by Resa Nelson
The chicken failed to answer. With closed eyes, it appeared to be asleep.
Skallagrim said the words Mother told him every night when he went to bed. “Sweet dreams.”
The boy climbed out of the hen house and cried out when the sharp edge of a rock hit his leg. Skallagrim held the basket of fragile eggs to his chest and wrapped protective arms around it. “Who threw that?”
Another rock whizzed past his head.
“Stop it!” Skallagrim shouted.
The chickens on the ground surrounding him squawked as if echoing his sentiment. Their darting heads looked in all directions. When another rock landed in their midst, they squawked louder and hurried to hide on the other side of their shelter.
“These eggs are for everyone,” Skallagrim shouted, still holding the basket close. “If you break them, you’ll have less to eat. Don’t be an idiot.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” A lilting voice from a hidden boy mocked him.
Skallagrim ground his teeth, recognizing the voice at once.
Frandulane!
Skallagrim considered his choices. He could put the basket down and challenge Frandulane to fight, but that would probably result in a basket full of broken eggs. Or he could high-tail it home and hope to make it to safety before Frandulane caught up.
Skallagrim opted for the most logical choice for a boy who looked forward to eating eggs every day.
He ran.
Hearing Frandulane’s heavy footsteps on his heels, Skallagrim zigged and zagged around the hen house and then across the courtyard until he spotted Mother chatting with a neighbor woman in front of his home. Taking no chances, Skallagrim ran at top speed until he reached his mother’s side.
The neighbor woman’s face went slack when she looked at Skallagrim and then beyond his back. “Your day seems to be getting busier, Snip,” the neighbor woman said to his mother. “I’ll leave you to it.” The neighbor woman then walked away just as Frandulane ran up.
“It’s not my fault!” Frandulane insisted.
Skallagrim’s father walked up at the same time.
“Sven!” Mother said to Father. “What are you doing back so soon?”
Father pointed at the sky. Only moments ago, it had been clear and blue. Now, angry clouds darkened it. “That’s a sky begging for lightning. It’s not safe to be outside until the storm passes. Everyone inside.”
Still clutching the basket of eggs, Skallagrim marched inside their home and plopped down on one of the benches lining the walls. He checked the basket, relieved to find none of the eggs broken.
Frandulane sat on the opposite side of the room.
“What have you done,” Father said to Frandulane, “that is not your fault?”
Instead of answering, Frandulane stared at his feet and brooded.
“He hit me with a rock!” Skallagrim protested. “I could have dropped the eggs, and he would have said I tripped.”
“Did not.” Frandulane shot a glare at Skallagrim. “Liar.”
Mother crossed her arms, and Father stood by her side. He kept his voice calm and even when he spoke. “I told you boys yesterday that I want this to stop.”
“He started it,” Frandulane said.
Skallagrim scoffed. “All I did was what Mother asked!” He placed the basket on the ground and rolled up his pant leg. He pointed at a swelling red spot. “See? That’s where the rock he threw hit me. I’ll have a new bruise by lunchtime.”
“Stop!” Father said.
Skallagrim didn’t want to make his parents angry. But Frandulane pestered him more than ever, and there seemed to be no end in sight.
Yesterday had been especially bad, and Skallagrim had kept quiet about it with the hope he wouldn’t need to tattle on Frandulane.
But Skallagrim now felt so full of desperation and hurt that he couldn’t keep quiet any more. He pointed across the room at Frandulane. “He said there’s something wrong with me.”
“Liar,” Frandulane said in response. His face became more troubled.
“He said you make me gather eggs because I’m not good enough to do anything else.”
Frandulane scowled, too angry to answer Skallagrim’s charges.
“He said there’s something wrong with me.” Skallagrim’s voice choked at the memory of yesterday’s accusations. “He said I’m not a Scalding. He said I don’t belong on Tower Island. He said I’m not your son.”
The room fell into a hush.
Mother and Father stared at Frandulane in dismay.
“Frandulane,” Father said. “It this true?”
