Monday, March 16, 2020

Mixed Media Challenge: "World Ender" -- by Hazel West






World Ender
By Hazel B. West

(Based on the song “The World Ender” by Lord Huron)


The sun set over the desert.
            Wyatt Conners, the newly-minted marshal leaned against his shovel as he stared at the three freshly dug graves in the ground. The light of the setting sun caused the three wooden crosses to cast ominous shadows across the turned dirt. He reached up and rubbed his face with a dirty hand.
            “D— shame,” he muttered to his deputy. The words meant nothing, they couldn’t express what he felt about the death of his former partner and Morgan’s family. 
            The other man nodded and took the shovel from Conners, giving his shoulder a brief pat in solidarity before heading off back to the wagon. There wasn’t even a house left, only smoldering wreckage. The smoke was still cloying and heavy in the air.
            Conners took off his hat and glanced at the graves again.
            “I’ll get him, Matt. That’s my vow to you.” It was all he could do, and it wasn’t enough.
            He turned around and headed for his horse.
            Night fell on the three graves.
*
He woke to darkness.
            Matthew Morgan pulled air into his lungs, no more smoke there to choke him. His hand grasped at his chest, feeling the dry, tacky blood and the hole where the bullet had struck him, ending his life as memories flashed behind his eyelids…

Morgan and Conners watched as the man dropped through the gallows. Thomas Mayhew. They’d spent the better part of a month tracking down the Mayhew gang, and finally caught the younger of the two brothers. It was a good day seeing him on the gallows. 
            “I don’t usually say this, but I’m not at all sorry to see him go,” Conners said quietly to the marshal. 
            Morgan nodded in agreement.
            “After the murders…what he did to those women…” Conners shook his head, trailing off as the two solemnly remembered the horrors they had seen during their investigation.
            As the hanged man’s struggling ceased to twitches, Morgan’s eyes shifted over to where Cyrus Mayhew was standing off to one side with the rest of his crew. It was only technicality that they weren’t all hanging for the crimes of the boss’s younger brother.
            “You think he’ll make trouble,” Conners said. It was not a question.
            Morgan’s jaw was set. “Wouldn’t you if it was your brother with a necktie like that?”
            Conners shook his head. “I hope I never see the day I have a brother like that.”
            Mayhew’s eyes met Morgan’s across the square and there was darkness there, a promise. 
            Yes, Morgan was certain he would make trouble. It was only a matter of when and where.

Morgan’s eyes were blurry at first, but he blinked to clear them, trying to see his surroundings, make sense of them. Stars swirled unnaturally overhead, a dizzying vortex. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. 
            He slowly sat up, hands pressing into the ground, fingers digging into the sand underneath of him, finding some comfort in something solid.
            Where was he?

Morgan parted with Conners and rode back to his farm for the night. He put his horse away and entered the house through the kitchen. 
            Madeline stood at the stove, not having heard him come in. Morgan smiled and crept up behind her, snagging her around the waist.
            She startled before she realized it was him and giggled. “Matt, don’t scare me like that!”
            “Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he said and leaned over to kiss her jaw tenderly.
            She smiled but extricated herself from his arms gently. “Supper will burn if you keep that up. Go clean up, it’s almost ready.”
            “Where’s Sarah?”
            “In the parlor. Can you tell her to get ready for supper?”
            Matthew left the kitchen and entered the parlor to see a beautiful blond girl sitting on the floor playing with her dolls. She looked up when he came in and shot to her feet.
            “Papa! You’re home!”
            He caught her and swung her up into his arms. “That’s right, and it’s time for supper. Let’s both go get washed up, or your mama will be mad at us.”
            She giggled and Morgan forgot for a moment about the hanging and the trouble that Cyrus Mayhew was planning.

