The Witch (Dragon Eyes Book 1)

by Kristina Hlaváčková

  Sitting with her chin rested on her knees and arms wrapped around her legs, she watched a line of ants marching by in the grass. Only two days earlier Failon wanted her to concentrate on the minds of ants. It was almost as unpleasant as heaving the forest inside your head. An anthill was a collective consciousness, sort of. Unlike the forest, whose consciousness consisted of every single creature it contained, an anthill was more like a collective purpose. Each ant had his role, knew where he belonged and what he was supposed to do. Ants were like a continually rushing mosaic trying to tickle your brain to madness, a mosaic that could get very angry and start to bite. Ugh!

  “They know where they belong,” Elena murmured suddenly. Michael looked up from the whistle he was making. Wilbur opened his eyes.

  “What?” wondered Michael.

  “All these ants know where they belong. They have this path of theirs and they know where it leads them. They know what to do and where they belong.”

  “Sure they do, they’re ants.” Michael was missing the point.

  “I don’t know where I belong.” Now, she finally got it out. Except, Michael still did not understand.

  “I don’t belong here. I’m just a kid who doesn’t belong here, cause I am not totally elf. My family here things I’m somebody’s mistake. They let me stay only because if they didn’t, I might burn the place down under their nose or something. Back home they think I’m some kind of a freak. It was easier to send me far away, so I wouldn’t cause trouble. Mother left and never even looked back. If my family does not want me, where do I belong?” She felt like crying and bit her lip, not to, because Berber warriors did not cry. Her eyes never left the ant-trail. Her lip was bloodless around clenched teeth. Tears glistened in her eyes. Michael moved to sit next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

  “That ain’t true!” he said soothingly. A single tear ran down Elena’s cheek.

  “It is. I’m not really a Berber, because of Mother. I’m not really an Adragon, because I’m part Berber. And I’m definitely not an elf, because I’m a Berber and an Adragon. It’s confusing. Even that stupid forest is afraid of me, cause it thinks I’m a weird dragon, which is totally dumb, because I am a human and a bit of an elf.” Tears began to roll down her face in an unstoppable downpour. Wilbur coiled his neck to touch Elena with his snout.

  “Well, I’m glad ya’re here. And I care about ya’,” Michael said suddenly. “If I could pick a sibling, I’d pick ya’. Ya’re being an awful filbert sometimes, but I love ya’. And I don’t care what the pointy-eared fatheads think. Ya’re wonderful and I’m proud to be here with ya’. For me, ya’re family.”

  “There is no one I would rather spend time with, Beastie. You are my kindred spirit.” Wilbur joint in.

  “Ya’re simply ours and we’ll keep ya’. Ya’re not alone,” Michael continued. Elena sniffed.

  “C’mon, Eli, ya’ managed to kick Dars’ hams, there was none better than ya’ at the training grounds back home, and no one but ya’ would dare stroke a dragon’s snout,” Michael went on. A crying girl was beyond his powers. Not at all sure what was he to do with her, he was glad she was beginning to sob less. Pulling his sleeve over his fingers, he dried her tears gently. Elena sniffed and wiped her nose on her own shirtsleeve.

  “Yuk! And ya’ call ya’self a lady? Michael took umbrage. It worked. Elena half smiled and used her other forearm to clean her nose on.

  Elena closed the door behind her and walked across the room in the dark. She slumped onto an armchair, closed her eyes and stretched her legs in front of her. The room was suspiciously quiet.

  “I know you’re there. I’m in no mood to deal with you. Get lost.” No one answered, but she thought she could hear quiet whispering.

  “I mean it, get lost. The fruit bowl is hidden in the closet.” She could have sworn she heard a quiet: bugrid. After quite some time she got up again, slowly. All her muscles protested and she was tired.

  “I’m going to bed now. I’ll close that door behind me and don’t you dare kibitz, or make any noise.” It did not even feel strange to be talking to the empty space. This place was messing up her head. When she reached for the doorknob of her bedroom, something crossed her mind. She turned and said: “Good night.”

