by Alex Sapegin
“Where’s Dad?” Andy asked the elf, only just noticing Karegar was gone.
“He won’t be back ’til tomorrow or the day after.”
Andy lifted his brows. “Flew to the lake,” she answered his silent question. I get it, when a dragon’s angry and annoyed, he’s no sweet treat to all those around him, plus he just wants to be alone.
In half an hour, they finished with the herbs. They were tied in little bundles, wound up again in dry rags and placed in birch baskets. Andy flew the yawning Jaga home and went back for Polana and her baskets of herbs. The girl laid them on him and climbed on his neck.
“What a smell!” Polana said when they flew over the deciduous forest. “The Nightbloom is in bloom; now’s the time to gather. You have to get them at night. Will you come with me?”
She’s actually asking me! He went breathless with excitement.
The tradesmen had set up camp on the edge of the village. There was a small caravan of five wagons and two carts. Andy landed far from the horses. Scaring the animals and having them wake everyone up was the last thing he needed. Polana quickly took the herbs inside and came back with a small basket behind her shoulders.
“Let’s fly!” she “commanded,” and Andy chuckled to himself.
***
“You know, when I was small, my mom told me a story,” Polana said when they landed in the meadow with the Nightbloom. Andy didn’t change hypostasis. In a rush, he had forgotten his clothes in the cave, and walking around naked in front of a girl he liked is a faux pas.
“What story?” he inquired politely.
“About dragons. My mother said that at night, when Nightbloom is in bloom, a heavenly fire in the form of a golden dragon comes down to Ilanta. He flies over houses, cities, and villages. Only pure maidens can see this fire, and the one who notices him first can call him to come with her to a meadow of Nightblooms and experience the love of the Lord of the Sky, who turns into a beautiful youth. The lucky girl, with the love of the dragon, gets heavenly beauty and prolonged youth.” She dropped the basket from her shoulders and took a blanket and a red ribbon from it. Andy got a sweet feeling in the pit of his stomach, and the tips of his wings trembled. “I have an intended fiancé, but I want you to be the one to tie the first matrimonial ribbon on me. You’re my dragon from the fairy tale. Turn around.”
Andy turned around like an obedient child. His wild imagination drew several frivolous pictures of what was happening behind him. The tip of his tail was drumming against the ground like a wind-up toy. He could hear the slight sound of untied laces behind his back. He couldn’t stand it and turned around. Polana saw eyes glowing with a blue light and slowly, deliberately pulled the lace at her chest.
“What about your fiancé?” Andy tried to step back a bit; he was suddenly scared. He had dreamed of this moment, but he had never been with a woman before. Naughty dreams and daydreams don’t count, and… he was afraid he’d goof it up.
“Silly,” the overalls fell to Polana’s feet, and the nighttime nymph was standing before him in all her naked glory. “He doesn’t know. You keep our secret.”
Andy turned around, took a step toward the object of his passion, changed hypostasis in an instant, and awkwardly dug into her supple, warm lips…
***
Polana’s father had given her the task of walking around the merchant rows of Gornbuld and finding out the prices of goods. She assessed the variety and quality of the goods. She hadn’t been in a gnome city in six months. Trading was noisy, barkers were shouting, and cunning salesmen grabbed the pretty girl by the hand and offered valuables and jewelry. Not paying their promises any mind, she turned to the dealers. They had taken a dozen hasses from Rum in the valley to sell, and it was worth it to find out the prices of the four-legged goods so as not to get in a bind. In the rows with hasses, she suddenly came upon the tent of a zavis and wanted to keep walking, but a redheaded woman stopped her.
“Hey, beautiful, do you wanna know your fortune? The old lady never lies.”
Polana was interested. “How can your clients tell whether the old fortune teller is lying or not? Or do they just wait for the third moon to rise?”
“You don’t have to pay any money, Granny will tell your past and present first, and then you can decide whether to pay and find out your future or go away with nothing.” The redhead smiled.
“All right then,” Polana decided. She could do a thing or two with magic, herself, and she wanted to see the charlatan, or maybe not a charlatan. The hasses wouldn’t run away in five minutes.
