Behind tight lids, fiery sclera saw the wild whites of frightened eyes and a chuckle rippled a long throat as twitching nostrils smelt the coarse scent of their sweat.
Cold air and mist hung over the sea. It deadened sound around the skiff. The creak and slap of the oars and the groan of the oarsmen offered a tempo to nerves. The skiff’s passengers huddled on the staves.
"You know, this reminds me of a quest I went on up in the Gore Mountains a few years back." Crespo, a Quest Knight from the North Kingdom, broke the silence. He spoke as he gripped the shaft of a pike. "Only there was no water there. Just rock and sand and mountains." No one listened. They had their own thoughts.
Four oarsmen rowed as one and ignored their passengers as they pulled them closer to shore. Every now and then one would look up and around at the blank grey sky. Perched in the bow behind the oarsmen knelt a marksman measuring the depth with a white rod every few feet. The passengers watched his white shirt stain with splashes as waves sloshed over the gunwales.
"Yeah, that was a tough one." Crespo swapped hands on the pike and wiped one down his tunic. "We climbed up a rock face like one of those small islets, the rocks coming from the sea, to get up to…"
A slumbering eye saw red. A scarf. Tight around a slender neck. Sensitive nostrils found a scent and recognised the hand that tied it. Hidden eyes watched the wearer of the scarf stare at Crespo while the Quest Knight spoke to his clenched fist.
The hidden eyes spoke: Ah, I see you. Hanna.
Hanna looked up and her brow furrowed as she glanced about. Did I just hear my name? she thought.
Numo was sitting next to Crespo. His eyes were shut tight as he focused on his breathing. Hanna looked at the Jienhuren, Skrawan, sitting near the stern with loathing and lust etched on his round bronze face. She glanced at Crespo mumbling about his northern quest.
Snake eyes saw all and a single heart beat with tenderness.
Hanna touched the silk scarf around her neck. She felt it too. Its smooth texture brought sweet memories. The girl recalled another round bronze face: the one who gave her the gift. “You’re my champion now, Hanna of the Hinterland.” How strange those words made her feel. The Quest Knight’s hazel eyes smiled.
The heart feeding the slumbering eyes pumped with renewed vigour.
The girl saw another round face.
Fern-green eyes saw him too.
The face of a small boy. Her brother, Mika, lost in an ocean of trees. He was the reason she was coming to Setchii.
Skrawan had laughed at her demands to join a Quest. "Who are you," he said, rubbing his hands over his great belly, "to demand a chance of slaying Wokwan?" He ordered the Palace Guards to throw her into the street. They were about to when Princess Xai Kai interceded. The heiress of the Southern Empire ordered Skrawan to permit Hanna’s request. That night Xai Kai gave Hanna the blood-red scarf as a gift, a good-luck charm. “My Champion,” Princess Kai said, and smiled. A rare event in the Princess’s short life. “You are my chosen Suitor, Hanna.” They laughed together under the gaze of the full moon that night as they dined in the Princess’s private apartments. “If you succeed in your mission, I will have to be your wife.” The precocious orphan of the House of Xai touched Hanna’s cheek with the back of her hand.
Hanna wanted to laugh. She swallowed hard against her feelings and pushed the misplaced mirth away. Oh, to be the future ruler of Tudihgai, the Southern Empire. She would have to overcome the mighty Wokwan and reclaim her brother first. Grenel’s knee knocked hers. He looked at her. Ashen skin, scored and scarred by many battles, carried little feeling. Cold black eyes glared at her. Hanna looked away. The cox, sitting aft of Skrawan and the Guizishou holding his tall halberd, called an order to his oarsmen. He pushed the tiller from his waist. The skiff steered into a low tunnel burrowing through the rock that fed an oval cove. Here the mist rested some fifteen feet above the water. Circling cliffs surrounded them. Blood-shot eyes peered through the fog but could see nothing. The water calmed. The air filled with a menacing moan. Everyone glanced about at the grey swirl. Crespo fell silent, then Grenel, squeezed in next to her, let loose a slow, loud fart. The noxious mix of meat and bear scented methane smothered Hanna’s face before a soft breeze carried it away. Hanna took a deep breath.