  ◆◆◆

  Michael faced Öron with the knowledge he was probably going to get his butt kicked real bad. He didn’t give a damn.

  “I don’t like ya’. Feel like a man, picking on a little girl? She’s just a tad. She has trouble enough even without ya’ adding to the load. If ya’ have a problem, go slug it out with Llillam, and leave her out of it,” the boy spat angrily. He’d had it and he did not care he was facing a much stronger opponent. Enough was enough. “If ya’ want to go on like this, ya’ll have to go through me first. And Wilbur says you stink. And ya’ know what that means,” Michael continued.

  Leaning on a long fighting staff, Öron scowled at the boy sulkily. If you could, of course, say something like that about a fair elf. Yesterday, Mother had had a long talk with him. It was not something he would admit, but she scolded him like a kid. At his age! Írimë, taken aback by Elena’s argument that their behavior showed disrespect primarily to Llillam, initiated a very ugly and unwelcome conversation. Nor did Michael have to tell him that Elena had a dragon on her side. It is quite articulate when a dragon lands in your front garden and roars so loud the windowpanes start shaking. When you get yelled at on the inside of your own head, you have no problem to understand what the reptile thinks of you treating a small girl the way you do. Not even Írimë was spared. Though Elena tried to leave Llillam out of the matter, a roaring dragon had messed up that plan. Llillam was not happy to find a huge, angry reptile sitting in his front yard threatening to burn his ass, although those weren’t exact Wilbur’s words. The dragon’s voice still resonated inside Öron’s head. Michael was just the icing on the cake.

  “I dare say I get the point. We have work to do,” Öron answered tiredly after a long silence. In a way, that was the end of it.

  ◆◆◆

  Failon watched Elena draw near. Elena had never before minded that their lessons started very early in the morning, because that left more time for those things she enjoyed doing.

  Today, the manner of her approach could not have been described as a walk. She was trudging along, her head bent, her shoulders stooped, her thumbs tugged behind her belt. When she’d dragged her feet all the way to his shack, he noticed her hair tied carelessly into a simple ponytail instead of the usual complicated braid.

  Biding him good morning sulkily, she collapsed onto a stool beside him. For a while, he waited for explanation. She did not seem to be inclined to offer one. To be honest, she would not have even known what to say. It was one of those moments, when Failon’s unasked question hung in the air. Unwilling to talk, Elena decided to ignore it.

  “The forest feels fire in you,” Failon chose a different line of approach.

  “Hmm,” was her only preoccupied reply. The silence that followed signaled it was probably not the correct answer. She looked up at him and reluctantly started pondering what it was Failon meant. Was it an announcement or a question? Failon was cleaning roots he had gathered the previous night. Elena picked up a small knife and meticulously started helping him. It was always good to occupy her fingers. She suspected Failon often gave her things to do, just so she would know where to put her hands. First, it was necessary to clean off as much clay as possible, carefully, so that none of the roots got scratched or otherwise damaged. All the clay would go into a bowl, so Failon could use it in his herb garden later. Capillary roots had to be cut off cautiously and sorted out by size into little bags. The longish bottom section would be stored separately, the pulpy part of the root needed to be sliced immediately into almost see-through slices.

  In the end, she decided it was a question. With Failon, it was safest to expect a question, mostly: why.

  “Fire is inherent to me. It’s as if it wasn’t even
magic. I don’t have to think about it. I hardly ever need an incantation to use it. Fire is the first thing that comes to my mind. I don’t have to concentrate on it. When I need it, it is … at hand. Sometimes it is harder not to use it. If I had to divide magic into easy and more difficult, well … spells with fire are somehow easier. And they usually do what I want them to.” She talked slowly, concentrating on every word. Helping Failon with his herbs made her feel she was doing something useful. It was hard to answer an unasked question.

  “Fire is inherent to you,” ventured the elf. Wasn’t that what she just said? Fussing over Failon’s inattention would be useless. So, she nodded.