Morgan continued to stare around the strange place, until he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He spun back around to see what it was.
            A figure stood about ten yards off, back turned. It was a man, dressed in black, long coat billowing in a breeze that Morgan couldn’t feel, dark hair tossing, giving him a wild and eerie look.
            Morgan scrambled to his feet.
            “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice trembling.
            “Who am I?” the dark figure answered. His voice was low, gravely and monotone.
            A chill went through Morgan, only heightened as the figure continued to speak, his back still turned.
            “My friends call me Wrath.” The voice carried easily through the night and though there was a steady wind, it made no sound, yet somehow its silence fit with this strange place out of time.
            “My enemies,” the figure continued. “They call me, ‘no, stop, please have mercy’.” The figure began to turn, head low. “But they all agree that I am Vengeance.”
            He turned fully and lifted his head.
            Morgan staggered back with a cry caught in his throat. The figure’s eyes glowed with an unnatural light. 
            This was no man.

They came at dawn. Morgan had only just gotten up, leaving Madeline sleeping in bed with a soft kiss to her cheek before he dressed and went to the stables.
            His horse nickered, the only warning his got before the barrel of a gun pressed into his ribs.
            “Don’t move.”
            He thought about reaching for his own gun, but this close, there was no way he would get out without taking a bullet. So instead, he raised his hands.
            Another man came up and grabbed his gun from its holster. They were both Mayhew’s, Morgan recognized them. 
            “What is this? What do you wan—”
            He was hit over the head and fell unconscious into a pile of hay.
*
He came to to the smell of smoke on the wind. 
            Morgan crawled to his feet and rushed out of the barn, staggering and catching himself on the doorframe as he caught sight of his house.
            “No. NO!” he screamed.
            He ran toward the blaze. “Madeline! Sarah!”
            Someone intercepted him, and he recognized the figure as one of Cyrus’ men. He fought, but he was caught from behind by another and before he could fight them off again, the butt of a rifle planted itself in his stomach, folding him over.
            They dragged him to where Cyrus Mayhew was standing off to one side, watching the house burn. Morgan could only stare at him in helpless fury.
            “We got him, sir.”
            Mayhew finally looked up at Morgan, holding a gun in his hand.
            “Why are you doing this, Cyrus?” Morgan demanded. “They did nothing to you! Where is my family?!”
            “You know why,” Mayhew said.
            “Revenge?” Morgan cried. “Your brother was a bad man and he died for his crimes. He was a loose cannon that would have given you trouble in the long run. You know that.”
            “He was still kin,” Mayhew said simply. “And you know how it works, Marshal. An eye for an eye.”
            The other men were adding more torches to the fire even though it was already blazing. Morgan saw the doors and windows boarded up. Anyone in that house would have no chance of escaping.
            He fought the grip the men had on him.
            “Mayhew! Don’t do this! Not like this! You want satisfaction? I’ll give it to you.”
            Mayhew simply smiled. “No. It’s easier to do it like this. And really, as you can see, it’s too late for your precious wife and daughter.”
            “Madeline! Sarah!” Morgan screamed before he was hit across the back of the head again.
            Dazed, he was shoved to his knees by the lackeys and could only watch helplessly, struggling, as his house burned down before his eyes. The roof caved in with a huge crack and plume of flame. He could feel the heat from where he sat, desolate.
            Cyrus reached down and yanked the marshal star off of Morgan’s vest, throwing it away in the dirt.
            “I’m the only law in this town, son. Too bad it took you this long to realize that.”
            Morgan fought, but Cyrus pointed the gun at him coldly and squeezed the trigger.
            A shot rang out and Morgan was slammed back into the dirt. Everything was numb and stained red. He gasped, but only choked on blood that bubbled up from his lungs. Smoke filled the air and he could only watch through tear-filled eyes as his house burned to the ground.
            Then it was only darkness.