They stood on a sandy beach. The Merchant sailors, commissioned for the task of transporting the Quest Knights, huddled in the boat while the marksman stood holding a line ankle-deep in surf. The Quest Knights lined up with their backs to the sea. Jienhuren Skrawan and the Guizishou faced them. The latter had not taken the black Mask of Office from his face. In a leather gloved fist, he held his halberd erect.
Skrawan addressed the warriors. “Quest Knights. Suitors of the fair Princess Xai Kai.” He glared at Hanna. “Long has the Leng’nan Dragon brought terror to the subjects of Tudihgai. Long has this great Empire suffered under the foul breath of this fell beast. Long have my people wanted vengeance on the evil wretch. Today, Quest Knights, you face your destiny. Today you face the mighty Wokwan, the terror of Yellow Sea. Today one of you will deliver us from this heinous evil. One of you will claim the hand of the beautiful Princess Kai. One of you will become ruler of the Empire of Tudihgai.” Skrawan paused as if waiting for a crowd to affirm his righteousness. A breeze ruffled his opal robes and a ghostly call of a loon answered him. “You will ascend the stairs one by one to the dragon’s lair.” Hanna watched the faint shadow of the seabird drift overhead. “His lair is too narrow for you all to fight the beast effectively in a group. And bringing him out would mean certain death for us all.” He paused once more. Hanna looked at him. Behind her, waves licked the soft sand and the skiff’s keel scraped shale. “You will face the beast alone. Should any of you balk at this challenge and return to this beach without having slain the beast, you will feel the blade of the Guizishou.” He paused once more. A second loon called across the cove. “Now we begin. As Guardian of the House of Xai, it is my right and duty to choose who ascends first.” Hanna knew what was coming next. “It is my decision that the nuhgai-knight ascends first.” The other knights glanced at her. Hanna nodded. It would have been sooner or later, she reflected. Better sooner. “Do you accept the challenge?” Skrawan glared at her. He couldn’t bring himself to speak her name.
Hanna swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “I do, my Lord Jienhuren.”
“Then ascend the steps yonder through The Guard of Dishonour. Pass the faces of cowards and pray you won’t be one of them. Go and meet thy destiny. And may Bellof, the God of War, and of Fate and Fortune, smile upon you.”
Hanna bowed to Skrawan as custom demanded. Then she turned and walked with laboured steps towards the stone-brown stairs. Her war gear felt heavier somehow.
An alley constructed of wooden staves piled into the earth marked the way. Blackened by rain and sea-salt and blood, the staves signalled departure from reality and sanity. For perched on each was the severed head of those who’d failed to face the fearsome dragon. Beyond the Guard of Dishonour dwelt, Hanna imagined, madness and folly, and her death. Her eyes filled with tears for her little Mika.
The stone stairs wound up and disappeared into the grey cloak of Setchii Island. The leather sole of a boot slapped the damp stone of the first step. This will be a long journey, she thought. She hesitated, but she did not turn. Her back burned under the mail shirt, the calico vest and steel breastplate that clamped her like a blunt iron maiden. She lifted her right foot and dropped it, and then repeated with her left. Thus, mechanically, she propelled herself forward and up.
As Hanna faded into the mist, Skrawan scoffed. He turned to the other knights. “It will not be long, I’ll wager, when our brave nuhgai-knight comes running back here having pissed her breeches. Then we can all enjoy her nuhgai charms before the Guizishou adds her pretty little head to the Guard of Dishonour.”
Up on the stairs Hanna thought she heard a peal of malicious laughter in the mist. Her hand rested on a damp wall of rock. A glimmer of despair w
andered through her mind. A strand of Million Hearts brushed her cheek. She screamed. When she saw the swaying foliage, she felt foolish. Should she go back? Should she give this idea up? What had possessed her to come here and do this? She was a fool, fooling herself. “No,” she told herself. She looked at the Million Heart frond. “I only need one.” Circumstances had trapped her, and she knew it. “It will be better to die in the hot breath of Wokwan than give Skrawan the satisfaction he craves.” Her fist hit the lichen-covered rock. She drew her sword and climbed. As she looked forward, she thought she heard a guttural chuckle on the breeze.
At its apex, the narrow path petered out and entered a small gash in the rock. Hanna thought of Bellof and his axe. Had the God of War wrought this route for her? This narrow gorge led to a large cleft in the rock. The mouth of Wokwan’s liar. Hanna’s heart pounded in her chest. Her eyes peered into the shadows of the ravine. A gust blew against her back as though prodding her forward. When it faded, Hanna believed she heard the dragon snore.
