“So may a prophecy be wrong,” said Lizzie. “It takes no cunning to foretell fires in the summertime, and anyone with a long memory could guess that a dragon might be the cause. Richard held on to the prophecy because he’s always loved the stories of his forebears and how they slew the dragons. He often said he wished that he were one of them, and could slay a fiery beast. The soothsayer only fired his hope, that’s all; it was no prophecy, but a playing on a boy’s wild dreams.”
Suspecting she was right, I shifted to safer ground. “Well, whether the prophecy is true or no, we still have to get on with our lives,” I said. “We have to find somewhere for you to live. You didn’t like the idea of a nunnery, and you can’t work on a farm with me. Last night Lan talked a lot of foolery, but there was one thing she said aright. It may be that the fates did bring us here, but only so that you could walk again, and find a home. Mayhap this is where you should be, Lizzie. Think on it.”
Lizzie’s mouth folded in a straight line, and her chin stuck out—a sign of stubbornness I would grow to know well. “Not many days past,” she said, “you told me you felt akin to me, that I reminded you of your little sister Addy, and it helped you to help me. You said you’d not make me do anything I was against.”
“None of that’s changed. I thought you’d like to stay. You’re happy here.” She said nothing, and I blundered on, hoping to stir some sense in her. “I know Lan told you of a town in the south, where there are several Chinese families. It may be that some are people you know, from the ship you came on. If you want to go to them, I’ll come back and take you there, when your feet are properly healed. But I’ll not tarry here longer. I’m going on the morrow. This time I mean it.”
Poker-faced, she stood up, then stumbled. I reached out to steady her, but she pulled away. “Lan was right,” she said, cold as frost. “You’ve a faint heart, Jude of Doran.” Then she turned and began limping back to the house.
“And your heart is fickle!” I bellowed after her. “You’ve changed! You were a more pleasant maid when you were in your cage!”
To my astonishment she turned around and raised her bow fingers to me. Then she vanished into the house.
Swearing, I shoved more sticks into the oven, and purposed in my heart to leave Lan’s on the morrow, whether Lizzie liked it or no. I tell you, Brother Benedict, women are mighty hard to fathom at times, and you can thank your stars you have no dealings with them. Lizzie still bewilders me sometimes, and vexes me, though she’s a lamb compared to Old Lan.
The evening was tranquil, I remember, the air ringing with the songs of crickets and birds. It is uncanny, how one remembers little details. There was a tiny grass-snake by the oven, drawn no doubt by the sweet scent of baking bread. Across the dusty grasslands that surrounded Lan’s house I could see the golden fields, near shorn of all their wheat, and the church tower beyond. Those were the last moments of my peace, such as it was.
Of a sudden, all went quiet. I stopped tending the fire and looked up. High in the violet skies was a great bird. I thought of the eagles my grandfather had spoken of, which he saw on his travels north; and I watched, entranced. Slowly the bird flew down, lower and lower, and I saw, with heart thundering and terror crashing over me, that it was not a bird but a winged lizard, aglow like copper in the sunset fire.
“Holy Jesus, save us!” I prayed, and got up, stumbling backwards to the house, my eyes never leaving the horror in the skies. Before I reached the door I felt Lizzie at my side, and Lan with us.
“Keep silent, don’t move,” whispered Lan. “’Tis only after my bread. It’s already eaten well—you can see its belly swollen and full. With any luck it’ll come right down, and you’ll get a good eyeful.”
Corpus bones! Was she afraid of nothing? I wanted to scream, to howl, to run, but Lan gripped my arm and held me fast.
Down and down the dragon came, drifting slow, now and then beating its wide wings. It circled directly over our heads, and I could see wisps of smoke puffing from its wide nostrils. Its amber wings seemed parchment-thin and smooth, and the light shone through between the dark lines marking sinews and bones. But the rest of the beast glittered with scales, multicoloured and coppery, sheen of tawny gold shot through with purple and turquoise and orange. Even through all my hate and fear, I thought that it was beautiful.
