The Book of Deacon (16 page)

Myranda held her breath as her heart raced.
Now she remembered where she was. She was in a dragon's cave, and
that left very little doubt as to what had laid its head upon her
chest. Despite her best efforts, she began to tremble in fear. The
creature seemed not to mind, the deep, rhythmic breaths on her face
leading her to believe it had drifted back to sleep.

With her one healthy arm, Myranda set about
the task of escaping her predicament. She slid her hand underneath
the head, finding it mercifully light enough to lift. Slowly and
smoothly as she could manage, she tried to lower the beast's head
to the cave floor beside her. After an interminable sequence of
awkward movements, she succeeded in doing so without waking it. She
rolled off of the packs, still affixed to her back, and slammed
down hard on the injured shoulder. The pain was intense, but she
managed to remain silent. Another few tricky movements brought her
to her feet, heart still pounding in her chest.

Myranda cast a glance at the spot next to
where she'd been lying, only to find that the weak rays of sun that
made it this far into the cave were falling on an empty floor. Her
panicked search for the creature was ended when she felt something
rub against her right hand. She was startled, pulling her hand away
and looking desperately for the culprit. There beside her, sitting
on its haunches, was a small dragon, staring back at her. Myranda
froze. This creature was barely a fifth the size of the ones she'd
seen earlier, perhaps the size of a large dog--but if it chose to,
it could certainly reduce her to a bloody meal in seconds.

A long moment passed before one of the two
moved again. The beast took the initiative. It walked to her left
side and reared onto its hind legs briefly, brushing its head
across her hand. Not knowing what else to do, and eager to prevent
the creature from rearing up again, she dropped her hand to her
side. The dragon swiftly thrust its head into her palm. The feeling
of the ridges above its eyes brushing against her fingers for the
third time made her realize what the animal was after. She stroked
the dragon's brow. It sat beside her, pushing back with every
stroke.

So, you like that? Myranda thought.

With little else to do, Myranda stroked the
beast and thought. It had the feminine features of the smaller
dragon. All in all it was a near perfect miniature of the beast
that must have been its mother. Its head was more or less
waist-level for Myranda, and from tail to nose it might be as long
as she was tall. It had wings delicately folded on its back, still
moist from hatching. The eyes were reptilian slits in a beautiful
gold iris. A larger, thick scale swept back from the creature's
forehead, clearly distinguishing where the head began with an
almost crown-like flourish.

The forelegs, now that she could get a fair
look at them, were indeed very much like her own arms. The paws in
particular were like hands, though each toe was stouter, and
tapered into a nasty-looking claw. Despite this, the creature's
flexing and scratching at the ground betrayed a near-human level
dexterity. As the creature enjoyed its stroking more and more, it
scratched harder and harder at the stone floor, scoring lines into
it with ease. The contentment was further evidenced, it would seem,
by the curling of the tail. It writhed about with snake-like
motion.

In her fascination, Myranda forgot that the
natural masterpiece beside her was still an enormous danger. If she
tried to run it would certainly chase her and easily catch her. She
carried no weapon with which to fight it, though she doubted she
could bring herself to harm the beautiful creature even if she had.
Worse yet, either of the two larger dragons could return at any
moment. Something had to be done.

In an act of pure optimism, Myranda tried to
simply walk away, hoping to escape without rousing any of the
creature's more predatory instincts. The dragon merely followed,
stopping when she stopped and continuing when she did. This would
not do. With all other options exhausted, she turned to reason.

"Listen," she said, turning to address the
dragon directly. It was startled at first by the sound of Myranda's
voice, so she lowered to a whisper. "I am very glad you like me. I
like you, too, but you can't follow me. You see, I am afraid you
might not be so kind when your stomach starts to rumble. At that
point, I fear I will be little more than a wounded animal to you,
which I am sure you will find quite tasty."

