It was still easiest to sense the magic by touching the object in question, though even with that I got to the point where I could reliably sense a spell simply by being in close proximity. I practiced this with my dagger as we rode, trusting my horse to stay close to Ariel’s with minimal guidance from me, and pulled my hand back in tiny increments to see at what point I lost the sense of the dagger, then starting over.
I think Ariel had some idea of what I was doing; at least, I found myself at the receiving end of his smile more and more the closer to the dragon’s cave we approached. Since I couldn’t contain the blush that this produced, I used it, smiling in confusion whenever it happened. He also started touching me casually at every opportunity—on the shoulder, on the head, at the waist, and each contact tingled with magic. I began to feel like a rabbit who sees a fox in every bush. No, worse—a fox who claims to want to be friends.
It was in this state of persecution that we arrived in the dragon’s valley. His cave, so Ariel informed me, was at the far end of the valley and partway up the mountain. We would need to hide at night and approach during the day, when the dragon was more likely to be sleeping.
“More likely?” I asked. I wasn’t having second thoughts—by this time they were more like twentieth or thirtieth thoughts. “You mean you don’t know for sure?”
Ariel shrugged. “Dragons hunt at night. It only makes sense that they’d sleep during the day.” He smiled, and I still wasn’t proof against it.
“Fine,” I said. This was why I’d come, after all. It seemed silly to back out now after coming this far.
Ariel grinned, a much more genuine expression. “We’ll cross partway across the valley today, and camp until tomorrow. No fire, I’m afraid; that’d be a dead giveaway.”
I nodded tersely, and followed him down into the valley. We set up camp in a pile of boulders, and from the signs of previous use I guessed he’d used this spot before. That evening, at his suggestion, I went down to the creek and scrubbed all over with a strongly pine scented soap. It made my skin tingle, though not from magic this time, and by the end of it I smelled more like a mountain forest and less, I hoped, like a tasty human.
Dinner was a simple affair of dried meat and a bit of bread from the last town we’d passed through, and I retired to the top of a rock to catch the last sunlight and see if my magic book had anything to say about dragons. It didn’t, at least that I could find, and I reread the essay on nulls for the hope it gave me. If the author was right, I could learn to do magic, and my life would never be the same again. Assuming I survived the dragon, of course, I could attend the mage school and have my pick of jobs. Nobody cared if a mage was of humble birth; magic covered that ill, too.
Get through tomorrow first, I cautioned myself. Then make plans for the future.
We started at dawn, leaving the horses hobbled among some pines and leaving most of our supplies behind. I carried my water flask and a handful of jerky. Ariel had a small satchel slung over one shoulder and nothing else.
The climb was steep, and several times I needed Ariel’s assistance scrambling up rocks his long limbs had taken in stride. His hand was warm in mine, and for once did not tingle with magic. I braved a glance at his face, and found it as warmly smiling as always, though again, without the prickle of magic. I felt a wave of vertigo that had nothing to do with the distance down to the rocks below, and let him catch me close for a moment.
“Are you alright?” he asked in concern.
“Just a little dizzy,” I said breathlessly.
“It’s probably the elevation,” he said, and helped me sit down. “Rest for a moment and have a drink. We can slow down, too.”
After a while the dizziness passed, leaving me a little lightheaded and a bit confused.
We finished the climb shortly before noon, and found ourselves on a protruding lip of rock that marked the entrance to a long, dark slash in the face of the mountain.
“This is it,” Ariel said quietly. He pulled several things out of his satchel. One was a ring that he slipped onto my finger. “Communication stone. Speak into it and I’ll hear you.” He slid a pendant over my head. “This one is a light. Once I activate it, it will stay on, so tuck it under your shirt if you don’t need it.” It started glowing as he spoke, and I slipped it under my collar. The last thing he offered was a velvet sack, which he put into my hands and then held.