The dragon flew on, was lost beyond the branches of the trees behind Lan’s house. As still as stones, we waited for it to appear again. But it did not. It was still overhead somewhere, hidden by the trees and the steep roof of Lan’s house. All around, the earth was uncannily still, quiet as death. Then I noticed a shadow sliding along the ground, from behind us. Larger it grew, and larger, purple-blue on the shining grass. There was no sound; just that dreadful shadow coming ever nearer, increasing, from somewhere behind the house. Then a sound, velvet-soft, like a huge breath being expelled, and wind whistling over wings. At that moment it appeared, directly over our heads, so close I could have tossed a stone at it. Across the garden it flew, over the grass, then turned just before it reached the village fields, and came back, only the height of a man above the earth. Its breath shimmered; before it the grass bent, caught alight, little flames running before the heat. The sunset air was full of tiny fires, insects flying with their wings alight, then dropping, scorched, upon the grass. Smoke drifted, stinking of sulphur.
Then the dragon landed, wings spread wide to break the flight. It dropped, touched the grass, and stopped. It was just on the other side of Lan’s garden.
My heart hammered as if it were about to leap out of my breast. I could hear Old Lan muttering under her breath, and hoped she prayed, or else was making the strongest spell that ever was made by a witch. I tell you, Brother Benedict, at times like that it doesn’t matter much who helps—God or the devil.
The dragon came nearer, its head moving low along the ground, side to side, sniffing. Every time it breathed, it scorched a trail of fire across the earth. Its neck was long, graceful, and glittering like gold. Its wings were folded close against its brilliant body, the wing sections shiny and ribbed like fish fins, the fine bones ending in sharp hooks. The long barbed tail was bent, the bones set crookedly, yet it coiled and uncoiled as slowly and smoothly as a snake. All the dragon’s movements were smooth, fluid and fascinating, almost spellbinding in their beauty and their deadliness. Its body and head were the size of those of a large horse; but the length of its neck and tail, and the breadth of its wings when they were outstretched, gave it fearsome size.
My breath hurt in my throat, and I felt dizzy and sick. Sweat trickled down my face and neck, and I could not stop shaking. I dared not take my eyes off the dragon’s head. Smoke clung all about, and I could smell the awful stench that had hung over Doran that fateful day. As the creature came nearer I could hear its scales sliding across one another, sounding like silk, softer and more treacherous than a sword being drawn from its scabbard. I saw its scarlet eyes, ringed in scales like a lizard’s eyes. Paralysed, I waited. It was looking right at me, surely! It would breathe soon, and Lizzie and Lan and I and the house would be cinders.
But the dragon moved away, its head low to the ground, sniffing, its forked tongue licking the grass, tasting the air and the smoke laden with the scent of bread. Finding the oven, it clawed aside the stones and found the bread. It ate everything—burned wood and dough, even the ashes and some of the smaller stones. I could see its jaws moving, hear the splintering of wood and grinding of teeth. As the dragon ate it breathed out ash and blue fumes, and in the hush the slow expulsion of breath sounded harsh and terrible. The air reeked of dragon-fire.
And then, its meal complete, the beast simply leaped into the evening air, and flew away.
Lan rushed into the house, got a blanket, and began beating out the little fires that were spreading through the grass. I collapsed against the wall of her house and covered my face with my hands, trying to shut out the sight, the memories of Doran, the thoughts that tortured me. And through all the h
orror and grief there rose an awful hate, powerful beyond words.
When next I opened my eyes, Lizzie was helping Lan with the fires, limping to and fro betwixt Lan and the well, carrying buckets of water. When they had finished, Lan passed close by me on her way back into the house.
“I should have poisoned my bread, Jude!” she cackled. “We could have lived on dragon steaks till Christmastide!”
Something shattered in me, and I shouted, “Witch! You called it here! You called it, with your spells and enchantments and devil-powers! Why didn’t you kill it, while you had it? For God’s love—you lived with a knight who told you all the tricks! You said you could kill the thing—why didn’t you? Why let it fly off to burn another village, and slaughter more people? How could you let it go like that, and then jest? How can you jest?” I was babbling, half out of my wits with terror and hate and rage.