Stopping at the head of the stairway, she looked back down. From that position the climb looked sheer. She had come a long way. The sweat on her skin chilled her spine. She leaned against the rock. Was Wokwan really asleep? Could she surprise the beast? As she drew near the lair, soft noises drifted from the cave. Hanna lifted herself and pressed into the fissure.
The crevice crawled with cobweb. White string and cotton-wool-like clumps stuck to her as she padded her way through the crack. The sticky thread itched. Her skin crawled with the thought of spiders inside her armour. Every muscle in her body tensed until an anguished cry slipped from her lips. She stopped. Above her head something moved. She pushed through the glue-curtain. Her unwitting cry had betrayed her presence. The element of surprise was gone. In the bell-shaped chamber that opened out beyond the fissure, featherless wings flapped ominously. Hanna stood on damp earth staring at the beasts. Her eyes fell on the Sino-Grey as its scaly body uncoiled, pulsated, vibrated and the dragon lifted its head to issue a low guttural growl. Hanna clenched her sword in a sweat-soaked fist. She couldn’t take her eyes from the head rising from its slumber, from the deep-cherry tinted sclera and the jet slit pupil staring at her.
The long neck stretched back and merged with the slithering torso uncoiling itself like twisted rope. As the dragon moved its scales glistened and rasped on the earth floor. Its narrow head hovered a few feet from the ground. Hanna imagined them to be slimy and her stomach churned. She took a deep breath, the first air she’d inhaled in a while. “I’m going to slay you, dragon.” She raised her sword and prepared to charge.
“No, you’re not,” the dragon said, staring at her. “Hanna.” Hanna froze. Her jaw dropped. “It is lovely to meet you at last, my child.”
“How? How do you know my name?” The unused sword weighed heavy in her hand.
“I felt you arrive. Or should I say, I could smell your trophy.”
“How’s that possible? You can’t.”
“I can.” Wokwan moved closer. “Come forward, Hanna. Let me see you. Shed that man skin you bear. Those garments discomfort you. Approach me in the apparel of Nature, the war-gear of truth and trust.”
The sword slipped from her grasp and before she knew what she had done, Hanna stood in a cone of light pouring from a hole in the ceiling. She stood before Wokwan naked and the dragon saw turquoise and jade flow from her. The beast curled its leathery lips back. A hot blast of breath hit her. She winced against it.
“Turn around, Hanna.” She obeyed. Another blast brushed her, lifting her long auburn hair into the air and she watched in horror as palm-sized spiders fell to the floor. “They fear you, more than you fear them, Hanna.” She turned back to face the beast. “It’s a long climb, isn’t it, Hanna? Kneel before me and let me drink of your scent.” Hanna stepped forward and sank to her haunches. The Dragon lowered its head, keeping level with hers. Its nostrils flared. “Hmm. You smell divine, my child.”
“Good enough to eat?” Hanna’s eyes opened wide. Her countenance became stern. A guttural laugh echoed in the chamber.
“In a manner of speaking. So, Hanna, you have come to slay me. Would you kindly tell me why?”
“Because.” Hanna balked at the reason. It felt stupid, somehow, spoken out loud. So, she plumed for an honourable excuse. “Because you strike fear into the hearts of the poor fisher-folk living on the coast.”
“Do I indeed?” Purple and red crept over Hanna’s heart.
“Yes, the fishermen say they are too scared to venture out of their villages to catch food for their families. Their children starve.” Her eyes dipped, unable to meets the dragon’s fearsome spheres. In front of her, she saw more spiders marching by.
“Oh, dear. Can they not eat vegetables and rice?”
“They prefer fish. They want fish, and they can’t have fish because, the fishermen say, you frighten the fish away from their seas.”
“Their seas?” Wokwan’s head dropped slightly. “I see.” Wokwan retreated a touch. “These fishermen say a lot, don’t they? But doesn’t it strike you as strange, Hanna, how these scared fishermen, who can’t leave the villages because of me, know there is not a single bit of fish to be had in the vast expanse of the Yellow Sea? But could it not be the greed and avarice of the fisherman that has emptied the seas of fish? They catch male and female, old and young alike, and think nothing of the years to come. When there are no eggs, there are no new fish. And instead of looking at themselves and accepting they are at fault, they blame someone else instead. Or something else. Blame. The. Dragon. They could come and talk to me about it all, couldn’t they?”
