Becoming the Dragon

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Becoming the Dragon Page 17

by Alex Sapegin


  Intuitively, Andy felt he was on the right path. He dove into settage and began checking his body’s energy channels and evaluating his reserves. All right, that should be enough energy. Now, he had to quiet his breathing and concentrate on his senses. It was a short trip inside himself, and the usual entrance into the world of mana. Mana would come in handy, but not yet. He imagined himself as the barrier, sensing its structure. His consciousness spread out along the endless film that separated that energetic “something” from the rest of the world. The barrier became a thick gel. He calmly immersed himself in the jelly-like substance and gave himself time to dissolve in it. Yes, here we go. Slowly and carefully, he built a bridge of consciousness between the two worlds of energy. He felt as if his “I” were the head of a sharp pin, and he pricked the tenacious film, which popped suddenly like a bubble.

  A powerful rush of energy swept over Andy. It was tens, hundreds, and thousands of times greater than the puny trickles of mana he had previously known. Andy wished to be back on solid ground. The energy rushed in a raging stream over the “bridge” he had built. Everything Andy was made of twitched under the pressure of the unlimited power that side held. The channels in his body simply couldn’t handle the load. His reserve containers filled to capacity, and the borrowed raw mana flowed freely throughout his whole body.

  An incomprehensible force took control of him and began to whirl him into a mad dance. Multicolored flecks and bands flashed before him. Any more of this, and he would burn away without a trace.

  Nooo! He lunged back, destroying the bridge and putting up an indestructible dam in his consciousness. Twirling with him in the dance, pressing with unbelievable might, a force knocked him back across the barrier with a powerful blow. It was over.

  Andy fell out of his trance and happily took a deep breath of cool air. He was shaking all over; it had been a while since he took a big gulp of adrenaline. He was alive. Andy walked away from the results of his experiment, which had almost sent him to his grave. Despite his expectations, he felt completely fine. Nothing hurt, and the energy channels in his body were lit up with an even light. His internal magical reserve containers were filled to the brim with mana. The intricate glow of his scales made him quite happy. It can’t be! Not trusting settage, Andy felt around his chest and side with his right paw, meeting firm scales everywhere, which hadn’t been there even two hours ago. And that must mean… He ripped the blindfold off his face and opened his eyes. Yes! I can see!

  The sun was shining brightly, its golden rays peeking into the cave and splitting into fragments when they touched the polished sides of the stalagmites. His internal clock said 12 in the afternoon. Karegar and Jagirra were running late, it seemed; apparently, the Rum’s wife’s labor was a difficult one. The fireplace had burned out, but Andy did not feel the cold at all. He caught a warm ray of sunshine on the tip of his nose and, following it like a trail, left the cave.

  A nice, cool breeze played with the tiny hairs on his wings and refreshed his flushed body. From the height of the cliff’s edge, there was a breathtaking view of the valley, fading into a bluish haze and surrounded by white-capped mountains. To the left, a brook babbled with pristine clarity and freezing cold water. The creek had its beginning at the foot of the alpine glacier and, oddly meandering along the gentle slope, flowed to the bottom. Near the cave entrance, the mountainside took a sharp plunge, and the brook cascaded downward from the height of 300 feet in a flurry of rainbow sparkles. The brook flowed into a wide lake that began in the mist hundreds of feet from the ledge and disappeared into the shroud of vapors. A tiny fishing vessel flashed once, just for a moment, and then was lost in the foggy haze. Beyond the brook, tall pines crowded in the distance.

  To the right, a comfy, well-trodden trail climbed to a wide, flat area that went from the cave to an age-old pine forest. There, it disappeared into the shadows of spreading pine boughs. Dark green pine tips stretched upward for miles, gradually growing sparser and giving way to even squares and rectangles of cultivated fields. Beyond that, the peaked roofs of village houses could be seen.

  “So beautiful! Sooo nice!” the young dragon said to himself, noisily taking the air into his nostrils. He opened his wings to their full width and lifted himself up onto his hind legs. The dark stone was lit up with a thousand colored highlights reflecting off his scales. Little prisms flashed in the centers of his wings. The young dragon turned his head a hundred and eighty degrees and stared at his own back. The rays of sunlight played on the notches of his scales and the translucent membranes of his wings as on faceted crystal, dancing here and there, flashing with brilliantly colored light.