“What is your name, boy?”
            Morgan tried to find his voice, his heart beating quickly in his chest…or, no…it wasn’t. It should have been, but there was nothing there after all.
            And it was then he finally realized that he was dead.
            “What is your name?” the dark figure asked again.
            Morgan wet his lips. “Matthew Morgan,” he finally managed. “Are—what are you? Some sort of devil?”
            The man—thing—smiled as if amused but didn’t answer his question. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is why you are standing here right now instead of moving on. You have unfinished business, Matthew Morgan. And I mean to help you finish it.”
            “Cyrus Mayhew,” Morgan said, a growl in his voice.
            The being inclined his head in acknowledgement. “What happened to you and your family was not right. He must be taken down.”
            “How do I do it?” Morgan asked. “I mean…I’m—I’m dead, aren’t I?”
            The man-shaped thing cocked his head to one side. “You are in between. That is what this place is. Between time and space. Life and death.”
            Morgan glanced up at the swirling stars again and shivered. “Send me back.”
            “I can do that. I can send you back to get your revenge. But you have to understand that there will be conditions.”
            “What conditions?” Matthew demanded.
            “You will live, but it will not be a mortal life. If I send you back, you will be my earthly messenger. You will do work in my name—Vengeance.” His eyes glowed again as he said it. “You will never bleed. You will never age, and you will never again feel the embrace of the grave. Your purpose will be to see that everyone who was involved with killing your family pays their dues.”
            Morgan straightened his shoulders. “And what happens then?”
            The being cocked his head. “When you finish your calling, I will come to you again and I will have a question to ask. It is up to you what you say then.”
            Morgan remembered Mayhew’s face as he watched his men set fire to his house. How the man had coldly put a bullet into Morgan’s chest.
            “I’ll do it,” he said.
            The being nodded, as if having expected the answer all along. “Then go back, Matthew Morgan.”
            He reached out and grabbed Morgan’s wrist. His grip burned white hot, the same as the being’s eyes, and Morgan cried out as he felt an unnatural sensation tugging him forward…
            His fist punched through the dirt as if yanked upright by a terrific force and he shoved his way through the loose soil, gasping for breath.
            He squeezed through the dirt and collapsed onto the ground, rolling over onto his back to look up at the sky, panting.
            Moonlight beamed down on him, and the stars were overhead, no longer swirling.
            He was back.
            He sat up, and looked at the grave he had crawled out of. There were two others beside it. 
            He pulled himself to his feet and stood in front of them.
            “He’ll pay for what he did,” he whispered to Madeleine and Sarah. “I’ll be sure of that.”
            His wrist stung in the cool night breeze and Morgan glanced down, yanking his sleeve up to see a burn mark in the shape of a handprint wrapped around his wrist. A shiver went down his spine, but one of anticipation, not fear. 
            He touched his fingers to his lips and then pressed the tips to each of the crosses before he turned around and strode off through the desert.
*
There was one light on in the house when Morgan rapped on the door. He heard the sound of feet striding across the floor before the door was opened.
            Conners’s figure was silhouetted in the dim light from further in the house, the outline of a gun in his hand at his side, but even in the shadows, Morgan could see his face was white as a sheet.
            “Holy—” Conners choked out then stopped as if realizing there was nothing at all holy about the man standing in front of him.
            “Hello, Wyatt,” Morgan said, stepping forward.
            Conners’s gun went up, hand shaking in a way Morgan had never seen before from his stoic partner. 
            “Y-you’re dead.”
            “Not anymore.”
            “I buried you!”
            “Yeah, and I came back,” Morgan said, reaching out and gripping the other man’s wrist, pushing the gun down. “And I need your help.”
*
Conners was still pale as they sat at the table, cups of coffee in front of them. Morgan didn’t drink his, but he wrapped his hands around it, using the warmth to remind himself that he could feel something.
            Conners ran a hand over his face as Morgan finished explaining what had happened.
            “I don’t even know what to say. You know how crazy that sounds right? And yet, you were dead. I buried you myself.”
            Morgan nodded and rolled up his sleeve, showing the strange handprint burn there. “It was real, far as I can tell. Trust me, I’m just as much in shock as you are.”