“This last one is the most important,” he said, looking into my eyes. “Once you get past the dragon, you’ll pass into another cavern that’s full of treasure. Don’t touch any of it—some of it is bespelled, and touching it could wake the dragon. Somewhere in there is a large, polished stone about as long as my hand. It will be quartz, and may be slightly greenish in tint. Put the sack over it and pick it up, then bring it out to me.” He squeezed my hands. “It’s very important you do this first. Once I have the stone, I can keep the dragon asleep, and then we can collect as much treasure as we want. Understand?”
My heart was pounding and I rather thought my hands would be trembling if they weren’t being held so tightly, but I nodded. “Don’t touch anything, get the polished stone, bring it to you first. I understand.”
“Good.” He smiled, searched my face for a moment, and then kissed me very gently. It was a sweet kiss, full of promise, and made my heart race for an entirely new reason. “Go,” he said, pushing me towards the entrance. “Be safe.”
I stumbled away in a daze and had to pause in the entrance to shake myself firmly. I still had to sneak past a sleeping dragon and retrieve a stone before we were home free.
Slowly easing one foot forward at a time, I crept through the long, narrow entranceway, wondering how the dragon fit through, or if he could, catlike, fit through anywhere his head could pass. The light from the entrance faded, but I hesitated to pull out the pendant that glowed faintly beneath the cloth of my shirt. I had to pass the dragon first, and I didn’t want a blinding light to give me away before I’d even started.
I had a sense of the walls on either side retreating, and felt that I’d entered a large chamber. The air was cooler here, and I could hear the drip of water echoing from a long way off. I paused there for a moment, and had a sudden memory of playing “Don’t wake the dragon” with the village children at home. There was, I thought, a large, warm mass somewhere ahead and to the left. I angled my slow, cautious steps towards the right, and found a wall to follow. The floor was smooth and free of stones, and I stepped out a little more confidently. My awareness of the dragon grew until I imagined I could see him. His head would be turned away from me, resting on his front claws, and his tail would be wrapped around him like a cat’s. He was beautiful in my imagining, and I stopped and silently scolded myself for feeling guilty towards a product of my imagination.
Under my hand, the wall took an abrupt turn, and I guessed that this was the passage to the second cavern. I walked slowly for another minute, and then decided I could risk a little light. Clenching the pendant in one hand, I removed a finger at a time until I simply removed it and held it aloft like a lantern, staring around me in wonder. The cavern glittered everywhere. Every surface, every wall was covered in gold and jewel-studded finery. I wanted to run my fingers through it just to feel the sensation, but jerked my hand back when I remembered Ariel’s warning. Remembering his words prompted me to look for the stone. I found it easily enough, standing on a pedestal in the center of the cavern. I approached it slowly, sensing the power pulsing from it. I held a hand next to it, and wondered if I was imagining the warmth that seemed to be emanating from it. Putting the pendant back around my neck, I pulled out the velvet sack and prepared to pick it up. A careless finger brushed the stone, and sudden power pulsed through the cave, bathing it in greenish light.
Mageborn, a voice whispered.
Who, me? I wondered, and the voice concurred.
What is it you wish of me?
I had no answer to this, and stared at stone for a moment. “Who are you?”
I am the dragon tied to this stone. If you possess the stone, you possess me.
Without quite knowing why, I pulled the ring from my finger and dropped it into my water flask. When that was done, I said, “I didn’t know that. Why are you tied to the stone?”
Because a mage wished to possess my power. The voice had turned curious, and the light from the stone took on a swirled pattern. It is strange. You have no wish to possess me.
“Not particularly.”
Yet you are here. Have you given your will away? You are entangled in magic.
“Entangled?”
The light pulsed again, and I could see sticky, cobwebby threads of power trailing from me back outside.
“Yuck,” I said, and swept them away with my hands. Surprisingly, they dispersed as soon as I touched them. I shook my head, shocked at how clear it felt. A lot of the events of the past few weeks took on new clarity, and I grimaced.
