by Tara West
How would she explain? How could she?
The man Fiona had once loved, the man she still loved—had murdered Fiona’s mother.
* * *
Safina tried to stretch a cramped wing after waking from a groggy slumber, but she hadn't enough room, and her mother's thick scales would not budge. Her Mother's breathing came in gasps, heating the scales on Safina's neck. Occasionally, the dragon queen would sniffle loudly through her large snout.
Safina did not understand the noise her mother was making. Was she snoring? Was she sick?
“Mother, I am tired of this shell.” She spoke loud enough to wake her mother, although her voice was muffled in their cramped space.
“Cease your whining,” Mother snorted. “You have much more room than I.”
Safina did not think so. She could not even stretch her wings with Mother's large chest pushing against her. “Can't we go to the surface?”
Mother sighed. “Go to sleep, child.”
But she could not sleep now that she had wakened. How long they had been sleeping, she wasn't sure, but she did not feel like the same dragon who'd gone to slumber. Her legs were heavier, and her wings itched to break free.
Outside their shell, Safina heard movement—groaning and grinding and all kinds of dark sounds.
She did not like being trapped beneath the ocean.
“But what if mortals swim down and find us?”
“Mortals cannot swim this deep.” The dragon queen laughed through a groan. “Besides, Graechen keeps watch.”
How could her mother laugh at a time like this? A young dragon needed air, not imprisonment. “How long must we wait?”
“Forever, if need be.” Mother's tone was stern but soft. “If you learn nothing from me, remember this: a dragon's greatest virtue is patience.”
“I'm tired of being patient,” Safina moaned.
Just then she heard a sound so strange and wondrous, her dragon ears strained for more. The sound deepened, encompassed her, filling her mind and body with love and beauty all at once. Safina sighed as the melody arose from her mother's lungs.
“Sleep my child, and when ye wake,
The dragon’s dawn again will break
As frosted fields give way to spring
And little birds begin to sing
The summer rains and falling leaves
Grant the weary slow reprieve.
Slumber all ye hatchling queens.
Time abides for dragon dreams.”
“What is that song you sing, Mother?”
“A dragon lullaby,” Mother cooed into Safina's ear with the rhythm of the ancient music.
“It's beautiful.” Safina sighed through a yawn, her soul feeling so peaceful and tired.
“Aye, child. Sweet dreams.”
* * *
1433-1900
They snuck up on him in the dead of night. One buried an axe in Duncan’s spine, holding him at his mercy like an animal in a snare. When the other unsheathed his claymore, Duncan knew his end was near. His last thought, before he saw the flash of steel, was for Fiona and his child. He would never find them. Never tell them he was sorry for the death of Fiona’s mother and all their kin before her.
He felt the pinch of the blade and nothing more, wondering how he could still see his attackers though his head had been disconnected from his spine. He blinked up at them after his head rolled to the mossy floor. One screamed, swearing something in Gaelic, as Duncan’s body crawled toward his head. His lifeblood spilled out of the cavity that was his neck and still his corpse ploughed forward.
His nose twitched as his hand brushed his face. Then his fingers yanked his hair, pulling his head toward his body. The men fell back, looks of horror etched into their bony faces as his head fused onto his neck.
“Dullahan!” one hollered before falling over his friend.
Duncan slowly sat up, leaning against a tree stump and rubbed his aching throat. The murderers turned and ran, their feverish cries of “demon” echoing in the dead of night.
Duncan sat motionless for several pulsating heartbeats, too numb from shock to think about pursuing his attackers. The weight of the night’s events pressed against his chest and his limbs iced over in fear. He did not know who had been more terrified, they of him, or him of the monster he’d become.
His first thought was that Fiona was more than just a dragon. She was a witch whose unholy union had tethered him to immortality. ’Twas the only explanation.