            Conners took a deep breath. “So it’s all on you then? Taking out Cyrus?”
            “Not yet,” Morgan said darkly. He’d thought about it on the way here and had decided exactly how he was going to go about this. “I want him scared. I want him to know what’s coming. I’m gonna take out his men one by one until he’s the only one left. Then I’ll come for him.”
            Conners shuddered as if he saw something in Morgan’s face that scared him. And he probably did. 
            “Then when do we start?”
            “Right now,” Morgan said and stood up from the table. “I’m gonna need some guns and ammo.”
            Conners nodded and went to his own gun cabinet. He returned with the weapons and bullets, then reached up for the star on his vest, unpinning it. “Here, this is yours…”
            “Keep it,” Morgan said. “I don’t operate by that law anymore. I’ve been sworn in by another.”
            Conners swallowed hard and repined the star. “Matt. I’m sorry.”
            Morgan’s jaw clenched, but he nodded, and picked up a Colt Lightning from the table, shucking a bullet into the action with a swift, one-handed, practiced jerk. “Someone’s gonna be sorry.”
            Then he walked out the door, leaving his partner behind with an unreadable expression on his face.
*
The saloon wasn’t very full this time of night but there were still a few men in there.
            Among them, several of Mayhew’s men.
            Morgan and Conners stood outside, watching through the window as the sound of rowdy speech echoed out into the night.
            “What’s the plan, Matt?” Conners asked, taking his pistol from his belt.
            Morgan simply walked forward the kicked the door in.
            As the door crashed off its hinges, the saloon became silent, and everyone looked up to see Morgan standing there, Conners appearing behind him a second later.
            It took only a second for the occupants to recognize him.
            “M-Marshall Morgan,” the bartender breathed. “I—I thought you were dead…Mr. Conners said…”
            The men from Mayhew’s gang were already getting up, reaching for weapons.
            “Matt—”
            Conners’s warning came a second after Morgan started moving. He spun, bringing the Colt up and firing off a shot, hitting one of the men directly in the chest, sending him falling backwards over a table. 
            Two more came up, launching themselves at him, and Morgan turned to slam the butt of the gun into one of their heads, while the other came at him with a knife.
            The knife struck Morgan between the ribs and stuck there as he staggered backward from the blow.
            Everyone in the saloon stopped what they were doing. Mayhew’s man stared at the knife, for a long second, then his eyes slowly turned upward to Morgan’s face, confused at the fact that he hadn’t fallen over yet.
            Morgan felt the blow, but the pain was minimal. He simply smiled and reached down to yank the blade from his body. No blood spilled out. He didn’t have a beating heart. How could he bleed?
            Mayhew’s man turned white as a ghost. He took a staggering step back, his knees buckling in fear, as Morgan thrust the knife into the man’s chest. He choked, and collapsed, twitching slightly.
            Morgan then turned to the man he had knocked down and dragged the terrified human to his feet.
            “W-what are you?” he trembled.
            “I am Vengeance,” Morgan said and, though he didn’t know it at the time, his face turned to a grotesque visage of a skull, eyes deep and dark and empty. “Tell Cyrus Mayhew I’m coming for him.”
            The man fainted dead away, and Morgan dropped him to the ground with a thud. He turned to the bartender, tipped his hat. “Sorry for the mess.” Then he walked out of the saloon into the night, leaving behind the stunned patrons and his rattled partner.
*
The next night, Matthew Morgan once again took his gun and went hunting. 
            He found more of Cyrus’s men in town. He shot all but one, leaving him to send the warning to Mayhew.
            Conners didn’t come with him that night, and Morgan didn’t ask him to. This was his mission. This was his vendetta.
            And he was getting closer every day to his final target.
*
Cyrus Mayhew was terrified. 
            He would never show it, but he was. Over the last few days, he had woken up to news of more and more of his men dead, but always one left to tell some horrifying tale that Marshall Morgan had climbed out of his grave and was out for vengeance.
            A rational part of Cyrus told him not to believe that, but another part, the part that told him something was not at all natural about this, reminded him that he shouldn’t be so quick to judge.
            He was waiting for his right-hand man, Smollett, to come back from the bank. He was leaving town—it seemed like the smartest thing to do considering the circumstances—but it was already dark, and Smollett had yet to return.
