Fiction
Fantasy
The storm leered down at the small party, delighting in their powerlessness against it.
The fox beside me whined softly, begging me to move on, to lose this trio of hunters while the storm gave me a chance. It made me sick, it did, to see Prince Gavin there among them, hunting me down as though there had never been a bond of brotherhood between us, as though I had never saved his life, as though…as though I was nothing to him. Just another monster to be hunted down and eradicated.
The familiar feeling of hurt danced in my belly, taunting me. Monster. That’s all I was. A creature of myth and legend, an animal gone mad.
It hadn’t been my fault, though, and I hadn’t gone mad. What I had done was necessary to save Gavin’s life—but…it didn’t matter. These men only saw what they wished to see: a scaled, fire-breathing nightmare; a beast to be destroyed.
Perhaps I should have told Gavin the truth before it was too late, I mused, turning away from my view over the plain and loping into the woods, my fox companion at my side. But I had known that this was what would happen—he and the rest would turn on me, and only horror would be in their eyes when they looked at me. Not friendship, as I had known. Only hatred and fear.
My ancestors, the first shifting-dragons, had instilled a dread of themselves deep in the hearts of men. The stories that minstrels still told of these true monsters—how they had made an alliance with the Evil One to gain power, and turned from the Light; how they would take the guise of a human, and then unleash their venomous evil on unsuspecting people—these tales were enough to prolong the animosity between our race and the humans. There were not many shifting-dragons left anymore, but those who survived kept their identities hidden. Living as men, and only as men, they took their secrets to the grave without anyone knowing.
They were the wise ones.
Shifting my small suitcase, filled with the oldest, most nondescript clothes I owned, I moved on. I walked as lightly as I could, limping a bit from having to walk on three legs. I hoped to find somewhere to live in peace—and I wouldn’t be able to do that looking like a dragon. I would need the clothes. But for now, it was better to travel in that form, ready for any trouble that might leap out at me.
I sniffed at the air, tasting it with a thin, black tongue. My pursuers were still hours off, I was sure—and they would probably stop for the night to take shelter from the storm long before they reached the top of my mountain. Certainly that would be long enough for me to form a plan.
My fox barked, drawing my attention. A small cottage with a high, pointed roof sat in the shadows of the wood. I tensed. My senses had not detected any life but mine and the fox’s within miles. But smoke rose from the chimney of the shack, and a light burned in the window.
Quickly shifting down into the form of a teenage boy—my human form—I slipped closer to the shack, wary and on my guard. The fox kept to my side, his bright golden fur soft against my leg.
I peered in the dusty window.
“Peeping Tom, eh, Bart?”
I jumped and whirled around, my hands clenched into fists. I had been the prince’s companion long enough to have been taught how to defend myself.
An old man stood behind me, his arms crossed over his chest and an expression of surprise that mirrored my own on his bearded face. A huge snowy owl preened itself on his shoulder, its dagger-sharp talons gently grasping the rough cloth of the old man’s tunic. It looked at me, the round, golden eyes shining among white feathers.
“I mean you no harm, boy,” the old man said. “My home is yours, if you need the shelter.”
I kept my defense up. “How long have you been standing there?” I demanded. If he had only been there a moment, he might not have seen me in my dragon form. But if he had…
“What do you mean?”
I growled, unsure of how to ask if he had spotted my other shape. “Did you see anything…odd, a minute ago?” My question was awkward and clumsy, but too much all at once would arouse suspicion—suspicion I would avoid if at all possible.
“Long enough.” He eyed me shrewdly. “I have no intention of fighting you, though. And I’ve no doubt that you could easily beat me if I tried.”
“You saw me…before?” I asked, fear drying my lips.
He nodded. “But as I said, I mean you no harm. Would you like to come in?”
I looked back at the cottage, and down at my fox. He seemed content in this man’s presence, which was more than I could say for myself. Still, animals have a sense about people…
“Alright.” I lowered my fists. “I should warn you, though. There are three hunters after me.”
He glanced over his shoulder, and the owl fluttered. “They will not bother us. They probably won’t even be able to find us, on a night like this.” Motioning toward the door, he bowed slightly. “After you.”
Inside, the cottage was dry and warm. I sat on a small stool in front of the fireplace, while the old man stoked the coals. Bart, the owl, had glided to a perch on a heavy wooden chair, and sat staring intently at me and my fox.
“So, then, boy,” the old man said, sinking into the wooden chair and stroking his owl’s head. “What’s your story? How do you come to be here in my woods, with three hunters after you?”
I leaned on my knees, chin in my hands. The fox sat at my feet and gazed up at me with liquid-brown eyes.
“It’s a very long story,” I said after a moment. “But I will try to shorten it.