After he gathered his wits, he brushed the blood off his hands and sought out his attackers. It had not been hard, for their hollers and cries led him to a small cottage where they’d taken shelter. They’d already killed the farmer and his wife, tossing their bodies over the threshold with a pile of bloody rushes and bolting the door behind them.
Duncan bid his time, knowing he’d have eternity to wait them out. The first snuck out at the break of dawn, creeping on his hands and knees until he was well away from the hut. Duncan buried his axe in the man’s back when he reached the edge of the woods. The other two were far easier, for they’d drowned themselves in their cups the night before and were still dead asleep in their cots. Their screams were lost in the gurgling sound of blood filling their lungs, as Duncan ran his blade across their throats.
Duncan’s only regret was that the farmer’s children had seen the carnage. They huddled in a corner with wide, frightened eyes. His heart stilled when he saw the oldest girl, a lass with wild red hair, but her eyes were the color of dark moss; she could not be his child.
They called him “Dullahan,” for he was all their captors had spoken of the night before. Surprisingly, they did not fear him. Their mother had been superstitious and filled their minds with stories of monsters and knights. They decided he was betwixt the two, both demon and hero. After he helped the children bury their parents, he gave them all the gold in his pockets and bid them farewell.
Rumors of the Dullahan spread throughout the land. No matter the town, there was not an innkeeper or patron who did not fear him. He stayed nowhere overly long, not just because of the cold greetings he’d received, but he refused to give up his search for his mate and child. His quest took him from one continent to another. No matter his destination, stories of his immortality seemed to precede him. At each new town, he was met with wary eyes as mothers pushed their children behind their skirts and fathers guarded their homes while clutching knives and swords with trembling hands.
As time passed, he wanted to hate Fiona for cursing him to a life of immortality, unable to seek the respite of a cold grave. But even after centuries of bemoaning his lonely fate, and the keen sorrow that twisted like a blade in his heart as he laid down each night in an empty cot, he could not hate her.
For it was she who’d first taught him to love more than his own pride and glory. It was she who’d taught him to see beauty in all things. And it was for Fiona that he still clung to the hope of finding love once again. In the meantime, he avowed to hang up his monster-slaying sword in exchange for a far more noble cause; he would be a defender of the weak and champion of the poor and defenseless, though they thanked him more out of fear than admiration.
Eager to escape the moniker of Dullahan, his travels took him to a new land, the Promised Land. He hoped in America he would find not only a new start but his mate and child.
He defied death many times over, first as a soldier in the militia, surviving lead to the chest and gut as he defended his new country against the British Army. And next as a pioneer out West, having risen from the dead with a tomahawk buried deep in his skull. Once again, rumors of his immortality preceded him. To the Cherokee, he was known as Kalona. To the Navajo he was Chindi. And to the white man he was anything from a ghost, to the grim, to Satan himself.
Men’s fear of Duncan served him well during the gold rush in California and Alaska. Those with the temerity to try to murder him for his gold were met with a blade to the heart or a skull full of lead.
He ret
urned to New York City much different than when he’d first set foot in America, not just because he’d lost most of his Scottish brogue. Over the centuries, he’d gained a great deal of wisdom through books and travels. He was also very wealthy and could have had any woman he wanted, but his soul pined for only one, his she-dragon, Fiona. For though his heart had been beating for what felt like an eternity, its rhythm was muted and dull, working as if it were half an organ. Fiona had taken the rest of his heart when she’d left him, and he knew he would find happiness with none other.
Chapter Four
Galveston Texas - 1900
The night was black as pitch, the crescent moon shrouded behind heavy, billowing clouds. Despite the ominous sky, the ocean’s waves rolled in a calm, undulating tempo.
Beneath the surface of the ocean, creatures bolted through the current in an erratic frenzy. They sensed a change in their midst.
They sensed magic.
Graechen rose slowly from the depths, pulling the weight of her cargo against the current. The work was tiring, but she would not fail. She’d waited nearly five hundred years for this day. She had the perfect plan in place.