  “What fire spells do you know?” He didn't even look up from his work, slicing one thin ringlet after another; carefully lining them so they wouldn't overlap. After a moment of thought, Elena began to recite.

  “I don’t know any more enchantments, but I can do a lot more with fire as such,” she added, feeling the list of spells sounded inadequate. Though Elena thought the fire incantations she knew, were few, she named two that Failon had no idea of. Despite her saying fire always did what she wanted it to, he did not believe her. In fact, he was quite surprised she had so far managed not to burn everything down. Had he been a tree, he would’ve also been terrified of her.

  “No one can master fire completely,” Failon commented dryly.

  “I did not say I can master any fire. I said that my fire does what I want it to,” Elena corrected him. Failon looked up at her. My fire? An interesting expression. And a dangerous one.

  “You said it was easier to create fire than not use it,” came one of Failon’s unasked questions. Elena pursed her lips.

  “When I am upset or angry, it’s like something inside me ignites and wants out. Then, throwing a fire ball is the easiest thing in the world.” She was only eight years old, but she was very well aware of how dangerous her words really were. Ashka had made sure of that.

  “Which brings us back to emotion control. I haven’t blown anything up yet,” she added quickly, before Failon could do it.

  “Power is dangerous for those who cannot control it, for those who let it overpower them.” Failon said.

  “I know how to suppress my anger so I won’t hurt anyone or destroy anything. Mother taught me that.”

  “Of course, but in order to control them, it is not enough to be able to suppress your powers. To master them, you have to learn to know them. Not using the magic in you is not enough. Having magic truly under control means learning to use it properly. You have to know how much you can do, how far you can go. If you can use magic only when you are afraid or angry, you are useless. We must teach you how to use your powers at will.”

  The look Elena was giving him, was quite alarmed. So far, she was studying the forest, learning about nature, herbs, healing, and history. And she was improving her fighting skills. Failon had even taught her a few spells, but he never wanted her to use magic deliberately. Frankly, she did not like the idea. Not at all!

  “And we will start now,” Failon smiled at her. Elena gaped at him with her mouth opened, but she clapped it shut when she realized. At the same time, she remembered the root had to be processed immediately. Dropping her gaze, she tried to concentrate on what she was doing.

  “But …” she tried to complain.

  “But, does not exist here, Eleanor,” the elf cut her short.

  “I’m able to use magic without being …”

  “Yes?”

  Elena hesitated and did not answer him. Some things were very hard to explain.

  “You are using only a fraction of the magic that runs in your blood,” Failon reprimanded. Elena opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her with a single movement of his hand.

  “To control your powers properly, you must learn to know them.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “If it were, you would not have to be here.”

  “Yes, but …”

  “Eleanor!” Failon almost raised his voice.

  “You all argue I have magic in my blood. But you don’t know what it’s like! When it happens, my blood seems to come to life and catch fire. At such moments I can feel every cell in my body. Can you imagine someone pouring hot lava into your veins? It’s like an explosion. You said no one could master fire completely. And I have that fire inside me. I know, I can’t control it properly. But every fire goes out without fuel or air feeding it. If it does not go out, you have to put it out. The bigger a fire, the harder it is to stamp it out. When I’m angry, when I’m scared, what is inside me flares up. When I calm down, it goes out, ‘cause it has nothing to feed on. But what if the fire I light up on purpose is too big and I can’t put it out? What then? What if I can’t control myself and I explode? What if I blow up everything around me?” She spat it all out at him rapidly, almost without pausing for breath.

  “I talked to Michael and I saw your eyes.” As usual, Failon answered very calmly. “Your eyes are those of a dragon. What awakes in you, is a dragon,” he finished after a short pause. What about her eyes? What was everyone talking about? She mustn’t forget to look into a mirror next time it happened. But that was irrelevant now! Elena remembered she was scared, leaned back, folded her arms in front of her and pursed her lips. There was no way she could have appeared any more defiant. Failon gave her a short look and continued doing whatever it was he was doing. He waited. Well, Failon would have said he waited. Elena would have said he let her stew.

