Max opened his eyes slowly, blinking out the gritty sand as he slowly raised his head. His body had ached after his fight with Aaron, but it was nothing compared to the pain he felt now. His wing throbbed, and he glanced down to see it hanging askew from his body. He groaned and lifted his long neck, glancing down when a stab of pain shot through his chest. A plank of wood, as thick as a man’s fist and as long as his arm, was projecting from beneath his heart.
“Don’t move!” For a moment Max froze, wondering who had spoken, then turning his head, slowly and painfully, looked to his side. A woman stood on the beach a few feet away, her hands held out in front of her in a gesture of peace. “I can help you,” she whispered. Max stared at her in surprise. He guessed the woman to be in her sixties, with long, gray hair pulled into a braid behind her back. Her head was bare, as were her feet, although her gown was new and unfaded. Max could smell her fear, but the stronger scent was concern. The woman took another step closer. “You were washed up by the storm,” she said, her voice gently pacifying. “You’ve been badly hurt.” Max glanced again at the plank in his chest. “I can help you with that,” she said. “Do you trust me?” Max looked back at her in surprise and almost laughed. He was the dragon, and she was asking if he trusted her. But when another stab of pain shot through him, he closed his eyes and placed his head down on the sand, submitting himself to her ministrations. The woman moved closer and carefully wrapped her hands around the piece of wood. Max didn’t need to see her to know that she was watching him carefully. She took in a deep breath and yanked as hard as she could. The plank barely moved, but the action sent a searing bolt of pain through Max, and he let out a frustrated roar. Pushing the woman aside, he clamped his own jaws over the beam and pulled. The plank came out and he spat it onto the ground next to him before turning his attention back to the woman. “I’m sorry,” she said, hurriedly stepping away. “It was more firmly lodged than I thought.” Max let out a sigh as he smelled her fear rising.
“My wing,” he said. His voice was raspy and dry. The woman glanced at the huge appendage, then back at Max.
“It’s broken,” she said.
“It needs to be straightened,” he said.
She nodded and took a step forward. “I wouldn’t taste very good,” she said, darting a quick look at Max. He pulled in a surprised breath, and pain seared through him again. There had been humor in her voice, and a slight smile trembled at her mouth.
“If I cannot fly from here,” he said, “I may be forced to test the truth of that.” She laughed nervously.
“It will hurt,” she warned. He nodded. She walked around the wing slowly and then leaning forward, carefully placed her hands over one of the joints where the huge framework of bone held the wings together. She braced her feet against his body and pulled. There was a moment of resistance, and then, with a huge popping sound, the bone slid into place. Max grimaced as an instant of pain sliced through him, but the wing lay straight against the ground, and the ache was gone.
“Thank you,” he said. She stepped away.
“I have been doing some laundry,” she said, nodding at a pile of clothes lying in a wide basket on the beach. “My husband’s breeches and tunic. He’s gone now, dead these past ten years, but I like to keep them fresh and clean in case anyone ever has need of them.” She darted a quick look at Max. “Well, I have work to do,” she said, turning around and striding away. Max watched her as she walked, and saw that there was a small cottage a little distance from the beach which he hadn’t noticed before. The woman had left the basket on the ground.
“Your laundry,” he called out after the woman. She waved her hand without a backwards glance.
“You bring it,” she said.
Max looked down at the basket again, confused. The woman was disappearing behind a dune of sand. How could she possibly know?
Max stood in the open doorway of the cottage an hour later, wearing a dead man’s clothes. He had been unable, at first, to even consider trying to transform. His energy had been sapped, and what little was left was needed to repair his broken body. What he really needed was food – the taste of warm, fresh blood in his mouth. But the woman had helped him, and the least he could do was thank her. As he lay in the sand, he could feel his body repairing itself, and after a while he mustered the strength to change into his human form. It had left him panting on his knees, but he had pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and dressed himself in the clothes in the basket. He held it in his hand now as he looked into the cottage. The woman was standing before a low table, kneading dough, and the heavy smell of yeast filled the room. She gave Max a long, appraising look as he stood in the doorway. “There you are,” she finally said. “I was beginning to wonder what was taking you so long.”
“How did you know?” Max said, placing the basket on an empty bench.
“I thought you would be hungry,” she said.
“No. I mean, how did you know about me? That I could take on human form?”
The woman straightened her back, and resting the back of her doughy hands against her hips, stared at Max. “I heard tales,” she said at long last. “I saw you wash up on the beach during the storm. Mighty awful it was, too. I still wasn’t sure that you wouldn’t hurt me, though, but then I saw how badly you had been injured, and I couldn’t leave you to die. At least not on my beach,” she added with a wry smile.
“Thank you, Mistress …”
“… Helen.”
“Mistress Helen.” Max nodded. “I’m Max.” He paused. “So you don’t make a habit of helping stray dragons and wild men?”
She smiled. “No, not usually.” A large pitcher stood in the corner of the room, and turning to it, she poured a large mug of ale, which she handed to Max. “Should I be concerned?”
Max tipped back the mug and downed the contents, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, placed it on the table beside the woman. “No. I never harm anyone who does not deserve it.”
