All possible preparations now made, she picked up the torches, dropped to all fours and entered the fissure. Deeper and deeper she traveled into the heart of the mountain. As she had hoped, the ceiling rose enough to allow her to walk upright. Time lost all reference and she marked the passage only by her heartbeat and the lighting of one torch after another. Still, no thought of turning back or retreat entered her mind. Her entire being focused on the shimmering glow cast by her torch.
A slight lessening of the obsidian signaled the end of the tube. Deneae bit her lip. The journey into the heart of the mountain had taken hours. The light came from the moon framed in the wide maw of the massive cave. A scrape against the floor extinguished the torch. When her eyes adjusted she picked out the various entrances to what she assumed were other chambers.
She gasped when a moonbeam travelled across the room. It lingered not on a rock, but the massive hulk of a sleeping dragon. The tip of the tail twitched as if the creature dreamed. After a soft snuffle, the movement stilled. The glow also revealed a white mass below her, where piles of bones had accumulated layer upon layer for years. Or eons, she corrected. No matter, the bones will serve me as a ladder.
As quietly as she could, she scrambled from one level to the one below. Each time a bone cracked beneath her weight, she stopped, breath held, only moving on when the dark hulk remained motionless.
Deneae slipped closer. Her blade rose to strike a blow from above. A strange thrall enveloped her. Unable to break the paralysis, she closed her eyes to slow her racing pulse. She looked up from her struggles to be pinned in a baleful glare. No longer sleeping, the dragon's eyelids were now open. Even in the darkness broken only by the fading embers of the torch, she knew the creature saw her.
A deep growl entered her mind.
Deneae held her position. Something about the creature's soul called to a similar chord in hers. “I can’t,” she moaned.
Trelleir waited for the meaning of his words to sink in. As he hoped, Deneae grasped the truth. But her lips tightened and she gestured at the pile of bones that she so recently traversed.
Her face twisted in confusion. “Who killed Witz? And all the other slayers sent out from the village?”
Trelleir chuckled. Deneae was one to fly the clouds with.
“So if I kill you, no more slayers will be sent to their deaths,” Deneae hissed. Rage flashed in her eyes. She raised the sword for the fatal blow.
Trelleir raised his head until his horns scraped the ceiling. His throat exposed, he sent a fierce thought.
~ * ~
The dragon’s vehemence stunned Deneae. Behind it, she felt the loneliness he did not speak. he growled.
“I am not a child,” Deneae mumbled. All the restrained memories surged forward. Clarity burned away indecision and confusion. “You are Trelleir.”
With a sigh, the dragon’s gray scales shimmered. He shrank into himself. His tail split and separated, melding with his legs. The wings folded back and disappeared. A heartbeat later, her mother’s friend—and mine, Deneae admitted, stood before her. In a gesture reminiscent of his earlier posture, he spread his arms, leaving his chest exposed. “Yes, and like your parents, Eneae and Adais, you did not run.”
Deneae glared at the sword in her hand. With more force than necessary, she shoved the gleaming blade into the sheath and stood there as defenseless as the man facing her. Her thoughts swirled with contradictions. The elders said dragons killed, yet she knew Trelleir was a good man. He forced a cup into her hand, jerking her attention from the confusion of irreconcilable beliefs.
“Drink,” Trelleir urged.
A sip later, the chaos retreated and she looked up to see him sitting on a rock against the far wall. The stone in her necklace hummed. Confusion at the pleased smile on his face disappeared in a sureness that could only mean one thing. “You gave my mother the stone,” Deneae accused.
Satisfaction twitched Trelleir's lips. “Yes. I put a small nugget of my magic into the rock.” He shrugged his shoulders. “The spark of life was growing within her. Your mother later told me the stone eased your hatching. I’m glad the talisman kept you safe.” The sparkle faded from his eyes, replaced by a sorrow that tugged at Deneae. “I’m sorry I could not do the same for her.”
Deneae bowed her head. “I do not blame you.”
“What will you do now?” Curiosity and hope flickered in Trelleir’s eyes.
