Facing the Dragon A Novella

by Linda K Hopkins

Helen froze, mug of ale in hand, and stared at him. “Twenty years” she whispered. “But … how …” The mug was slipping from her hand, and Max quickly took it from her grasp, placing it on the table. She started when his fingers brushed against hers and pulled back. “You’re nearly forty,” she said.

  “Yes,” Max replied. She stared at him for a moment, then glancing at the mug, grabbed it and threw back the contents. She coughed slightly, then leaned back in her seat.

  “I see,” she said. She gave a slight smile, and nodded. “When last did you see your mother?”

  Max looked out the window, watching the waves crash against the shore between the dunes. “I haven’t seen her,” he paused, “in a very long time.”

  “Why not? Did something happen? Is she … has she passed?”

  Max shook his head. “No, she is alive and well, to the best of my knowledge.”

  “But then, why?”

  Max turned his gaze back to hers. “She doesn’t know what I am,” he said.

  “Oh.” Helen looked away and pushed her spoon around her bowl for a moment. “She’s not like you, then?”

  “No. I am what I am because of my father. She never knew the truth of him, and he left before I was born.”

  “I see.” She took a mouthful of stew. “You don’t want her to know,” she said when she had swallowed.

  “No.”

  Helen nodded and looked out the door. “I think we should plant the carrots today,” she finally said.

  News of Max’s return reached the village, and it wasn’t long before he saw Edith walking up the path towards the cottage. He paused to watch her, noticing the angry glances she sent his way. He didn’t bother to listen to the conversation she had with her mother, but when she stormed from the house twenty minutes later, he was not surprised.

  Another month passed, however, before Quentin showed up at the cottage. Helen was inside, kneading dough when he arrived, while Max was spreading hay in the cow shed. He could see Quentin through the door, and knew he was looking for him when Quentin paused and peered around the property. He stepped outside into the sunlight, pitchfork in hand, but it took a moment before Quentin spotted him. He marched over when he did, glaring angrily.

  “Why are you back?” he said as Max drew closer.

  “I’m working for Mistress Helen.”

  “Stealing her money is more like it,” Quentin hissed. He took a few more steps, closing the distance between them. “You are after the gold she keeps hidden,” he said.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Max said softly.

  “I don’t like strangers hanging around my family,” Quentin snarled.

  Max turned away. The man was not even worthy of his contempt. But as he stepped back into the cow shed, Quentin grabbed his arm, trying to spin him around. Max didn’t turn as Quentin intended, but as Quentin’s hand slipped from his arm, Max turned around and pulled himself to his full height, towering over Quentin.

  “Touch me again,” Max snarled, “and you may not live long enough to regret it.” He leaned closer and bared his teeth, allowing the slightest wisp of flame to escape from his mouth. A mixture of fear and confusion rose from Quentin’s pores, and Max smiled grimly. He watched as Quentin stumbled backwards, then turn and walk hurriedly towards the cottage.

  “That man is dangerous,” he heard Quentin say to Helen. “A monster. He will kill you.”

  “A monster?” Max could hear the surprise and slightest hint of alarm in Helen’s voice.

  “Yes! Look at him! He looks like a murderer and a thief. Mark my words, Helen, you will come to rue the day you welcomed that man into your home.”

  “Nonsense,” Helen retorted, her usual brisk tone back. “He’s the one person I can depend on.”

  Max stayed throughout the warm summer months, and watched as the leaves changed in the autumn. The next time Edith came by, Max saw she was growing with child, but as always, she didn’t stay long. Quentin, however, could occasionally be seen lurking about, watching Max as he worked. He never approached him, but demanded food and drink from Helen before returning to the village.

  “He’s certain I have money hidden away,” Helen told Max one day. “He’s been demanding that I give him some to support his family.

  “Do you have money hidden away?” Max said.