  Whimsically twisting his neck, Andy examined his new self. Despite his impressions, he looked different from the outside than what he had gathered from settage and true vision.

  He liked his new look. The main color of his scales was gold. A design of blue, green and black scales wound along his whole body like a harmonious floral ornament or an intricate, colorful tattoo. The design was full of whorls. The colors intertwined, alternating. Two black stripes ran symmetrically along his chest, covered by large, diamond-shaped scales to the left and to the right. Little crests ran along his neck, disappearing toward his back and then reappearing near the base of his tail, where the one row turned into two. He wished he had a mirror or at least a sheet of glass to see his reflection. His snout required a thorough examination, head-on and in profile. It occurred to him that he could check out the shadow of his face on the ground. Andy looked down. The lake! That was as good as any mirror. Humorously hopping with impatience, he scurried down the well-trodden path below.

  It wasn’t in the cards for him to make it to the lake. Halfway there, his sharp dragon’s hearing picked up the frightened bleating of a sheep. A large griffon flew overhead, turned on the tip of its wing, and rushed behind a low stone ridge to Andy’s right. From behind the heaps of stones and boulders, came the scream of the flying hunter, some choice words in a melodious boy’s voice, and the hysterical bleating of the frightened sheep. Meat. Juicy mutton. What could be better? His stomach growled loudly.

  ***

  Danat picked up a stone from the ground and threw it at the horrid creature. The griffon turned around and kept flying circles over the frightened flock. The poor scared sheep ran around in every direction.

  The striped “winged wolves” were very bright creatures, sitting on cliffs or hiding among the foliage of the trees. They watched their prey. All it took was a chicken’s yawn or a lamb getting separated from the flock, and the loud flapping of their wings could be heard in the air. Next thing the owners knew, some of the animals would come up missing. But the “bobtail” surpassed them all. He appeared in the valley six months ago and immediately made his presence known. This bold vulture, who lacked even three feathers in the fan of his tail, not only constantly stole small lambs, but also flew over the sheep’s very heads and chased the most frightened and careless ones into a deep ravine or onto cliff edges. There, they would break their legs or tumble from the precipice and become his meal.

  He never hunted in the same place. For weeks, they wouldn’t see him in the pastures or near the villages. After each successful hunt, he would spend a few days hidden in the mountains far from the humans’ outrage. All attempts to catch or kill the elusive beast were fruitless, but as soon as people let their guards down, the griffon would strike again, attacking where they least expected it.

  Danat was almost to the point of tears. The vulture had chased one ram and one ewe into the ravine, from which he then heard a heart-wrenching bleating. And it wasn’t at all ready to stop at that. The winged bandit wasn’t afraid of stones. He simply squawked mockingly over the boy’s futile attempts to hit the half-feathered wolf. The little shepherd leaned over the next stone and froze, amazed.

  A small golden dragon climbed up to the boulders, waved his right front paw, and the griffon tumbled to the ground. Unlike Danat, his willing helper hadn’t missed. The giga
ntic boulder he pitched had hit the bobtail right on the head.

  “Got him!” the dragon’s voice was velvety and pleasant. “Well, are you just going to keep standing there staring?” he asked Danat.

  “What?” The boy forgot about the sheep, forgot about the griffon, and stared at this new entity with wide-open eyes. The dragon’s question confused him even more.

  “You’ve never seen a dragon before?” The young shepherd shook his head in such a way that it wasn’t clear whether he had seen dragons before or not. “All right then. Go ahead; look. I don’t charge for looking!”

  Danat almost choked.

  Yet another pathetic bleating sound came from the ravine. The little dragon crouched and turned to the sheep. The yellow vertical pupils in his blue eyes narrowed to thin slits. His toothy jaws clicked loudly. The boy’s blood went cold. May the Twins forbid it; he’s going to strike! Targ, don’t let him chase the flock over that slope! He knew very well that the Master, Karegar, could fly in at any moment. Catching the scent of a large predator, the sheep ran toward the village, but the golden dragon managed to keep hold of himself. His tail flung from side to side a few times, and it was with visible regret that he turned away from the fleeing bits of fresh meat and looked at Danat. The boy was so relieved. It would have been impossible to explain to his father that some sheep had been eaten by a dragon. The Master didn’t touch the flocks and preferred hunting in the mountains, while the young storyteller was supposedly sick. The shepherd had already guessed who this helper could be.