  However, Failon was not the only one who could wait, and Elena did not intend to make it easy on him. Though she gave up her defiant pose after a few minutes and began slicing roots again, the silence between them literally sparkled with all that was left unsaid. Had he not let her occupy her hands, she would have not lasted that long. They processed all the roots and stashed them to dry, but Elena refused to give in. She was not going to be the first one to speak. An hour went by. And a few minutes more. Failon sat opposite her and folded his arms. They stared at each other and time went by, slowly and laboriously. The doggedness with which the girl resisted made quite an impression on Failon. After more than two hours of silence, he decided they were only wasting time.

  “We have already discussed this. If I am to teach you, you must trust me.”

  “It’s not you whom I do not trust,” Elena returned, desperately wanting him to understand, which he obviously did not.

  “You have no idea what could happen, if I lose control.”

  “I am here to teach you. If you refuse, I will teach you not,” stated Failon. Elena narrowed her eyes. For a moment, she forgot how terrifying that little experiment of his seemed to her. This was outright blackmail and that made her furious. If he wants it, let him have it! It was not a problem for her to blow up the forest with him in it just so she could say she’d told him so. She stood up so fast, her stool banged against the wall.

  “We need a rock. A big one,” she muttered, sure Failon must have gone mad.

  Running with that easy elven stride, he took her to a rock slab in the middle of the forest. She ran at his side, trying not to think about all the things that could get screwed up, and to listen to Failon’s advice at the same time. Unable to decide whether she was more horrified, or eager to get it over with, she paid no attention to what was under her feet and kept stumbling over things. The forest thinned and they emerged into a vast clearing. Here, a slightly bulging rock slab arose inconspicuously from the mossy grass. It was not the first time she has been here. Wilbur showed it to her, making a point in telling her that his kin used this place to bask in the sun. Michael, then, had commented that it was just a big flat stone bat.

  Elena found the approximate center of the big flat stone bat, and unwillingly collapsed into a cross-legged sitting position. Failon sat opposite her. She gave him quite a hostile look.

  “You’re a pain, but I would appreciate if you didn't sit so close,” she growled at him. It was really brassy to tell him he was a pain, but right
then and there, she didn't care about her manners. Failon stayed where he was. He could see her jaw muscles tighten. Elena decided it was his problem if he wanted to commit suicide.

  ◆◆◆

  From afar, they looked like a couple of statues. Under Failon’s hawk-like supervision, Elena tried to concentrate on her task. With her palms on her knees, her back straight as a trak, and eyes closed, she was looking for the dragon within herself.

  It was easy for him to say, awaken the power within you. Had he any idea, what it was like to be told something all your life, just to find out everything is different and you’re supposed to do the opposite? Do you know the feeling, when you are forced to write with your left hand, after a lifetime of writing with your right? It is a no go, it is hard, and it messes up your head. And you get frustrated. As if that were not enough, your own brain talks through your hat, not to mention muscle memory. Elena was fighting herself. In vain, she tried to convince herself that the whole thing was not idiotic, that it was not dangerous, that it was not going against everything she had so far been told and believed. She was terrified. And Failon’s quiet voice was unnerving.

  Time passed. Nothing happened. Still nothing happened. Nothing kept on happening. Frustration arrived. Her back was beginning to ache and the rock was hurting her butt. At that moment, she was a split personality with the two of her sharply disagreeing with one another. Worst of all, she remembered it all.

  “You are not trying hard enough!” Failon accused her. No matter how much Elena wanted to, barking at him to try it himself if it were so easy, did not seem like a good idea. Her back, and what Michael gleefully called the donkey muscles, protested painfully. She dared not think about how long they had been sitting there. She was bored! She was angry! And then it dawned on her. This whole calm awakening was nonsense. They could be sitting here until judgment day. She must get mad. So far, that had always worked. All she had to do was get angry enough for her blood to start boiling, but not too much, so that she would still be able to control herself. One good reason for fury came to mind, but she rejected it quickly, because Failon was sitting opposite her and she did not, after all, want to hurt him.