Once more, Frandulane looked at the floor, unable to meet Father’s gaze. Frandulane shook his head in anger.
“He said,” Skallagrim continued, “that I’m not your flesh and blood. He said someone brought me here and made you pretend to be my family.” Startled by the way the words still cut deep when he repeated them from yesterday, tears streamed down Skallagrim’s face. “He said I’m a foreigner and you need to kick me out to protect the real Scaldings in this family.”
“Frandulane!” Mother said. “Explain yourself!”
When Frandulane looked up again, he scowled. “Uncle Urial says the alchemist gave him to you because it was so many years until I was born that you can’t have any more kids of your own.” Frandulane jabbed an accusing finger at Skallagrim. “Just look at him! He doesn’t look like anyone else on Tower Island. He doesn’t even look like a Northlander!”
The boy’s words cut through Skallagrim like a sharp sword through a thin film of ice covering a pond.
It’s true. Everything Frandulane says is true.
All Northlanders stood tall. They had pale yellow hair and blue eyes.
Although Skallagrim stood almost as tall as others his age and had blue eyes, his hair was brown and his skin several shades darker than any Northlander. He heard rumors about people who had his coloring, and they came from the Midlands.
“Am I a Midlander?” Skallagrim blurted before he could think better of asking the question.
Frandulane nodded his head in vindication.
“No,” Mother said. “You’re our son.”
Skallagrim felt as if he’d taken a step off the top of a steep hill. Momentum made it impossible to go back. All he could do was tumble down the hill. “Then why don’t I look like Frandulane?”
“Because Frandulane looks like your mother and me,” Father said. “You look like the woman who gave birth to you.”
Mother looked at Father with wide and frightened eyes.
An explosive crack of lightning made Skallagrim jump in fright. Moments later, thunder roared, and the ground trembled.
Still staring at Father, Mother said, “Don’t.”
Father knelt by Skallagrim and said, “Your mother was a Midlander and a very dear friend of ours. She died when you were born. It was our honor to take you into our home. You’ve been family ever since.”
“I knew it!” Frandulane cackled. “He’s a Midlander, not a Northlander.”
“He’s half Northlander,” Mother said. “And that’s plenty for this household.”
Frandulane pointed at Skallagrim again. “That’s why his eyes aren’t lavender like a proper Scalding. They’ll never be lavender!”
Too many emotions swirled like a blizzard around Skallagrim. His parents still felt like his parents, and knowing they weren’t made him want to reel as if he were seasick.
But Frandulane’s insults pushed Skallagrim into frustration and impatience. He aimed an accusing finger back at Frandulane. “Look who’s talking! Your eyes are as blue as Mother’s and Father’s. How can you call yourself a proper Scalding if you don’t have lavender eyes?”
Frandulane recoiled as if Skallagrim had punched him in the face.
“Stop it!” Mother said. “Lavender eyes is nothing to be proud of.”
Frandulane sniffed as if offended. “Uncle Urial said Scaldings used to have blue eyes. He says something strange happened, and he thinks it has s
omething to do with the alchemist. He says we shouldn’t allow her or her husband back on the island.”
“You shouldn’t spend so much time talking to your Uncle Urial,” Father said.
Frandulane sat up straight and lifted a proud chin. “Uncle Urial says I’ll have lavender eyes one day. He says I’ll earn them. And he says you and Mother will always have blue eyes!”
“I hope he’s right about us,” Mother said. She acted anxious and seemed to be working herself into a snit. “And I hope he’s wrong about you.”
The tip of Frandulane’s chin tilted higher. “Uncle Urial says I’m the best suited of anyone on Tower Island to become a dragonslayer.”
Skallagrim’s heart leapt at the mention of dragonslayers.
Every time a merchant came to Tower Island, all the Scalding boys and girls cornered and peppered him with requests for stories about dragonslayers. No island needed a slayer, because no dragon had ever bothered to swim to an island in this part of the world.
While other children throughout the Northlands, Midlands, and Southlands had the chance to meet a dragonslayer from time to time, no Scalding child had ever had that pleasure.