  He didn’t seem much like the invalid storyteller. Honestly, he didn’t seem anything at all like him. The village people had constantly been asking one another what he looked like and asking Gmar and Glir to tell the secret, but they reported that Jaga had covered the wounded dragon with a veil and they could only hear his voice. Dara, who had been in the Master’s cave, was proud and self-important as a peacock. She told various tall tales with wide eyes. The humans and gnomes who came every evening to hear the stories couldn’t catch a glimpse of anything either. Jagirra had hung the second veil at the entrance to the cave, and the people remained as curious as they had come. The old dragon accepted bundles of goodies on the storyteller’s behalf, but strictly rebuked any attempts by the old ladies to stick their noses where they didn’t belong.

  Danat was excited and happy; he was the first village dweller to see the storyteller. Now, he would be able to rub Dara’s nose in it. And a fine handsome dragon it was…

  “Hellooo… Can you hear me?” The dragon’s snout appeared right in front of the shepherd’s nose.

  “Yes?” Danat snapped out of it. He had been mesmerized by the dragon’s scales, sparkling with every color of the rainbow.

  “I suggest an exchange,” the dragon said and licked his lips. The boy felt a cold shiver along his spine at the sight of the sharp, triangular, inward-pointing teeth lining the storyteller’s smile. An iridescent charm of crystalline flecks scattered in all directions on the dreadful picket fence lining his mouth.

  “What kind?” the shepherd asked, gathering his strength.

  “A ram from the flock for the griffon. You can tell everyone you hit him with a stone. I never laid eyes on that creature. Swear to God!”

  Danat looked at the dragon holding the dead bobtail in his claw and considered his options. His fear had passed, but an unpleasant chill continued to run down his spine. The golden dragon was offering him a deal. He could justify himself to his father, rub that little brat Dara’s nose in it, and all the guys would die of envy. “Agreed!”

  ***

  No matter how hard Andy tried to stop shivering, the treacherous tip of his tail kept making the outline of a pretzel. He handed the dead griffon over to the shepherd, broke a long branch off the nearest tree and flew down into the ravine. There were a ram and a sheep. A double portion! But his deal… The doomed animals, whose legs were broken, smelled the dragon and began to squeal. His appetite only grew from the sound of their squealing. Spilling thick saliva on the ground, Andy leaned down and struck the ram on the head with the thick end of the long homemade baton. Once he had knocked his prey out, he carefully snagged the senseless ram’s body with the branch and pulled it upward, pinning it to and dragging it along the steep wall of the ravine. He removed the sheep in the same manner and gave it to the boy.

  “Thank you!”

  The shepherd, who was staring with wide-open eyes, mumbled something incomprehensible in reply. The sight of the ram in the dragon’s mouth had made a lasting impression on him.

  Carefully carrying his lunch in his mouth, Andy climbed over the boulders and trotted to the cave, with all his strength fighting the temptation to break the tender flesh on the spot. The end of his tail and his wings were trembling; they had a life of their own. Quickly now, faster! Suddenly the animal came to and bleated. He pressed his jaws together tighter, squishing the livestock that had started to move at the wrong moment. His teeth broke the skin, and his mouth filled with warm blood. The next thing he knew, the bones were crunching as he ate them. Oh! His tail drummed an intricate beat against the ground.

  Somewhere far away in the background, Andy, the human, deliberately shook his head in a condemning fashion, not approving of this behavior and this blood lust, but he didn’t interfere because he understood very well what was happening to him. The intelligent winged predator he had become as a result of Jaga and Dad’s efforts would not be eating just grass and porridge. His specialized set of teeth was built for a different menu. His obsession with tasting fresh meat, which had taken possession of his mind for the second week now, was finally satisfied. Ripping the ram’s coat off with his sharp claws and casting aside the giblets, he pulled a back leg off with pleasure and took a big chunk into his mouth. It’s better than ice cream! Half the ram had been eaten to the accompaniment of a guttural growling. If he could have seen himself through the eyes of a bystander, he would have been surprised by the feverish glint in his eyes and the wide wagging of his tail.