“My name is Logan Vare, son of Seth Vare. My father was a shifter-dragon too, but I’m the only one who knows. He never even told my mother.
“I grew up in King Javier’s court, as playmate to his eldest son, Prince Gavin. The prince is only a few days older than I am, and we’ve been best friends since before I can remember. When we were both eleven, we made a bond of brotherhood with each other.” The memory made my chest ache, but with unspent tears or unleashed fire, I wasn’t sure. “Two weeks ago, we were practicing our archery in the castle orchard. A man came up behind us—Gavin didn’t notice. I only knew he was there because of my senses.”
“Your…dragon senses?” the old man asked.
I nodded. “Yes, sir. I figured he was just one of the courtiers, come to watch us; or maybe one of our teachers. My senses aren’t good enough to tell who it is, just that there’s someone there. Father’s better at it.
“But he didn’t say anything. No ‘hello, young men’ or ‘good shot’ or…anything. And then I realized that he was coming closer—very, very slowly. I turned around to look, and—” The fear of the moment came back to me, and I sat up straight, tense and ill-at-ease. “—I saw that he was holding a crossbow. It was loaded, and aimed at Gavin.”
The old man made an appreciative noise. “Go on, lad.”
I swallowed. “I knew I couldn’t warn Gavin faster than the assassin could loose his quarrel, and any shout might make the man shoot even sooner. So…I did the only thing I knew to do. I became a dragon.”
My hands were sweating as I relived the hot whoosh of the shape-change. “I knocked Gavin down with my tail, just as the assassin’s bolt shot by. The man was terrified, I could tell, but he managed to draw a knife anyway. Gavin looked up at me…and even though he was shocked and alarmed, he knew. It was on his face, as clear as—as your beard. He knew immediately what I was—and there was such a look of betrayal…” My voice trailed off, and I realized that I had said more than I had intended. I cleared my throat.
“It only took one blow of my wing to poleax the assassin, and then I was gone. There were already guards swarming the orchard, and quite a few of them saw me. I knew I couldn’t stay—they hate my kind. I can only hope that they don’t realize that Father is a shifting-dragon too.
“Anyway, now Gavin is tracking me down. He has Luis, our weapons teacher; and the royal master of the hunt, Owen, with him. I can’t fly without being instantly spotted, so I’ve had to keep to the ground and trust I can outrun them. I was hoping that once I got over this side of the mountain, I would be out of their sight long enough to fly away.”
The old man was silent for a long time, his weathered hands slowly running over Bart’s back and wings. My fox was gone, I suddenly noticed—though when he had left, and how he had gotten out of the cottage without my seeing, I didn’t know.
“Yours is a remarkable story, young Logan,” the old man said at last. “Oh, and by the way—I don’t think it fair that I know your name and tale, and you don’t know mine. I am Diego, and I am a hermit—a humble servant of the Way. I have lived on this mountain many more years than I’ve remembered to count.
“Now—as to your tale. Do you have plans? Do you think to make for a certain place, to start over in another land?”
I rubbed my eyes wearily. “To be honest, sir,” I said “I hadn’t really given it much thought. At the moment, I’m more concerned about getting away than what I’ll do once I’m gone. I’m certainly open to suggestions, though.”
Diego nodded, and pointed at me. “You’ll need to go somewhere that isn’t haunted by tales of your forebears. There are lands like that, you know—places where the good shifter-dragons fled when their brethren went sour. For example, if you were to fly south for as many days as it takes an owl’s egg to hatch; you would find a great desert, where your kind is revered, not shunned. Or if you went east, beyond the eastern sea, and far past where any of this land’s ships venture, you would come to a vast country filled with mountains and forests. The people of that place are shifters of a different kind—but they would not spurn you.”
My head spun. “There are places like that?”
The old man smiled at my astonishment. “Indeed. I was not always a hermit, you understand. I have been many places, and seen many things. If you wish, I can help you chart a course to one of the lands that would be hospitable to you.”
“That would be wonderful!” I exclaimed, hope suddenly flaring up in my heart. “If I could find such a place, a home for people like me, I could come back here and lead my father and our kind there—to a new home, where we could be free to be whatever we wished.”
Diego began to reply, but Bart suddenly screeched and flapped his wings in alarm.
“I believe we may have company after all,” Diego said in surprise. “Where is your fox, boy?”
A heavy-handed knock sounded at the door.
I went still. “The fox has betrayed me,” I whispered, dismay boiling in my gut. “He has led them here.”
Diego pulled himself to his feet. “Hide under the bed, lad,” he said urgently. “Perhaps I can make them leave.”
Darting under the low bed, I rolled to the back corner, where the side of the bed met the wall. Please go away, I begged silently. I don’t want to die…Oh plagues, I don’t want to die.
