Dragon Wings

by Konstanz Silverbow

  I sit across from him, avoiding eye contact.

  It’s not like he’ll believe me anyway.

  Do I tell him about Yackros specifically, the bond we now share, the magic between us? Do I tell him of the threats against me, and the banishment?

  The bouncing of Max’s leg catches my attention. I stare at the movement, wanting it to stop, but knowing I need Max on my side. Not wanting to snap at him and only make the situation worse, I let him be.

  Still, it keeps my focus split between the matter at hand and the annoyance building up in me watching that leg bounce up and down and up and down and over and over and over again, until finally the pressure is killing me and—

  “Stop! Please, just stop!” I grab his knee.

  He hovers on the edge of a smirk. “Alita, I know you’re upset and clearly anxious, but you’re turning my knee to mush.”

  I look down, noticing that my grip is so tight, my knuckles have turned white. I let go and lean back quickly, but the fast movement overbalances my tiny computer chair, spilling me on the floor. No matter how much I wanted to keep it hidden, I can’t help a cry of pain when I come down hard on my bruised shoulder.

  Max looks as though he might have laughed if not for my cry. He offers me a hand, but I don’t want him to pull too hard, so I wave him off and wait on the floor to catch my breath.

  “Is everything okay in here?” Mom appears in the doorway, looking rather concerned by all the commotion.

  “I just overbalanced my chair. Sorry.” I stare intently at the history book on my desk, set out in plain sight for the sole purpose of Mom-checks.

  “You’re really having a clumsy night, aren’t you?”

  Thanks, Mom. Ask me how my day went.

  “I hurt my ankle on my hike. That’s all.” The last thing I need are my parents sitting next to Max waiting for answers too. Mom would tear up all my research, and Dad would carry on the dragon jokes forever.

  “Do we need to have it looked at?” She takes a step into the room, brows furrowed, lips turned down.

  “No, it’s okay. Really. We’re just going to study, and I’ll quit moving around.”

  “Alita, are you sure? I don’t want you to hurt yourself more,” she says, her expression softening.

  “I promise.”

  “I’ll bring you an ice pack, then.”

  “No, Mom. I’m fine. I’ll let you know if it gets worse.”

  “Okay,” she relents. “It takes two seconds to get the ice pack. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I will. I promise.” I offer her a smile, hoping to ease her mind.

  “I’ll take care of her, Mrs. Drake,” Max says.

  “Make sure she doesn’t put too much weight on it. Good luck with your history stuff.”

  “Thank you.” I turn back to Max, looking at the history book and wishing that’s what we’re really working on.

  He stares at me intently, and we both listen as my mom’s footsteps fade down the stairs.

  “You did something to your back,” he says.

  I don’t correct him.

  “And it wasn’t a hiking fall.”

  “No,” I say. “It wasn’t.” I take a deep breath, scraping my clammy palms across my pants to my knees. “Max, I want to tell you. I really do. But you’re going to think I’m . . . crazy.”

  I keep my gaze on the floor, unable to gather the courage needed to look Max in the face. My lips tremble as I think about how to phrase this.

  “I’m your boyfriend. You can tell me anything.”

  Unable to say the words, I get up and open my desk drawer, pulling out one of my many drawings of Yackros. I’ve improved a little over the past year. This one almost looks like a bad photocopy of him.

  I hesitate, gripping the drawing so tightly, a tiny bit of the edge tears between my fingers.

  Max loves me.

  I trust him.

  I can tell him anything.

  I turn and extend my arms woodenly. He takes the drawing, and that one adorable eyebrow quirks up.

  “They’re real,” I say. “Dragons. And their false king almost killed me today.”

  Those words, saying them out loud, admitting what happened, opens the floodgates. Overwhelmed by the fear I felt in the moment, relief that I lived to tell about it, and anxiety that maybe I’ll never be able to defeat Ruxsiu—never be able to save Yackros—and every emotion in between cascades over me like an avalanche.

  I let out a choked gasp and sink into my chair, gripping the edges until my fingers go numb.

  Max stares at the drawing, turning it in his hands slightly, as if a different angle will change it.

  “Dragons?” he says, and his voice is too empty to be comforting.

  I squeeze my eyes closed. “You said I could tell you anything.”

  “Your back got hurt . . . by dragons?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  I’m going to cry again.

  Don’t cry again.

  “Alita,” he whispers.

  I dare to look at him again, but he’s shaking his head.

  “You’re my girlfriend. I love you. But—” He hesitates, mouth open, halfway to a smile that isn’t happy. “Dragons are myths. You might as well be telling me you got stampeded by unicorns or drowned by mermaids.”

  I turn away suddenly, breathing as if my throat is made of glass, willing my eyes not to flood out everything happening in my heart.

  “Please go,” I say slowly, forming each sound of each word with all the control I have left.

  He doesn’t have to believe in dragons. He doesn’t have to be in that part of my life.

  “I don’t know what happened that’s so terrible you can’t just tell me. I’m here for you. Don’t shut me out.”

  Through the pain, despite the aching muscles and the tears that I couldn’t keep back after all, I stand, a new rage burning through my veins.