The redhead lifted the tent flap and stepped behind Polana. “Granny!”
A hideous old lady came out from behind a curtain in response to the call. Her whole face and wide hooked nose were furrowed with deep wrinkles. Black stumps of teeth stuck out from her cavity of a mouth. Her thin hair fell in greasy locks.
“Charda, leave the tent and don’t let anyone in here!” she ordered in an authoritative voice and raised her head. Polana grew a little cold. The old woman’s eyes were completely white. She extended her hand with its long knobby fingers.
“Give me what you’re hiding in your bodice.”
Polana became even more frightened, but she dares not disobey and took out her matrimonial ribbon. She was already convinced that the zavis wasn’t a charlatan. With a sharp movement, the ancient zavis grabbed the ribbon and stood swaying back and forth for a few minutes. Suddenly, her toothless mouth opened, and she asked with the hiss of a snake, “Were you his first? Answer me!”
“Yes,” Polana answered. She had chills.
The old woman laughed a cackling laugh. “You hussy! Read too many ancient legends, have we? Decided you would get the power by trickery? You tricked one love-struck dragon and ran away before the Mistress caught on? Oh, yes! Jagirra would tear you apart with her bare hands! How did she miss such a liar as yourself? For deceiving a dragon once, you ought to be quartered three times over!”
“Who are you to talk to me like that!” Polana cried and grabbed the ribbon. The crazy old woman grabbed her by the arm. She was unbelievably strong. Polana fell to her knees.
“A Seal. A white Seal. Have you heard scary stories about Seals?” The girl nodded. Tears came from her eyes. “They’re ugly witches who can tell the future and have a terrifying unknown strength. It’s too late to cry. Do you know how we became Seals? No? You should have read the whole book.”
She shoved the crying client with her foot. “You deceived a dragon and got his love. And not just love, you got a magical power. The fairy tales are true. Your youth will be long, a hundred years or more, and then, in one fine instant, you’ll turn into an old crone like me, and you’ll live a thousand years, unable to die. That’s exactly why virgin dragons must not meet with virgin girls! Their first night in the arms of a virgin is truly magical, and the power and magic splashed with ecstasy are transferred. They try with all their might to keep their first love. And they keep it…”
“What about you, old hag! Must be hard to bear a stolen strength?” Polana cried, fighting her fear. The Larga grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of the tent.
“Get out!” The old woman hobbled back to the tent. Her strength had suddenly left her.
“Charda!” In response to the cry, the redhead ran into the tent with a worried look. “Get me a pen and paper, quickly.”
The girl brought what was asked for. The old lady grabbed the writing materials and began to scribble something in Edda. When she was done with the letter, she wrapped it up and slid it into a small tube.
“Take all the gold and ride to Karegar’s valley. Give this letter to the elf that lives there. Don’t come back here. Now, listen to how to get there.” The old zavis told her helper the way to the protected little corner of the world and handed her some purses full of gold and precious stones. Then she closed the tent flap.
***
Some time, a long, long time ago, the old Larga’s name was Enira. The daughter of a roya
l magnate had fallen in love with a Lord of the Sky, and he returned her sentiment. They got married. Enira wasn’t afraid to become a Larga. Life with her were-dragon rid her of the curse of someone else’s power. But on the second day after the wedding, Ratigar flew off to a banquet and never came back…
Largas live long, and cannot end their lives by suicide. The slightest thought on the subject, and they undergo terrible pain. They can die from another’s hand, but in 3,000 years, no one had lifted a hand against the ugly old woman. They can trip and fall into a hole, but no unfortunate accidents had crossed the clairvoyant's path. Or, they could die by passing their power on to another Larga, who was marked with the seal of the magic and power of a dragon. Enira had read the pretty girl’s dirty soul and transferred her power to her without any prick of conscience. Even more reason to, since the girl wouldn’t have time to use it. Largas truly can see certain people’s future, and Enira had seen the girl’s death. In three days, the trade caravan would encounter a gang of robbers, and a bolt would pierce the sleeping deceiver’s heart. The power of sorcery only awakens after seven days. And, holding the ribbon in her hands, she also saw the dragon’s future. Blood, pain, and war—another war; he had so little time. The Mistress, Lady Jagirra, ought not hold the wind in her hands, for her own sake, for his sake…
Her last strength left her, and the old woman’s white eyes turned clear. The soul, finally free from the body, ascended in a wisp of smoke.
