Dragons Scale

A short story

This is for another short story contest and I have become really attached to the story, (Hoping to expand it sometime.) I hope that you enjoy it, and if you want more, please click on the subscribe button at the bottom of the post. And, if you have already subscribed and know someone who you think would like my work don’t forget to spread the word! Thank you!

The smoke of a dozen chimneys drifted lazily in the night air, smudging the stars. Terren perched on the edge of a rooftop, his feet dangling over the building’s stone eaves. He tilted his head back and sniffed the cool breeze tinged with the bitter smell of wood smoke.

Nothing was better than seeing the village at night. Below him, Shadow, his dog, whined and thumped his midnight black tail on the cobblestones. His cocked head seemed to say, “What are you doing up there?”

Terren stared up at the stars, mentally tracing the constellations as his father had taught him. There was the wolf and the…

Terren frowned.

A star was missing.

Terren blinked and rubbed his eyes, and the star reappeared, twinkling in the same place it always did.

Gripping the side of the chimney beside him, Terren pulled himself up and stared as the night sky seemed to ripple, stars disappearing and reappearing.

His eyes widened.

It was a dragon.

A glass dragon.

Terren scrabbled at the sides of the chimney as he began to descend the side of the house. His ma would be mad at him for going up there, but there was no time to worry about that now. He had to get home.

As he slid down the last few feet of the drainpipe and landed on the street with a thud, a shout was raised at the city watchtower.

“Dragon!”

A flash of fire silhouetted the figure of the mayor and his daughter standing on the balcony of the city’s castle. The lanky mayor was directing his archers to set up their bows while his daughter looked on impassively.

She glanced down with a fierce expression, her hand straying to a satchel that hung across her shoulder.

She saw Terren.

A splash of orange flame lit the sky.

“Shadow,” Terren called. The dog ran over and whined.

Another burst of flame. It was closer.

Looking around to get his bearings, he ran toward a side street that would take him home. His feet pounded a frantic rhythm to the throb of his heart as he tore down the silent stone roads, flickering in the light of dying torches. The shouts of the soldiers and the heavy beat of leathery wings drove him to run faster than he had ever run before.

Finally, as he turned a bend, he came to his house, built into the city with its white stone walls draped with vine and moss. Slamming the door open, he ran in, breathing raggedly. Two people rushed out of a door near the entrance at the sound of his entry.

“Who is there?” shouted a tall man, striding over menacingly.

“It is me, Pa,” Terren gasped, bending over to catch his breath.

“Terren!” His father exclaimed, “What on earth were you-“

“Terren.” His mother stepped out from behind his father. Terren cringed, and Shadow hid behind him. “What were you doing out there?” Her mouth was pressed in a thin line, but her eyes blazed with anger-driven worry. “You are in serious-“

“Ma.”

A deathly silence slipped over her features.

“There is a dragon. A glass one.”

“WHAT?” His father roared, and his mother paled.

His father stepped over to the front door and closed it, locking it securely.

“Go to bed,” she said.

“But-“

“Go to bed. Now.”

Terren’s shoulders slumped. He dragged himself past his mother, went to his room, and shut the door.

Clambering onto his bed, Terren pulled himself up to look out the window. Shadow jumped up and whined next to him. Terren rested his chin on the window sill and watched the flashes of dragon fire on the horizon. Behind his bedroom door, the muted sound of his parents’ conversation reached his ears.

He picked at the paint on the sill. Why don’t they let me be free? Let me prove I am strong. 

His brows furrowed.

One time, his older brother had been fixing their chimney. He fell and broke his neck.

His parents had never been the same after that.

Terren’s hands balled into fists.

I am not like him, I can do it, I can prove that I am a warrior, that I am strong.

He glared at the black sky, dimmed by the windows’ dusty glass, and the idea came to him.

A dragon’s scale.

That was what he needed.

His bedroom door creaked open softly. Turning, he saw a little girl in a baggy nighty walking silently over to him.

“Millie,” Terren groaned, dropping from the window and landing heavily on the bed. “What are you doing here?”

