Dragon Bewitched

by Isadora Montrose

  The mist rising from the water cleared and a tall, well-rounded maiden with long red hair held out her arms to him. Her gown billowed in the warm breeze that ruffled the surface of the lake. She was green-eyed, rosy cheeked, and very beautiful. His heart told him that at last he had met his mate. But when he reached for her, she sank laughing beneath the water and the resultant wave slapped him in the face.

  He woke from his dreams in a wooden hut. The lumpy pallet he was lying on was pulled hard against a blazing fieldstone fireplace. He was roasting along his left side, while his right was icy. Under the covers, nestled against him and purring contemptuously, were two fluffy domestic cats. They must have sensed that he was awake, for they sprang up and jumped out from under his blanket. They announced their departure with furious mews.

  Close by, a light and lovely voice answered the cats’ plaintive cries with a tender greeting. It was the voice of the woman in his dream. It was as sweet and soft as a spring breeze. As musical as tinkling bells. It made him think of home and happiness. As if he had at last found his mate.

  “Hungry?” the same voice asked.

  The cats shouted louder. He looked around but recognized nothing. What was this rough and chilly place with its wooden walls and bare rafters?

  A gentle hand covered his forehead. Instantly his head ached less. “Are you awake at last?”

  He elbowed himself upwards and realized he was nude. A glance at his nurse had him blushing. This female was nothing like the siren of his dream. He was about to offend a respectable middle-aged matron. He yanked the blankets up to his armpits. “Thirsty,” he croaked.

  “Of course you are. One moment.” She handed him a beaker carved from a block of oak. It could have held a couple of liters of beer, but it was full of hot broth. He sipped it gratefully. When he stopped to thank her, she only smiled.

  “Drink all of it.” However sweet her manner, and however lovely her voice, it was a command. Obediently he put the beaker back to his lips and drank. It was delicious. Meaty, hot, and satisfying.

  “Thank you.” He handed her the beaker. “Where am I, madam?” he asked.

  “You are on the island of Balder. And in my home. I am Freya.”

  Balder was a Norse god. The best loved of all the gods, who blessed men with joy, innocence, and beauty. The god of light, purity and reconciliation; of wisdom and eloquence. Freya was the goddess of fertility and sensuality.

  “I thought Balder was a god,” he muttered. His head ached as if it were being pounded by mallets. His cheek throbbed and when he touched it, he felt a long scab.

  “Our island is named for him,” his nurse said.

  “And you for the goddess of love?”

  She shrugged and her lovely smile made her young again. He gazed around at the rustic furnishings, his placid hostess, her two enormous tabby cats, and the roaring fire without recognition. They seemed unfamiliar and old-fashioned, although he could not say what he had expected to see in their place.

  “What am I doing here?” A thought occurred. “Are you my mother?” She was the right age, and concern for him was writ large on her lined face.

  Her laugh was the musical laugh of the maiden in his dream. Apparently he had clothed his frumpy hostess in his own wishful imaginings. Remembering his dreams, he blushed.

  “You are a stranger, Son of Loki. I’m not sure why you are here,” the woman said. “The mountain cast you out into the snow.” Her hands restrained him. “Lie still. Your arm is broken and so is your head. Perhaps you could begin by telling us your name?”

  He stared at her in consternation. Her words were sounds without meaning. “I don’t know.” He looked at his hands. They were slightly shrunken and pale. At least he thought so. But they looked like his own. Or did they? It was hard to be sure. “And you’re sure I don’t belong here?”

  “I’m sure. I have lived on the island of Balder under the shadow of Mount Bradur all my life. No one else lives here but me. And Valdar and Brand, of course. You are most certainly a stranger to us.” She waved a hand at the two huge cats. They approached her, purring loudly. They twined affectionately around her legs, butting her skirts with their heads.

  The more he tried to think, the more viciously his head throbbed. Freya’s hands were strong but gentle. She lifted him and laid him back down on the pillow. “Sleep again,” she said. “Wake restored to yourself, Son of Loki.”