Her monstrous head bobbed above the surface. Inky black eyes scanned the horizon, until she saw the cluster of mortal men waiting for her on the distant shore. She gave one final tug on the thick rope and heaved a breath of relief as a portion of the shell surged above the water.
She swam toward land, tugging on the net which held a cocoon the size of a small fishing vessel. Pulling the load became more difficult as she navigated through a mass of seaweed.
When the rocky precipice beneath her long tentacles gave way to a shallow incline, she crawled, fragments of coral and rock chafing her smooth flesh.
Graechen would not fail.
She’d listened to Fiona’s sobs ere too long. ’Twas time the dragon queen returned to the mortal world and reconciled with her mate.
Graechen struggled until the water became too shallow and her tentacles were no longer of use. With a resonant groan, she made the shift and at once sank her human feet into the soft sand beneath her. Her nostrils flared, and her stomach recoiled as she breathed in the scent of change. She’d no doubt a tempest was forthcoming, and she was about to leave the dragon queen and child in the eye of the storm. She stood rooted in the soft sand, and for a brief moment she’d nearly changed her mind.
She betrayed the dragon queen’s trust. And worse, she was forsaking the mother and her hatchling to much carnage and sorrow.
But the dragon queen had once been a great healer. If anyone could bring peace to these mortals, ’twas Fiona.
Graechen took a few hesitant steps and then heaved the shell landward.
Although she was a good head taller than most mortal women, the dragon pair were still too heavy for Graechen’s human form to pull by herself. She now recognized the earth speaker standing on the shoreline, looking more like a reed than a mortal, so bony and thin was he. She called out to him. The effects of the lullaby she’d sung would wear off soon. Fiona would awaken, and she’d be none too pleased to find herself again in the mortal world. Graechen had little time to deliver the dragon queen and child.
The speaker rushed into the water, followed by four brawny young men. Graechen smelled their fear. It poured from their flesh and permeated the water.
She repressed a smile at the shock on their bronzed faces. She could never understand why mortals clung to their foolish modesty. She needed no clothes in her watery kingdom. She did not feel compelled to dress in a sack for their benefit. Besides, Graechen had no fear of spawning their desires. She knew ’twas young flesh they craved. Though sea monsters were immortal, she was nearly as old as time, and her dark and shriveled mortal body exposed her age.
The men quickly averted their gazes and grabbed hold of the net, pulling at the cocoon. Graechen and the speaker helped, and they struggled for a long while before the speaker cried out.
The young men’s eyes bulged, and they released the ropes before racing toward the shore. In the next moment, a gentle swell of water rose and lifted the chamber, along with the speaker and Graechen. The cocoon slowly came to rest, safely nestled in a shallow depth, while Graechen and the speaker emerged from the water.
Chests heaving with each breath, the youths collapsed on the highest point of the sand bar. Graechen staggered through the sand, squeezing droplets of water from her matted locks.
The speaker followed. He fell to his bony knees and grabbed a woven blanket. He slowly rose and came beside Graechen, draping the blanket over her.
“Thank you, Josef,” Graechen murmured, scanning the wide-eyed expressions of the four young men. “Who have you brought to help us?”
With a sweep of his arm, Josef motioned to them. “My grandsons.”
Graechen inhaled the rich scent of their masculine aroma. They resembled their grandfather: large, mocha eyes set beneath thick lashes and skin the color of copper.
But while their bodies were virile and corded with muscle, Josef’s was not. Age had been unkind to him. And Graechen sensed great sadness beneath each line framing his sunken eyes and taut mouth.
Graechen backed up, narrowing her eyes at Josef. “Where is your other grandson?”
Josef winced, looking as if he’d been pierced in the heart with a verbal spear. “You know he could not be of use,” he said on a low growl.
“Aye.” Graechen clutched the woven blanket tightly to her chest as she repressed a shiver. She knew ’twas not the cold air that sent chills up her spine, but the anguish and rage that rolled off the speaker and pierced her to the bone. Bowing her head, she dropped her voice to a strained whisper. “Forgive me, friend. I thought you’d wish him to witness this.”
