The White Dragon

by Lyra Tan

 

Seere brushed her arm across her tunic, casting the slivers of wood littering the thick woollen fabric draped over her thighs onto the cobblestones. The two rounded nubs jutting out of the roughly-hewn block of wood clenched in her palm had finally begun to resemble ears, and she returned to whittling away at the block with her carving knife to shape a snout. An untamed mop of fiery hair hung about her face, and she had to huff a stray lock out of her vision before she could cast a sweeping glance across the market square. She peered from her seat behind the fresh produce stacked on the counter of her family’s market stall, noting the absence of customers. The cold must be keepin’ them in longer than usual today, she decided. The lack of activity in the square only spurred on the thought that had been playing over in her head for as long as she could remember.

Can’t today be the day somethin’ excitin’ happens around here?

An awkward moment passed before a breeze ruffled the leaves on the tree in the centre of the square, as if the wind had half-heartedly attempted to fulfil her wish.

It was going to be another ordinary day.

The hours passed uneventfully. By dusk, Seere had finally finished hauling the stall’s plethora of vegetables, fruits and herbs into the cellar. Once the last box of cabbages had been deposited carefully in the corner, she plopped herself down on an unopened crate, taking a moment to catch her breath. The earthy musk of the still air was flavoured with the fresh tang of nirrin berries and the mild fragrance of mountain flowers hanging from the rafters to dry. This was her favourite part of the day, because she could finally relax and have some time to herself. Few customers ever came after sundown, most preferring to stop by the Temple of Yvothgar atop the hill at the edge of town for evening prayers. She, on the other hand, preferred returning home without smelling of incense every evening. Besides, she reasoned, ’s not like Yvothgar himself’s goin’ ta come down here and make me pray ta him!

After a few minutes, Seere emerged from the cellar, bounding up two stairs at a time. She rounded the corner to the front of the house and ascended the patio steps, stopping to light the lantern hanging from the patio roof by her front door. As she did so, a cluster of guards hurried past her house towards the town gates.

“Could be ta combat a vampire attack on the town – or maybe they’re rushin’ to defend us from a pillaging band of murderers!” Seere never tired of amusing herself with these possibilities. Once or twice each week she would sneak out of her home in the evenings, clambering down the tree outside her bedroom window and scurrying to the inn to eavesdrop on travellers as they wove fantastical tales of their adventures. She remembered the wanderer Azaeria, who told of his narrow escapes from monsters with razor-sharp teeth the size of broadswords. Last summer a trio of treasure hunters had stopped by overnight, claiming they were on a journey to discover the wizard Mikhail’s legendary treasure in the caves under Mount Visordern. Each time she returned home after these secret trips, Seere would be so excited she could hardly sleep. Adventure was out there, and she was determined to have some of it for herself. Surely after fourteen years, there had to be something to look forward to other than having to listen to the townspeople grumble about the size of the potatoes she sold, or ask her when the next stock of Vanxroot was due to arrive even when everyone knew the herb was only harvested once a year at the end of winter.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a holler that punched through the walls of her home, the timber barrier barely dampening the voice that could have rivalled that of the town crier. The lilt of brogue in the call was one she knew well — one that could have only belonged to her mother.

“Seere, would’je come inside and help me wit the cookin’ already! An’ bring in a bit of wood ta feed the fire while you’re at it.”

Seere ignored her mother’s request, watching with bated breath as the bobbing flames of a cluster of approaching torches threw the silhouette of dark figures across the market square. Perhaps, finally…

The group of shrouded figured emerged into the dim light, hurrying across the square and continuing uphill towards the temple. An escort of guards trailed behind with a makeshift cart piled high with burlap sacks. By the wavering firelight of the guards’ torches, she could just make out a familiar dark marking on each sack, a circle bisected by a vertical line.

Yvothgar’s symbol. Just pilgrims then.

Seere felt somewhat deflated. Just then, the front door swung open behind her and a firm hand gripped her shoulder, startling her. She whirled around, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. Her mother’s frame seemed to fill the width of the doorway, as she stood with arms akimbo, and mouth set in a firm line. Notes of burnt birch wood and root vegetables emanated from the worn apron secured about the older woman’s waist, the wet splatter across the front undoubtedly from the contents of the iron pot that hung over the fireplace. Despite her exasperated stance, her mother’s emerald eyes had a softness to them, rendering an expression filled with concern and annoyance in equal parts.

“Seere, wha’ di’ I tell yer about hangin’ about outside after dark? Yer not going to find anythin lurkin’ in the night yer don’ see around ‘ere e’ry day. Nuh’in odd happens ‘round ‘ere and it’s bet’a that way. Safer that way. Now will yer please git more wood and help me with the pota’ers. Please.”

“Aye mom.” Seere replied, dispirited. Sighing, she trotted to the wood pile stacked high against the side of their shed and squatted down to carry as many split-logs of wood as she could manage, her arms straining under the weight. As she reached down to cram another piece under her chin, a forceful gust of wind tore through her hair, the auburn strands blinding her as they whipped across her face. A screech sailed overhead, accompanied by a thundering crash, as stone and wooden debris erupted around her. Seere dove towards the ground, arms curled protectively around her skull. A second passed, then another before she dared to lift her head, coughing as she peered through the dust cloud.