Lan drew herself up to her full height. She barely reached my chest. “I didn’t slay it, Jude,” she said, with deadly calm, “because I was not ready. There is a certain amount of preparation, before my weapon can be used. But I shall make those preparations, if that’s your wish. Jing-wei knows the power of what I have to use, and knows how it is best harnessed. She would go, if you would carry her there.”
“Go?” I said, stupidly. “Go where?”
“To the coast where the dragon dwells. I’m a little old for such a journey. But you could make it. You and Jing-wei, together. You could kill the beast.”
“Aye, for sure!” I said, trying to laugh. “I can just see that—a fiery beast slaughtered by a village oaf who can’t shoot a barn at twenty paces, and a crippled maid! And what shall we do after that—go and conquer Scotland?”
“You talk like a fool,” she said. “And Jing-wei is no crippled maid. If anyone is crippled here, ’tis you.”
Lan went inside, and I stormed off—
Oh, Brother, there go the bells again! Have done, begone, no time to waste! I swear I’ll get straight into the tale tomorrow, no idle gossip first!
twelve
As promised, straight into the tale!
I was sorely tempted to leave Lan’s there and then, for I’d endured about as much as I could take from that old witch; but I could not go without Lizzie. I was mortal scared that Old Lan had indeed enchanted her, and her wits were gone. And if Lan had been serious in her talk about the dragon hunt, then she was mad, or demon-possessed, and mortal dangerous. Nothing would save Lizzie now, excepting I carried her away.
She was standing by the step, just outside the door. Though it was almost dark by then, I could see by the starlight that her face was calm and solemn, and her hands were folded in her sleeves. It was the way she had stood that day I first saw her, on the platform in Tybalt’s tent. A thousand summers ago, it seemed.
“Lan’s dangerous,” I said, very low. “She’s put a spell on you, the same way she bewitched the dragon to come down here, and then to leave without causing strife. She’s a witch, Lizzie. Can you not see that? We should go afore we both get entangled in her sorceries, and this folly gets worse. Will you come with me now? I’ll carry you. And I’ll help you to walk a little way each day, as Lan advised. Your healing will go on. You’ll lose nothing by leaving with me now, save witchery.”
“I will not go,” she said. “Lan is no witch, only a woman wise in science and alchemy, and in things not yet invented in this backward land. There is a weapon we can use, long used in China, which I know about. And the dragon was not called here, any more than it was called to Doran or to the other places it destroyed. It came by chance, drawn by the smell of baking bread. Forget your fear, Jude. We can kill this beast, you and I.”
“Tell me you jest,” I said.
But she remained grave as a nun.
“By Jesus’ blessed tree, you are bewitched!” I cried. “Either that, or else you’re a lunatic, mad as Lan! I’ll not be trapped here with you, bewitched into a plot that can only lead to death! I’m off.”
“If you go, you’ll never have peace,” she said. “Lan was right about that. You will forever blame yourself that you knew how to slay the thing that destroyed your family, yet did nothing.”
“Why should you care?” I asked, harsh because she spoke the truth.
She was silent for so long that I tried to see her face, to read her feelings there; but she looked away, biting her lip, and I supposed she was angry with me.
“This is farewell, then,” I said. “I’ll come and see you sometime, if you wish.”
“Of course I wish it, Jude,” she said, very quiet. “Where will you go?”
“Anywhere,” I said. “Anywhere save here. I’ll find work, become a swineherd again, mayhap.”
In the dark doorway behind Lizzie, Old Lan appeared, snorting. “Forget the boy, Jing-wei,” she said. “He’s a fainthearted fool, crippled by his fear, afraid to face his destiny. Let him go back to his pigs. I’ll go with you, and together we shall slay the beast. We’ll have Ambrose’s brave spirit on our side, and his hard-won wisdom. We’ll finish the work that he began. ’Tis a fine enough reason for us to go, daughter.”
“I know another fine reason!” I cried, furious. “You’ll rid the world of a witch, and that’s no small accomplishment! ’Tis a pity you’ll take a hapless maid with you, though.”
Without a word Lan hobbled back inside. Lizzie went with her, not even stopping to say farewell, or to wish me Godspeed.
