The Dragon Megapack

by Wildside Press

  She shivered. “It changes. It’s always different. It’s like it was alive, Dad. Things that are dead don’t change.”

  He turned back to the screen in obvious exasperation. “Show me the damn dragon, Heather. I can’t see it.”

  Her small, ragged-nailed finger hesitantly traced a figure on the screen. “See? His eye is orange, and his tail is pink, and his claws are bright red.”

  “That’s a dragon? It looks like a dead squid to me.”

  “No!”

  “Or a squashed centipede. Look, I’ll change the colors, and it’ll go away.” He tapped keys.

  “No! Dad, the dragon is still there, but he’s hiding behind that big wave!”

  “Well, then, here!” He tapped more keys, and different colors washed across the screen. As they watched the Mandelbrot set change, he put his arm around her. “Is that better?”

  “Now there’s two dragons! It’s alive, Dad. Things that change like that are alive.”

  “Okay, I give up. It’s alive. But it can’t get out of the computer, can it? It’s just a picture.”

  Heather had already thought about this, and about the fact that you could magnify every part of that picture and get another picture, with more dragons, with flaming eyes and sharper and sharper claws. “Dad, your software has windows, doesn’t it?”

  “What does that have—”

  “And things from one file can move into another one?”

  “Yes! Yes! But they can’t get into the real world, don’t you understand?”

  “Dad,” she said, very softly. “Aren’t you always telling me our brains are like computers?”

  He tapped the mouse, defeated. “Yes, but—a computer can’t open a window in our brains. Our brains are thousands of times more complicated than any computer.”

  “Yes, Daddy.” But she was thinking how complicated the Mandelbrot set must be, to have living things in it like the dragon.

  “Okay, kid. Do you want me to shut it down?”

  She nodded hesitantly, at first relieved. But then she said, “You’ll just bring it up again when I go to bed, won’t you?”

  He shook his head, impatient. “No. No, I’ll go watch TV or play with something else. Okay?”

  She didn’t believe him.

  Mom appeared in the doorway. She was holding Heather’s old stuffed rabbit and a cup of cinnamon milk. “Kiss your father goodnight.”

  Heather took the warm milk and sipped it. The cinnamon made a swirling shape, and the shape was like a—

  —like the dragon.

  “What’s wrong, Heather?” Mom looked appraisingly at Heather. “Is everything okay at school? Don’t you like the new math class?”

  “The new math class is fine. I don’t want this.” She handed her mother the milk, in which the cinnamon dragon was writhing and stretching his jaws.

  “Do you want chocolate instead? Because—”

  “Throw it away!” Heather grabbed her stuffed rabbit and ran upstairs.

  Brushing her teeth, she noticed the foam from the toothpaste she spit out, swirling down the drain.

  Dragon tail.

  Stop it! she thought. But a horrid suspicion dawned on her.

  Once in bed, she noticed a pattern in the branches outside her window. Claws, scales. She got up and closed the drapes. Of course that didn’t destroy the dragon, but at least it couldn’t watch her.

  What did it want with her?

  Stop thinking about the dragon. Maybe if she stopped thinking about it she could banish it, make it not real.

  She settled back in bed and thought about math class. In the magnet school she attended, she was in the highest math class. She didn’t particularly like math, but she was very good at it. The reason she didn’t like it was that people were always asking her to multiply large numbers or solve problems in her head. To show her off, like a pet.

  She liked the more interesting math things. For example, Mr. Devon yesterday had said, “Suppose you take a number, square it—” Heather’s class knew about powers and roots “—then add the number again. Then we square that number and add the original number, and we keep doing that.”

  Heather soothed herself by doing this. Then she wondered, suppose I use two different kinds of numbers, and draw a picture with them. She could almost picture the result. Yes, she could.

  The picture grew more and more complex in her mind until—

  —it was the picture of the dragon.

  Oh, it wasn’t in color, and it wasn’t as clear, but it was still watching her.

  Her eyes snapped open. She gazed at a stain on her bedspread, inches from her eyes. Dragon tail. At a Venus’s-flytrap, a school project. The shadow of the plant was the dragon’s teeth and head.

