have to meet it?”

  “Look on the bright side, mate,” Filip said, clapping Geirr on the back. “Maybe we get to ride it.”

  Hector shook his head. “The water-wyvern is the guardian of Malmdor. Its job is to keep out all trespassers.”

  Christoffer sighed, disappointed. “Too bad. I would have loved to ride him.”

  “Will we have to feed it to get by it? What does a water-wyvern eat?” Aleks asked, readjusting his backpack and bow.

  “It eats whatever it can catch,” Hector said forebodingly. “We’ll have to be careful as we near the shoreline. A water-wyvern might not have much in the way of limbs, being adapted to the water, but it has enough leg-power to propel itself onto the shore and attack.”

  “At least it can’t fly,” said Geirr, relieved. “Small favors.”

  Zaria and her friends gasped as it breached the surface, blowing out a large stream of air. The water-wyvern was magnificent with a gray-and-white pattern. It had a seahorse face, with a long snout, and no ears. The top of its head bore a wavy crest that trailed down its neck.

  As the creature dove beneath the water, it flipped its body into the air. There were no scales anywhere on it, as far as she could see. Zaria half-expected a whale fluke, but its tail looked like an eel’s. The thing was massive, at least four times bigger than Norwick, and hideous.

  They stood there, watching the shifting, undulating, shadow in the water. Aleks wore a pensive frown, his brown eyes narrowed. “Does it have a name?”

  “The dwarves call it Vingar.”

  The light faded as the group picked its way down along one side of the quarry. The trail was thin and worn, with chunks of it missing every now and then along the edge. Gravel scattered with every step, making the way even more precarious. Vingar was aware of them and shadowed their progress in the water below. One false move and someone could be the water-wyvern’s dinner.

  Surefooted, Aleks navigated the path at the front, easily avoiding the pitfalls and pointing them out to the others. Madam Brown was right behind him, using a flashlight. Zaria stuck close to Filip and Christoffer, careful to keep to the quarry wall. Geirr and Hector trailed behind as the Stag Lord helped their friend stay cal
m in the encroaching gloom.

  “This plan is terrible,” Geirr complained. “It can’t possibly work.”

  “You don’t know that,” Zaria countered, upset. It was her plan after all. “Madam Brown knows how to shrink and expand things, including herself. If she can use the same magic on the water-wyvern as she can on herself, he’ll be pocket-size, too.”

  “I don’t know if you know this, but that thing is a lot bigger than Madam Brown,” Geirr said darkly, watching their underwater shadow. “So what if she can shrink it? A monster the size of a car instead of the size of two busses is still too big to take on.”

  “You’re such a worrywart,” Christoffer replied, cheerfully. “I think it’s brilliant. Zaria, you were smart to think of it.”

  Zaria smiled at his optimistic endorsement. She felt proud of her plan because even Hector wasn’t sure he could get them past Vingar successfully. The last time he had been near Malmdor, Hart had been located on a flat rock jutting horizontally from the quarry’s cliff face.

  It was the last time he’d seen his son. There had been too many roving hag patrols to stick around long. He’d only been able to discern the chains’ material, before he had to leave him there.

  Zaria looked at the empty rock in question and felt her happiness slip a little. She wondered where Hart was and how much further they’d have to go to save him. Was he all right? Was he scared? Had he given up hope that his father would come back for him? Would he forgive her for putting him in danger? The answers to those questions were so close. It made her excited… well, excited and nervous.

  Aleks stopped them a little further down the path. He surveyed the remaining trail to the bottom and Vingar’s shadowy form below. The water-wyvern hadn’t breached the surface since the first time he came up.

  “This is as close as we should go,” Aleks said.

  Hector came to the front and looked around. He tilted his head up, almost losing the antler hood he wore, as it slipped backwards. The last of the sun’s rays hit his face. He stooped to the ground and lifted a handful of dirt, running it through his fingers. The Stag Lord took a deep breath, smelling the earth.