Millie pulled herself onto the bed and stared into Terren’s eyes with her big brown ones.

“Are you in twubble, Tewin?” she asked, with solemn innocence.

Terren nodded and fixed his gaze on the scuffed toes of his boots.

Millie patted his back. “Don’t worry. Ma gets mad at me alla time.”

Terren didn’t look up.

“You are five, Millie. You don’t get into the trouble I get into.”.

Millie sighed and leaned her dark head on Shadow’s back. “Den, what are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to get a dragon’s scale.” Terren said, “People who steal a dragon’s scale are known as brave and mighty warriors.”

“Ma won’t like dat. Remember when you ran away?” Millie said softly.

Terren snorted and stood up, pushing Shadow off of his bed. “I’m going to sleep.”

Millie slipped off the bed and padded out of the room.

“Goodnight, Tewin,” she whispered.

“Goodnight, Millie.”

When Millie left, Terren lifted a small hairpin that had once been in his little sister’s hair. The moonlight glittered off of its polished surface. He felt the slightest tinge of guilt for taking it. 

But it fit the front door’s lock perfectly.

* * *

Terren poked a stick dejectedly in a pile of moss. Tall trees rose around him, their leaves blotting out the sun and spreading a soft, dappled light on the ground below. He was lost.

After the dragon attack, his mother had been keeping a watchful eye on him. He had finally managed to escape from his room, but now he was wandering in the expansive woods outside the city.

“What a thing to go and do,” he grumbled, watching Shadow excavating a trench in pursuit of a mole.

Throwing the stick down, he got up and called Shadow.

Shadow lifted his head from the hole and cast him a suffering look, then came obediently to him.

With Shadow at his heels, Terren picked a direction that seemed the best way home and started forward. As he continued, the trees grew taller and thicker, and a gloomy darkness settled over the ground. Patches of weeds and clumps of rock overgrown with moss and small trickling streams wound their way over the slick ground.

Then Shadow stiffened.

Lifting his nose high, he sniffed the air. His sleek black fur prickled menacingly in the half-light.

Terren felt it, too. A strange feeling hung in the air. A mysterious smell that made shivers slip down his spine in icy waves. It tasted like dust and light. It was the feeling of magic.

Shadow stared at the mossy soil and growled softly. Terren looked down.

A jolt ran through him like a strike of lightning.

On the earth between them was a giant print, the circumference near that of a full-grown oak. The soil had been torn up, leaving rich red stains where claws the size of broadswords had cleaved furrows.

A dragon print.

A few feet ahead, there was another print, along with the twisted remains of a tree. The leaves were still full and green, and the earth was soft and fresh.

The tracks were new. Terren felt his pulse quicken.

This was his chance. He was going to get his dragon scale.

Creeping through the trees as silently as the oncoming dusk, he followed the dragon prints. And then, he saw it.

A dragon lay in a clearing in the trees. The ground around it was blackened and smoking. Small, shriveled plants and blackened trees framed a clearing that was a perfect circle.

The last rays of the dying sun caught on every scale and wingtip, bathing the clearing in the glory of dazzling diamond scales.

A glass dragon.

Every scale was like an opal, opaque but transparent. Rippling like a snake’s hide up to its head and ending in creamy white twisted horns. Its wings were traced with a silver sheen. The gossamer film stretched between the strong bones, creating their jagged shape. 

Terren forgot to breathe.

This was the fabled dragon that had been terrorizing his village. The dragon that could make itself invisible.

Every nerve in his body was taut; his breath was like fire in his lungs.

He lifted one shaky hand to brush aside a branch that was poking him in the ribs.

Her eye, one glittering orb of purple, opened up a slit.

Terren froze. The glittering dragon eye seemed to stare straight at him.

A rustling noise at the other end of the clearing caused the dragon’s eyes to fly open completely. Lifting off the ground, the dragon rose, taller than the trees, to stand in the clearing. A small puff of white steam wreathed the dragon’s head. Terren was so close that he could hear the soft puff of the dragon’s breath.

Terren watched in amazement as a tall, dark figure emerged from the other side of the clearing.