            That was when he heard a hue and cry from the town. 
            Cyrus raced out to see what was going on, and saw the townsfolk gathered around a skittish horse that they were trying to stop. He pushed forward just as someone caught hold of the beast, and hauled a body off of it.
            It fell at Cyrus’s feet.
            It was Smollett.
            His eyes were open and staring in some unseen terror and a knife was stabbed through his chest, pinning a note to him.
            You can’t run from me, Cyrus. 
            Cyrus Mayhew felt a chill go down his spine as if someone had walked on his grave. 
            “Look!” someone shouted.
            Everyone turned to look at the hills outside the town, where a fire had burst into life. A fire in the shape of the letter M.
            Cyrus didn’t know if it was for Morgan or Mayhew, but it didn’t really matter. The meaning was still the same.
            His knees felt weak as he raced back to his house to pack.
*
Cyrus Mayhew came in the door to see the dark figure standing in the corner.
            He cried out, as Morgan appeared from the shadows, eyes flat and dark, a knife held casually in his hand.
            “Please…no…” Cyrus said, cowering backward.
            “You didn’t give my family that mercy,” Morgan said in a dark tone. “Why should I give it to you?”
            Cyrus was shaking, but he still managed to snatch the revolver from his holster and empty all six bullets into Morgan’s chest.
            The man—or whatever he was now—barely took a step back. In fact, he took a step forward. Toward Cyrus.
            The man fell backwards, throwing his gun in desperation as terror washed over him like a cold rain.
            Morgan grabbed his outstretched arm and snapped his wrist in one swift, inhuman move. Cyrus screamed as he was wrenched around and slammed against the wall. Morgan’s other hand was around his throat, raising him up until his feet no longer touched the ground. 
            Cyrus choked, grasping at the clenched fist with his good hand, vision darkening.
            And that was when Morgan released him, letting him drop to his feet and slamming him back against the wall with a hand to his chest.
            “Please,” Cyrus gasped. “Just let me go. I’ll…I’ll give you anything.”
            “You already took the only thing I ever wanted,” Morgan snarled and his face contorted into the image of a skull. Cyrus screamed and then cried out again in shock as Morgan slammed the knife he had been carrying into the palm of Cyrus’s good hand, pinning him to the wall.
            “I’ve come to make you pay for what you took,” Morgan said, and reached into his pocket.
            Cyrus watched in eye-widening terror as Morgan lit a match and threw it onto a pile of kindling he had left in the darkness of Cyrus’s house. It lit with a whoomp and Morgan watched it for several seconds before he turned back to Cyrus.
            “You had better hope I don’t see you again the other side of hell,” he said then strode out the door.
            The last thing Cyrus heard was the sound of nails being driven into the doorjamb and then the pounding of horse hooves leaving the property.
            After that it was just flames.
*
Matthew Morgan stood beside the graves in his backyard. Two still occupied, one not.
            He thought of crawling back into it. Perhaps that was what he was supposed to do, now that his vengeance had been realized. 
            An unnatural silence stole across the night and Morgan felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. He turned and saw the dark figure who had sent him back.
            “I finished,” Morgan said. “He’s dead. They’re all dead.”
            “I know,” the being said, looking up with his eerie eyes, seeming to be cast in more shadow than was normal, the tails of his coat playing around his ankles in a nonexistent breeze. “I came to offer you a deal.”
            “I thought you already offered me one?”
            “An opportunity then,” the dark man said, cocking his head. “To continue your work. Vengeance does not reach everyone it should. It has been a long time since I’ve had a messenger to do my work for me. This world is full of pain and suffering and people who cannot help themselves.”
            “And I can help them?” Morgan asked.
            A small smile quirked the being’s lips. “Yes. Is that what you would like to do?”
            Morgan thought, staring back at his empty grave. He could take peace in death, or he could help others in the same position he had been in. 
            He turned to the dark figure beside him and gave one small nod. “I will do it.”
            The figure inclined his head. “Then go, Bringer of Vengeance, Ender of Worlds. Do my work.”
            And Morgan tipped his hat, and climbed into his saddle and as the sun rose, he rode off into the desert, the Bringer of Vengeance and Ender of Worlds.

