Rage of the Dragon

CHAPTER 26

Aylaen was walking a path through the forest, a familiar path. The time was winter. The trees were bare of their leaves, the evergreens green and white. The path was covered over with snow, but she knew where she was; the path led to the house of Owl Mother.

Aylaen was bewildered. She didn’t know why she was on this path, because she didn’t want to visit Owl Mother. She was back home and she wanted to go to her own mother. Aylaen tried to turn back, but no matter which way she turned, she always ended up on the same path. She came to a halt outside Owl Mother’s ramshackle house.

The day was gray and silent, the thick, heavy silence that comes with the snow. A smudge of smoke rose from the chimney, and a light burned inside the window. The snow was trampled, marked with the footprints of animals.

Aylaen knocked loudly on the door.

“Owl Mother! It’s me, Aylaen. I’ve come home. Let me inside!”

The door opened. A baby dragon stood on the threshold. The dragon’s wings lifted and its crest flattened. When it opened its mouth and hissed, Aylaen gasped and fell back in shock. Owl Mother hobbled over, flapping her skirts at the dragon and chiding it.

“Get back to the fire, you silly beast. You’ll catch your death!”

The baby dragon ran off. Aylaen stared after it in astonishment. She did not accept Owl Mother’s invitation to enter, but remained standing on the threshold.

“Come in, child,” Owl Mother called from the smoke-tinged, warm darkness. “Don’t worry about the dragon. She can’t fly; she has a torn wing.”

“I’ve never seen a baby dragon,” said Aylaen, awed.

“Not many have, child. Mostly the parent keeps the babies safe in their own world. I’ve no notion how this one came to be here. She may be an orphan who wandered through the portal.”

Aylaen still hovered on the threshold and Owl Mother scowled.

“Why did you knock if you don’t plan to come in?”

Aylaen flushed. “Forgive me, Owl Mother, I will visit you another time. Now I want only to go home and I can’t find the way…”

“Come inside. You are letting in the cold,” Owl Mother chided her.

Owl Mother had seen over seventy summers. Her hair was white as the frost. She wore a wool dress and a heavy shawl wrapped around her shoulders and tied behind her back. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and the room was invitingly warm.

Aylaen entered the house reluctantly. Everyone knew that Owl Mother was a little mad. It was said she consorted with the fae.

Owl Mother closed the door on the cold and the snow. The old woman motioned for Aylaen to sit down in a chair by the fire, first shooing away a seagull perched on the chair’s back. The seagull flew off with an annoyed squawk. The baby dragon was curled up on a pile of straw before the fire. The dragon’s eyes gazed steadily at Aylaen. The seagull took refuge in the rafters and cleaned its beak with its foot. Aylaen remained standing.

“Owl Mother, I need to find the way home…”

“So do we all, child. Sit yourself. Someone wants to talk to you. He’s come a long distance.”

“Talk to me? How did anyone know I would be here?” Aylaen asked, bewildered.

“Because we are always where we need to be,” said Owl Mother, a cunning glint in her eye.

A small oil lamp stood on a table. By the flame’s light, Aylaen could see the dragon’s red eyes gleam and the seagull’s black eyes glisten. Owl Mother’s eyes were dark and did not reflect the light. Aylaen sat down in the chair.

A tapestry covered one end of the room. The tapestry was very old and portrayed warriors in strange-looking armor battling each other. Aylaen had been forced to learn to sew and she could appreciate the work that had gone into the tapestry. Owl Mother walked over to the tapestry and with her wizened, clawlike hand drew it aside.

A man sat on a low three-legged stool. He rose when he saw Aylaen and stood facing her. He was tall and once must have been well-built, strong, and muscular. His heavy shoulders were now stooped, his muscles grown flaccid, and his skin hung from his arms. His face was deeply creased, and the corners of his mouth sagged.

His eyes were strange and arresting. Large and gray, the eyes were red-rimmed, watery, sunken in his head and constantly in motion, roving back and forth, shifting this way and that. He spoke to her, but he did not look at her. He searched, watched, always watching.

Aylaen rose to confront him. She knew this man, or rather, knew this god.

“I see you recognize me,” he said, not looking at her.

“You are Sund the traitor!” said Aylaen.

“I am Sund,” said the god. The corners of his mouth rose a moment in what was the memory of a smile. “I am pleased you know me, Daughter.”

“Do not call me Daughter!” Aylaen said angrily. “I am not daughter to one who betrayed his comrades and his people!”

“Too many eyes are watching you, Daughter,” said Sund. “Too many ears are listening to every word you speak. Too many hands carry knives to kill you. I needed to meet you where we would both be safe.”

“You wasted your time,” Aylaen said curtly. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Sund would still not look at her. His eyes roved back and forth; the side of his mouth twitched. “Your small mortal eyes can see no farther than your own nose. You have no way of understanding me. I make allowances.”

Sund shrugged his heavy shoulders. “I did not bring you here to hold discourse with you, Daughter. I brought you here to tell you what you are going to do.”