  “No, Max,” I say, too loudly, but I don’t care. “You’re not here for me. I did just open up to you. I told you what’s going on. You refuse to believe me.” Just like everyone else. “And that’s fine.” It’s not fine. “But don’t lie to me.”

  He stands to match me, brandishing my drawing. “Alita, you have to consider my point of view—how crazy it sounds. Dragons?”

  I purse my lips. I nod. “You’re right. It does sound crazy. And after all that teasing and all the correction I got when I was three, why would I be saying it again now if it wasn’t true?”

  “Last year.” He stares at the drawing again, lips pressed into a thin line. “When I found that picture and you told me it was some online thing, you lied. I was right, wasn’t I? You started believing in your childhood delusion again.”

  “It’s not a delusion!” I snatch the drawing away, even though the action shoots pain through my arm and neck. “And you know what? If you told me you got stampeded by unicorns, I would believe you. Because I love you, and why would you tell me something so crazy if it wasn’t true?”

  “I would never tell you something that isn’t true,” he says. “Because I trust you.”

  “Good. Then—”

  “I just can’t understand why you don’t trust me.”

  I let out a broken sound I can’t even identify. I crush the drawing in my hand, and with that same hand, I lift the edge of my shirt to the bottom of my bra, showing him the dark purple skin beneath.

  “A yellow-scaled dragon,” I say slowly, “named Breighad picked me up today in a grip so tight, I thought it was going to crush my spine. He carried me through the forest and dropped me at the feet of a black-scaled dragon named Ruxsiu with teeth like blades at a slaughterhouse. He wanted to kill me. He still does. And I haven’t told a single other person because they would laugh me out the door.”

  I lower my shirt. “How’s that for honesty, Max? How’s that for trust?”

  He stares at my hand. After a moment, he steps forward and reaches for it, grasping it gently with his own. He takes my other ha
nd as well.

  “Alita . . .” He looks me in the eye, voice quiet. “That looks like quite a serious injury, and you should have it looked at. I’m here whenever you’re ready to tell me what really happened. Until then, I’m genuinely sorry you had such a bad fall on your hike.”

  He squeezes my hands, then turns and walks away.

  After I hear the front door swing open and shut, I cross the room and slam my bedroom door closed.

  I don’t get out of bed until ten minutes before I need to leave to get to the library right at opening.

  Guthrie told me to look for the true dragon king, and I imagine if there’s any trace of him, I’ll find it somewhere tucked away in a book, made out to be a myth.

  I take it slow, forcing myself off the mattress. I feel like a board. Every time I move, something cracks or snaps, and I’m afraid of breaking. But it’s a different pain from last night, more manageable—or maybe I’ve just grown used to it.

  I hid in my room all morning because who knows what questions Mom and Dad would bombard me with if I hung out downstairs, even for breakfast. I don’t want to answer questions about Max, last night, the bruises peeking out of my shirt collar, or anything else.

  There’s a message on my phone from Max. I ignore it.

  I make my way down the stairs as fast as I’m physically capable and grab my keys from the bowl by the door, get in my car, and drive away with no one the wiser. If Mom calls or texts, I can answer truthfully for once. Just doing some research at the library.

  I arrive at the library two minutes after they’ve officially opened their doors.

  I go straight to the counter. The youngest librarian I’ve ever seen—seriously, my age or close to it—is busy trying to have a conversation via text while helping a woman and a little girl. An older woman at the far end of the counter is fingering through files, her glasses perched so low on her nose, I’m surprised they haven’t already slipped off.

  “Excuse me?” I say, trying to gain her attention.

  She simply clears her throat and continues her task. I assume she heard me.

  “Excuse me? I’m hoping you can point me in the right direction. I’m looking for a book on dragons.” I try to speak as quietly as possible, not just because it’s a library.

  “Pardon me?” The old woman looks up, eyebrows quirked.

  “I need any and all books you have on dragons. Especially any about dragon kings.”

  “I recommend the young adult fantasy section over there.” She stands and points to the farthest corner on the right-hand side.

  “I’m not looking for fiction.” I know how crazy it sounds, but I don’t know what else to say. Certainly they have something in mythology. It might still be classified under fiction, but definitely not fantasy, and not in the YA section.

  “Then you’re not looking for dragons.” She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, picks up the box in front of her, and disappears into the back room.

  So much for that.

  You’d think I’d know better by now.

  “Don’t think too much about it,” the young woman pipes up, looking at me over the top rim of her phone. “She’s just not having a good day. Someone returned this special edition book, and it was completely destroyed.”

  I nod, unsure how to respond to that. After a moment, I head for the shelves, knowing I’m on my own. I’ll find mythology and work my way from there. Some record has to exist from when dragons roamed the land.

  I don’t want to think about what I’ll do if there isn’t.

  I wander the aisles, running my finger down the spines of books as I pass, searching for anything that might contain information on dragons or anything that took place hundreds of years ago that could be related.

  The only book that looks remotely close to what I want is a large leather-bound tome covered in dust, clearly rarely—if ever—touched, let alone read or checked out. I pull it down, heaving it across the room to a table where, despite my best efforts, I drop it in a cloud of dust.