Friday, March 13, 2020

Mixed Media Challenge: "Call to Adventure: Destiny's a Funny Thing" -- by Marlene Simonette



This story is based off of this game
















Call to Adventure: Destiny's a Funny Thing
Act 1: A Bright Start


Scene 1: A new home

Sweat stinging her eyes, her nose burning with the scents mingling in the market, Ellen helped her mother heave the last of the crates into the wagon. Her mother was acting odd; glancing at her, then glancing away and smiling at the ground. Half-laughing, she wiped her hands on her dress. “Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” It must have been somewhere important; her father had taken a horse they’d recently acquired and ridden ahead to reserve a booth or stand.
         “Oh, you won’t get me ta’ run over.” Her mother took the kerchief from around her neck and swiped at her forehead. “I’m not breathing a word.”
         Ellen helped close the wagon up. After shooing away several urchins who tried to either pickpocket her or steal from the wagon, she made her way to the front. She didn’t say anything until they had both taken a seat and her mother had whipped the oxen into movement. Working her hands in her skirt, she scooted closer. “Are we going to Woodlyn? Wildrose Creek?” Her mother’s only answer was another side-glance and a smile. Ellen tilted her head back. “Oh, why won’t you show me the map?”
         “You’ll see when we get there!”
———
The journey took several days. Each day heightened Ellen’s suspense, for each day landmarks that she’d only ever heard of dotted the road: the Goldblossom Rocks, the Forest of Flames (the leaves weren’t actual flame as she’d imagined, but instead jagged-edged, rose-red leaves). The landmark that made her feel like her heart had stopped was seen on the last day of travel.

Her mother had forced Ellen into the covered wagon for the last section of the journey. Sitting among the crates and barrels, Ellen fumed. Excitedly, of course, for she had an idea of where they were. When her mother called her out, she scrambled to the cloth flap and poked her head out. The path went to the right and to the left. Ahead was a rim of jagged stone. All vegetation and soil had been burned away for twenty feet, up to the edge of a cliff. “Witch’s Walk,” she breathed. She turned her head around, wishing she were an owl and could see everything at once. Far to the right, where the road ended abruptly at the scarred ground, a gate and two sentinels stood. The sentinels wore bright blue cloaks fastened with glimmering green pins at their throats.
         Her mother’s laugh jolted her out of her amazement. “Remember to breathe, child.”
         “We’re not...how did...Benetoit City?”
         “No. Better.” Her mother turned the wagon down the left path. “Berylwood Ridge.”
         Ellen felt a brief moment of disappointment, quickly replaced by feverish excitement. While Berylwood Ridge was smaller and held less legend in it, it was rumored to be the prettiest place north of the Whistling River, with a towering mountain rich in minerals and gemstones. It wasn’t the capitol, but it was close. “How did we ever manage to afford that?”
         For a moment, her mother’s smile dimmed. “We made a few trades. Now heft yourself back up, enjoy the view.”
         Ellen twisted this way and that in the seat, looking less at the town that was soon visible below and more at the mountain face.
         Her mother nudged her. “What are you looking for?”
         “The stories say that the mountain is so rich that veins of gems are visible on the surface.” She frowned. “So far, I haven’t seen any.”
         “That must be the ‘tall’ of the tale you were told.”
         “Like you didn’t believe it!” After sharing a laugh, Ellen leaned forward. “May I run ahead? I want to see the town.”
         “We’ll be in sight in less than an hour. Besides, I think ye’ll have a hard time finding our place.”
         “Is the market arranged differently than we’re used to?”
         “Noooo,” her mother said, pursing her lips. “We just bought differently. Ah!” She clicked at the oxen and lashed at the reins. “You’ll not get another word from me. Be patient. Here, something to occupy your mind.”
         Ellen took her turn at the reins. It seemed like her family was finally getting their dream; a place to settle down, and grow their business. “I can’t wait.”
         “We’ve waited this long; an hour more will do us no harm.”
Ellen grinned and toyed with the reins. “Neither will getting there early.”
         “Don't you dare.”
         “Yes mum,” she sighed.