  Yes! Terrified, she realized that something larger than she, infinitely larger than the world, was dreaming the Mandelbrot set. And inside the Mandelbrot set, watched by the dragon, she was generating the set. She was in the dragon, and the dragon was in her.

  Please go away. Please let it be that I’m dreaming.

  Just numbers. Dad said it was just numbers. She made herself breathe slowly, willed her heart to stop banging in her chest. Just numbers. And for the first time in days, she relaxed and couldn’t see the dragon.

  Exhausted, she was dreaming.

  * * * *

  When she awoke, the dragon wasn’t there, in her mind’s eye, at all. Dad had turned off the computer, and that must surely have killed the dragon, at least temporarily. So she opened her eyes.

  Everything was fine. Just fine. She stepped out of bed.

  There was a shadow on the rug.

  The shadow couldn’t hurt her. Of course. But the shape was familiar and she didn’t want to look at it. She squeezed her eyes shut so hard they hurt. Still, she couldn’t stand there all morning. She would just ignore the shadow.

  Ignore it. Open your eyes and look somewhere else. She put one toe forward, onto the rough wool of the rug. She stepped, left foot. Right foot.

  She had to go round the shadow, because it was shaped like the dragon, was the dragon.

  Her fear grew as she stepped, blossoming in her chest like the image on the computer screen, all in orange and pink and blood red. But why couldn’t she stop? She could scream, and Dad would come and break the pattern.

  But could Dad break the pattern? He couldn’t even comprehend how terrifying it was, so how could he help?

  As she walked, she curved into the world she had generated in her mind. She walked around the edge of the dragon, which was in the rug, and with every step she took, the tiny points that made up the dragon-picture grew tinier and finer.

  She knew now that she couldn’t stop, couldn’t turn back. Her feet were programmed to move without her will, iterating the ever-more complex pattern like the one on the computer screen.

  Her face held too tight for tears, she walked from terror into despair.

  She was following the pictures of the Mandelbrot set, as it was magnified again and again. The dragon’s edges spiraled in, like the wave in the Mandelbrot set when Dad hid the dragon. In and in.

  It had happened, and nothing could save her. She was in the dragon and the dragon was in her. The Mandelbrot set had gotten out of the computer into her helpless brain. From one window to another.

  Unable even to whimper, she went on walking, toward the door. But the door, like the dragon’s eye, was at the center of something that could be magnified and magnified, deeper and deeper. And she walked and walked and walked and never stopped walking.

  Toward the dragon’s eye.

  THE TALE OF BEOWULF, by Anonymous

  Translated by William Morris and Alfred John Wyatt

  ARGUMENT

  Hrothgar, king of the Danes, lives happily and peacefully, and bethinks him to build a glorious hall called Hart. But a little after, one Grendel, of the kindred of the evil wights that are come of Cain, hears the merry noise of Hart and cannot abide it; so he enters thereinto by night, and slays and carrie
s off and devours thirty of Hrothgar’s thanes. Thereby he makes Hart waste for twelve years, and the tidings of this mishap are borne wide about lands. Then comes to the helping of Hrothgar Beowulf, the son of Ecgtheow, a thane of King Hygelac of the Geats, with fourteen fellows. They are met on the shore by the land-warder, and by him shown to Hart and the stead of Hrothgar, who receives them gladly, and to whom Beowulf tells his errand, that he will help him against Grendel. They feast in the hall, and one Unferth, son of Ecglaf, taunts Beowulf through jealousy that he was outdone by Breca in swimming. Beowulf tells the true tale thereof. And a little after, at nightfall, Hrothgar and his folk leave the hall Hart, and it is given in charge to Beowulf, who with his Geats abides there the coming of Grendel.

  Soon comes Grendel to the hall, and slays a man of the Geats, hight Handshoe, and then grapples with Beowulf, who will use no weapon against him: Grendel feels himself over-mastered and makes for the door, and gets out, but leaves his hand and arm behind him with Beowulf: men on the wall hear the great noise of this battle and the wailing of Grendel. In the morning the Danes rejoice, and follow the bloody slot of Grendel, and return to Hart racing and telling old tales, as of Sigemund and the Worm. Then come the king and his thanes to look on the token of victory, Grendel’s hand and arm, which Beowulf has let fasten: to the hall-gable.