Stories about dragonslayers and their exploits were worth their weight in gold.
Lightning cracked through the skies above their home, and rain pelted down on the thatched roof. The sudden and violent sounds made Mother jump so high that her head almost touched the roof.
“It’s too close,” she said. “We’re running out of time.”
Skallagrim stared at her in confusion and wondered why they’d be running short on time.
But Father gave her a knowing look and didn’t appear confused at all. He announced, “We’ve made arrangements for a Scalding boy to train with the dragonslayers in the Southlands.”
Frandulane jumped to his feet. “Father, I can do it. I’m ready!”
“I think not,” Father said. Still kneeling next to Skallagrim, he looked at his adopted son and said, “If you’d like to become a dragonslayer, Skallagrim, we believe you’d make a fine one.”
“No!” Frandulane’s face drained to the palest color Skallagrim had ever seen. “Uncle Urial says I’m the best!”
The rain pattered harder on the thatch roof. Mother paced to the home’s single door and locked it as if worried an uninvited visitor might enter. Turning toward Frandulane, she said, “But your Uncle Urial has no say in choosing a boy for dragonslayer training. It’s up to us. You’ve proven you don’t have the heart for it. Skallagrim does. He has the heart of a proper dragonslayer.”
Skallagrim felt his heart pounding, not knowing what to think or feel. He’d never imagined his parents had such feelings about him and didn’t know how to respond.
Frandulane’s face reddened and twisted. “I’ll tell Uncle Urial! I’ll tell all the Scaldings!”
“Go ahead,” Father said. “Your Auntie Thurid—the alchemist you’ve so misaligned—is the one who is friendly with the Southlanders who arrange the dragonslayer training. Thurid is the one who has sway. If you hold her in such disdain, why should she want to do anything for you?”
“Because I’m the best candidate!” Frandulane protested. “Far better than Skallagrim. He’s weak!”
Mother’s tone softened. “You don’t see Skallagrim’s strength. He knows how to listen, you don’t. A dragonslayer must know how to listen. Otherwise, a dragon can slip up and kill him.”
“And a dragonslayer must know how to respect all kinds of people,” Father said. “Because a dragonslayer must travel through all types of countries with all types of people. Many of them will be very different than you and anything you’ve ever known. Skallagrim knows better how to adapt than you. That’s because he knows what it’s like to be different.”
Skallagrim gaped at Father’s words.
All this time I thought I wasn’t as good as all the Scaldings because I don’t look like them. But they were doing me a favor. They were teaching me things I need to become a dragonslayer!
“It isn’t fair!” Frandulane said.
Mother and Father laughed.
“If you think life is supposed to be fair,” Father said, “then you’ve got nothing but disappointment ahead of you.”
Lightning struck so loudly that Skallagrim thought the noise would split his head open. Brilliant light beamed in through every seam of the house that would allow it. Thunder roared with such ferociousness that it made the entire house and the ground beneath it shake within a breath of falling apart.
“It’s the Northlander gods!” Frandulane cried out after the thunder died. “They’re mad at you for making Skallagrim a dragonslayer instead of me.”
Skallagrim expected his parents to laugh again, but they didn’t. Instead, their faces strained with worry. They looked up at the ceiling as if the gods would rip off the roof and expose the household to the storm still raging outside.
“You know little of the Northlander gods,” Mother said in a hushed voice. “They care nothing for dragons or dragonslayers.”
Skallagrim huddled inside his home with his family until the storm passed. It didn’t bother him that the Northlander gods cared nothing for dragonslayers.
Knowing that Mother and Father believed Skallagrim had the heart of a dragonslayer and had earned the right to become one gave him hope. Skallagrim desperately needed to prove himself to everyone who said he wasn’t a true Scalding because he didn’t look like one.
I have to show Frandulane that I’m a real Scalding. I have to prove I’m just as good as him.
I’ll learn whatever I have to learn to become a dragonslayer. I’ll work harder than anyone else. I’ll become the best dragonslayer that’s ever lived.
