Zaria Fierce and the Dragon Keeper's Golden Shoes

by Keira Gillett

  When Filip reached out to do the same for Christoffer, the brown-eyed boy tugged hard and jerked the blond over his head. Filip came up spluttering. He cleared his eyes and treaded water.

  “What did you do that for?” he complained.

  “You were being too knightly,” Christoffer said, laughing and splashing him in the face. He dunked himself to avoid Filip’s revenge wave.

  “Boys,” Zaria muttered, rolling her eyes; but she smiled, as she turned and climbed after Hector.

  At the top of the stairs, Hector finished removing the chains and piled them neatly in a coil beside his son. Madam Brown was examining Hart, running her small hands through his fur and over his flanks. She pulled a bowl and rag from Hector’s bag. She gave Geirr the bowl and asked him to fill it with water. He rushed to do it and came back, returning the bowl to the brownie. She began to clean Hart’s wounds.

  “Is he badly hurt?” asked Geirr, making a move to stuff his hands into his pockets before remembering he was soaked. He hesitated and then held them behind his back.

  Madam Brown shook her head. “It looks worse than it is. He’s mostly bruised and sore under all the dried blood.”

  Zaria crouched down, unbuckling the scabbard and putting the sword aside. She rubbed her friend’s nose. “Hey there, Hart,” she said quietly. “You’re safe now. Madam Brown will have you mended in a jiffy.”

  He lifted his head and rested it in her lap. She was grateful that he seemed to have forgiven her for her part in his capture. She ran her hands gently over his nose and forehead, rubbing his ears every now and then. They were the softest part of him she could reach. Hart sighed under her tender ministrations.

  “How are you feeling?” Hector asked, leaning down to put the arrow-heart necklace around his son’s neck. “Are you feeling drained? Do you think you could transform? The necklace will help restore your energy.”

  At the words, Hart lifted his head from Zaria’s lap and looked his father in the eye. The look they shared was filled with unspoken words and memories. Zaria remembered that Hector had said he and Hart had fought about transforming not long before Hart was captured. She hoped they would forgive each other and themselves for it. There was no room for anger.

  “Transforming?” Christoffer asked, breaking the spell of the moment. He sat down cross-legged and patted Hart along his back, careful not to touch the raw wounds.

  Hector looked away from his son to her friend. He dusted off his hands and stood. “Yes, I can no longer hold off taking my place amongst the circle of Golden Kings. Too much is riding on the events to come. If the barrier is not secured, the void will collapse, and any unchained dragon can escape.”

  “Which means, Koll, and potentially his brothers,” Zaria said.

  “Yes, exactly,” Hector agreed. “Can you move, son? We need to get going. It’s not safe here.”

  “It might actually be safer here than anywhere else for a little while,” Aleks countered.

  Zaria looked to where he stood, leaning against the balustrade. “How so?” she asked.

  “Because Olaf and Floki have come and left already tonight,” he said with a casual shrug. “I think we could rest, and get moving in a few hours.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m beat,” Geirr said, yawning. “It’s been a long day.”

  “It has,” Filip agreed. “Plus it’d be nice to be dry. Madam Brown can you help us out with that?”

  A strong warm wind swirled in a vortex around them. Geirr and Filip grabbed onto the railing, to hold their balance. Aleks’ red hair turned as spikey as Christoffer’s normally was. Zaria’s clothes rippled furiously in the churning air. Even her hair blew every which way, creating a halo of frizz. It was like being stuck in a dryer.

  When it was over, Zaria began to fix her hair, using her fingers as a comb. She plaited it in a French braid to keep it out of her eyes and tossed it over her shoulder. It hung almost midway down her back.

  “Do we camp?” Aleks asked.

  Hector nodded at Hart. “It depends on him. Can you walk? You’re not easy to carry around anymore.”

  Hart struggled to his feet. Zaria watched his efforts, and shook her head. “It’s too soon. You should rest, Hart.”

  He blew a hot breath of air at her face, as if to say, “I can do this.”

  Zaria raised a brow at him. It was clear to her that he could hardly keep his feet under him. Zaria pushed on his shoulders, forcing him back down. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’re all together now. It’ll be okay. You rest. Heal. We’ll set up camp and keep watch.”