“I don’t know. Finish what my mother started. On the way here, I found a cave in the desert.” Deneae lifted her chin expecting to be challenged. “In the deepest room were ancient drawings of a dragon with a wing spread over a pile of eggs. Someone had scratched symbols I recognized as hunter's directions. Other marks reminded me of the code my mother used, but the words didn’t make sense.”
At first, Deneae thought Trelleir had not heard her, then his entire body tensed. When the muscles relaxed, the energy seemed to have left him. “Deneae, what would YOU like to do?”
The intensity of his expectant gaze tore the words from her. “My mother left me coded directions to the land of my father. I’d like to go there, but...” Now it was her turn to try to hide disappointment from her tone. “It is too far away, even for a skilled sailor. And I’m not one.”
Trelleir enveloped her in his arms and laid a light finger on the hidden medallion. “I said there is magic in the stone. Your mother chose not to use it. She mourned your father too much, but you are not so bound. Feed your desire through the stone, and what you wish for will be fulfilled.”
Deneae sighed. She felt so comfortable in his arms, like she belonged there. She looked up at the face so close to hers. She wanted him, but he was a dragon. There was a way she could be with him—magic. Under his guidance, Deneae closed her eyes. She envisioned herself flying. A splinter of her mind registered when Trelleir stepped back. Time froze between one breath and the next. The world tilted, and when it stopped moving, came into sharper focus. Deneae swore she looked down as if from a great height. But her head was at the same height as Trelleir’s. It can’t be. He’s in his true form. He’s a dragon. Yet I am as tall as he is.
His eyes glittered. he bugled.
Gently, he rubbed his head along her cheek. With lighter steps than she believed possible for such a big creature, he led the way to the main cave entrance, and with strong wingstrokes hovered just beyond the ledge.
Bolstered by his assurances, she ran into the daylight and out into space. Wings caught an updraft that carried her skyward. Whistling in joy, she folded her wings and dove, only to soar again to the heights.
Trelleir rose to her side.
Story Behind the Story
I’ve always wanted to fly, either in the bright blue sky or the star-speckled universe. The daughter of an airline flight
engineer, I learned my numbers and letters helping update manuals and reading the instrument panel of an old Constellation. As a child lying in the grass of our central New Jersey farm, I would identify airplanes from their silhouette or tail logo and watch clouds drift across the sky. At one time I studied aviation and considered a career as a pilot, so it is not surprising that I’ve written several works that feature creatures who play tag with the clouds. Among them the dragshi, whose tales appear in the Dragshi Chronicles. In them, a race of humans can shift forms with their dragon soul twins. The dragshi and their dragon twins inhabit a world where two beings occupy one form in any given space and time.
In Denea’s universe, dragons and humans don’t coexist in a peaceful harmony. Unlike the dragshi, the character of Trelleir in Hatchling’s Guardian is a true dragon who can use his magic to take on the shape of a human. The last of his kind, he longs for companionship. Even if it is only that of a human female. However, she is a slayer. Sworn to kill all dragons, including him.
Come along with me as your tour guide to a world where dragons fly.
Helen Henderson
About the Author:
Helen Henderson
A published author, feature-story writer and correspondent, Helen has also written fiction as long as she could remember. Her heritage reflects the contrasts of her Gemini sign. She is a descendent of a coal-miner's daughter and an aviation flight engineer. This dichotomy shows in her writing which crosses genres from historical adventures and westerns to science fiction and fantasy.
Join her on travels through the stars, or among fantasy worlds of the imagination. The journey begins at helenhenderson-author.webs.com.
Other Works
If you enjoyed this story, check out Helen's other works. Excerpts and buy locations for all her novels can be seen at helenhenderson-author.webs.com.
Imprisoned in Stone - Magic imprisoned his soul, but not his will. Love released both.
Windmaster - Tales of love and magic on the high seas and beyond.
Dragon Destiny - For a human, a dragon form comes with more than just the freedom of the sky.
Or for futuristic romance or adventure, read her other shorts and singles.
Hatchling's Guardian Page 2