Strachana - Judy Colella (books for 20 year olds TXT) 📗

A time there was when dragons crossed the skies in peace; when humans would watch their easy flight and smile. A time there was when all of dragonkind was benevolent, going about their long, patient lives in societal solitude, rarely interacting with other species, but never at odds with any of them. A time there was…

But all things change, and it only took a mistake here, an accident there, an erroneous belief spoken often enough to make a difference, for the day to come when some nameless human turned on the dragons and slew one of them. On purpose. And that was the time when everything changed.

The dragon had not been expecting an attack, had in fact been sleeping peacefully in a bog, its underside exposed. A perfect target for misplaced anger. The death of the dragon was felt by its kin, and the distrust began that would eventually become an all-out war between the two species.

Certain dragons, mainly those directly related to the murdered one, became dark in their aggression. Using dragon magic and their fire or ice, they set out to destroy any and all humans unfortunate enough to cross their paths. Their gods, once concerned only with things draconic, began encouraging their creatures to seek the death of any being not of dragonkind. Eventually, they even turned on their own.

But not all dragons were satisfied with this condition. Some still longed for the good relationship once known between man and dragon, or at least wondered if it were possible to return to that kind of harmony. Nonetheless, they, too, accepted the human sacrifices offered by frightened rulers and societies – human flesh wasn’t a desired food, but it assured the dragons that they were feared, and would be left alone. More important, it staved off attacks by the dragons who despised any of their kind that dared show mercy to the race of men.

Eventually, only a few dragons remained that people knew about, and of those few, only one or two that lived close enough to human settlements to inspire live offerings. Of that number was one who longed to find a human who might have love for dragonkind, who could be spared – and loved in return.

And then a day was when this wish became a reality.

“So sorry, Zela,” the executioner whispered. He checked the ropes once more, avoiding the girl’s gaze by focusing his own on his task.

“You only do what you must, Bolt. Don’t be sad.”

He tried to smile, but couldn’t. This girl – he’d known her all of her life. She was the most pleasant person he’d ever met. The daughter of a scribe, she was intelligent, witty, and kind most of all. When Bolt wasn’t tying virgins to the Dragonstake, he was a blacksmith, and Zela had often brought him cool water from the town’s public well, especially during the summer afternoons when the heat of the sun augmented that of his forge, making his job’s unpleasant aspects almost unbearable.

But the nobleman whose landholdings included the town, happened on Zela bathing in the stream near her father’s house, and decided he had to have her. Everyone knew this because he had sent a servant with an invitation to come to his castle and be his consort. Zela had shown this to her family, and then sent back a polite refusal. Something like that could never have remained quiet, of course, and within hours the entire town knew of it.

Lord Gravnel, the spurned nobleman, had handled this by naming Zela the next sacrifice for the dragon.

“We’ll miss your singing,” said Bolt, wiping his hands on the front of his sooty tunic. “We’ll miss you, Zela.” He turned away and went down the long flight of stone steps, not wanting to hear her response, if indeed she had one.

Alone, Zela stood straighter and sighed. What a funny thing life was. She smiled, and decided Bolt’s last words had been inspired. Never had she considered the dragon a vile creature. In fact, the volumes of lore in her father’s library had educated her in the history between men and dragons, and she’d concluded that they were wonderful. She had even composed several songs in honor of their race, and now, about to face one, decided to sing as many of them as she could before…well, she would sing.

Taking a deep breath she began, her clear, beautiful voice lifting in a tonal wave of gold, the lyrics in pure Draconic. A harsh language, to be sure, but her pronunciation was somehow delicate despite the gutturals and hisses. The result was magnificent, compelling.

A rustle of trees indicated that something massive was nearing, perhaps drawn by her notes, and she forced herself not to falter, to keep her eyes open, her voice steady. Another moment, a rush of wind, and there. Filling the clearing with silver magnificence, with terrible beauty and undeniable power, the dragon stood. Its eyes, each one as large as a human head, stared down from under a frowning brow on the small creature tied to the rune-inscribed post.

Coming closer, the dragon lowered itself until its head was even with the platform. The human stopped singing and did something no human at that post had done before – she smiled. The dragon made a snuffling noise, but nothing more until, in Draconic, the human asked him to untie her.

“Whyyyy?” He hissed.

“That I may touch you, lovely one.”

“You would touch a dragon?”

“I would, if you will grant me that honor.” Zela put her head to one side, questioning.

