by Rex Sumner
Crom swore and staggered behind her, earning a frown of disapproval from Lugh on the stage as the dancers swayed forward to drink from the bowl he offered. Susan drank the hot blood, gagging a little and trying to adjust Crom’s firm hand without success.
Something moved in the water, catching her eye and she froze, interrupting the worshippers. Crom pushed her and she pointed, at the roiling water which indicated the passage of something large and fast, sweeping towards the shore, towards them.
Others followed her hand and shouts of surprise echoed across the silence as the orchestra slowed and stopped, before the water erupted at the shore, spattering them all, and a large black lizard sprang out of the water.
Huge, menacing eyes gleamed at the crowd as it shook itself, drenching the worshippers, a long sail of spines along its back waving in the wind as it swaggered up to the platform. Great, armoured, obsidian scales ran down the back, while becoming smaller as they ranged round to the buttercup yellow belly. The head was broad and domed, intelligence shining out of eyes peering beneath heavy brows and an elongated snout from which flickered a long, yellow tongue, tasting the air and glowing like a flame. The high priest stepped back as the great head descended and engulfed the body of the ram, throwing it high to catch it head first. The throat worked, swelling and constricting as the ram made its way down the gullet, pale lines appearing between the scales as the skin distended. A hind leg caught in the corner of the mouth and it used one massive paw to force it down.
“I thought the bastard was dead,” Crom muttered behind her, unmoved by the spectacle. His words broke Susan’s trance and she thought with glee this must be Fiotr, returned from the dead, before wondering what it really was without the psilocybin’s interference.
The Goddesses didn’t move, just smiling in pleased restraint.
Lugh the high priest threw himself down in front of the dragon, crying in ecstasy.
“Fiotr, we welcome your return. Long have we wished for this day. You will lead us back to the lands of Elves to recover what was ours.”
The Tuatha de Danann joined in with cries of welcome which the dragon ignored, pushing through the fire as if it wasn’t there. He swaggered towards Crom with his swaying gait, leaning his head down and glaring at the War God.
“MINE!” A mental blast swept through the people, who staggered under the intensity and the dragon butted Crom back and onto his buttocks. The left front leg swept up Susan, and she cried out, thinking he was going to eat her. But instead he pushed her onto his neck. “Climb into the gap,” came a gentler mental instruction and she found a missing spine, making a saddle. She sat down, quivering in fear, for this was nothing like her dance with the bear, gripping the sides of the dragon’s neck with her feet and he turned to the water, ignoring the people on either side.
She saw an angry Crom running beside her as the dragon launched into the water, swimming now on the surface, out away from the land, propelled by his powerful tail.
Fiotr swam with impressive speed, creating a bow wave stretching back to the shore. Susan clasped his neck, struggling to breathe and with her thoughts floundering she tried to work out what had happened and where she was going.
“Home,” came a determined thought from the dragon.
For the first time Susan realised she was hearing the dragon inside her mind and quailed as she wondered if he heard all her thoughts.
“When you are close,” though Fiotr. “Easier if you speak.”
“Why me?” Susan asked, peering through the spray and choking as a wave hit her in the mouth.
“Aine is gone, escaped. Need servant,” thought the dragon, with a certain salacious resonance that filled Susan with dread. She remembered with bitter clarity frightening Riofach with being ravished by a dragon. “You sacrifice.”
“The ram was the sacrifice, not me.”
“Ram appetiser. You first girl, in middle, in front of Goddesses. Old custom,” said the dragon, with finality
“How will I serve you?” Her voice quivered, as she avoided another wave.
“Clean, groom, mate,” thought the dragon.
“WHAT! Don’t be ridiculous, you are much too big.”
The dragon kept quiet for a moment, and Susan could almost feel wheels turning in the great brain in front of her.
“Get bigger, like Aine. Use magic. Now, hold breath.”