  “I do,” she said, as a wry smile played around her mouth. It was gone in the next instant. “But I have learned that money given to Edith does not go to help her children. Instead, that worthless man drinks it away. I refuse to give him another penny,” she added angrily.

  “Mistress?” Max paused. “Does Quentin know where you keep your gold?”

  “No. But I think he has been hanging around in the hopes of discovering it.”

  “Well, I’ve never come across it. You must have it well hidden.”

  “It’s in a sack beneath a loose board in the cowshed,” Helen said. She glanced up at Max, her eyes widening as her face flushed slightly.

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Max said softly. “I have no use for your money and my purpose in being here is to lend you assistance.” Helen dropped her eyes and nodded, but Max could smell her regret. Was she remembering a dragon? One who would steal gold? “I give you my word that I will do nothing to either hurt you or act against you in any way,” he said.

  Helen glanced up at him with a sigh. “I know,” she said. “My foolish fancies are running away with me, but I know better. My apologies for doubting you.”

  The seasons passed, and once more the weather turned drizzly and cold. As before, Max planned to find a more comfortable spot to spend the winter months.

  “Will you be back?” Helen asked when he told her the news.

  “I will.”

  Helen cocked her head slightly and regarded him carefully. “What about your own home? Should you not return there?”

  Max’s jaw tightened slightly. “There is nothing for me to return to.”

  “What about your mother? You said you have not seen her in many years. Perhaps it is time to visit her.”

  Max gave Helen a slightly incredulous look. “Do you remember how shocked you felt when I revealed my age? Imagine how my mother would feel, seeing me as I am and knowing that there was something strange and different about me.”

  “I don’t deny it will be a shock, but a mother never recovers from losing a child. I know what it is like to have lost a son, and I know her pain. She longs to see you, and will welcome you with open arms.”

  Max looked away. If his mother saw him and knew what he was, she would be horrified. “No,” he said. He turned back to look at her. “Should I still return here?”

  Helen smiled. “Of course. Until you are ready to face your demons, you will always be welcome here.”

  Max nodded. “I have no demons to face. But thank you.”

  The following day, the first day of November, Max walked into The Green Bell. He had no desire to remain in the town, but this was an assignation he would not forgo. He sank down into a chair in the corner and watched. The door opened, allowing in a blast of cold air, and Max saw a man step over the threshold. He was tall, well built and thickset. His yellow hair was pulled from his face in a tight braid, woven with strips of leather that hung down his back. As he glanced around the room, Max saw icy blue eyes peering from beneath thick, yellow eyebrows. His gaze paused at Max, and his eyes widened slightly as Max stared back. It wasn’t the man’s outward appearance that held Max’s attention, but the light orange glow that burned within him, subdued in his human form, but still clearly evident. The man turned and spoke to a few soft words to his companion, then strode over to where Max sat, taking the seat opposite. Max cocked his head but said nothing as he watched the man closely.

  “I don’t know you,” the man said.

  Max took a deep sip of ale. “I don’t know you, either.”

  The man leaned back with a shrug. “Erik Drakson,” he said.

  “Max Brant.”
<
br />   Erik nodded slowly. “Max Brant. You were with the Master.”

  “I was.”

  “But there seems to be some confusion about who you actually served. Aaron or Jack.”

  Max leaned back in his chair. “I’m here. Alive. What does that tell you?”

  “It tells me you could have escaped unnoticed.”

  Max snorted. “True,” he said, “but rest assured Aaron knows where to find me, should he so choose.”

  “And what are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “Just passing through. I live in the north, but have a villa in the south where the winters are warmer.”

  “What do you care about warm winters?” Max said.

  Erik grinned. “It’s the warm women that I care about.” He clicked his fingers in the air, and the barman hurried over with a tankard, glancing nervously between the two men. Smart man, Max thought to himself. “Now your turn,” Erik said.

  “I’m looking for somewhere new to spend the winter.”