The little dragon stared back. She took
another step, and the beast followed. Myranda sighed and looked
around the cave. The evidence of the clash between the two dragons
earlier was in no short supply. Deep gashes in the rock were
littered about the walls and floor. Pools and spatters of thick,
dark blood painted whole sections of the poorly-lit cave. She could
not help but wonder how she had managed to escape injury. The whole
of the cave had been their battleground, and she had been helpless
in the center. Regardless, her luck could not afford to be pushed
any further.

"I know you just hatched, and you might not
know this yet, but you have a mother. She is very large, clearly
very protective, and I do not want her to get the wrong idea about
me. Just stay here and let me leave. That way you and I can both
continue living. Please?" she begged.

The dragon stared back innocently, but
followed again when Myranda tried to leave. She turned back.

"Please, you need to stay here. If you don't,
someone will come looking for you and find me. You must have
brothers and sisters. Don't you want to stay with them? Why don't I
just take you back to where you hatched? Then you can see your
family again and you will forget all about me. If I am lucky they
will still be asleep and I won't be torn to shreds," she said.

Myranda took a deep breath and turned her
back to the cave's mouth. Darkness became more and more complete.
Before long, she found herself feeling along the wall, muttering
about how insane she was for doing this. A few minutes had passed
and she had traveled far into the cave when she kicked something.
Feeling for it, she found a piece of wood with oily cloth on the
end. A torch! Without questioning why such a thing could be found
in a dragon's cave, she blindly retrieved the flint and lit it.

The light of the torch revealed a grizzly
scene. The contents of a pack identical to her own were scattered
about the floor. Against one wall, the pulverized remains of a
human skeleton lay on the floor, scorched black. Myranda shuddered
at the sight of it. A twinkle drew her gaze to a bag against the
opposite wall. It had been torn, leaving its contents strewn about
the floor. Silver coins.

"This does not bode well," she said, her
heart beating so hard she could fairly hear it echo. "At least we
know what happened to Rankin. He didn't run after all."

A minute or so more walking brought her to
what she had been both dreading and searching for, but it was not
what she expected. The floor was stained with blood, and a pile of
gold objects lay before her. The smashed shells of half a dozen
dragon eggs lay nestled among the gold pitchers, scepters, and
coins. Their contents were never given a chance at life. Only one
egg was empty, the one egg that had been spared. Tears welled in
her eyes as she cast light upon the faithful mother. It lay,
battered and torn, curled up around the egg that the young dragon
beside her had hatched from just hours ago. It moved no more,
succumbed to its wounds after driving the attacker away.

The tears ran down Myranda's face. Hours ago,
it had seemed a monster, but it was now a fallen hero. Her home had
been invaded, her family had been destroyed, and her life had been
given, all for the precious gift that now looked over the tragedy
with the innocent eyes of a newborn. The hatchling was too young to
understand the sight before it, yet somehow Myranda sensed some
sorrow in the creature, as though it knew what had occurred. She
turned to the young dragon, tears still in her eyes.

"You are an orphan, just like me," Myranda
said, kneeling to come eye to eye with the beast. "If you and I are
to share the same plight, we may as well share it together. I know
how empty the world can be when you are alone."

She dropped the torch and hugged the little
dragon about the neck. It seemed pleased at the attention,
regardless of the cause. Myranda then retrieved the torch, wiped
away her tears, and headed back toward the cave's mouth, dragon in
tow. It never occurred to her to take even a coin from the fortune
that made up the nest. To her it was now a monument to the
sacrifice that had been made, and she would not disturb it.
Besides, plundering a resting place had been the cause of this
whole mess in the first place.

When she reached the mouth of the cave it was
nearly sundown. From the looks of it, the storm that had chased her
into the cave had run its course rather quickly. There was little
new snow on the ground, and the wind was no more than the constant
breeze that came down off of the mountains. Already the colder
temperatures of night were closing in. She hurried to the nearest
cluster of trees that would spare them the icy breeze and gathered
some wood for the fire.