“Hold breath? How long for?” No answer came as the dragon’s body rippled and Susan gulped as much air as she could, just in time as the great head submerged with the body following. For a moment she could see a green light, before she shut her eyes against the pull of the water, gripping the scales underneath her. She ducked her head, clasping the dragon’s body as tight as she could against the rush of water, her lungs beginning to sear. And then the pressure was gone, she opened her eyes and found herself above water, the dragon swimming with slow, deliberate strokes towards a rocky shore on the edge of an underground cavern.
“Where are we?” Susan wondered where the light came from as she sat up and peered through the gloom.
“Home,” thought Fiotr, “the Deeper World.” He dug his talons into the wet rock and pulled them ashore, leaning down to one side. Susan, after a moment’s hesitation, slid to the ground, backing away from Fiotr. He ignored her, padding up a tunnel in the gloom.
Susan waited till he disappeared before running to the edge of the rocks, peering into the water. The ripples eased away to a gentle swell, but the inky black depths frustrated her attempts to find a way out. The cavern stretched to the limit of her vision, nothing but bare rock. She waited, hoping for a vision, a swirl, colour and movement to tell her she was hallucinating. A firm pinch failed to wake her up and with disconsolate steps she trailed the dragon, her mind unable to grasp events as she wondered if she was astral travelling again. It didn’t seem like it.
All light vanished before a glow appeared in the distance, guiding her to the entrance to a large cave, uncomfortably warm. Fiotr lay on a smooth rock, his head stretched out in front of him, the eyes almost shut as they watched her approach. She looked around and there was nothing to see, just rock, warm rock and an area of sand, the scene lit by an eerie green phosphorescence from high in the roof of the cavern.
Avoiding the dragon, Susan walked to the sand and stuck a foot in, wiggling her toes in the warmth, wondering at the temperature.
“We are on a volcano,” thought the dragon. “The hatchery is good, yes?”
“Hatchery?” Susan blinked in bemusement.
“For our eggs,” thought the dragon with patent deliberation. “You will lay them there and bury them.”
Susan lost her temper and all restraint. “You stupid bloody dragon. First of all, I am not your mate, we cannot mate, we are different species, you are too bloody big and even if we could I am barren, and even if I could have a baby I wouldn’t lay a bloody egg, let alone eggs!”
Fiotr opened his eyes, blinked and turned his head down beside his body, raising a great hind leg and scratching at his eyebrow with a massive talon, sending a monstrous mite skittering across the rock.
“Barren? No matter, my magic will quicken your womb.”
He pulled his head up, fastened unblinking eyes on her and slid on his stomach towards her, propelled by his front legs. She backed away, tripping over something which she recognised as a bone, probably from a cow’s leg. The great snout nudged her legs, the long tongue flickering out and over her exposed thighs with a ticklish sensation. She yelped, scrambling up and smacking him on the nose with the bone so his jaws snapped shut.
“Stop that this moment!” She hoped he bit his tongue. “We are so not doing this.”
The dragon hesitated, appearing nonplussed. The tongue appeared again, and she saw it was deeply forked, each tendril flickering in opposite directions as they reached towards her. She smacked him again with the bone, experienci
ng deep satisfaction as she hit the tongue squarely in the fork. The dragon jerked back his head.
He rested on the sand, eyes transfixing her and waiting. She didn’t move, bone raised and ready. For an age they watched each other, Susan’s eyes drying till she realised she wasn’t blinking either.
“Make yourself useful,” thought Fiotr. “Get rid of some mites.” He extended his head towards her, neck stretching so the scales separated, rested his head on the sand and closed his eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, Susan saw something moving between the scales, and to her horror saw large beetles crawling around his skin, trying to get back out of sight under a scale. Each beetle boasted a bulbous, sac-like body and six little legs at the front around a fearsome set of jaws. She shuddered. The dragon waited.
Inching round the side of his head, Susan watched a large mite crawling up his neck towards the safety of the large scales surrounding his dewlap. As it came in reach, she smashed it hard with the bulbous end of her bone. It squished with a satisfying spurt of dragon blood and Fiotr snatched back his head with a sibilant hiss.