Aylaen shook her head. “My small mortal eyes may not be able to see into the future, but I know that if I was meant to do what you are going to tell me to do, you would not need to tell me to do it.”

Owl Mother chuckled. Sund’s gaze roved through the future, always searching and sifting through the myriad threads of the wyrds of men and gods.

“You know where to find two of the spiritbones of the Vektia dragon. You will be given the opportunity to obtain a third. You will take the two you have now and destroy them. You will destroy the third should it come into your possession.”

“Destroy them!” Aylaen repeated, not believing she had heard him right. “The Vektia bones hold the power of creation. If I destroy them I destroy the ability of the gods to create!”

“Precisely. And lacking that power, Aelon and the Gods of Raj will grow bored and depart. They will leave the world once more to us. If you attempt to use the Five, you will lose control. Torval, Vindrash, all of us will be destroyed. Aelon will gain control of the power of creation. And the first thing he will do with it will be to slaughter you and your people.”

Aylaen was distracted by Owl Mother, who was seated at the table, playing with a small wooden spinning top, a toy made to entertain small children. Owl Mother gave the top a twist with her hand and set it spinning on the table. The top spun and spun and then began to slow down and wobble. Finally, it fell over, rocked for a moment on its side, and ceased to move. Owl Mother folded her hands in front of her and winked at Aylaen.

Sund was not watching Owl Mother, yet he saw her, for he scowled. Owl Mother rolled her eyes and twiddled her finger around her head.

“That is one future,” Aylaen argued. “One among the many.”

“No, Daughter,” said Sund, “it is the one.”

Sund’s roving eyes rested on her at last. She looked into the wide and terror-filled eyes and realized with shock that the god’s fear had driven him to madness.

“I have tried to kill Ivorson and thus far I have failed,” Sund said. “His wyrd is strong and Torval protects him. But though Skylan is the one who finds the Five, it is you who will use them.”

Sund clenched his fist. “Promise me that you will destroy the Vektia bones, and all will be well between us!”

“I cannot make such a promise,” said Aylaen, trembling.

“Know this, then, Daughter,” Sund said, his voice deep and shaking with rage. “If you bring the power of creation into the world, you yourself will lack it. Your womb will be barren. No children will be born to you! This I have foreseen.”

“You are mad!” Aylaen cried.

“Your sister, Treia, is carrying Raegar’s child,” Sund continued relentlessly. “Her son will become Emperor of the Oran nation. Her son will grind his boot into the necks of the Vindrasi. I know this. I have seen it all. This is what will come to pass if you do not destroy the Five!”

Aylaen shrank away from him. She had to hold on to the back of the chair, where the seagull had perched, to keep from falling.

“Ivorson says his son must be born in honor.” Sund gave a hollow laugh. “His son will not be born at all! His seed will fall on dry, cracked ground.”

Aylaen could not bear to look at him and she covered her face with her hands. The baby dragon hissed in fear.

“Many wyrds,” Sund shouted. “Many wyrds wrapped together into one doom…”

And then all was quiet.

Slowly, Aylaen drew back her hands. Owl Mother let fall the tapestry. The god was gone.

“He is mad,” said Aylaen.

Shivering uncontrollably, she moved her chair closer to the fire. The dragon edged over to make room for her. Owl Mother took off her shawl and draped it around Aylaen’s shoulders.

“Sund was distraught over the death of the Sea Goddess’s sister, Desiria,” said Owl Mother. “He foresaw her death and he tried to warn Torval and Vindrash and the other gods, but they would not listen. They believed they were invincible…”

“Will what Sund threatened come true?” Aylaen asked, chilled. “Will I be barren?”

Owl Mother filled a horn with mead and handed it to Aylaen.

“Drink this,” said Owl Mother. “I will cast the rune stones.”

Aylaen drank the sweetly bitter mead and warmth returned to her body. Owl Mother drew from her belt a tattered and greasy leather pouch, opened the pouch, and took out six stones worn smooth from much handling. On one side of each stone was a rune. The other side was blank. Each of the six runes had meaning and were read together to reveal the future. Owl Mother dumped out the stones on the table and began to mix them with her hand.

Aylaen stirred in her chair.

“I only want to find my way home,” Aylaen said.

“You know the way,” said Owl Mother.

Aylaen realized she did know the way. Why then did she feel lost?

“If Sund, a god, cannot see the future, how can a bunch of rocks predict it?” Aylaen asked.

“Close the door tight when you go,” said Owl Mother, mixing the stones. “Or else the wind blows it open.”

Aylaen gazed down at the stones on the crude, rough-hewn table polished by loving hands rubbing oil into the wood.

Owl Mother indicated the stones with a nod. “Pick them up. And cast them down.”

Aylaen hesitated, then did as she was told. She held the stones tightly for a moment, then threw them onto the table with a jerk.

“Humpf,” said Owl Mother. “Never seen that before.”

Five of the stones came up blank. Only the sixth had fallen rune-side up.