This was the first time the dragon had left
the cave. It stared with wonder and excitement at the world opening
up before it. The creature pranced through the snow, rushing to
trees, bushes and plants, drawing in the scent and moving on. It
discovered a set of tracks made by a moose and scampered in the
direction of the smell, turning back after a few dozen paces to
return to Myranda's side. It watched her with fascination as she
readied the fire, having trouble getting the frosty wood to
light.

"You know, you could lend a hand here," she
said with a grin. "You could huff out a little fire and I could
have a seat and relax."

The creature looked at Myranda, then at the
wood, and then in the direction of some noise only she could
hear.

"No? I didn't think so," Myranda said.

When the fire was finally lit, Myranda laid
out her bed roll and sat upon it. She pulled her pack in front of
her and pulled out some of the salted meat. It had been cooked
once, and could be eaten cold if she wished, but if was not the
most appetizing of foods warm, let alone cold. She put her piece on
the end of a stick and held it over the fire. Instantly she had the
undivided attention of the little dragon. Most creatures would have
been frightened to go near the fire, but this one stood among the
flames to get a better whiff of the tantalizing fare.

"No, no, no," Myranda said.

The dragon turned to her. Myranda pulled the
meat away and continued to admonish the animal.

"I know you must be hungry, but that food is
mine. Hot food is mine," she said. "Here, you can have this. I wish
I had something better for your first meal."

Myranda pulled out a second piece of meat.
The dragon sniffed the meat, then opened its mouth for the first
time since Myranda had first seen it. It was a tad unnerving seeing
the rows of needle sharp teeth in the front, and smaller gripping
teeth in the back. She had nearly forgotten the nature of the beast
that was her new companion. It snatched the meat from her fingers
greedily, a tooth grazing her skin. The hungry dragon gulped the
food down without chewing, flicking its tongue between teeth here
and there to catch stray drops. A second and third piece of meat
met the same fate for the sake of distracting the ravenous creature
from Myranda's own meal. The dragon sniffed at the pack while
Myranda was eating, pawing at it. After being scolded several times
for doing so, the little creature stopped. Instead, it sat,
impatiently watching Myranda finish her meal. The very instant
Myranda's hands were empty, the dragon stood, rigidly awaiting
another piece of meat.

"I'm sorry, but that is all for today. You've
already eaten half of my share for today and all of it for
tomorrow. I hope that one of us becomes an exceptional hunter
exceptionally fast, or there are several hungry days ahead of us,"
Myranda said.

Myranda took out her canteen and took a long
swig. The dragon smacked its tongue several times, making it clear
that it too needed to wash down the excessively salty meal.

"I know, it makes you thirsty eating that
stuff. Particularly if you eat twice your share. I've got water
here, but . . . I don't know how to give it to you. Well . . .
here," she said, pouring a bit of it into her cupped hand.

With the limited mobility of her injured
shoulder, she had a hard time of it, but the effort did not go
unappreciated. In a flash, the tongue was out, writhing about as
though it had a life of its own. It had a very slight rough feel to
its top side, and a smooth bottom. The feeling was bizarre as it
curled in her palm and between her fingers. She found the tongue
sweeping with special interest over the slight abrasion the tooth
had caused. As she refilled her palm once more, she found the
dragon's interest lingering on the drops of blood that seeped from
the cut here and there. It was time to put an end to this.

"We need to find a better way. Partially
because my hand is freezing, but mostly because I am afraid you are
getting to like the taste of me. Not that I don't trust you. It's
just that the food will be running thin soon, and it is clear you
have a healthy appetite. I do not want to give you any ideas about
an alternate menu," she said, as though the dragon could
understand.

She looked for some vessel to pour the water
into. Failing to find one, she decided that the dragon could drink
in the same way she did.

"Open up," she said.

The dragon looked back, confused.

"Look, see? Like this," Myranda said, pointed
to her mouth and opening and closing it a few exaggerated times.
"Can you do that?"