Epilogue
Crouching clumsily and nodding from fatigue, Charda jumped down from her mule. The fog, thick as soup, rose from the river to cover the cliffs all around with a cloudy curtain. The sounds of a mountain stream bubbling along the sandbars faded away into the impenetrable milky cloud.
The girl took the mule by the bridle and stepped along a narrow trail that ran along the embankment, carefully navigating the wet stones. Her eyes were heavy, closing all by themselves. Her granny had described everything exactly. It would take three days to get from Gornbuld to the hidden passageway to the protected valley. Charda hadn’t slept almost that entire time. During the day, she rode Teaser from one landmark to another as described by Granny, and during the night, she kept the fire going all night and kept her mule close to her. He wouldn’t have run away anyway. He snuggled up against his human, sat down on his hind legs, and flicked his ears attentively whenever he heard a rustling nearby or the far-off howl of a predator.
“Ah!” Charda slipped on a wet stone and almost fell. Someone’s hand grabbed her by the elbow and kept her upright.
“Thank you!” she said to the unknown helper. Something sharp dug into her back. Sensing a stranger, Teaser tugged on the reigns and brayed. Her sleepiness disappeared in an instant.
“You should be more careful,” a creaking male voice came from behind. An acrid, stinky smell assailed her nostrils, like from the leather-tanning district of a city. “Don’t move an inch!”
The milky haze dissolved, and she saw a short guy in a cape with a hood on his head and a loaded crossbow in his hands standing in front of her.
“Duke, step aside,” he said, and the sharp metal point she could feel pressing into her back relented. River pebbles gave off a muffled rustling from under the bulky body. Charda didn’t dare move. Her gaze was fixed on the glint off the tip of the bolt aimed at her.
“Where are you taking this path to, dear?”
“To Karegar’s Valley.”
“Well, well now!” the little man said and moved the crossbow slowly side to side. “Don’t you move a muscle! And what business do you have there?”
“I have a letter for the elf.” The girl tried hard not to cry and not to bolt. She was so upset, she was on the verge of tears. After making it all the way through a wood full of ravenous predators, she was caught by bandits at the very end… Maybe they would leave her alone if they knew she was just a messenger.
“Give it to me. I’ll take it to her.” The crossbow shifted its aim away from her; the bowman held out his hand. The cape moved, and the hood fell from his head to reveal a gnome’s fiery locks.
“Take it,” Charda pulled the small tube out of her bodice. “I don’t think your hands can be sewn back on; if you don’t get your head cut off, that is,” she bluffed recklessly. “Only the elf can open the tube. That’s what my granny said.”
“And who is your granny?” she heard someone say from behind.
“A zavis from Gornbuld.”
“Seriously?” The gnome thought for a moment. “Glir!” he cried, turning a little, but still not taking the crossbow’s aim off her.
“What?” the sound of the unseen Glir’s voice came as if through a haystack.
“To the village, quiet as a mouse. Let ‘em know there’s a letter for the Mistress.” The sound of hurried feet scurrying away was the reply. “You can relax, dear. You can put your hands down, too.”
Charda realized they weren’t going to rob and kill her and calmed down. The villagers were defending the path at any cost. The girl glanced around and noticed a large flat boulder, sat down on it, and wrapped her arms around her knees.
Twenty minutes later, the loud sound of flapping wings came from above, and a golden dragon landed near the messenger. Charda, with good reason, considered herself a brave person, but when she saw the tooth-filled mouth a foot away from her face, she went breathless and started to tremble. She curled up into a ball and awaited death by the ancient monster. Teaser brayed and rolled his eyes wildly, tore away from the lead, and galloped up the trail. The mule didn’t get far. After a few seconds, a blinding light flashed under his feet, and the animal was ripped in two, drops of blood dousing the crossbow-yielding gnome.