The door creaked open. “Yes?” I heard Diego say sleepily, as though he had been roused from an evening drowse in front of his fire. “How can a lonely hermit help you, young sir?”
“I’m seeking a stranger,” a mellow, warm-toned voice answered politely. “I beg your pardon for interrupting your evening, good sir, but perhaps you’ve seen him? A boy of about fifteen; black-haired and green-eyed—perhaps with strange habits or abilities?”
The sound of Gavin’s voice froze me. Hate warred with old love in my heart—how can one truly hate a brother, no matter how he has hurt you?
“I have seen no one, young man,” Diego said, though his tone sounded a bit false. He probably didn’t lie often. “Actually, I’m surprised to see you. Usually, no one can find my cabin unless I lead them here.”
“I was led by another,” Gavin replied. “A fox came into my camp and roused me, though my companions stayed asleep.” They must have been closer than I had thought, I realized with frustration; if they had had the time to make camp and go to sleep, and still be close enough for Gavin to get here in the short time it took for me to tell Diego my story. “He led me here, and I believe I saw the boy’s tracks on the way.”
“I have seen no one,” Diego repeated, and I was dismayed to hear how poorly he lied. “Least of all a dragon-boy like you seek.”
There was a sudden silence, so hard that you might have tapped it with a stick, and it would have rung like a bell.
“Who said anything about a dragon-boy, old man?” Gavin’s manner had changed. He sounded dangerous and tense, like a bowstring about to break.
Diego sucked in a sharp breath. “No one, sir—that is, I only assumed…there have been rumors, you see—”
“Tell me where he is, hermit,” Gavin ordered. “You have seen him—perhaps even sheltered him. Where is he? Tell me now or accept the consequences!”
Diego stammered out a nervous protest, but Gavin pushed past him and into the cottage, his heavy boots thumping on the wooden floor.
“Logan!” he thundered, and I heard the scrape of a sword being withdrawn from a scabbard. “Logan, I order you to show yourself—or this old man will pay for it!”
“There is no one here, good sir,” Diego protested. “I live alone, and—”
I scrambled out from under the bed. “Stop, Gavin! I’m here.”
Diego slumped. “I’m sorry, lad,” he said to me. “I tried—”
“It’s alright, Diego,” I assured him tiredly, my eyes locked on Gavin. He held his sword tightly, its pale length shining sharply in the firelight. Plagues, I don’t want to die…
“Give us some privacy, hermit,” Gavin ordered, motioning with his sword at the door. “I wouldn’t really have hurt you, and I don’t want you close if it should come to a fight.”
Diego shot me one last, sorrowful glance, and seemed about to disagree; but I shook my head, and he sighed. Calling Bart to his shoulder, he left the cottage, closing the door softly behind him.
Gavin spoke as soon as the old man was gone. “You lied to me, Logan,” he spat. “For six years, you have held a bond of brotherhood with me—and it was all a lie.” Hurt and anger mingled in his blue eyes, his red hair reflecting the red light of Diego’s fire.
“And how could I have done different?” I demanded, suddenly angry. I took a step toward him. “What I am does not change who I am, Gavin. And if I had told anyone, our bond would not have protected me. It would have meant my death!”
“I would have protected you,” he protested hotly. “If you had only trusted me, I could have made safeguards, been more careful.”
I waved my hands. “Fat lot of good that does me now, though! How could I have trusted you? It’s your duty to protect the kingdom from those like me. It would have been your duty to destroy me, as it is now.”
“Too many have seen you, Logan! What would you have me do?” The rage suddenly left his face and he lowered his sword in defeat. “I don’t know what to do.”
My body was cold all over, stiff and unyielding even as my heart cried out in pain. “Do your duty,” I suggested unemotionally, staring straight into his eyes. “Slay the monster. Become a hero. As you say, too many have seen me—put the mad dog out of its misery.” My heart pounded. I don’t want to die; I don’t want to die…
Gavin shook his head, and looked away in shame. “A mad dog doesn’t ask to be slain, Logan. You are no mad dog.” He lifted his sword and held it in both hands, running his thumb over the edge. “There was a bond of brotherhood between us,” he said, meeting my eyes again, despair in his voice. “How could I betray that?”
“Your duty demands it,” I said, a feeling like sympathy welling up. “You are the prince—I am the monster.”
Gavin shook his head. “No. A monster would not have saved my life. I…I just can’t get them to see that.” He glared at his sword, as though it were an alien thing.
I didn’t need to ask who “them” was—I knew. It was the others at court, the king, the nobles, and even the commoners. Shifter-dragons were monsters; whether they had saved the prince’s life or not. Neither of us spoke for a long moment.