Helen nodded. “Good. Now I suppose you are hungry. All I have is fresh bread and a little cold meat.”
“Another mug of ale will do me well. Then I will find my own food.”
“Not one of my cows, if you don’t mind,” Helen said, raising her eyebrows remonstratively.
Max laughed. “No, I will not take your livestock.” He took the ale she proffered, drinking it more slowly. “Do you live alone?”
“Yes, ever since my husband passed.”
“What about children?”
She was silent for a moment as she glanced away. “Only one survives,” she said. “A daughter who lives in the village with her husband.”
“I’m sorry,” Max said. He leaned his back against the wall as Helen watched silently. His strength was still sapped, and he needed to eat to restore it. “I have disturbed you long enough,” Max said, “and I must to find something to eat.” He placed the mug down on the table. “Thank you for the ale. I will leave your husband’s clothes on the beach.”
“Will you be back?” she said.
“Back? Why?”
“Because the side of my shed is in need of repair. You come back and help me fix it, and I will consider your debt settled.”
“My debt?”
“Yes, for the aid I rendered you, and the two mugs of ale!”
Max stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. “You drive a hard bargain, Mistress.”
“My husband was a merchant,” she said, “and taught me well. I will ready a bed for you.”
“No.” Max shook his head. “You should not have a strange man sleep in your house. I will sleep in the open and return in the morning to mend your shed.”
She smiled. “I knew you were a man of honor. Go, then, and I will see you on the morrow.”
Max was back early the next morning. He had spent the night in a cave after hunting a small deer, feeding on its carcass until nothing but bare bones remained. The cave was small, little more than a large burrow dug out beneath the r
oots of a few, very old trees on the side of a small hillock. There had been just enough room for him to curl himself into, and throughout the night, as animals passed cautiously overhead, clods of earth had rained down on him. But he had barely noticed these inconveniences, and within minutes had fallen into a deep, refreshing sleep. By the morning his wounds were healed and his strength restored, and he was able to tackle the broken wall of Helen’s shed with ease. Helen watched him work for a few minutes, then nodding her approval, turned and went back to the cottage. Shortly before noon, she returned with a bowl of stew and a hunk of steaming, fresh bread.
“Do you eat human food?” she asked, her eyes trained on the bowl in her hands.
“Thank you, Mistress, I do.” He waited for her to look up, then smiled. “That stew smells delicious.”
She returned the smile and gave him the bowl, which he took over to eat on a large rock near the shed. She watched him as he ate, and when he was done, he returned the bowl to her with a nod of thanks.
At midafternoon, Helen came out to inspect the work. “You’ve done a good job,” she said approvingly. “Tomorrow you can start mending the wall.”
“Tomorrow?” Max said, startled.
She gave him a narrowed stare. “Do you have somewhere else you need to be?”
“Well … no.”
“Good. Then I will expect you here first thing in the morning.”
And so Max came back the next morning. He wondered what it was about Helen that made him agree to stay. That she needed some help around the property was clear – the wall around it was built of stone, and was falling down in many places, the roof needed rethatching, the fields needed tilling, and there was a pile of wood that needed to be chopped. But these reasons were not what compelled Max to return each day. Something else brought him back, something that he hardly even admitted to himself. It was because Helen reminded him of his mother. For the first time in years – decades, even – he found himself thinking about her, wondering if she, too, was alone. He would never see her again, but he hoped that there was someone to help her as he helped Helen. And so, day after day, he returned. Time passed, and the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months.
As he worked, Max often spied Helen watching him through the shutters in the kitchen. He could sense her confusion: could she really trust Max? She had helped a monster, but when she watched Max, there was no sign of a dragon. Instead, all she saw was a fit and healthy man. In fact, Max took great care to appear as human as possible, and as the weeks passed, he could sense her growing ease in his company. One rainy, miserable day Helen invited Max join her in the cottage for dinner, and after a few more weeks, he was sharing supper with her as well. They talked of inconsequential things – the weather, the ongoing repairs, the cow that wasn’t producing milk. He learned that her merchant husband had travelled throughout the civilized world, buying rare items in one city and selling them in another, returning only when frozen waterways and icy roads forced him back home to wait for the spring thaw. But when Max asked Helen about her children, she became silent, then changed the subject.
Max had already been working for Helen for several weeks when he saw a woman approach the cottage. Helen lived five miles from the village, away from the main road, and few people passed that way. He watched the woman as she walked unhesitatingly to the door of the cottage, her eyes darting around as she took in the cleaned gardens and repaired wall. She paused when her gaze fell on Max, wearing a thin linen shirt hanging open at the chest and loose at the waist, and he saw her eyes narrow as her lips pursed in disapproval. She turned back to the cottage and entered, and a moment later, conversation drifted through the open door.
“Who is that man, Mother?”
“He’s been helping me. I cannot manage everything alone.”
“Quentin would help you.”
There was a short, dry laugh. “Quentin? He can barely lift a finger in his own home. Why would he help me?”
“That man will rob you, Mother. I saw him. He’s dangerous. He wants your money and will probably murder you in your bed to get it.”