Who is it whose bidding you obey?
I didn’t like the wording, but couldn’t argue with it. “His name is Ariel. He offered me gold if I would bring the stone out to him.”
The power pulsed angrily, and the light spun crazily, making my head spin. I shut my eyes.
I would rather be bound to you than this ‘Ariel.’ I can reward you greatly.
I stood there a moment longer, thinking, hand unconsciously on my dagger. For the first time since I’d purchased it, I felt not a trace of reaction when I touched the jewel. I drew it, and ran a finger down the blade. It stayed cold and inert under my touch, and I sighed.
Picking up the stone, I slid the velvet pouch over it, but kept a hand underneath. The cavern was plunged once more into near darkness, lit only by my pendant. Retracing my steps, I quickly passed the still sleeping dragon and emerged, blinking in the sunlight. My silent approach allowed me to surprise what may have been the first honest expression I’d seen on Ariel’s face. It was a smirk, and a self-satisfied one at that. He was tossing his ring in the air and catching it, chuckling quietly to himself all the while. He was, I thought, not so handsome as when he smiled.
“Was any of it real?” I asked.
He dropped the ring, but fixed his expression so quickly I could have believed I’d imagined it, if it weren’t for the sticky trails of magic that were already creeping toward me. I brushed them away impatiently, and had the satisfaction of seeing his smile falter.
“Lily?” he said, attempting to recover. “Did you get the stone?”
I sighed. “Have you said one real thing to me? Ever? Or was everything a lie?”
Ariel didn’t respond, which was answer enough.
“Do you want to wake up?” I asked, and Ariel’s eyes widened.
Oh, YES.
In one smooth motion, I removed the velvet bag and tipped the stone out of my hand. It shattered spectacularly, and the mountain shook with the dragon’s mighty roar. I’d done it. I woke the dragon.
I owe you a great debt, small one, the dragon said. He was as beautiful as I’d imagined, especially under the light of the sun. Here on the valley floor, his scales went from dark emerald to pale green, with tints of purple on his wings and claws.
“I owe you one, too,” I responded. “I’d like to think I wouldn’t have given the soulstone to Ariel, but I don’t know if I could’ve broken free without your help.” I blushed. I’d felt bad for Ariel to the last, but my regrets were mostly for myself. I’d wanted it to be real, but suspected all along that it wasn’t. I was ashamed and glad and sad all at once.
Regardless, should you ever need help, you know where to find me. He held up a claw and dropped a small velvet bag in front of me. It spilled gold coins and an amethyst ring set in silver across the ground. I scooped these up, and felt the tingle of magic from the ring.
“What’s this?” I asked, picking it up.
There was hint of a laugh in his voice. Should I ever need you, I will find you, as well.
I smiled and slipped the ring onto my finger. “Deal.”
With that, the dragon launched himself into the air and vanished from sight. I saddled Ariel’s black and headed out, leaving the valley behind me.
About the Author
M.C. Dwyer grew up in a small town in Nebraska, has circumnavigated the globe at least once, and ended up back in Nebraska. She has been a student, a librarian, a store clerk, a teacher, a student again, and an occasional world traveler. Some day she might figure out what she wants to be when she grows up, but she isn't holding her breath. She enjoys binge-watching kdrama, learning new languages, and creating new fantasy worlds to escape into. M.C. is the author of the short story “Of Grief and Griffins” published in the anthology Still Waters, as well as the forthcoming novel Bleddynwood.
Blanche, Bear-Wife
Alena Sullivan
The café sits on the corner of the town square, its back to the woods and its face to the other shops around the town. The windows are stained glass, a hodgepodge of color and shadow, not really depicting anything, just rioting shades of light spilling their reflections onto the sidewalk. There’s no real sign, no name, just a square wooden shingle, anachronistic, hung above the door, reading CAFÉ in letters that are just a little lopsided, maybe. My Grampa carved that sign with his own hands, back before the War, before they started to shake.