Something was clearly not right.

Seere could see clear through the kitchen, her upstairs bedroom, and the splintered remains of the shelves of their market stall. Beyond the destruction, an enormous white figure attempted to untangle itself from the tree’s canopy.

“Auuuugh help me down! I’m sowieee!”

The uncannily childish voice had come from the enormous winged beast struggling to dislodge itself from the greenery. Seere could only manage a slack-jawed stare in response.

A talking dragon wasn’t supposed to be real. Much less a talking dragon who sounded like a six-year-old.

Almost unconsciously she put a foot in front of the other, crawling over the mass of crushed stone and broken timber with scraped knees and bleeding elbows from her dive. Halfway through the kitchen a distinctively bloodied limb protruded from the stone remains that until fifteen seconds ago, constituted the fireplace. Seere’s stomach seized up, as she scrambled towards the arm twisted and bent in ways bones and flesh were never meant to withstand.

Mom.

Seere clawed furiously at the rubble at the cementing the limb in place, dislodging chunks of rock and splintered wood. She knew that it was an impossible task, but she grabbed a hold of the bloodied arm and pulled with all the strength a fourteen-year-old girl could muster. The sensation of unresponsive bloodied flesh caused her to tremble and she released the appendage, waves of revulsion washing over her.

No. She’s gone.

***

“Yer canna’ do this ta me!” Seere protested. Tears stung her eyes, the ache in her bones and heart still fresh from last night’s disaster.

Amsphyr, the high priest of the temple, shook his head gravely. “Nay lass. It must be done. A clearer sign from Yvothgar there never was. Yours was the only family in Hugel who failed to pay their respects. It is my duty to protect the other folk who do their part, lest this happens once more.”

Whispered murmurs surged through the crowd behind him, as the townsfolk cast fearful glances in her direction. He lifted his staff and brought the end down firmly twice on the ground in front of her, the clack of wood meeting stone ringing harshly in Seere’s ears. She watched him turn and walk back through the gateway, the robes that swathed him swishing about his figure as he went. The last she saw of him were the runes tattooed across his bare scalp as the wooden gates swung shut, the symbol of the bisected circle on the back of his head a painful reminder of the situation she was in.

Seere bit back tears, rage bubbling up through the despair as she snatched up the small sack of supplies they had left her. Slinging it over her left shoulder, she trudged down the slope away from the town, away from all the people who had rejected her when she needed compassion the most. Red-hot anger at the unfairness of it all kept her grief at bay, as she kicked the loose pebbles on the path out of her way.

“I’ll show ‘em.” She hissed through gritted teeth, sniffing away her tears. She would survive. She would show them they were all wrong. I’m nach just a bringer of bad luck.

It would have been a pleasant walk, had Seere not been so furious. By then the sun had risen and was shining through a gap in the cloudy sky, illuminating the vibrant gold and scarlet foliage around her. The effect was lost on her, however, as she tramped onwards, eyes set on the road ahead. It wasn’t long before a rustling started up behind her, coming in starts and stops as she walked. Her anger blinded her to any fear she might have felt, as she paused mid-step and did an abrupt about-face to find out what was following her.

What?

The white dragon that had been trailing a ways behind her was crouched low against the ground, as if trying to remain inconspicuous. It had failed terribly though, as the wings folded against its back still snagged on the branches of trees, noisily announcing its presence whenever it padded forward. Meeting Seere’s pointed stare, the creature froze, and then appeared to hang its head, as if in shame. It took Seere a half-second longer before she regained her mental faculties, and her shock at seeing the monster for the second time morphed into outrage. She raced up to the dragon’s head and lashed out at the leathery beast with her fists, sobbing hard as she exorcised her anguish through repeated blows. Seere no longer cared about the consequences. All she wanted to know was—

“Why? Why’d you destroy my home? Why’d you take my mom away from me?”

The words tumbled from Seere’s throat in raw wails. The dragon flinched each time her fists connected, trying to shrink away from her punches as they punctuated its apology.

“I didn’t — Ow! — mean to! — I’m not — so good at — flying and I was — Ow — cold! — I saw — fire and wanted to — get warm — Ow! — Pleasestophitting — meI’msowie. — Ow! — I’msowiee!”

The beast’s high pitched squeals of pain didn’t deter Seere in the least as she continued to rain blows down on the creature, another cry escaping her.

“How would’ja like your mom ta’en away from yer. Do yer know what tha’ feels like?!”

The dragon’s pupils widened as it went silent. Seere pummelled the creature until her rage-fuelled strength was spent, leaving her breathing heavily as she glared at it, animosity emanating from her entire body.

Then, very softly, with a noticeable quiver in its voice, the dragon spoke again.

“I lost my mom while I was sleeping last summer. I’m scared. I don’t know where she is. I’m still looking for her.”

Seere could hardly believe what she was hearing. She could only stare in bewilderment as the dragon made a swallowing sound before continuing.