  Erik nodded. “The south is always good.” He lifted his tankard, and downed the contents in one long gulp, wiping his arm over his mouth when he was done. “Come stay with me. I love a good story, and I’m sure you have a few to tell about Aaron and Jack.”

  Max narrowed his eyes as he considered. He had never heard of Erik before, but the name Drakson was one he had heard from Aaron. “Who’s your father?” he said.

  “Leif Drakson.”

  Max nodded. “Very well. I accept your invitation.”

  Erik planned to stay in the town for another few days before heading south, but he gave Max directions, and they agreed to meet in a week. Erik rejoined his friends soon after – all humans, Max noticed, and a short while later, O’Reilly stepped into the tavern. He sat down across from Max as Max ordered another ale.

  “Any news?” Max asked.

  “I found someone who knows the name,” O’Reilly said. “He said your boy sailed with Tom Smith.”

  “Tom Smith? You know him?”

  “Aye, I know who he is. But he sailed back in the spring, and won’t return for a year.”

  “Well, keep up your inquiries, and I’ll be back in the spring.”

  He threw a silver coin onto the table and pushed himself to his feet. “Don’t waste it in a brothel,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away. “Find a woman who will love you.”

  Max circled around the hill, dropping lower as he did so. Erik’s villa sprawled over the summit, its white stone walls gleaming in the sunlight. Wooden shutters covered the huge windows, while bougainvillea spread up doorways and around windows. As Max flew above, he saw the heavy, wooden door at the font of the house open, and Erik stepped into the sunlight. “There’s a place you can change at the back of the house,” Erik said, glancing up. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Max turned in the direction that Erik had indicated. In the distance he could see the ocean, glittering in the sunlight. Between the ocean and the villa the hills were green with vines, marching in straight rows along the gentle inclines. He dropped to the ground behind the building where a sheltered grove hid him from prying eyes, and was pulling on a tunic as Erik rounded the corner.

  “Come,” he said, leading Max into the house. “I’ve been waiting for you to arrive. Tonight we are going into the village.”

  “What village?” Max had passed dozens of tiny villages, dotted across the hills, on his way to the villa.

  “The one with the prettiest girls,” Erik said with a grin.

  Later that evening Erik led Max along a dusty path into a small village. As they walked, Max could hear strains of music. “They have a dance every Thursday night,” Erik explained. The path twisted around a low building, and they descended a long, narrow staircase before winding between the buildings, following a path that eventually opened into a small square. In the center of the square was a fountain, where three old men sat silently smoking pipes. Further away was a group of women, their arms akimbo as they volubly shared the latest gossip. “Did you hear..?” Max turned away to watch the young women dancing near the musicians. There were six of them, dancing in pairs as people gathered around to clap and cheer. In each of their hands they held a pair of wooden shells which they clapped together as they moved in time to the music. The steps were unhurried, graceful, the movements seductive.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” Erik whispered in Max’s ear. “Almost makes you want to eat them.”

  Max turned to glance at Erik, who laughed. “Not literally, of course,” he said. “But they do arouse my hunger.”

  Max snorted and turned back to the women. One of them seemed younger than the rest, and his eyes followed her as she moved. A crimson flower had been tucked behind her ear, the color bright against her dark, flowing hair. The color of blood, Max thought.

  “That’s Isabella,” Erik said, nodding towards the young woman.

  The music slowed, then stopped, and the women laughed as they paused in their movements. A few men stepped forward, and Max saw Isabella glancing around, peering into the shadows of the square. Her gaze fell on Max and paused as she pulled in a deep breath, but at that moment, a man stepped up to her, and she turned away. He bent his head down and whispered something, and she looked up at him with a smile. She placed her hand in his, but as he led her away, she darted a quick glance over her shoulder, her eyes searching for Max. A blush rose in her cheeks when she met his gaze, and she quickly glanced away. Erik looked at Max in amusement. “A conquest already, Max. Perhaps I shouldn’t have invited you here, after all!”