  “If we do this,” Hector said, giving Zaria a stern glance. “No wandering off.”

  He missed the stink-eye she shot at his back.

  As camp was organized, Madam Brown gave Zaria the task of unshrinking Hector’s cloak. The small bundle was soaked. Zaria wrung it out and laid it on the stone floor. She poked it with a finger and said, “Grow.”

  Of course, it didn’t do anything. She hadn’t dared think that it would. Still, it would have been nice to get something right. She poked it again and thought, “Grow.” Nothing.

  Zaria picked up the cloak and went down to the water’s edge. She took off her shoes and sat on the steps, dangling her feet in the water. She watched Vingar swim and dart about hunting for food. He was practically invisible, merely a shadow slicing across the surface in the dim lighting.

  “How did I shrink you?” she murmured, watching him. She shook the cloak. “How am I going to unshrink you, if I can’t even do it on Hector’s dumb cloak?”

  Filip sat next to her, putting his feet in the water beside hers. “Having trouble, Zar-Zar?” he asked.

  She nodded, feeling glum. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “What have you tried?”

  “I’ve poked it, said, ‘grow’, and thought ‘grow’,” she said, wiggling her fingers. “I didn’t feel any magic in my hands, though.”

  “Is that how you shrank Vingar? With your hands?” Filip examined hers and declared, “They look pretty ordinary to me.”

  Zaria gave a short, humorless laugh. “That’s what I’m afraid of. What if… what if I’ve used up all my magic?”

  “Is that possible?” Filip asked, concern showing on his face.

  Zaria shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything!” She kicked her foot, sending a splash of water into the middle of the lake. She looked up at him and asked softly, “What if this is it, and I’ll never wield magic again? What if Koll stole it all, and what I used on Vingar was the only bit that he hadn’t gotten to yet?”

  Filip picked up the cloak and held it to her. “You can’t give up. That’s exactly what Koll would want. If you don’t have control over your magic, then you’re not a threat.”

  She let out a breath of pent-up frustration and took the cloak from him. “I hate it, when you’re right.”

  “Just putting things into perspective,” he said with a wink.

  “What’s going on down there?” Christoffer asked, leaning over the balustrade.

  “Magic!” she said, glancing up and holding out the shrunken cloak. “Hopefully,” she added, as an aside to Filip.

  “Cool,” said Christoffer. “I’ll be right down.”

  “No way,” said Geirr, handing Christoffer an armload of wrapped packages. “You don’t get to do all the fun stuff. Sometimes the rest of us get to do that, while you help Madam Brown make dinner.”

  Christoffer pouted for a moment, before shrugging and heading over to where Hector had put together a small cooking station. Geirr grinned and went down the stairs two at a time to join Zaria and Filip. He landed with a thud beside them and groaned.

  “Oh man,” he said, stretching and yawning. “I’m ready for sleep. I really miss the tents.”

  Filip propped himself against the stairs. “I don’t know, mate, I kind of enjoy camping without all the extras. We’re a little more rustic, a little more heroic, and a lot more cool.”

  �
�Don’t be quick to get rid of modern conveniences,” Zaria said with a laugh. “I’d take a bed over being cool any day, and it’d be nice to have access to a real bathroom again.”

  Geirr picked up Hector’s cloak. “No luck in returning this thing to its proper size?”

  “None,” she said, pursing her lips. “I was going to give it another try.”

  “Go for it,” Geirr said, shifting positions and holding it up for her.

  Zaria took a deep breath and held out her hands toward the cloak. She thought about the antlers growing larger and the cloak expanding. Screwing up her eyes, she wiggled her fingers and said, “Grow!”

  An electrifying tingle shot down her arms. She felt it leave her in a rush. The cloak doubled in size, but stopped short of regaining its original shape.

  “Wow,” Filip said, looking over her shoulder. “You’re doing it, Zar-Zar!”

  “One more time should do it,” Geirr said. “You’re halfway there.”