The dragon arose and extended one of his taloned feet, using a claw to slice through the ropes. “I grrrrant you thissss, humaaan.”

“Thank you, great dragon.” Her smile grew and she reached out a hand.

Looking as if he really wasn’t sure what was going on, the dragon brought his muzzle closer than it had been to such a creature as this girl without devouring it.

Zela’s hand caressed the curve of one nostril and she sighed. “You are like silk. How splendid you are!”

“How odd yooouu arrre.”

Zela giggled, her hand still tracing the satiny ridge around an opening into which she could have crawled. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Yooouuu have a naame?”

“I am Zela.”

The dragon started to nod but stopped when it almost knocked her off the platform. “Yoouu are tooo frrrragille.”

“Indeed I am, sweet dragon. Perhaps that is why I admire your strength so.”

“Aahhh.”  He pulled away and stood straight, his head now far above the tree line behind him. “Zzelllaa!” he bellowed, “will yoouuu comme tooo my lllairrr and beee my commmpannion? Will yoouuu ssssing forrr me evvvvrrrry day?”

Zela bowed, the delight in her heart reflected in her expression. “I will, beloved dragon, I will! You honor me more than I can thank you for, and I would be an ungrateful fool to refuse.”

The dragon was silent for a moment or two, his breath loud in his nostril. “Yoouu havve a fammily, Zzelllaaa?”

“My father only, who believes I must be dead by now. He reconciled himself to my loss before I came here.”

“Yoouuu ssshhhhall missss him, but one daay, yoouu ssshhhall sssseee himmm onccce morrre.”

“Thank you.” She put her arms out and up as if to embrace the dragon; he came close again and went to his knees before her. Understanding this gesture as an invitation to climb onto his head, she hitched up her skirts and leaped upward, holding on to one of the scaly projections around his brow. She pulled herself further up until she was sitting between the backsweeping horns. “I am settled,” she declared, leaning sideways toward one ear.

The dragon rose, the movement slow, as he made an obvious effort not to unseat his human cargo. He spread his wings, gave a gentle flap, and they left the ground, heading away in a soft rush of air.

The cave was a wonder to Zela’s eyes, but not a surprise. Her father’s books had prepared her in part for where the dragon had brought her. As various writers had chronicled (before enmity existed between the two races), the lair of the silver dragon was not as treasure-filled as that of some of its more colorful cousins, but gigantic and lovely nonetheless. A nest of sparkling jewels defined one part of the cave, but not much gold, and the man-crafted objects that she could see consisted mainly of well-wrought chests, statues, and curiosities.

A pool of the clearest blue-gray water Zela had ever seen covered the center of the cave. Movement near its further end betrayed the presence of an underground spring, but the closer part was still enough for her to see all the way to its stony bottom.

The walls and arched ceiling were luminescent in glowing yellows, greens, reds and blues. Imbedded here and there in those walls were amethysts and clear crystal, natural treasures that she found more beautiful than those upon which the dragon slept. Several small openings here and there indicated passages further into the mountain – her country had several smallish mountains, or large hills, dotting its otherwise flat landscape, the dragon’s cave being in one of the furthest of these near the border of their northernmost neighbor.

While she was exploring her new home, the dragon settled himself on his glittering bed and watched. There wasn’t that much to see, and she was soon done. Wrapping her arms about herself, she shivered and approached the dragon.

“Arrre yooouuu changing yooourrrr minnd abouut sssstaying withththt me?”

“No, sweet dragon, but I am cold.” She climbed across what to her was a sea of pretty stones and snuggled herself between the dragon’s front legs. “You breathe ice and not fire, yes?”

“Yessss. But I cannn warrrrm yoouuu.”

He was speaking very softly, something Zela suspected was his effort not to deafen her, especially with the echoes of his cave amplifying everything. She asked him about this.

“Yesss. It hasss beenn a lonnnggg, lonnnggg timme ssssince I havvve ssspokenn annyththinggg to a humaaan, but I amm olldd and wissse ennough tooo rememmmberrr how easssily yourrr kinnd ccann be harrmed in thaatt waay.”

“I thank you for that, dear, magnificent dragon. And you have something inside you that produces ice, but also heat.”

“Yoouu know muchchch forrr a huuman.”

Zela nodded, snuggling closer. “I do. My father has many books, and among them are several volumes on dragon-lore.” She stifled a yawn.