She was wearing a hood, but when she approached the dragon, she raised a slender hand and pushed it back.

Terren stared in disbelief.

It was the mayor’s daughter, Ciara.

What is she doing? 

The dragon hissed and bared its teeth—a thread of black smoke issued from its open mouth.

Ciara had the large leather satchel slung over one shoulder. With a thin smile, she lifted the edge of the flap and spoke.

“I have it with me.”

The dragon’s eyes widened, and Terren saw the dragon’s claws dig into the earth.

“Will you do as I ask?” she said.

The dragon hesitated. Its eyes flickered from one side of the clearing to the other. 

No matter how tall the dragon was, Ciara held an air of menace that even the dragon respected. Dominating darkness hung over her. She was dangerous.

Then the dragon spoke.

The dragon’s voice was low but tinged with desperation and a wild roughness that spoke of a life unknown to any man or lesser beast. “Harm my eggchild, and I will tear your village from the map.”

Ciara quickly fastened the flap on the satchel shut.

“The time has come. Tonight, you will attack; waste no time. The village will be mine.”

No. Terrens fingers dug into the rotting bark of the tree before him.

The dragon shuddered, then bowed her head and growled.“As you wish.”

Terren’s heart stopped.

Ciara nodded, slipping her hood back on, she disappeared into the trees. As soon as she had gone, the dragon raised her head and roared. 

When the dragon had quieted, she curled up in the clearing and folded her wings over her fearsome head.

Terren stared at her and waited a moment, then silently pulled Shadow out from under the tree and skirted outside the clearing. Finding Ciara’s footprints, he glanced back at the dragon before following them. 

His heart pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer.

He must reach the village before the dragon.

* * *     

The moon rose as Terren emerged from the forest, standing on the edge of a stony precipice overlooking the village. Soft lights twinkled in the houses, flickered on the white walls, and trailed ivy. The guards stood as silent as stone statues on the wall top, the wind picking at their cloaks.

Terren looked over the place where he knew his house was.

There was no way they would believe his story. Even if they did, there would not be enough time.

He climbed down the cliffs he knew so well, and came to the village.

Skirting the wall, he climbed the city gate as he had done a thousand times, then slipping between rows of houses, he threaded his way to the village’s center. The fountain in the center of the square glittered in the light of a thousand stars. Terren took a deep breath, placing one of his small hands against the cool stone of the building.

He could do this.

He had to.

For his sister, for his village.

His heart thudded with fear, but this was nothing new. He could climb, and he would not fall.

He hesitated.

Will I fall?

He looked up at the roof, so distant and high, and closed his eyes.

Just…climb.

Pulling himself up, he climbed up the stones, using the drainpipe and ornamental eaves carved with gargoyles to help him blend into the shadows. Getting up onto the roof, he carefully stepped over the shingles. Making his way to the balcony, he paused, wondering if a guard was stationed at the doors. Dropping from the roof as silently as a cat, he gently crept up to the ornate doors and tugged the handle.

The door slid open without a complaint, and the dark interior loomed ominously. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Terren stepped in, and the door closed behind him, sealing him in darkness.

Terren waited for his eyes to adjust, running his fingers over the walls around him, hoping to get some bearings. He crept down the hallway, looking for some sign of Ciara. 

A long, bare hallway with a smooth marble floor confronted him. It was spanned on the right side with one long window stretching down the length of the hall, casting splashes of pale moonlight across the walls and floor.

At the very end, a door was ajar.

Ciara was standing behind the door, staring straight at him.

Terren’s blood froze. He stood still and stared back.

Run, turn, and run.

But the rest of his body could not respond.

Ciara’s expression did not change as she seemed to take in every detail of him. She began to open the door wider. As she did so, Terren saw that she had the satchel slung over her shoulder.

He bolted forward, arms stretched out to tear the satchel from her arm.

Ciara’s lips separated in a thin smile, and Terren felt a pang of terror strike him.

No.

A heavy hand grabbed him by the shoulder, and a thick arm wrapped around his neck. His shout of terror was cut off as he clawed at the arms holding him, gasping for air.