Becoming the dragonslayer of Tower Island would make Skallagrim the most honored and respected Scalding. No Scalding had ever been a dragonslayer before. He would be the first.
The children of Tower Island would no longer rush to meet every merchant with the hope of hearing stories of dragonslayers.
Instead, they would claim one as their own kin.
But even beyond becoming a dragonslayer, Skallagrim decided he would do everything he could think of to become the best Scalding ever.
* * *
By dusk, the storm clouds cleared. They left behind an acrid scent that permeated the house.
Excited about tomorrow’s journey to his new life of becoming a dragonslayer, Skallagrim felt a pang of homesickness at the thought of never seeing the chickens again. They lived short lives, and he wanted to say goodbye to Miss Bitsy. While everyone else in his family went about their end-of-day chores, Skallagrim excused himself.
When he climbed into the hen house, Skallagrim found most of the chickens already nestled into their nests for the upcoming night. They clucked in alarm when he entered. Only Miss Bitsy stood on the floor and pecked at it.
“It’s just me, girls,” Skallagrim said. He sat on the edge of a short board nailed in front of the first row of nests, meant to keep them in place. He scooped Miss Bitsy into his arms and buried his face in her feathers.
She didn’t protest, although she wriggled to find a more comfortable position in his grasp.
“You’re a good girl, Miss Bitsy,” Skallagrim said against her feathers. “I’m going to miss you most of all. Be good and keep my family fed while I’m gone.”
She clucked and rested her head against his face.
“This is where you belong,” Frandulane said.
Looking up in alarm, Skallagrim saw his older brother standing in the doorway of the hen house. Not knowing what else to say, Skallagrim said, “I like it here.”
“Then stay. I’ll go to the Southlands. I’ll train to be a dragonslayer.” Frandulane grunted. “I’m the one who should be going, not you.”
Skallagrim ran his fingers through Miss Bitsy’s feathers. She raised her head and clucked at the intruder.
“You’re not the one they chose,” Skallagrim said.
“I’m stronger than you,�
� Frandulane said. “I’m better than you. All the Scaldings know it. Even the gods know it.” He took a step into the hen house. “And you know it, too.”
Miss Bitsy raised her wings so quickly that she freed herself from Skallagrim’s grip. She fluttered into the air but then landed on the ground in front of Skallagrim. Clucking louder, she paced back and forth between the boys as if standing guard over Skallagrim.
“Tell Mother and Father you’re afraid,” Frandulane continued. “Tell them you’re scared of leaving Tower Island. You’re scared of the rest of the world.”
Frandulane looked like a shadow outlined by the dusk outside, and Skallagrim couldn’t see the expression on his face.
But the sneer in Frandulane’s voice couldn’t be missed.
“Tell them,” Frandulane said, “that you’re too afraid of dragons to ever face one.”
Skallagrim’s voice trembled. “I’m not afraid.”
The hen house had only one door, and Frandulane blocked it.
Skallagrim felt trapped.
“Of course, you’re afraid. That’s who you are. It’s what you are. You can’t help it. You’re not a Scalding. You never have been, and you never will be.” Frandulane paused, and his voice turned cold. “If you don’t say I’m the one who should be a dragonslayer, my life will be ruined. It will be your fault. If you ruin my life, I swear I will spend my days hunting you down so I can ruin yours.”
Skallagrim wanted to call out for Mother and Father, but his throat constricted into a tight knot. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make a sound.
Miss Bitsy stood squarely to face Frandulane and squawked at him.
“If you don’t tell them to send me to become a dragonslayer instead of you,” Frandulane said, “I can begin to destroy you right now. I’ll start by wringing the neck of your favorite chicken. Do you want to just sit there and watch her die?”
Miss Bitsy squawked again, even louder.
The other chickens flew out of their nests and batted their wings around Frandulane’s face.
He cried out in surprise and tried to push them away.
Miss Bitsy rushed forward and pecked at his ankles.