  The king praises Beowulf and rewards him, and they feast in Hart, and the tale of Finn and Hengest is told. Then Hrothgar leaves Hart, and so does Beowulf also with his Geats, but the Danes keep guard there.

  In the night comes in Grendel’s Mother, and catches up Aeschere, a thane of Hrothgar, and carries him off to her lair. In the morning is Beowulf fetched to Hrothgar, who tells him of this new grief and craves his help.

  Then they follow up the slot and come to a great water-side, and find thereby Aeschere’s head, and the place is known for the lair of those two: monsters are playing in the deep, and Beowulf shoots one of them to death. Then Beowulf dights him and leaps into the water, and is a day’s while reaching the bottom. There he is straightway caught hold of by Grendel’s Mother, who bears him into her hall. When he gets free he falls on her, but the edge of the sword Hrunting (lent to him by Unferth) fails him, and she casts him to the ground and draws her sax to slay him; but he rises up, and sees an old sword of the giants hanging on the wall; he takes it and smites off her head therewith. He sees Grendel lying dead, and his head also he strikes off; but the blade of the sword is molten in his venomous blood. Then Beowulf strikes upward, taking with him the head of Grendel and the hilts of the sword. When he comes to the shore he finds his Geats there alone; for the Danes fled when they saw the blood floating in the water.

  They go up to Hrothgar’s stead, and four men must needs bear the head. They come to Hrothgar, and Beowulf gives him the hilts and tells him what he has done. Much praise is given to Beowulf; and they feast together.

  On the morrow Beowulf bids farewell to Hrothgar, more gifts are given, and messages are sent to Hygelac: Beowulf departs with the full love of Hrothgar. The Geats come to their ship and reward the ship-warder, and put off and sail to their own land. Beowulf comes to Hygelac’s house. Hygelac is told of, and his wife Hygd, and her good conditions, against whom is set as a warning the evil Queen Thrytho.

  Beowulf tells all the tale of his doings in full to Hygelac, and gives him his gifts, and the precious-gemmed collar to Hygd. Here is told of Beowulf, and how he was contemned in his youth, and is now grown so renowned.

  Time wears; Hygelac is slain in battle; Heardred, his son, reigns in his stead, he is slain by the Swedes, and Beowulf is made king. When he is grown old, and has been king for fifty years, come new tidings. A great dragon finds on the sea-shore a mound wherein is stored the treasure of ancient folk departed. The said dragon abides there, and broods the gold for 300 years.

  Now a certain thrall, who had misdone against his lord and was fleeing from his wrath, haps on the said treasure and takes a cup thence, which he brings to his lord to appease his wrath. The Worm waketh, and findeth his treasure lessened, but can find no man who hath done the deed. Therefore he turns on the folk, and wars on them, and burns Beowulf’s house.

  Now Beowulf will go and meet the Worm. He has an iron shield made, and sets forth with eleven men and the thrall the thirteenth. He comes to the ness, and speaks to his men, telling them of his past days, and gives them his last greeting: then he cries out a challenge to the Worm, who comes forth, and the battle begins: Beowulf’s sword will not bite on the Worm. Wiglaf eggs on the others to come to Beowulf’s help, and goes himself straightway, and offers himself to Beowulf; the Worm comes on again, and Beowulf breaks his sword Nægling on him, and the Worm wounds Beowulf. Wiglaf smites the Worm in the belly; Beowulf draws his ax, and between them they slay the Worm.

  Beowulf now feels his wounds, and knows that he is hurt deadly; he sits down by the wall, and Wiglaf bathes his wounds. Beowulf speaks, tells how he would give his armour to his son if he had one; thanks God that he has not sworn falsely or done guilefully; and prays Wiglaf to bear out the treasure that he may see it before he dies.