  The thrill of it carried Zaria forward. She held out her hands again and twitched her fingers. “Come on cloak, grow to your normal size.”

  Geirr frowned when nothing happened. “Maybe you were too complicated,” he suggested. “Grow worked before by itself, try that.”

  She stared hard at the cloak, feeling her eyes get hot with tears. She held them back by sheer will and tried again. “Grow,” she commanded, her voice thick with disappointment and frustration.

  The rush of magic was glaringly absent. She slumped down and covered her face with her hands. Why couldn’t she get a handle on her magic? Why was it so difficult? Why hadn’t Helena left her instructions? How could she stop Koll from escaping the Under Realm without her magic? A hot, angry, lump gathered in her chest, choking her.

  “Don’t cry, Zaria,” Filip said, laying a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m not,” she denied hotly. She rubbed her eyes, dashing away the single tear that had leaked over. “I’m not crying. I’m not.”

  “Of course you aren’t,” Geirr agreed.

  “I’m mad,” she said, clenching her fists.

  “You be mad,” he said.

  She scrubbed her face. “Let’s try this one more time.”

  Geirr held up the cloak, which would now fit around a small child, and Zaria screwed up her face and concentrated. She imagined it being large enough to wrap around Hector’s broad shoulders, pictured him wearing it with the regal antlers perched on top of his head, and knew it had to return to its original state. Before she even said, “Grow,” the magic was sizzling down her arms and out through her fingertips.

  The cloak transformed instantly and completely. It was the same size and shape – it was even dry! Her magic had accomplished two things at once. Zaria was fiercely proud, and the hot, angry, ball in her chest burst into joy, cleansing her of her raw and overwrought emotions.

  “You did it,” Filip said. “All you needed to do was get mad!”

  Zaria thought about that and shook her head. “I wasn’t mad when I changed Vingar.”

  “If not emotions, then, what do the two times have in common?” asked Geirr. “What did you do just now?”

  Zaria looked at him, a small smile lighting up her face. “I thought about what I wanted the magic to do.”

  “Do it again,” Filip encouraged, taking the cloak from Geirr. “Try shrinking the cloak.”

  She looked at the cloak and pictured in her mind how it had been moments before – child-sized and smaller than any of them could wear. The magic leapt through her fingers like lightning. By the time she waved her hand the magic was complete. The cloak had transformed again.

  Filip laughed, handing the cloak to Zaria and leaning back against the stairs. “You’re a magical genius, Zar-Zar. You’ve mastered the art of resizing in a day.”

  She returned the cloak back to its normal size and held it in her lap. She felt as if she’d solved an impossible puzzle. It felt good.

  “What will you do next?” asked Geirr, curious.

  “I don’t know,” Zaria said. “I wonder what my limit is.”

  Filip swung his foot lazily in the water, watching Vingar swim circles. He said, “I think it’s safe to say that Koll didn’t steal all your magic.”

  “Thank God,” she said, leaning against the stairs, feeling happy and free, as if she had shed an invisible darkness.

  As Vingar swam closer Filip flicked water at him. The water-wyvern splashed back, spraying them all. Zaria shrieked, and with a laugh raced back up the steps, carrying the cloak with her. She presented it proudly to Hector. He put it on, looking as regal and as noble as she had pictured him.

  Everyone gathered around the camp stove. Madam Brown dished out warm flaky cod fillets into trenchers with a hearty scoop of wild mushroom soup.

  “I made the soup,” Christoffer said, taking a big bite. His face screwed up in a horrible grimace. “Bleck. It’s awful.”

  Madam Brown dropped the scoop she’d been about to serve Hector back into the pot. She stirred it first one way and then another, before dipping a spoon and tasting it. “You used too much salt,” she said. “Tis easy to fix.”

  She took the children’s plates and scraped all the soup back into the pot and stirred it some more, mumbling softly under her breath. The pot’s contents glowed for a second before the light faded. When she re-plated the mushroom soup for everyone, she gave a nod to Christoffer.

  “Try now,” she encouraged.

  He did so hesitantly. With a skeptical sniff, he put the spoon into his mouth. His eyes lit up and he took another bite. “Amazing,” he said. “How did you do it?”