Ciara moved past him, nodding to someone above him.

“Wait,” she whispered, “we don’t need his blood on our hands…yet.”

The man holding him dragged him down the hall and back out to the balcony. The cold night air swirled around him as Ciara pulled the balcony doors open and strode out above the square. Her black hair swirled in the soft wind as she pulled a small horn and, putting it to her lips, blew.

The arm holding him loosened, allowing him to draw in a halting breath.

The sound was low and tremulous, the trees shivered, and the stars dimmed. A distant roar sent fear coursing through him. Ciara turned and looked down at him with a chilling smile. “She is summoning her brethren.”

The man let him go, so suddenly he fell forward on his hands and knees, his hands clutching his bruised throat.

Ciara bent over him,

“Your little family will burn, rat.” Her voice twisted as she spoke. Her eyes were black like burning coals.

A hell stoked fire.

Terren raised his eyes to hers. “No,” he rasped.

He reached out and gripped the edge of the satchel, his fingers closing around the smooth shell of the dragon egg.

“Why do you hate me?”

Ciara’s expression froze.

“You are taking my chance,” she growled. “To prove that I am strong, that I can rule. My father hated me because I was not the successor he thought I would be. But now I will show him. I am strong, and I am in control.”

“You think that killing people and setting the city on fire will prove you are strong?” 

Right then, as Terren looked up at Ciara, he saw his mistake. He was trying to prove himself and show the world who he was. But he didn’t know who he was.

Until now.

Ciara hesitated.

That was all the time Terren needed.

The egg slipped out of her satchel and into his. It was surprisingly light.

He jumped up and threw a punch at her face. Ciara took the blow on the jaw, clutching her face as she staggered back.

“Get him!”  she screeched.

Terren leaped to the side to avoid her guard and scrambled to the balcony’s edge.

The man lunged at him. He jumped onto the railing, grabbed the gutter, and swung onto the roof.

Ciara wiped the blood from the side of her mouth. “Get the archers.”

Terren swayed unsteadily on the slippery tiles.

Glancing into his satchel, he saw the egg, glowing silver and studded with diamond-like ridges.

An arrow buzzed out of the blackness and hit a tile a foot in front of him, shattering it.

Three more came from the other side, and Terren’s head whipped around in panic. They were shooting at him from the roof of the house next to the mansion.

A glimmer appeared in the night sky.

The dragon.

Terren was trapped.

Arrows shredded the air around him. Terren reached into his satchel and took out the egg. Lifting it up, the stars glittered in the shell.

“Shoot him down!” Ciara shouted.

The dragon flew towards Terren, jaws gaping.

All the arrows stopped as the archers stared at the dragon, paralyzed with fear.

Ciara wrenched a bow from an archer’s grasp and aimed at Terren.

Something hit his arm.

Fiery, savage pain shot through him as hot blood gushed over his skin.

He shouted, collapsing against the slanted tiles and clutching the egg.

The dragon roared and descended, spreading her giant wings. Terren squeezed his eyes shut and looked away from his fate, holding the egg skyward with his uninjured arm.

This is it.

I will die now.

Air buffeted him as he gripped the tiles with a bloody hand.

Will Mille miss me?

A memory of his older brother came to his mind.

He held out his hand to him and hoisted him onto the roof. The view of the village was wonderful. He turned to him and smiled.

“You have a gift,” He said, poking a finger at Terren’s chest.

Cool, smooth scales brushed his hand. The egg was lifted from his grasp.

“And don’t forget it. You are not alone, Terren. Who you are proves who you will be.”

A soft breath ruffled his hair.

“And that is freedom, that is bravery.”

He could not stop himself. He looked up.

A violet orb flecked with sapphire and gold stared back. 

His heart stopped.

The dragon blinked.

Then, with a rush of wings, rose skyward as Terren looked on.

She disappeared into the stars.

Terren looked down at his hand.

In it was one scale the size of half of his palm, glittering iridescent, infused with the power of starlight and magic.

A dragon’s scale.

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