“It’s not nice being alone. I know. I wanna help. In what-ever way you need me!”

The creature’s proclamation sounded so naively optimistic she couldn’t seem to process it. An adolescent dragon was offering to help her.

I’ve had enough fer one day.

“No.”

Upon delivering her rejection, Seere picked up the sack where she had dropped it and turned, striding away down the path in her original direction of travel.

If she had looked behind her, she would have been the first human being to see a dragon cry.

***

A week had passed since Seere had been banished from Hugel, and the weather had turned for the worse. Her clothes were damp, and so were the fallen branches and twigs she had gathered to make the fire she had been trying to start for the last fifteen minutes. Crouched over the small tent of tinder she arranged, she raked her tangled locks away from her face as she struck the rock with a flint once more, sending sparks arcing into the pile of kindling. The tiny flares that landed on the tinder fizzed out nearly instantly. She let out an aggravated sigh of frustration, crossing her arms and rubbing her biceps to try and generate some heat so she would stop shaking.

At this rate I’m go’in ta freeze ta death before mornin’

From fifty paces away, the dragon — named Nowe — she’d learned, from one of the times he’d babbled aimlessly to fill the silence between them, watched her warily and began to plod towards her. This time, she hadn’t the heart to chase him away. Each time she had tried in the past only led to the creature slinking away, tail between his legs, leaving her with a confusing mix of resentment and guilt surfacing and troubling her for the rest of the day.

Nowe nudged her a few paces away from the tinder with his snout, and then proceeded to position himself in front of the pile, making strained throat-clearing sounds, as if he were a cat trying to cough up a hairball. Seere wondered if he was going to throw up on her firewood, and for a few seconds, thought that the dragon might be legitimately sick.

“Wha’ are yer tryin’ to do?” Seere asked.

Nowe paused, seeming surprised at her speaking to him without an accompanying curse. “My mom did this to make fire when I was littler. Maybe I can too!”

As he returned to making hacking coughs over the tinder, Seere observed silently, in awe of the lengths the dragon was taking to help her, even after all the abuse she’d directed at him.

On Nowe’s twenty-third cough a small plume of flame arced from his open mouth, licking the wood and setting it ablaze. Warm relief flooded through her, and she moved quickly to heap the thicker branches she’d gathered atop the fire. She turned to mumble her thanks, but the dragon had already retreated to his original position a distance away from her, looking forlorn. The guilt materialized once more as she gazed at his white form, warming her hands by the flames.

Maybe he just wants som’one ta talk to.

A light drizzle pattered down as darkness fell, causing the fire to hiss and spit, not heavy enough to put the flames out entirely. The water drops pelted Seere as she lay on the hard ground, and while it washed away some of the grime that had accumulated on her cheeks, it wetted her already damp garments, causing the wind to numb her further. She raised an arm in a futile attempt to shield her face from the cold prickling of the rainfall. Barely five seconds later, she heard the soft crunching of large feet bounding across wet grass, and a white canopy erected itself in an arc above her body, sheltering her from the developing deluge. Seere stared up at Nowe’s wing, unsure of how to express her gratitude for his gesture.

For a time the two of them, girl and dragon, lay unmoving, the silence interspersed with the pitter-patter of falling rain. Seere was the first to break the quiet.

“Nowe?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks fer startin’ the fire just now. Tha’ really helped.”

“Oooh it did? Oh boy!”

“Yer welcome ta share it, yer’know.”

“Really? Yay! Thank-you!”

Seere didn’t have to look at the dragon to know that Nowe was beaming — she could hear it in the rising inflection of his voice. It was nice to hear him happy instead of downtrodden for once.

Yer make ye own happiness by making otha’ people smile. Tha’s why I try ta’ make yer smile e’ry day. When yer make otha’s happy, yer make yer’self happy!

For a moment she was back by the crackling hearth, five again, slurping down a bowl of potato and leek soup, grinning between mouthfuls of warm savoury comfort. Her mother’s lilting brogue rang clearly in Seere’s mind, the fullness of the memory leaving tears welling up in her eyes. The mom shaped hole in her chest would never quite be filled again, but day after day she could feel it patching itself little by little, feelings of fondness accompanying memories that previously only raised pangs of sorrow. The ache of loss would never truly go away, but someday, she would be able to live with the scar. She was sure of it.

Mom would’ave wanted me ta go on. Ta be happy.

“Nowe, I’ve thought of how yer can help me.”

“Tell me, tell me! I’ll do anything — anything you want! I’ll try my best!”

“Let’s go on an adventure, Nowe.”

“Lets go! Let’s go on an adventure! What’s an adventure?”

“Goin’ ta new places, seein’ and doin’ new things you’ve ne’er done before.”

“I can do that! Let’s go! Oh boy!”

“Not righ’ now, dummy! Try an’ git some sleep. We can go temorreh mornin’”

Seere found herself smiling, the first time she had managed one since the night that changed her whole life. A fresh source of energy stirred within her — one that had been slumbering for a week. A yearning for something new and exciting to happen.

But first, sleep. Tomorrow, an adventure awaited her.