  Instantly, his eyes closed and he sank again into his dreams. Only this time the water was not scalding hot, but just hot enough to be pleasant. He relaxed and gave himself up to its embrace. And if the water changed into the arms of a beautiful maiden who shared her lush body with him, there was no one in his dream to notice or be offended.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Reiki Island,

  Gunther~

  “Where is Darius?” demanded the Lord of Reiki to the room at large. His gaze took in his stone-walled Hall with its bright heraldic banners and many tables. His sword bearers were enjoying the last of their evening meal. Darius Lindorm was older than most of his retainers, thoroughly dependable, and never ill, and never late.

  One of his sword bearers stepped forward and saluted. “He has not yet returned from Balder, sir.”

  Gunther glanced at his watch. “When did he leave, Hadwin?”

  “Around ten this morning,” Gunther’s brother Arnor answered for Hadwin. “Don’t you remember, he had permission to climb Bradur. He should have been back for Hall.”

  “He went alone?” The mountain did not love dragons. It was temperamental and prone to earthquakes and geysers.

  Arnor shrugged. “He and Oswain had leave. I believe the original plan was that they would climb together. But, as you know, there were urgent messages to be translated.”

  “Balder is scarcely safe for two. For one it could be deadly.” Gunther glanced around. Although it was freezing outdoors, the spacious room was warm and peaceful. He raised a lordly hand and beckoned Oswain Lindorm. The young man stood up and approached Gunther respectfully.

  “What has become of your cousin?” Gunther asked him. “It is not like Darius to miss his time – or a meal.”

  “I too expected him back in time for our evening meal, sir,” Oswain said. “But I shouldn’t worry about Darius yet. He was practically born in a sailboat, and he has been ice climbing many times. Besides the weather has been so calm and mild today, it is more likely he has been becalmed than come to grief.”

  Gunther exchanged glances with his brother. Arnor shook his head. “They didn’t ask me, Eldest.”

  “The weather on Balder is chancy at best,” Gunther said. “The weather on Reiki is no indication of the weather there. Moreover, Mount Bradur is treacherous – particularly for dragons.”

  Oswain frowned in thought. “What are your orders, sir?”

  Gunther made up his mind. “I want six searchers to patrol the open water between Reiki and Balder in dragon. You will be one of them. If necessary you must do reconnaissance over the volcano.” He rose to his feet and raised his voice. “I require five volunteers.”

  The entire room came to its feet.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Oswain~

  The night air was chilly, but Oswain did not feel its icy blast. He was flying and even arctic gales would not have bothered him. On this March night, only a pale whisker of a moon was visible amongst the splendor of the spangled sky.

  He was flying wingtip to wingtip with five of his cousins, quartering the channel between Reiki and Balder. Despite the urgency of their quest, the joy of flying consumed him. For a dragon, there was nothing better.

  It was Nils who saw the sailboat first and bugled the alarm. Oswain followed his cousin down to the little craft. There was light enough for him to see, as Nils had, Darius’s waterproof black duffel tucked amidships. He flew behind the stern. If there had been any doubt, the name of the small vessel was picked out in black and gold paint. The Kittiwake was adrift and crewless. What had become of Darius?
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br />   A clue was provided by the trailing anchor rope. Oswain landed on the surface of the ocean, performed a lightning transformation into his human form and clambered naked into the empty boat. The anchor rope had snapped. The end of the line was a frayed mess. Both masts were broken and only broken metal showed where they had been.

  The heavy titanium-coated anchor was gone. He opened Darius’ duffel. It contained a change of clothing, but no climbing gear. Even if he had not recognized the bag as the twin of his own, it held Darius’ scent. Where was his cousin?

  Hadwin, Roger and Petr called plaintively. He shook his head and waved the broken line at them. Nils whistled imperatively. Micke bugled back and rejoined the rest of the blaze of dragons. Obediently Oswain dressed his nakedness in his missing cousin’s clothes and prepared to return the Kittiwake to the island of Reiki.