“What? When you kill everyone that comes in here?”
“And why do they come here, Hanna? What would you do if someone crept into your house intent on killing you?”
“I. I would.”
“Exactly, my child. Yet, I have killed no one.”
“What are all these bones here.” Hanna’s arm swept in an arc to indicate the devoured remains of the fallen lying at the edge of the cave.
“I hunt mountain goat, Hanna. A dragon has to eat, too, you know.”
“And those Quest Knights?”
“You haven’t met my friend, Raka, have you, Hanna?” As Wokwan spoke, a rattle filled the air. Hanna turned with horrified lethargy. In the shadow, above the opening, eight luminous hollow-blue eyes appeared. They shifted forward on stout legs bristling with hairs. Two solid pincers snapped in front of a lipless mouth. This created the rattle. As Raka moved, more palm-size spiders spilled to the floor. A rush of ice flowed over Hanna’s flesh. She tried to back away. From behind her came another guttural growl. Raka retreated. “They are more scared of you than you are of them.” Wokwan whispered in Hanna’s ear.
Hanna turned away from the spider. “You called him your friend.” She looked Wokwan in the eye. “Yet you threatened him as he approached.”
Wokwan grinned. “That’s what you heard, Hanna. I speak more languages than I care to count. I simply told Raka that you are a friend, not a foe. I have to tell him again and again because his thirst for fresh blood lasts longer than his memory.”
As Wokwan spoke, Hanna looked at the piles of bones again and saw husks of dried hide wrapped around the distorted skeletons. Dust-covered beige web cloaked each one. And more spiders crawled among them. She swooned.
“Look away, Hanna. Look at me.” Hanna turned to the dragon. “Tell me, Hanna.” Wokwan spoke in a hushed but urgent tone. “Why did you come here? You wear a suit of honesty now, not armour. Tell me the truth.”
“But. But I’m naked. I’m not wearing anything.”
“In the suit you bear, the suit Nature gave you on the day of your birth, you can only be who you really are. Don’t hide what is in your heart. Speak the truth to me now, Hanna.”
“My brother.” Hanna’s voice faltered at first. After a hard swallow words erupted from her as lava bursts from a blazing volcano. Wokwan’s mind felt a sky-blue cloud swamp her. “He’s a l
ittle boy. There are eight years between us. When he was born I thought my heart would burst with joy to see his beautiful face and bright green eyes. Oh, Wokwan, if only you could have seen his dear sweet face as he slept in his crib.” Hanna looked at the dragon as she spoke. The thin leathery line across its sharp teeth curled upwards. “He was so beautiful. My mother and I would spend hours and hours every day playing with him. How his little laugh lifted our spirits.”
“What happened to your mother, Hanna?”
“She fell. She slipped into the river when she was washing clothes. All the women go down to the river in summer to do their laundry. I’ve done it myself. To help my mother. That day she asked me to look after Mika, my brother. She went alone. All the other women had finished. Mother was down at the river by herself. I remember there was a commotion. People ran to the riverbank. Then they brought her.” Hanna sank as though the mud beneath her flooded with the great river’s water.
“What happened to your mother, Hanna?”
Hanna shivered in the cool air. “She drowned in the river.” How she wanted a shawl.
“How did she drown, Hanna?”
She looked down as if searching for the correct script. “My father told me, many years later, that people think she tripped or slipped on something wet. Perhaps she was rushing to get the laundry done so she could get my father’s dinner ready. But she slipped and fell. She hit her head on a stone and went into the water.”
“And someone found her?”
“Yes. Mrs Craiss, the baker’s wife. She picks berries along the riverbank sometimes. She tells everyone they are the best berries to be found around our village. Mrs Craiss is well known for her knowledge of berries and herbs. That day she was picking berries and she saw mother in the river. She called for help.”
“When did your mother die, Hanna? Tell me.” Wokwan’s head stooped low to Hanna. The warm breath from the dragon’s nostrils felt like a cloak on her skin.
Scales and Flames Page 39