“Oww. What did you do?” The dragon seemed uncertain.
“I killed a mite.” Susan was pleased with herself. This was actually fun. “Come on, stick your head out, I’ll get some more.”
“No, not that way, it hurts. Pick them off with your hand and then pop them.”
“In your dreams, buster. I’m not touching those things.”
“My name is not Buster.” Susan saw another mite on his foreleg, took a step forward and creamed it. Fiotr withdrew his leg and shuffled backwards, while she stalked him. “Stop, this is the wrong way.”
“It works just fine. Stop being a baby, you wanted me to get rid of the mites, that’s what I am doing.”
Fiotr retreated to the top of his rock, searching his memories. The urge to mate sang through his veins, awakened from his long sleep. Something was wrong. He tried to remember the last time he mated and a vision of Aine surfaced, like this aggressive female but smaller. He missed Aine. He remembered twining their bodies together in mutual passion, their tails thrashing, and – wait. This memory was not of Aine, but longer ago. His mate, his real mate, a dragon like himself. From before, long before, before she was killed by the sea whales while fishing. He raised his head and trumpeted his loss and anguish in a long exhalation of breath, rushing over the scales that acted as vocal chords.
Susan, in the act of pursuing Fiotr up the rock, felt the emotion wash over her and reacted with tears, which poured down her face in a river and she bawled in sympathy, Fiotr’s memories washing through her mind. Dropping her bone, she crawled up the rock and cradled the great head in her arms, heedless of the mites that fled in terror from their nemesis.
The pain ebbed, and the dragon relaxed, pulling his head from her embrace and flicking his tongue over her tears in wonder.
“I know,” she said. “Elves don’t cry, but I am not an Elf. I am human, perhaps the first you ever met. Well, half human, it seems.” She felt his need and lifted up an eyebrow scale to scratch the itch from an old mite bite. He shuddered in pleasure and she reviewed some of his memories, sighing at the sad loneliness of his life. “Aine never understood a thing about you, did she? Selfish cow. To think they called me after her. Why did you do the bidding of the Tuatha de Danann?”
“I could hear them, and they worshipped me, fed me. They did my bidding. But I failed them in their war, I was away searching other lands for a mate, and they fell to the Milesians, who banished them to the Other Lands, through the Sidhe. I returned to help them recover, to become the Gods they are today in a final triumph over the Milesians.”
“How did you do that?”
“I tweaked the minds of the Milesians.”
“Oooh, that could be fun. Can you teach me?”
“Perhaps. But the ram lies heavy in my crop, I wish to sleep.” He yawned, great jaws opening wide enough to swallow Susan who recoiled from the smell.
“How long will you sleep for? I’m hungry, what can I eat and drink? There is nothing here.”
Fiotr stilled, and she could feel him searching his memories. “What do you eat, human mate?”
She smacked him under the jaw, in the soft dewlap. “I am your friend, not your mate. Get that thought right out of there. I eat most things, fruit, bread, meat, fish.”
“Fish? Oh, that’s all right then. Plenty in the water. Help yourself.” He snuggled down, preparing to sleep.
“Hey! Wait a minute, how am I supposed to catch them? And cook them? How can I make a fire here and what would I burn?”
The dragon came alert at the distress in her voice and considered the problem. “I brought food for Aine, and took her to sit in the sun every day. But she pined for her woods and flowers. Her food was different to yours, she was of the little people, those who came before. She faded and I took her home. I must return you. You cannot survive here with me.”
Fiotr rose on all fours, belly off the ground and shook himself. Susan could feel the sadness permeating through the mental barriers he raised.
“What will you do, my friend? Would you come and visit me? We can talk and I shall kill your mites.”
“Perhaps. I think I shall go wandering, seeking more of my own.”
Susan felt an undercurrent of emotion, and probed, seeking to understand, which the dragon blocked. Sudden insight came as she recalled the death of his mate. She slid down the rock to the level area.