  Andy saw a dragon in the sky approaching fast. He grabbed the unfinished ram’s body with his teeth and dashed away under cover of the cave roof, now like home to him. With the flapping of wings and the clatter of claws on stone, he landed.

  “Don’t go near him,” he heard Dad’s bass voice speaking to Jaga. “It’s his first blood…let him finish it.”

  “Where did he get a ram? What has he done? Where has he gone with his scars open like that? He’s going to get it all right!” the elf was upset at the loud cracking of bones coming from inside the cave. But she did not enter.

  Karegar chuckled. “I saw more than you did. Believe me, you’ll be surprised,” he said to Jaga and grabbed the ram’s guts and skin. “I’ll throw this to the griffons. Come out already, enough licking yourself!” he cried to Andy, who was grinding the last morsel.

  Guiltily hanging his head to the very ground and licking his bloody snout, Andy came out of the cave. Jaga took a breath, ready to let loose a tirade. S-s-s-s-s… she exhaled, and Dad stuck his tongue out.

  “Well I’ll be a griffon’s uncle!” he said, breaking the long silence.

  Jaga walked up to Andy and ran her hand along the scales on his side. Tears welled up in the elf’s eyes.

  “Open your wings up,” she asked and gently touched the shining dragonfly inserts on his wings with the ends of her fingers. Her warm palm slid over the colorful scrollwork of his scales. Jaga hugged his neck, thin compared to Karegar’s, and stood for a long time admiring the flashes of color on the young dragon’s back, lit up by the sun. Karegar lay on the edge of the cave floor like a silent mountain. He was bursting with parental pride. The elf took a few steps back from Andy and, looking him in the blue eyes with yellow vertical pupils, said, “I’ve thought of a name for you.”

  ***

  Wow, everything hurts so bad… I never imagined that once I became a dragon, I would get dog tired. A horse can be ridden to death, and sometimes, I feel the same fate is befalling
me. Dad’s taken it upon himself to seriously train me, teaching a full class of “young dragon,” after which I ought to become a full-fledged flying dragon. He’ll most likely chase me into a funeral pyre, then I’ll rise up into the sky as smoke, not by the power of my wings. Jaga completely and totally supports Dad’s initiatives to wipe me off the face of this planet, me who he’s designated the “crystal” dragon.

  “Kerr, you became a dragon when you were already almost a full-grown person! Your new body is trying to catch up with your adult mind. That’s why…”

  That’s why shut up and quit whining, or I’ll send a red-hot fireball up your tail or come up with something else particularly nasty. Run, faster, Kerr, move those paws!

  “How many laps did you run around the village? Fifty? Only fifty? Kids, who want to take a ride on a dragon? Everyone? Well, climb on, and you, stand still and don’t wiggle. What do you mean too many? Too many kids? You’ve only got ten little tots on your back! Twenty laps for complaining! Go on, move it! Are you a dragon or what?”

  As Dad and Jaga say, the goal is to get closer to the people, and I have been chosen to be the bond that brings us all together. And the people are glad to do their part. They’ve thrown an entire kindergarten on me while they sit on their benches and munch sunflower seeds. They discuss among themselves which lap I’ll be on when my legs give out. It’s just plain awful.

  After my laps, the children stay on my back, and I begin the exercises designed to develop my wing-flapping muscles. Wings forward, resting against the ground a-a-a-and, do a push-up. In order for life not to seem too sweet, I have to start out with one hundred push-ups to the happy cries of the kiddos.

  “Have you done the exercises? Change your position. Open your wings, let the children crawl up onto the ends. Slowly bring them up, now down. If you scare any of the dozens of kids clinging onto you, the number of reps goes up twenty times!” The nimble little babes unhook their hands and plop to the ground all by themselves, but Dad’s pretending not to notice their cleverness and is increasing the number of repetitions. It’s cruel. I wouldn’t put it past him to make me sweep the whole village, just to make sure I know how it feels to clean my own spit off the hard ground. I can’t go into settage; Jaga watches me like a hawk.

 

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