It’s during the ice storm in February that the bear first comes by.
“I hate to be a bother, but it’s mighty cold out,” he rumbles apologetically, hugging his ice-crusted coat tight around his shoulders as he ducks through the doorway.
“It is, that,” I admit, smiling a little crookedly and pouring a hot mug of apple cider. I reckon that’s the sort of thing a bear could drink—it’s something warm, at any rate. I set it on the counter as the bear lumbers up and takes a seat on the stool across from me, gingerly testing it against his weight before he settles properly.
Rosie nudges me, elbow bordering on painful against my ribs. “He’s a bear,” she grits out through clenched teeth.
I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s cold out there.” My Gramma, who raised me, is a little old lady who believes in real Southern hospitality, in making everybody welcome and looking after them all the same. When she opened this place, it was the only joint on the street that didn’t have a sign in the window that said whites only, and she never looked twice at anybody, not for their color or their war wounds or their piercings or tattoos. She doesn’t like my tattoos much, but she loves me, with or without them, and I’m not gonna shame her by turning anybody away in this weather.
“A freaking bear,” Rosie repeats, a little louder, a little shrill, and I can feel my mouth go tight around a cringe. The bear flinches.
“That’s no call to be impolite,” I say, trying not to be rude in my own turn. Smiling, I ignore the now actively painful elbow in my side and turn to the bear, putting a hand over his shaggy paw. “This one’s on the house, sir.” His fur is clouded with little ice crystals that crunch and melt a little under my palm.
He makes a face that might be a smile, but is mostly a baring of teeth and a huff of breath. “Mighty kind of you,” he says, nodding his head in acknowledgement. He has manners—real manners, ingrained, like my Grampa—you can see it in everything, in the way he holds himself straight and sits like somebody’s paying attention. To be fair, people are; the smattering of folks that came out in weather or were too dumb to leave before the ice really started coming down are all pretending not to stare and doing a thoroughly poor job of it. The bear is ignoring it with more dignity than I know I’d manage. Gramma would say he’s a real Southern gentleman.
He drains the cider and asks for another, polite as you please, and I tell Rosie to go look after the folks at the tables, that I’ve got this one. She makes a noise that might be annoyance that I’m serving the bear or might be relief that I’m not making her stick around and do it with me. Knowing her, it’s a little bit of both. I don’t know how she’s got so little of Gramma’s lessons stuck t
o her bones, but she’s always been a little prickly, a little wild. She’ll talk your ear off, she’ll drag you on all kinds of craziness, but god forbid the craziness comes from somewhere other than her. She just wants to go her own way, Grampa always says, if only she could be bothered to find it. It’s hard to rebel, though, in a family like ours, where they’ll love you no matter what kind of crap you pull. Rosie’s always given it a college try, though, that’s for sure. I’ve always been too shy for that kind of thing—or not even shy, I guess, but maybe just a little strange. It’s quieter in me, I think, than it is inside other folks.
I serve up the cider, stirring in a spoonful of honey for good measure. That earns me another smile and a grateful nod, and I get a little warm feeling in the middle of my chest the way I always do when I do a little something to make somebody smile.
“Much obliged for the hospitality, ma’am,” the bear says, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath of the steam coming up from the cider.
“Blanche,” I say, “and it’s no trouble, really.” I give the counter a quick wipe down and start rearranging the muffins on their stand, filling in the gaps from where people have picked from the middle.
“Blanche,” the bear repeats, the ch sound sticking to his teeth a little, like butterscotch. I kind of like the way it sounds, coming from him. “Well, Miss Blanche, trouble or not, you’ve been very kind. I’ll get out of your way now, let your customers get back to their meals in peace.” He hasn’t glanced round the café even once, but his words make all the nosy folks in the room jerk their rubbernecks around and pretend to pay attention to their own business again. I laugh a little without meaning to, reaching up to cover it before he thinks I’m laughing at him.
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