“Wait!” The dragon grabbed Charda by the shoulder, who had tried to run to Teaser’s aid. “Are you through with living? You want to run over the cutting stones?”
“Teaser…” Charda sobbed, and without realizing what she was doing, hugged the dragon’s surprisingly warm neck.
“Gmar,” he said. “Take our guest to the village and come back. I’ll guard the trail in the meantime.”
The gnome nodded in compliance. Judging from the way Kerr’s eyes shone and his nostrils widened when he smelled the fresh blood, it was clear, the girl ought not watch the “clean up.” With complete tact, Gmar unhooked the redhead from the dragon’s neck, took her by the hand and—carefully avoiding the traps—led her along the narrow path.
When he had given Charda over to the care of the old ladies of the village, Gmar hurried back. His watch wasn’t over yet. No need to worry about the girl anymore; the grandmothers would clean her up, feed her, give her something to drink and not let her out of their care. Glir saddled up on a hass and rode to fetch the Mistress in Karegar’s cave.
***
A dark shadow covered Charda for an instant. She was dozing in a wicker chair in an apple orchard. The loud beating of wings made her lift her disobedient eyelids. She was very sleepy after the filling porridge with spices and chunks of boiled meat she had eaten.
The golden dragon has landed, she thought, but another one landed next to the garden, black as tar and as big as a house. How many of them are there here? She’d heard only one tale about the Lords of the Sky in her life, and now she’d seen two with her own eyes today. A stately female figure lightly slid from the giant’s neck. The elf!
“Hello, my child.” The Rauu regally sat on the edge of a second chair that had been brought by the members of the household while the elf walked through the garden. When they set it down, they immediately disappeared, as if they had never been there. The black dragon carefully navigated his way through the trees behind the elf.
A real Mistress! Charda thought to herself, standing up from the chair and bowing low and respectfully. She had seen hundreds of highborn noblewomen but compared to the Mistress, they all paled.
“Sit down, there’s no need to get up. What is your grandmother’s name? It’s indeed she who sent you?”
“Yes, Madam.”
The girl bowed again. She couldn’t make herself sit down. “My grandmother’s name is Enira, but she doesn’t like that name.”
“Enira…” the Rauu clasped her hands together with interlocking fingers and turned to the dragon. “Do you remember?” In reply, he closed his eyes. “That means old Enira is still alive. Give me the letter.”
Charda pulled the letter out of her bodice and gave it to the elf. Taking a thin piece of paper from it, the Rauu concentrated on reading it carefully. A winged shadow flashed in the sky. The golden dragon landed on the edge of the orchard, his scales sparkling in the sun with a thousand rainbows. Folding his wings, the bright image immediately faded. He started to follow the black dragon’s tracks, but halfway there he wheezed, suddenly got up on his hind legs, opened his wings and collapsed to the ground on his back, like an epileptic having a seizure and knocking down several young trees with his tail. The elf jumped up from her chair and darted toward him, dropping the letter on the ground. The black dragon turned around, breaking several more apple trees with his powerful tail.
“Polana!” the young dragon cried, as he stopped his thrashing and spat out some black clots of blood from his great mouth. Ignoring the woman running toward him and the black dragon razing the apple trees, he turned over on his stomach and pushed off the ground with all fours, rocketing into the sky. “I’m off!”
“When was the girl with you?” the Rauu ran back to Charda. The elf’s almond eyes flashed like lightning.
“Three days ago. Granny threw her out of the tent, and immediately sent me to you.”
“Targ!” the Mistress of the valley swore, grabbing the paper and in one smooth motion mounting the black dragon’s neck. “Karegar, fly to Kerr! I put a tracker on him!”
“What’s wrong with him?” Karegar’s deep voice inquired.
“What? He was with Polana, understand? That wench! She wanted to receive the power and became a Larga! Enira writes that she’ll be killed today; it seems they’ve killed her already! Kerr felt it all—that cursed connection—he knows where she is!”