About an hour later, they could see the town below them.
         Ellen pulled the oxen to a stop and leaned over. “I could walk on the rooftops from here!”
         Looking from the coruscating verandas and shingled rooftops nearest her to those further out, it seemed someone else had the same idea.
         With his free hand—he had a coat of some sort slung on the other arm—he waved jauntily at them.
         Ellen could practically hear her mother's thought: Dear Ve, someone else as crazy as my daughter!
         A bell rang out over the town. Ellen could just see the flash in the steeple—presumably the Ronin School, named for one of the most prosperous miners who first came to the valley—situated in the center. The boy on the rooftops gave one last wave, then headed towards the school.
         Ellen listened to the bell for a moment longer, and imagined being down on those cobbled streets, heading to class. They taught politics, history, arcana...
         “I thought you wanted to get to the city sooner than later,” her mother teasingly said.
         “Sorry.” Ellen got the oxen moving again. She didn't feel as excited as she had earlier.
         The creak of the wheels and the dull murmur of the town were the only sounds for a while. Clearing her throat, her mother said, “We'll have to get you a scholar's shawl, if you want to fit in with that crowd.”
         Shaking her head, Ellen tapped her heel against the boards. “I'll be busy helping you and da.”
         “Ah, the one time I try to give you a hint, and you don't hear it.”
         Ellen twisted in the seat. “You were able to get me into the school?”
         “No, you'll have to do that on your own. We have no doubt you will, and arranged the shop so we can manage it alone.” Her mother smiled.
         Holding back a whoop so as not to startle the oxen, Ellen faced forward again. “Can this month get any better?”
         “That's up to you!”