  Now he was even more worried than he had been when they had been dispatched by Lord Gunther to seek Darius. Then he had been sure that his cousin was becalmed and unwilling to abandon the sailboat he had borrowed from his lord.

  But it seemed that the boat had somehow been set adrift when the anchor line had snapped. What would cause heavy nylon rope to fray and break in a few short hours? There had been no storm. No reports of rogue waves. And yet the evidence was coiled at his feet.

  The larger question was why Darius had not taken dragon and flown back to Reiki. Oswain yanked on the cord that activated the miniature outboard motor and set course for Reiki. His cousins whistled a farewell and continued on to Balder. But they came home no wiser. Darius had vanished and Balder was as green and uninhabited as ever.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Darius~

  The thud of the loom and the clack of the shuttle made a gentle and persistent backdrop to his dreams. When he opened his eyes, Freya was sitting with her back to him weaving scarlet cloth at her loom. He watched her for a long time. Her mousy braids were wound around and around and pinned tightly into place in an elaborate serpentine bun.

  He could watch her skillful hands forever. Who was this woman who was weaving such a sensual spell over him? When at last Freya turned her head, her round face had a welcoming smile. Deep lines around her mouth testified to a lifetime of merriment. His aching head immediately felt less painful and his spirit lightened.

  As soon as she saw he was awake, she stood up. She moved gracefully and lithely towards his bed, and stooped to place a tender hand against his cheek. The ease of her movements belied her stockiness and age. Her lips tightened fractionally when she felt his skin. But then she smiled and began to chant.

  He did not understand what she was saying, but his head felt clearer and the throbbing pain in his right arm diminished.

  “Sleep,” she said. “And wake without a fever.”

  As if she had enchanted him, Darius instantly slipped back into oblivion. His lovely maiden awaited him in all her youthful beauty.

  The next time he opened his eyes, he became aware that his right arm was in a wooden splint. He tried to raise it, but his shoulder had been bound to prevent this. Strong and gentle hands held his shoulders and Freya’s enchanting voice beseeched him to be still.

  “I want to sit up,” Darius protested.

  Freya slipped an arm around his shoulders and hoisted him without apparent effort. He looked around with interest at the house. He had remembered it as being rather smaller and more primitive. But this appeared to be the main room of a longhouse decorated with carved and painted wall boards, which in the firelight appeared almost alive.

  Heroes raised their swords and battle axes and sliced their equally muscular opponents into ribbons. It almost appeared as though the blood that flowed was real. Certainly the dragon boats dancing on the blue waves seemed to make real progress towards land, and their red and white sails swelled and pivoted with the gusting wind.

  Long, scaly beasts threatened the sailing ships with coiled tails and long tongues. As he watched, one of the sea serpents wound loops around a ship and splintered it. Men jumped into the sea, into the waiting jaws of even more terrifying creatures. Darius blinked and the walls stood still.

  “Where am I?” he asked, feeling thoroughly bewildered. Was he hallucinating?

  “You are in my house, Son of Loki. Do you not remember?”

  He struggled through the pounding in his skull. “You are Freya, are you not?”

  “I am. And you are on the island of Balder. Has your memory returned, Skyworm?”

  “Why do you call me that? What is a skyworm?”

  “Are you not a dragon?” Her voice was vaguely amused.

  He thought. Thinking made his head ache again. He shook his head slightly and wished he had not. Pain bloomed behind his eyes.

  “You have been injured, Dragon, but are recovering. And you are quite safe. Your memory will return in good time.”

  A dragon. And yet it did not seem as improbable as he knew it should. “How long have I been here?” Abruptly, he realized he was perfectly naked beneath his blanket. And that he had a pressing need for the facilities.

  “Three days.”

  “My people will be worried,” he said. The fog and pain in his head made thought difficult. “Won’t they?”

