by Karen Frost
~*~
Hours later, or so Mary Jane guessed, the dragon began to fly lower, its ribs skimming over the treetops so close that Mary Jane felt that if they dropped any lower she would be able to touch the leaves with her feet. She picked her head up and squinted into the distance. Ahead, she could just barely make out four twisting gray spires rising unnaturally from among the sparse trees and blanket of snow. Blood red pennants rippled in the savage wind atop each spire. That same wind lashed into her as well, each gust like the stroke of a whip across her face. Mary Jane was shivering so hard that her teeth clattered together as loudly as the sound of horse hooves against the street outside her window at home when the horses pulled couples around at night. Her knuckles were white and bloodless from holding so tightly to Hissarlik's shoulder bones.
The dragon flew closer and she saw that the spires were actually massive towers that rose several hundred feet into the sky. They were not made of individual blocks of stone, but appeared to have been carved from one single piece of rock. Mary Jane had to admit that in their own way, they were beautiful. Still, her heart sank.
“Morlach,” she breathed aloud, the wind tearing the words from her lips and throwing them to the sky.
Indeed, she could now see the eerie blue flicker of a smokeless fire encircling the castle. It danced soundlessly around Morlach, casting blue shadows on the gray walls. Outside the perimeter of the fire, the lances and shields of a stone army thousands strong poked out of the snow like twigs slowly revealed by melting snow. Even as Mary Jane watched, she thought she could see the snow melting, and more of the army exposed. Unexpectedly, the dragon banked steeply in a tight circle over the castle then dropped straight down into the deserted courtyard. Mary Jane was tossed against Hissarlik's neck and was just barely able to avoid falling.
“Dismount,” the dragon commanded, settling itself close to the ground.
Mary Jane let go of the freezing white bones, her fingers numb and clumsy. She flexed them with difficulty, rubbed them together, and then breathed on them to warm them. When she felt more confident that they would be able to hold on, she climbed down the dragon as far as she could before jumping the final few feet to the ground. She looked up to see Hissarlik's ruby eyes watching her, burning fiercely. The reflection of the blue fire fought with the red fire within them like two enemies and Mary Jane looked away.
At that moment, the great black doors of Morlach castle were thrown open and a tall woman in a flowing white robe and thick red cloak marched through them. Her waist-length white hair flew free behind her, swirling in the mountain wind. Her eyes were so dark they looked black. Those bottomless eyes locked upon Mary Jane's and suddenly Mary Jane felt as though all the air in her lungs had been sucked out. She gasped and clawed at her throat; it felt as though an unseen hand had closed around her neck and was steadily tightening, choking her. She fell to her knees, gagging. The woman in white now stood before her, her eyes cold, watching. Mary Jane had just decided that she probably was going to pass out when the feeling disappeared. She coughed and gasped as her lungs greedily filled with as much air as they could hold.
Mary Jane whispered hoarsely, “Mirrin.”
“Yes,” Mirrin said emotionlessly.
"Why?" Mary Jane asked weakly.
Mirrin said nothing.
“What do you want with me?” Mary Jane asked, this time a little stronger.
Mirrin opened her mouth to respond, but just then a strong wind caused the blue flame around Morlach to flicker. Her eyes were deep pools of blackness set into a snow white face that reflected the blue flames of the fire. She watched the flames hungrily, but they held.
“Soon, soon,” Mirrin murmured to herself, unconsciously rubbing her hands together.
“Come,” she snapped, her attention returning to Mary Jane.
Mirrin turned on her booted heel and walked away without watching to see if Mary Jane would follow. Mary Jane guessed that the sorceress did not anticipate Mary Jane refusing, or else did not care if Mary Jane stayed outside to freeze in the cold. Mirrin disappeared back through the heavy wooden doors of Morlach and they closed behind her with a loud boom. The dragon hissed a plume of angry fire in Mirrin's direction and Mary Jane, recalling Hissarlik’s words to her earlier, understood that it, too, was a prisoner of Mirrin.
She asked, “Hissarlik, if you had your heartstone again, what would you do?”
The dragon let forth a scream full of rage and replied, “If I had my heartstone, I would lay waste to Morlach and burn this forest to the ground with the heat of my fire. Then I would fly to my cave in the Western Plains and sleep on my treasure for a hundred years.”
Having spoken, and without warning, he flapped his wings and at the same time launched himself into the air, quickly rising into the air in a wide circle before flying away from the castle. Mary Jane watched as he gradually became a smaller and smaller dark spot on the horizon, then slowly walked towards the giant door of the castle, dragging her feet behind her. The door was made of a naturally black wood, and affixed upon it was a brass plaque decorated with the ferocious face of a snarling gargoyle. It was so lifelike that Mary Jane imagined it snapping and biting at her with its sharp fangs, which were over an inch long each. She looked away from it as she pushed open the heavy door with her shoulder and entered.