There was a long moment of silence, then “I may not have the physical strength I once had, Edith, but my mind is quite sound, and I am a perfectly good judge of character. I am incredibly grateful for the help Master Max has rendered, and you should be too, since this property will eventually be your inheritance.”
“I have six mouths to feed, Mother, and work twelve hours a day at the manor house to do so. What would I do with this sandy wasteland? Perhaps if you gave me some money, I wouldn’t have to work so many hours, but you hoard it for yourself.”
“If I gave you money, not a single penny of it would find its way to you or the children!” Helen retorted sharply. “That worthless husband of yours would drink it away before it even crossed your threshold.”
There was a loud, scraping noise, and the woman stormed out the door, her face red with anger. She glared once more in Max’s direction, before turning on her heel and marching away. Max watched her retreating back, then turned to look at Helen when she appeared at the door. She stared at him for a moment, then beckoned him over.
“I suppose you heard that,” she said. Max smiled dryly. “You had better come inside,” she said. She indicated a bench, and pulled two wooden cups off a shelf.
“Edith is my youngest,” she said as she poured him a mug of ale. “The only one that still lives.” She sat down on a bench facing him. “I bore eight infants, but only three survived childhood. The other two, both boys, followed their father across the sea. The oldest drowned when a violent storm sunk the ship he was on. And Clement just disappeared. He came to see me one day, a year after he took to the seas. He was in high spirits, talking eagerly about new lands that had been discovered, rich with spices. He had joined a crew who were heading to these new lands make their fortunes. That was the last I ever saw him.”
“He may still be alive, Mistress,” Max said gently.
Helen shook her head. “A mother knows these things. He was always a good boy, never neglectful in his duties. If he were alive, he would have found a way to get a message to me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. He glanced out the door. “Your daughter lives in the village?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “And she is married to the most worthless, lazy man in a hundred miles. Handsome, I’ll grant you that, but worthless. I saw from the start what kind of husband he would make, but Edith would not listen to me. She was headstrong and stubborn, and decided that Quentin was the man for her. She was only seventeen, and like so many young woman of that age, could be equally mature and foolish.” Helen smiled wryly. “And in one foolish moment she threw away her chance of true happiness, and ran off with Quentin.”
“She’s not happy, then?”
“Did you see a happy woman?” Helen frowned. “But still, she defends Quentin at every opportunity. He was injured as a child when a mule kicked him in the head, and refuses to work. Instead, he drinks away the little that Edith earns, then scolds her when there is no food on the table.”
Max turned the mug slowly in his hand. “He’s weak.”
Helen nodded. “Yes. And he has convinced Edith I am hoarding money left by my late husband. But I refuse to give her anything, as it inevitably lands up in his cup. Of course, she resents me for it, and sees me as the source of her troubles.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Max said.
“Why?” Helen gave a slight shrug. “Quentin will be here within the week to see the man who is stealing my fortune. I want you to know who you are dealing with.”
“Should I leave? I don’t want my presence to create ill-feeling amongst your family.”
“No. You are here at my behest, and your help and assistance has been invaluable. I would like you to stay.”
Max nodded. “Very well. Then I will.”
The conversation with Helen unsettled Max, although he would have been hard put to explain why. He changed hi
s form as soon as he was beyond sight of the cottage that evening, and took to the air, heading out over the ocean. Unlike the first time he had arrived at Helen’s, the sea was calm, with small waves that rolled gently against the shore as the setting sun painted the water red. He soared into the clouds and breathed out a stream of flame that rolled over his body. Turning around, he headed towards the forest that lay near the edge of the ocean, where he had made his lair. He could smell the elk that grazed between the trees long before the animal knew that it was being hunted. Max’s huge body slammed into the creature, and he sank his teeth into its neck, pulling and swallowing as the warm blood filled his mouth. His jaws ripped at the flesh, as his fiery breath seared the meat. Tearing open the chest of the creature with his massive talons, he ripped out the heart and slowly savored the hot, bloody flavor; and when he was done, he flew to the stream and dropped himself into the shallow water, watching as it steamed around him.
That night as he lay in his cave, the great beast dreamed. A young woman was walking towards him, her hips swaying slightly as she smiled at him. Her hair flowed down her back, and he longed to reach out and run his hands through it. He leaned towards her, but with a playful laugh, she danced away from his reach. Come to me, he pleaded. No, she laughed, you’re a dragon. He growled softly, and transforming himself, stalked towards her. She skipped away playfully, but allowed herself to be caught in his arms. Dance with me, he whispered, and he felt her body brush against his skin. He wrapped his hands into her hair as she pushed her hands against his chest. No, she pouted, but her body was pressed against his, and she was moving with him. You’re so arrogant, she said. They were dancing in the forest, beneath a canopy of leaves. The sun was shining brightly, throwing dappled shadows, but as they danced, it disappeared behind a dark cloud, and the girl drew away. Go away, she said. Leave me alone. You’re a monster. She turned and marched away, and when he reached for her, she was gone.
Facing the Dragon A Novella Page 2