by James Comins
* * *
Kaldi stood in the night wind beside a wild-eyed whirl of black hair. Binnan Darnan was uttering grinding shriek sounds. The sounds cut through the wind and echoed across the barrens, louder and more terrible than her tiny frame should be able to produce.
The dragon was black like charcoal. Its face was long, arrowheaded, with sunken cheeks and solid black bird-eyes. Its scales clattered unnaturally. It was much taller than the house. Its tail was longer than the whole farm, trailing away out of sight. It crouched over the roof, tearing into the attic with a half-wheel of claws. So, so many claws on each hand. It didn’t respond to Binnan Darnan’s commands at all, but tore relentlessly at the shingles of the roof.
“It isn’t stopping,” barked Kaldi over the noise. “It isn’t listening.”
“Did Momma’s magic take the dragon’s hearing away?” shouted Lenna from Brugda’s strong arms. “Or change the dragonvoice?”
“Not one nor the other,” Brugda said, tossing her onto the snow and sweeping her toward the fringe of dark trees. “A working’s been set upon its back.”
Two servants emerged from the kitchen and ran toward the woods. One was a tall, dour-looking man with a mass of curly reddish-dark hair and a thin beard. That was Talvi the handyman. His wife Aitta was the housekeeper. She was shorter, with spiky bleach-frosted black hair, freckles and mascara around her small Icelandic eyes. The dragon lashed its tail, and Aitta tripped as the ground shook. Talvi brought her back to her feet, and together they flew across the downs.
“Can you release the spell?” Kaldi asked Brugda. He looked back at Binnan Darnan, who stood apart, fiery, facing the beast and calling to it in its terrible language.
“The Change is falling,” Brugda muttered.
“Then how do we stop the dragon?” said Kaldi.
“Stop it? No. We look for the bag.” Brugda shooed Lenna over the snow toward the forest, then turned back and shouted to Kaldi: “Bring the dragon girl. Carry her if she won’t end the yap.”