“What does that mean?” Aylaen asked nervously.

“Only one choice brings victory,” said Owl Mother. She pointed to the sixth rune. “That is the rune for Death.”

“You talk in riddles,” said Aylaen shakily. She was sorry she had stayed. But still she did not leave. “Will I be barren?” she demanded. “The stones were supposed to tell me that.”

Owl Mother shrugged. “The stones have said all they can say. If they didn’t answer your question that was because you didn’t ask it. And now the vision is ended. You must go.”

“Vision? What vision?” Aylaen asked.

Owl Mother took hold of Aylaen’s elbow and steered her toward the door.

“This isn’t a vision,” Aylaen protested, frightened. “I’m home. I want to see my mother.”

Owl Mother yanked open the door. A gust of cold air blew inside. The dragon whimpered in displeasure and curled up tightly, tail wrapped around her nose. The seagull swooped down from the rafters, flying so near Aylaen’s head she ducked with a startled cry. The seagull sailed into the wind and perched in a tree. Aylaen shivered with the cold.

“I can tell you this much,” said Owl Mother. “Sund seeks to frighten you. Have faith in yourself and in that young hothead, Skylan. So far he’s turned out better than I imagined.” Owl Mother gave a shake of her head as though finding that hard to believe.

Owl Mother raised a gnarled finger. “And remember this, child. Love is never barren. Now before you go, give me back my shawl.”

Aylaen unwound the shawl and handed it to Owl Mother. The old woman shoved Aylaen out the door, then shut it with a bang that woke her.

* * *

Skylan lay in his bed in the small room they had given him. Wulfe was in the room with him, curled up in a corner, sound asleep, feet and hands twitching. Skylan was wide awake, gazing into the darkness that for him was as bright as sunlight with happiness.

Aylaen loved him. She was to be his wife.

Skylan closed his eyes and he could still see the sunlight that seemed to glow throughout his being. He pictured their children. Their firstborn would be a son. They would name him Garn. He would have his mother’s red hair and his father’s fighting spirit. Skylan would teach his son how to use a sword and shield, how to take his place in the shield wall. He would teach his son to hunt, sail, and fish. He would teach his son, too, how to be a good chief. Skylan imagined his joy as he laid his newborn son in his grandfather’s arms, beseeching Norgaard’s blessing. Such a moment would help make up for the pain Skylan had brought his father.

Their second born would be a daughter. She would be a redheaded, saucy little imp who could reduce him to pudding with a look from her green eyes. They would name her Dawn and he would teach her to fight, as well, for women must know how to defend their home and children. His little daughter would nestle in his arms and fall asleep with her curly head on his breast. She would be as beautiful as her mother and as brave and courageous. The young men would be wild about her, but she would scorn them all. And when the time came for him to give her to another man-though Skylan could not imagine there would be any man worthy of her-she would hold fast to Skylan’s arm and whisper that she would always love her father best.

And at night there would be Aylaen. She would be there to love him, to tease him, to chide him and scold him. And at the end, Aylaen would hold him in her arms as his eyes closed upon the world. He would wait for her in Torval’s Hall. The afterlife would hold no joy until she was with him.

Wulfe gave a violent sneeze that jolted Skylan from his dreams. Smiling, he rolled over and went to sleep.

* * *

Owl Mother sat in her cabin. The baby dragon lay at her feet. The seagull perched upon the arm of her chair.

“You gods,” Owl Mother grumbled. “You’re all mad, as far as I’m concerned. Is it any wonder I would rather spend my time among the fae? They know how to enjoy life.”

“They will not enjoy life if Aelon takes control of the world,” said Akaria. “We gods put up with their nonsense. Aelon will not. He views them as dangerous.”

“He views you as exceedingly dangerous, Owl Mother,” Vindrash added. “I wish you would come to live with us in Torval’s Hall.”

Owl Mother snorted. “Maybe in the old days, when Torval knew how to throw a feast. Not now. His gloom turns the ale sour.”

The dragon smiled and rested a clawed foot gently upon Owl Mother’s boot.

“I thank you for warning us of Sund’s scheming, Owl Mother.”

“I still think we should have stopped him,” said Akaria with a vicious snap of her seagull beak. “We should not have let him threaten the mortal. Aylaen will give in to her fear and all will be lost.”

“We needed to hear what Sund had to say,” Vindrash said, adding with a sigh, “He may be mad, but he still sees the future. I have faith in Aylaen. She will be a worthy guardian of the Five.”

“I am not impressed,” said Akaria dismissively.

“The two of you must go,” said Owl Mother, pushing herself up out of the chair. “Some of us have work to do. I have a sick calf to tend to at the Jorgeson’s.”

She began to gather together her stock of herbs and poultices. The two goddesses, in their true forms, gazed down at the casting stones that still lay where they had fallen on the rough-hewn table: five blank and one marked with Death.

“What do you suppose it means?” Vindrash murmured.

“That a bunch of rocks cannot predict the future,” said the Sea Goddess.