  “If you tell me who they are, I will send word to them that you are recovering.”

  “I don’t remember.” And he did not. He had a vague idea that he was expected somewhere, had responsibilities, and that there were people waiting for him. But why, or where, he had no more idea than the babe unborn. “Why don’t I know who I am?”

  Her gentle hand touched him on the temple. “You hit your head when you fell. You were asleep when we found you and could not be woken. You need rest and quiet to recover your senses. Be of good cheer, the mountain might have killed you, but instead you have only a broken arm and a broken head.”

  “Where did I fall from?”

  “You climbed Bradur, the smoking mountain. It threw you down and expelled you from its sacred ground. You are lucky to be alive, Skyworm.”

  “I need,” he began.

  She rose to her feet as gracefully as if she were a mere girl and not a gray-haired woman. “My brothers will help you.”

  Two tall and muscular blond giants strode towards his pallet. He had not seen them coming, but suddenly they were there. They might have stepped out of the carved paneling so instantaneously did they appear. And they might have served as the models for the bloodthirsty warriors slaughtering their foes on land and on sea.

  “So he’s awake,” said one.

  “As you see, Valdar.” The woman’s voice was placid. “I shall see about a meal while you help him.”

  “I am Brand,” said the other twin.

  He was truly confused. He could have sworn those were her cats’ names. Thinking hurt too much so he let his befuddlement go.

  Together the two youths helped Darius wrap his fur blanket around him and walk to a small room where he could relieve himself and wash. They did not say much. Plainly they were twins. Even their voices were almost identical baritones so that he had difficulty telling which brother was which. They were dressed in indistinguishable green homespun too, which made telling them apart even tougher.

  He had an impression that they disapproved of his presence in their home, but they were briskly kind, so perhaps he misjudged them. Certainly he seemed to be in their debt, if they had rescued him from a fall from a mountain. He discounted much of what Freya had told him as superstition.

  “How did I come to be on Balder?” he asked when they were walking him back to the fireside.

  “You sailed here, Skyworm,” Brand said.

  “Why do you call me that?” He hoped for a better answer than Freya had given.

  “Are you not a dragon?” demanded Valdar. He sounded angry.

  These people did not like dragons. “If I am, I do not know it.” But the more he thought about it, the likelier it seemed that he was a dragon. “Who are you?”

  “We are the sons of Foreseti
the Wise. We serve the Lady Freya,” Valdar said. “As to what we are, pray that you have no cause to find out.”

  “We are her brothers,” Brand murmured softly. “And her guardians.”

  He had transgressed in calling his hostess by her bare name. “Is the Lady Freya my hostess?”

  “And our sister.”

  “It seems I owe her and you my life. I would repay your kindness with all respect,” he assured them. He felt bewildered. Out of time and place. And leery of his hosts and hostess. “But where is Balder? And who am I?”

  “Balder is one of many islands in these ice-bound seas. You should not have trespassed here, Dragon. And as soon as you are well, you should return whence you came, and not come back.” Valdar was curt.

  Brand rebuked his brother. “He has injured his sword arm, Valdar. He can go nowhere until it is healed.”

  His sword arm? He was sure he had never lifted a sword in his life.

  “Perhaps he favors a battle ax, brother,” Valdar suggested with a vein of amusement in his tone that even though his throbbing headache, prodded his pride.

  But he was even more certain that he had never wielded a battle ax. Though he knew what one was. He looked at his hands and wrists. They were muscular, but he did not have the thick wrists and giant hands these two men had. “Perhaps I’m not a warrior?” he mused aloud.

  The brothers laughed until the rafters rang with their merriment.

  ***

  Darius~

  She was bending over him when he roused from his dreams of a round-limbed, laughing maiden who ran from him, glancing merrily over her shoulder even as she leapt lightly over the rock-strewn meadow. Red braids vanished and were replaced by gray. But the Lady Freya smelled like the girl in his dream.