“It will be dangerous. You must swim the seas and avoid the great whales.”
“There are none of my kin on this island. Perhaps I shall find more in lakes in other lands, deep lakes like this. I must visit each one, and find their portal to the Other Lands, there I may find them. Now come, I must return you to the Tuatha de Danann. They can nurture you.”
*
A number of the Tuatha de Danann lined the shore as Fiotr approached, leaving a respectful distance for him to beach. Susan scratched her head at the sight of them.
“Did you tell them we were coming?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“I determine who receives my thoughts. The Tuatha de Danann have the correct brain, you humans are more difficult. Perhaps your father has imparted more than you know.”
Susan digested this thought, still having difficulty combining the strange, strong features of the Tuatha de Danann with her own delicate face. The dragon swam up the beach, his powerful tail driving him a good ten paces from the water before he needed to put his feet down and lift his belly from the gravel. He raised his spiny sail, flushed with rose and no longer black.
“We greet you, Fiotr, Lord of Water,” said one of the taller figures, his head leonine with a mane of silver hair obscuring the elongated back of his skull.
“Manannan, my son, it is good to see you thrive on my shores.”
“How may we serve you today, father?”
“Groom me. In my sleep the mites multiplied. But first food. Ewes, four I think. Rams have a piquant flavour of which I tire. I will rest to digest before taking my leave. The wanderlust calls, I seek the far horizons.”
“By your will, father.” Two men at the back of the small crowd set off to the pens beyond the village. “You will leave us bereft of your counsel?”
“You did well enough while I slept. Susan, get down.” Susan slid down his side, to be caught by Crom who kept a wary eye on the dragon while carrying her to one side. He seemed loath to set her down, till her struggles swung the dragon’s head in their direction whereupon he allowed her feet to touch the ground while retaining hold of her.
“Father, while you slept we could feel your presence. If you depart, we will suffer.”
“I shall return. I seek a mate. This one,” he indicated Susan, “has a magic touch. She re-awakened old memories, and I must consult with my kin. I ret
urn her to you, for she is not Tuatha de Danann nor any race with which I have communed. I cannot sustain her on my isle as you will here. Crom, I know your thoughts and I lay this geas upon you. Protect and train her, for her destiny lies elsewhere. Enjoy her, nurture her, please her, for she is sunshine on my scales.”
Crom grunted, thinking this through, and Susan squirmed from his grasp, rushing to the dragon’s head which bent to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him, weeping for his sorrow and loneliness. She released him as the ewes arrived, bleating and fearful of the dog herding them up to the dragon’s maw. Crom swept her up again.
“I don’t want to see him feed,” she whispered and he carried her up the hill while she buried her face in his broad chest, taking solace from his warmth and the hand that caressed her head.
A small hill gave the village a backdrop and Crom walked into an entrance dug in the side. He closed the door with his foot, and placed Susan in a bare oak chair by a square table, made from a slice through the trunk of a massive tree. Susan placed her hands on the table, not noticing the room, the light filtering through the moss encrusted window not dissimilar to her Elven tree. Crom placed a mug beside her, filling it from a jug. Without a second thought, she drank deep before choking on the Goibhniu and feeling the warmth cascading into her belly and radiating out to her extremities.
Raising her head, the room alight with green and gold revealing intricate works she could not see, for her gaze fixed on Crom. He stood tall beside her, a firm and gentle hand resting on her shoulder, two fingers running with slow deliberation down her cheek, tracing a tear. She took in the powerful thighs, the toned and corded belly and the powerful biceps bulging from his arms. His shock of black hair hung down on either side, inviting her hands to run through the strands while his pugnacious jaw metamorphosed into a strong and handsome face, sparks gleaming from his eyes.
“Crom” she said, her voice a low and resonant whisper. “You are a god, the War God of Coillearnacha.” She succumbed to temptation and raised her hand to caress first the muscles, then the jaw, wonder in her face at the attention of the God.