  Wiglaf fetches out the treasure, and again bathes Beowulf’s wounds; Beowulf speaks again, rejoices over the sight of the treasure; gives to Wiglaf his ring and his armour, and bids the manner of his bale-fire. With that he passes away. Now the dastards come thereto and find Wiglaf vainly bathing his dead lord. He casteth shame upon them with great wrath. Thence he sends a messenger to the barriers of the town, who comes to the host, and tells them of the death of Beowulf. He tells withal of the old feud betwixt the Geats and the Swedes, and how these, when they hear of the death of the king, will be upon them. The warriors go to look on Beowulf, and find him and the Worm lying dead together. Wiglaf chooses out seven of them to go void the treasure-house, after having bidden them gather wood for the bale-fire. They shove the Worm over the cliff into the sea, and bear off the treasure in wains. Then they bring Beowulf’s corpse to bale, and they kindle it; a woman called the wife of aforetime, it may be Hygd, widow of Hygelac, bemoans him: and twelve children of the athelings ride round the bale, and bemoan Beowulf and praise him: and thus ends the poem.

  THE STORY OF BEOWULF

  I. AND FIRST OF THE KINDRED OF HROTHGAR.

  What! we of the Spear-Danes of yore days, so was it

  That we learn’d of the fair fame of kings of the folks

  And the athelings a-faring in framing of valour.

  Oft then Scyld the Sheaf-son from the hosts of the scathers,

  From kindreds a many the mead-settles tore;

  It was then the earl fear’d them, sithence was he first

  Found bare and all-lacking; so solace he bided,

  Wax’d under the welkin in worship to thrive,

  Until it was so that the round-about sitters

  All over the whale-road must hearken his will

  And yield him the tribute. A good king was that,

  By whom then thereafter a son was begotten,

  A youngling in garth, whom the great God sent thither

  To foster the folk; and their crime-need he felt

  The load that lay on them while lordless they lived

  For a long while and long. He therefore, the Life-lord,

  The Wielder of glory, world’s worship he gave him:

  Brim Beowulf waxed, and wide the weal upsprang

  Of the offspring of Scyld in the parts of the Scede-lands.

  Such wise shall a youngling with wealth be a-working

  With goodly fee-gifts toward the friends of his father,

  That after in eld-days shall ever bide with him,

  Fair fellows well-willing when wendeth the war-tide,

  Their lief lord a-serving. By praise-deeds it shall be

  That in each and all kindreds a man shall have thriving.

  Then went his ways Scyld when the shapen while was,

  All hardy to wend him to the lord and his warding:

  Out then did they bear him to the side o
f the sea-flood,

  The dear fellows of him, as he himself pray’d them

  While yet his word wielded the friend of the Scyldings,

  The dear lord of the land; a long while had he own’d it.

  With stem all be-ringed at the hythe stood the ship,

  All icy and out-fain, the Atheling’s ferry.

  There then did they lay him, the lord well beloved,

  The gold-rings’ bestower, within the ship’s barm,

  The mighty by mast. Much there was the treasure,

  From far ways forsooth had the fret-work been led:

  Never heard I of keel that was comelier dighted

  With weapons of war, and with weed of the battle,

  With bills and with byrnies. There lay in his barm

  Much wealth of the treasure that with him should be,

  And he into the flood’s might afar to depart.

  No lesser a whit were the wealth-goods they dight him

  Of the goods of the folk, than did they who aforetime,

  When was the beginning, first sent him away

  Alone o’er the billows, and he but a youngling.

  Moreover they set him up there a sign golden

  High up overhead, and let the holm bear him,

  Gave all to the Spearman. Sad mind they had in them,

  And mourning their mood was. Now never knew men,

  For sooth how to say it, rede-masters in hall,

  Or heroes ’neath heaven, to whose hands came the lading.

  II. CONCERNING HROTHGAR, AND HOW HE BUILT THE HOUSE CALLED HART. ALSO GRENDEL IS TOLD OF.

  In the burgs then was biding Beowulf the Scylding,

  Dear King of the people, for long was he dwelling

  Far-famed of folks (his father turn’d elsewhere,

  From his stead the Chief wended) till awoke to him after

  Healfdene the high, and long while he held it,

  Ancient and war-eager, o’er the glad Scyldings:

  Of his body four bairns are forth to him rimed;

  Into the world woke the leader of war-hosts

  Heorogar; eke Hrothgar, and Halga the good;