Shaking with helpless rage, I walked away, past the burned ground in the garden, towards the shorn fields, the church tower, and the village. The force of my anger was frightening, overwhelming, like a furnace melting all my fear and guilt and grief into white-hot hate. I stopped on the blackened earth where the beast had been, and thought of Doran blackened on that fateful day, and Lizzie’s words drove into me like knives.
Swearing, I turned and strode back to the house. They had closed the door, so I flung it open with such force that it crashed against the wall. Lan was hacking at vegetables with an evil-looking knife, and Lizzie was sitting on a stool before the fire, her cheeks streaked with tears.
Stopping on the step, half out of my wits with despair and rage, I said two words that altered all my life. “I’ll go,” I said.
Lizzie half stood, a smile breaking like the dawn across her face. Then she sat down again, her hands in her lap, upturned. Her gaze was on me still, and the look in her face, the joy, the smile on her, is the kind of look every lad longs for from a maid. I remember wondering, in those strange, fateful moments, if every maid would smile like that on a lad who pledged himself to die for her. Little wonder the knights were so courageous at the tournaments I’d heard about, willing to spill their blood for a lady’s love.
Lan put down her knife and came and stared into my face, so close I could smell the stink of her breath. She was not smiling.
“You’ve an inconstant heart, Jude of Doran,” she said. “Your moods are fickle, now up, now down, like buckets in a well. How do I know you won’t change your mind? That you won’t abandon Jing-wei halfway through the quest?”
“I plight my word,” I said. “I’d rather go with her, even if I die, than let her go with you.”
“Swear it,” she said. “Swear by all you believe in, that you’ll be Jing-wei’s true and steadfast friend, that you’ll go with her to the dragon’s lair, and do all that she says, without argument.”
“I wouldn’t count on that last,” I said.
“But I do count on it, Jude,” she said, leaning too close for comfort. “The souls of your dead kin count on it, and Jing-wei counts on it, and it is counted much upon by all the folk you’re going to save. So will you do as Jing-wei says, the moment she asks, without question or argument?”
God’s soul, I could swear her eyes were alight! I wanted to look away, and could not. I was trapped in that fiery bloodred stare of hers, paralysed and helpless, like a fly in a web.
At last I found my tongue. “Aye,” I said. “I’ll do as she says.”
“Swear it,” Lan said.
A long time it took, afore the words were out of me. “I swear it, on God’s cross and my salvation.”
“’Tis done, then!” Lan crowed, triumphant.
And so it was. I pledged my soul, Brother Benedict, to obedience without question. I see you nod, solemn-like, knowing vows like that. At least you made your vows to the Abbot and to God. I made mine to a wizened crone and a crippled maid so full of mystery and secrets that the vowing felt like the signing of the warrant to my own death.
thirteen
Greetings, Brother. You look worn out. Jing-wei told me you sat with Father Matthew all night, and that he clings to this world, still. Are you sure you want to do this work with me today? You do? Very well. But sign if you want to stop, for well I know the weariness that sorrow brings.
I see you’ve been drawing again, along the top of the page. A dragon, and remarkably well done, too! But if you don’t mind my saying so, there needs to be a horn at the end of its nose, between its nostrils. ’Tis about the length of your quill, the horn. You can draw it in later, and then your picture will be wonderfully true to the real creature.
Meanwhile, I’ll tell you of the plot that Old Lan made for the slaying of it.
That very night, with the three of us around the fire, she told Lizzie and me of her scheme. Deep-laid it was, shrewd and purposeful, and I had the feeling that she’d heard it long ago from Ambrose, and held it in her heart, and dwelled on it long nights of late, while the dragon ravaged our land. She was excited, telling of it, zealous and exact, like a king plotting war.
“You have to know your enemy,” she said, “so I’ll tell you all that Ambrose told me. First, know the dragon’s three great strengths: fire, swiftness, and flight. Its fire you already know—you’ve seen what it can do. What you didn’t see tonight was its swiftness. Ambrose said a dragon can turn a circle upon a single foot; you might come up behind it, but afore you blink, it will have spun about and covered you with its fire. And it flies very quiet, for ’tis light, and can drift great distances without a sound. And those are its only strengths.
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