  Max laughed as one of the other dancers approached the two men. “Erik, you back,” the woman said with a smile. “You bring friend.” She gave Max a cursory glance, then turned her attention back to Erik.

  “Juanita,” Erik said. He turned to Max, but the woman was pulling him away, and with a shrug in Max’s direction, he followed.

  Max watched Erik and Juanita for a moment. The square was quickly filling as more people joined the dancers, while those too old to dance watched and clapped from the sides, occasionally shouting lewd encouragements when energy seemed flagging. Laughter and chatter filled the square, and when people were in need of drink, they ordered wine from the inn that opened onto the courtyard.

  It didn’t take long before Max, too, joined the happy throng, moving from partner to partner as the evening wore on. He saw Isabella across the square, dancing and laughing with her young man. She glanced in his direction a few times, and he smiled to himself. Next time, he thought, Isabella would be dancing with him.

  A few weeks passed before Max and Erik returned to the village. Max had thought of Isabella from time to time, and when Erik suggested they return, he felt strangely excited. The dancing had already started when the two men arrived, and but within minutes Max saw Isabella dancing with another woman near the fountain in the center of the square. He watched her as she stepped in time to the music, her lithe body swaying sensually. The young man she had been with before stood some distance away, following her movements avidly, and Max felt a moment of pity for him, so clearly smitten. The music stopped and she turned, her eyes widening as her gaze fell on Max. She whispered something to the woman she was with, before slowly walking across the square towards him as he watched.

  “You dance with me?” she said when she reached him.

  “I don’t know the steps,” Max replied.

  “I teach you,” she said.

  Max leaned closer, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “I think I would enjoy that very much.” A small shiver passed through her and Max smiled to himself as she took in a deep breath.

  “Like this,” she said. She raised one arm into the air, and looked at Max significantly. He did the same, and she nodded her approval before stretching out her other arm, stretching it around him, but not quite touching. He copied the action. “Now, your feet,” she said, her voice a little breathless. She placed one in front of the other, then
stepped backwards as Max followed, then repeated the action in reverse.

  The steps were simple and Max followed them without difficulty. As they danced, he edged towards the buildings that lined the square, leading Isabella away from the other dancers and into the shadows. He could sense her rising excitement, and when her mouth opened slightly, he allowed his gaze to linger on the sweet, pink lips. He moved a little closer, and her skirts swished over his legs. He could feel the crackle in the air, the tension of anticipated pleasure. He had not desired any woman since Anna, but the art of seduction was one in which he was a master, and he smiled slowly. His fingers brushed lightly against the small of Isabella’s back, and her movements slowed as she stared up at him, her eyes darkening. He swept the back of his hand over the soft, smooth skin of her cheek, and trailed his fingers over her lips, full and moist. He leaned forward and closed his eyes as he breathed in her scent. A face rose in his mind, and his eyes flew open as he pulled back, startled. Because for just a second, an infinitesimal moment in time, he had imagined someone else standing before him. He groaned silently to himself. The shrew had her claws buried so deep in him, it was impossible to shake himself free. He glanced down at the beauty standing before him. She was staring up at him, her forehead creased in a confused frown as she pressed her lips tightly together. In the distance he could see the young man looking for her, and Max pulled her gently back into the light, before taking a slight step backwards. The music was still playing, and he started moving again, and after a moment, she followed. But the thrill was gone, and when the last notes faded away, he breathed a sigh of relief. The young man was moving towards them, and Max gave a shallow bow, before turning around and striding away.

  Erik found Max later that evening staring out the window at the night sky, a glass of wine in his hand.

  “You left early,” Erik said as he entered the room. He crossed to a small table and poured himself some wine, before leaning against the table and watching Max.

  “I lost my enthusiasm for dancing,” Max replied.

  “Isabella looked as though she were enjoying herself. At least until you abandoned her,” Erik said, twisting the cup in his hand. “Was she not to your liking?”