“I’ll not fight you,” I said at last, my voice quiet in the suddenly large stillness.
“Why not?” Gavin asked, looking up. “You would win easily, if you so chose.”
“Exactly,” I said. “I couldn’t help but win, if it came to fighting. But you are my prince, the future king.”
He blinked. “Is that all?”
“No,” I admitted, rubbing my forehead. “You have also been my friend—my brother. I will not willingly hurt you.”
“But I am bound to hunt you down and kill you,” Gavin protested. “My duty demands it—but I won’t do so in cold blood. You have to fight me.”
I spread my arms wide. “I will not.”
Anger flashed over his face, ruddy in the firelight. Gavin raised his sword swiftly and swung it over his head—only barely clearing the high ceiling of the cottage.
I didn’t move, except to close my eyes. I don’t want to die…
The hard, ringing silence returned, and filled the cottage.
Gavin groaned, breaking the spell. “I cannot do this, Logan,” he said. I opened my eyes to see him fairly throw his sword back into its leather-bound scabbard. “You’re as good as my brother. Why couldn’t you have simply told me your secret? I would have kept it safe.”
I sank onto Diego’s bed, my hands trembling. Strange—I hadn’t been shaking a moment ago, when Gavin’s sword was threatening me. But now that I knew he wouldn’t kill me, I was shuddering like an aspen leaf.
“I couldn’t lay this burden on you,” I explained, stilling my hands. “You’re the future king; you have enough secrets and problems to bear.”
He nodded sadly. “I wish…I wish things had been different. For both of us.”
I had no answer for that.
Gavin straightened suddenly. “Flee,” he ordered. “I will tell no one that we spoke—we will simply lose your trail. Don’t even tell me where you’re going.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow questioningly. “Owen and Luis may wonder. And if they suspect that you let me go free…”
Gavin shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
I stood and reached to grasp his arm. “Thank you, Gavin,” I said, thrusting the leftover tremors from my voice.
He nodded, and suddenly pulled me into a rough embrace. “Good luck, brother,” he said. “Wherever you go, I wish you the best of fortunes.”
For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed—we were still the two boys we had always been, secure in each others’ friendship.
I forced myself to pull away, swallowing back the lump of regret in my throat. “Do me a favor, would you Gavin?”
He seemed surprised. “Of course.”
“Look after my father. He—” I forced myself to say it. “He is a shifter-dragon too, but as loyal to you and your father as I am. But don’t tell him about this conversation either. It would be safer for him not to know, just like everyone else.”
Gavin agreed. “I will keep a watchful eye on him, brother.” He glanced over his shoulder at the door. “I should be going,” he said reluctantly. “And you should leave as soon as possible.”
I conceded his point with a nod. “Go.”
He stepped to the door, and paused with his hand on the latch. “I’m sorry it had to happen like this, Logan.”
“I am too—but not as sorry as you might think.” My mind went to the strange, welcoming lands Diego had mentioned. “I think…I think it will work out all right.”
He smiled ruefully. “Then I’m glad. Goodbye, Logan.”
“Goodbye.” He opened the door, but I held up a hand.
“Gavin—brothers?”
“Always,” he affirmed.
And he was gone.
Diego came in mere moments after, and found me sitting on his bed, staring thoughtfully at the fire.
“You are unhurt?” he asked anxiously. I smiled.
“Indeed. Now—what can you tell me about those southern lands?”
He stared at me in disbelief for a moment, and shook his bearded head. “Let me get my maps.”
A scarce hour later, I was on my way. My fox had returned, and I forgave him on sight—he had known what he was doing after all. I carried him cradled comfortably in one clawed hand, while the other grasped my small suitcase. Diego had given me several old outfits of his, suitable for the hot, arid lands of the south.
My wings beat strongly against the damp night sky, propelling me quickly on and away from all I ever knew. Angling upward, I flew into the very belly of the storm-clouds.
For a moment, all was wet and cold. Then, with a burst of cool air, I broke through the top of the clouds, into the calm atmosphere above. I breathed a sigh of relief, and laughed out loud for the pure independence of it. My fox barked excitedly.
Distant lands awaited me, full of the promise of welcome and freedom. The sky was clear, the wind was crisp, and the future was ours for the taking!
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Copyright 2010, Elyn W. Marsh. All rights reserved. Elyn W. Marsh is a teen, Home-schooled writer who lives in the Midwest. She loves authors like J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, L.B. Graham, Donita K. Paul and Brian Davis. She writes mostly fantasy, including a very rough first-draft of a novel, and many poems and short stories. She has many hobbies, including flute-playing, reading, drawing, and making stuffed dragons while listening to Disney movie soundtracks and Superchic[k]. No one can say she isn't eclectic.
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