Josef shook his head, his eyes glassing over with unshed tears. “I will not give him false hope.”
One dark brow hitched. “Do you doubt my pledge?”
“Por Dios, I doubt even myself, Graechen.” His voice faltered as he dropped his gaze to the sand beneath his bare feet.
Graechen closed the distance between them. Grasping his frail shoulder with one hand, she spoke in low, firm tones. “You have great magic, Josef. Never doubt that.” Dropping her arm, she eyed him for a long moment and read the uncertainty which still plagued him.
Her gaze swept to his grandsons, who had risen to their feet. She raised her voice. “I must go.” She waved at the cocoon resting in the tidal pool. “They will wake soon. You must compel them to shift to human form. Do not let the dragons return to the sea.”
“Dragons!” his grandsons yelled in unison.
Graechen did not heed them. She turned and walked toward the ocean.
Josef rushed around Graechen, stopping her with outstretched palms. Panic jumped off him in erratic currents. “How do I stop them? How do I know they will not kill us?”
“Because Josef.” Graechen heaved a long sigh while shaking her head. “You are a speaker. Your ancestors were dragon guardians. Please, Josef, guard them with your life.”
Josef swallowed, and the rigid veins in his neck looked as if they’d burst through his leathery flesh. Finally, he nodded. “Como no. I will.”
Graechen bowed her head before breaking into a wide smile. She pulled the woven blanket from around her shoulders and pressed it into Josef’s hands before turning to the sea.
“I bid you all good night,” she called as she walked farther into the water. She sank beneath the surface and made the change, swimming toward the sanctuary of the shadowy abyss.
* * *
Fiona woke to the sound of waves crashing along a shoreline.
How could this be? Where was Graechen?
She breathed in deeply, and at once registered the smell of sweat and fear. What had happened? Had she washed up on a battle-field? Fiona stilled her breathing and perked her ears, listening for any sounds that would reveal her whereabouts. Five human heartbeats pounded like drums in her skull.
The humans knew of her and her
daughter.
Her heart raced. Her mind reeled.
All her protective instincts roared to life. They would not harm her child!
Wake up, Safina. She nudged her daughter’s scales with her snout.
Is it time, Mother? Safina asked through a groggy groan while she stretched her talons and jabbed her wing into Fiona’s side.
Listen to me, child. I know not what has happened, but we are no longer underwater. Fiona's tone was urgent. Once we are free of this shell, stay behind me. If there is danger, you must fly away.
But Moth-! Safina cried.
Fiona did not give her daughter time to protest. She bucked her hind legs on a roar, then the chamber crumbled beneath her. In the next moment, she stumbled out of the shell and took a defensive stance in front of her daughter, edging Safina toward the shoreline. She quickly scanned her surroundings, wings spread, ready to tear apart the nearest mortal.
There was an old one standing beneath her belly and four youths on a sandy ridge, huddled in a ball and cowering like dogs.
Do they wish to kill us, Mother? Safina asked with a tremor in her voice.
I know not, child. Not another word unless you see a threat, Fiona chided.
The men appeared defenseless, but she did not trust them. She reared back and sucked in a breath of air, stoking the fiery embers within her bosom.
Just then a plea cried out in her mind. Peace, mi reina, we mean you no harm. The old mortal looked at her with large mocha eyes, his palms splayed wide.
Fiona was momentarily caught off guard. Though dragons could project their thoughts, humans could not mind-speak dragons unless they were bonded. She fell to all fours in a crouch, exposing her fangs on a snarl. How do you speak to me, mortal?
The smallest of tremors pulsated off his leathery skin. I speak to many creatures, big and small. He limply shrugged his narrow shoulders. I can speak to wind and water—his voice cracked before a pained expression crossed his features—and trees.