  After skimming the table of contents, I’m sorely disappointed to see that, despite being in the mythology section, it has nothing to do with dragons. Just Norse gods.

  I close it and return it the shelf, wondering how I’m ever going to get answers. Yackros said humans couldn’t know about dragons. But were no records kept at all? Is this really a pointless endeavor?

  “I believe this is what you’re looking for.”

  I turn to find the old librarian standing behind me, her glasses staring down at me disapprovingly. She extends the book she’s holding. It’s a small pamphlet-sized book that looks more like a journal. The spine is so tiny, it doesn’t have anything written on it—only scales trailing from top to bottom. I gingerly take it from her fingers.

  Scales of Water and Sky, by R. Ebony

  Flipping through the pages, I see diagrams and creature drawings that look about as professional as if I’d drawn them. The first half is about mermaids and mermen and their counterparts, sirens. I almost hand it back to the librarian, but then I glimpse a bit from the second half, and sparks of excitement tingle in my spine.

  Dragons.

  Dragons on every page, listing scales, colors, meanings. Where their myths came from, and, of course, how none of it is real. I flip through the pages, looking for any mention of a king.

  I can feel the librarian’s eyes boring into me, making my hands sweat and my fingers fumble on the pages. Is she waiting for me to laugh at how silly dragon myths are?

  “Well?” she says slowly. Geez, she even seems to pronounce both Ls.

  I can’t find anything about a dragon king, and she’s making my skin crawl.

  I give the pamphlet back. “Um, thanks anyway.”

  She doesn’t move for a moment. Then she frowns so deeply, it’s almost comical, turns on a heel, and storms off as if I’ve personally offended her.

  I shake my head and get back to the mythologies. Unable to think of a better strategy, I begin pulling out book after book. I’ll find something about the dragon king even if I have to flip through every book in the whole library.

  “Miss? The library is now closed.” The old woman is frowning down at me with her signature expression.

  I’ve looked at myths on everything from Zeus to Robin Hood. And the only thing even close to a dragon is the Loch Ness Monster.

  I look at my phone, which is sitting on the floor beside me.

  “But it’s only one o’clock.”

  “Yes,” she says sternly, “which is when the library closes on a Saturday, as the sign on our front door so clearly states.”

  “You close early on the one day people actually have time?” I’d planned on spending the whole day at the library and not leaving until I had something. How can I go back to Yackros empty-handed and tell him I can’t do anything else until Monday?

  “If you would prefer different rules, you are free to open your own library full of nonfiction myths and open twenty-four-seven. Perhaps you would even be so crude as to include a Taco Bell extension for hungry patrons. Until then, this humble establishment is closed.”

  She turns away.

  “This place could use some tacos,” I mutter, and my stomach joins in with a much louder agreement.

  Resigning myself to my failure, I pack up a stack of books I haven’t gone through yet and take them to the counter where the young girl, her name tag now prominently pinned to her shirt, is waiting to check out my books so she can leave.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asks.

  “Not really. But thanks, Cheryl.”

  She smiles. “I hope you do. It sounds interesting.”

  “Thanks,” I say again, only half paying attention to her.

  The older woman is openly staring at me as she walks between the aisles and cleans up the messes people—including me—left. Every time she appears, her eyes seem different, but I can’t figure out why. She’s mega creepy.

  “Library card?�
�� Cheryl asks loudly.

  I startle. “Oh, sorry.” I pull it from my pocket and hand it to her.

  A second later, she slides it across the counter to me. “You’re all set. Have a good day. Happy reading!”

  She hands me the bag of books, which I heave out to my car and load into the passenger seat. I buckle up and drive, passing home without a second glance.

  It’s almost like I don’t have control over where I’m going. Despite knowing I can’t re-enter the dragon forest, it’s where I’m headed.

  Not that it matters. Banished or not, upon arrival, I find nothing different. I’m stuck in my world now until I fix this. I sit on the ground, leaning against the same tree from yesterday—a tree that seems to have come with me in the ban from entering Runavelius—careful not to scrape my already battered body on the bark, and set down the three books I brought with me from the car.

  There’s a cracking sound off the trail before all goes silent around me again. I sit up straighter, looking around, feeling sick with unease.

  “Hello?” I call out, realizing that even if something is there, it would hardly respond to my call. I wait, holding my breath, wondering what to do next.

  But there are no more noises, and after a few minutes, I take a deep breath, and that feeling of unease disappears. Perhaps it really was all in my head. I shake it off and return to the task at hand.

  “Yackros? Can you hear me?” I ask aloud. There’s a moment of silence, and I wait tensely until a soft voice speaks.

  “It is good to hear your voice. What, if anything, have your human records taught you?”

  I stare down at the three books I brought, and I’m suddenly sure they’ll be just as useless as all the rest. I close my eyes.

  “I miss you.” I take in a deep breath. “Is there any other way I can free you? I spent as long as I could searching for answers, and I couldn’t find a word about the king.”

  There’s a moment of silence, a long pause as though he doesn’t know how to handle the situation either.

  Finally, he says, “I miss you too, little wingless.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more heartbreaking sound than that.