  “Magic,” Madam Brown said, scooping the fish fillets from the pan again for distribution. “Cooking, like gardening and cleaning, falls under my caretaking duties. I had to know the magic to receive my Madam. I’m just a modest cook, though, by comparison to other brownies I know.”

  “Your food tastes pretty great to me,” said Aleks.

  “Thank you,” she said, serving herself and sitting down to join them. “Master Brown of the fairy Winter Court is the absolute best chef amongst us. Tis unfortunate, he tis not allowed to teach free brownies his skills anymore.”

  “His skills are lost to the brownies forever?” asked Zaria between bites of the buttery fish.

  “Oh no,” Madam Brown said. “Many brownies seek him out for training. However, if caught, they are forced to work for the fairies.”

  “That’s awful,” cried Zaria. “Why don’t they run away? Couldn’t they use their magic to escape?”

  Madam Brown shook her head. “Our magic has its limitations. Once captured, we cannot leave unless freed, or we lose all of it – our magic – everything we’ve worked so hard to learn and master.”

  “The fairies also have limitations on their magic,” Hector said, taking a few more scoops of the soup, searching for the wild mushrooms. “They can control a few things to do with their seasons, like the weather. It’s all parlor tricks mostly. Their true magical skill is in the ability to create and collapse voids. That’s the real reason Grimkell wants the Lost Well, and it’s also why the other courts would follow whoever controlled the well.”

  “I take it the well was hidden from them so they couldn’t collapse the Under Realm,” Aleks said, copying Hector and getting another scoop of soup.

  “What about the dwarves?” asked Geirr. “Is their magic limited, too?”

  Hector waved a hand in a kind-of gesture. “It’s not really magic,” he explained. “They are good at forging items out of the magical ore. The ore is the magic, not the dwarves.”

  “Well,” Aleks said with a soft burp, “I, for one, don’t think Madam Brown needs to learn from the Winter Court’s Master Brown. Your cooking is the best I’ve ever had. Don’t tell my mom.”

  Madam Brown ducked her head in embarrassment, her ears turning purple. She busied herself with cleaning up the leftovers, letting the boys take over the conversation.

  Chapter Seven: The Headle
ss Statue

  That night the mood around the group was light and cheery. How could it be otherwise with Hart rescued? Their stag friend slept soundly, snuffling occasionally in his sleep, as Hector kept watch and Madam Brown cleaned up the dishes from dinner.

  Zaria and her friends explored the balcony and ventured partway down the hallway where Olaf and Floki had been. When they reached a junction, the friends turned to head back, but Aleks hesitated. He looked both ways and frowned.

  “What is it?” Christoffer asked.

  “Neither direction is the way out,” Aleks said. “They lead to danger.”

  “Is your spidery-sense telling you this?” Geirr asked.

  Aleks nodded. “Trust me,” he said. “This is not how we get out of here.”

  “Well then, how do we get out, mate?” Filip asked. “I don’t see us swimming back through the way we came. Not with Hart. How does an elk swim anyway?”

  “He wades,” Zaria said. “Kind of like a horse. And I don’t fancy running into that creepy lady again.”

  “What creepy lady?” asked Filip.

  “The one that stole my daggers,” said Christoffer, shuddering. “I’m with Zaria. Leaving through the water is out.”

  “Which leaves us what? How do we get out all together?” Geirr asked.

  “I – I don’t know,” Aleks said, worry clouding his expression. “I can’t sense it.”

  “That’s never happened before,” Christoffer observed. “Maybe Hector will know.”

  “Or Hart,” Zaria offered. “He found the Glomma without any trouble – well, except for the wolves and trolls.”

  Hector was sound asleep when they found him. Madam Brown shushed them and pointed to a nest of blankets next to Hart, who was covered in crisp white bandages. They followed her silent command and got ready for bed. Zaria settled down and leaned her head against Hart’s flank. His warm musky scent comforted her, and she fell asleep instantly, exhausted from their travels.

  Early the next morning, the children gave Hector the bad news about their escape plans. He said nothing, considering their options. Zaria and the others ate in silence, while he thought about what to do next.