Wednesday, March 11, 2020

Mixed Media Challenge: "The Gift of Fire" -- by Anne Leskey

This story is based off this photo by Anne Leskey



The Gift of Fire

Up in the trees, Kennocha shifted her massive weight uneasily, her glowing amber eyes expressing anxiety. The girl was getting so close, and Kennocha didn’t really want to hurt her. The girl suddenly stopped short, seeing the egg, and Kennocha was left with no alternative as a massive welling of instinct engulfed her. She pulled herself up to rain fire upon the intruder’s head, but she stopped suddenly, as she noted the expression on the girl’s face. It was one of child-like wonder and interest.
Kennocha hesitated, breathing hot vapor into the crisp morning air as she waited. But nothing happened, the blond-haired girl simply curled her legs up underneath her and sat down, observing the bronze colored egg with a wistfully interested gaze. Kennocha’s eyes sharpened as she focused further onto the human. Certainly, the girl, no more then eighteen, with her innocent face and undernourished appearance didn’t appear to be a threat. Kennocha decided to wait…and watch. 
*
Destiny felt tingles of excitement course through her, as she gazed at the huge egg that lay before her in a hollowed nest of ferns. She scarcely felt the cold of the late November wind that was whipping through her blouse and vest. 
Destiny knew that there weren’t ostriches in her region, and even had there been, the foot long, slightly iridescent oval before her could never have belonged to that bird species. There was only one animal that she could ever fathom having an egg that size, and that was an animal who was either supposed to have gone extinct or never to have existed: Dragons. 
Sure, there were dinosaurs that could probably lay eggs that size, but Destiny didn’t believe that a dinosaur could have remained hidden, whereas a dragon…surely if they existed then they would be magical in some way. She didn’t doubt in the least that the egg’s mother could hide herself in some way or the other. 
Destiny had been sitting there for a long time, watching the egg, and making no noise, her mind only going at a record speed. But all during the time her ears had caught every sound that was made in the woods, and when, in the distance, a harsh, disturbing bell clanged, she leaped noiselessly to her feet, and started through the woods, turning though, and whispering to the egg,
“I’ll be back.”
*
Kennocha breathed a slight sigh of relief. The girl was gone, but Kennocha’s ears had picked up the whispered words, and she feared what she might mean by it. But the girl didn’t seem to mean any harm, and maybe she didn’t. Besides, if she did, Kennocha didn’t fear for the little life that was sheltered in the egg. At the first sign of danger, fire would always rise to Kennocha’s mouth. 
The dragon sailed down gracefully, landing next to the nest of ferns, and making sure that the egg was warm. When Kennocha’s warmth hit the egg, it turned vividly golden. Cuinn was happy, then. 
*
“Late again, Destiny?” snapped Carla Reed, “How dare you! And coming home with leaves on your skirt, as usually. You’ll rip your tights, and do you expect us to constantly be providing you with new ones, you untidy girl!” 
Carla gave her a vigorous shake, and marched her into the bathroom to clean her hands before dinner…
“Which is probably cold. Where on earth were you, child?”
Destiny sighed, “The woods.”
“The woods! The woods! You will poison yourself out there one day, and serve you right! Don’t you know that you’re supposed to come in at the bell?”
The thought flickered across Destiny’s mind that it was a bit much to expect someone to know exactly when the bell would ring, when they had no timepiece, but she didn’t even think of saying it out loud, instead nodding.
“Yes, I know.”
“Then next time do it,” Carla shook her again, “Go eat! Go! And I don’t want to see you leaving the building again tonight.”
“Mustn’t I?” Destiny asked, disturbed.
“No! It’s pitch out there already. I can’t prevent you tomorrow, but you will catch your death of cold, or mushrooms, or something. And don’t wake up any bears, because I won’t be responsible if they kill you.”
“I shouldn’t have thought that you would be…” said Destiny, confusedly. 
Carla whisked her into the dining room, and Destiny sat down at her place. The food had not gone cold, as it had been served out only ten minutes before in a piping hot state. 
*
Kennocha stiffened, flying back up into the trees. She had heard the same sound as on the day before, and sure enough, in a few minutes the wistful looking human girl slipped into the shelter of the trees, and sat down a little closer to the egg than on the day before. She looked cold, but appeared contented. Kennocha focused on the girl’s face. She had a tanned complexion, and just now her cheeks were rather red from the cold. Her face was small, but her eyes were large. One was a soft olive green, the other a vivid sapphire blue. Both, however, held the same look of quiet gentleness. Her medium hued golden hair was only slightly past her chin, and very fluffy and thick.
She was talking to Cuinn.
“Don’t you have a mother, little one? It seems strange that you are in such an unprotected nest; are you warm enough?” 
The girl gathered up some moss, and gently tucked it around the egg. Kennocha had been alarmed when the girl first moved her hands so close to Cuinn, but the dragon mother quickly relaxed as it was made evident that the girl was trying to help the dragon baby, not harm it. And of course, she couldn’t be expected to know that dragon eggs stored enough warmth that they could go four or five hours before they needed to be fired again. 
“There, that looks a little warmer. Oh, I suppose you’re alright. Maybe Mama is out hunting, is she?  Other animals would probably have attacked if she wasn’t around,” the girl continued, “I wonder when you’ll hatch. Winter seems such an inhospitable time for a baby. But maybe you’ll wait until spring, I somehow doubt it though. Did you just change color?!”
Kennocha had to be amused at the surprised look that came onto the girl’s face as the iridescent bronze egg changed to a fitful amber. Cuinn was pleased. Not overwhelmingly happy as he was when golden, but certainly pleased. Kennocha relaxed further, and realized that she almost completely trusted this small human with her gentle, melodic voice and quiet, smooth movements. 
*
Destiny stretched slightly, and breathed in a deep breath of air. Her eyebrows contracted as she smelled the smoke in the air. It was faint, but noticeable. It made sense of course, if the egg’s mother was a dragon, then naturally there should be smoke. 
However, it made it a little alarming, for although Destiny wasn’t particularly afraid of the dragon, it was a strange thought to realize that there could be a mammoth, fire-breathing creature somewhere above her head. Instinctively, Destiny tossed her head up to get a better look at the sky. It was a clear and cloudless morning. The only flying thing was a crow, which didn’t seem daunted by the thirty five degree day. There was movement in the branches, but there was a breeze, and she saw no dragon. 
The bell bonged from the orphanage, and Destiny rose in one quick movement. 
“I’ll be back!”
*
Over the next two weeks Destiny spent all the time that she could in the forest. Nobody bothered following her. She was just being Destiny. Most of the other girls described her to visitors as a ‘weird loner’. Carla, ignoring the frigid winter weather, informed her that she’d get bitten by ticks, but didn’t stop her from going into the woods. 
Destiny, however, started calling the dragon egg ‘Tick’ because of Carla’s warning. And Kennocha came to fully trust in the golden haired human who invariably came slipping through the trees, and sat down next to her egg and sang Christmas carols to the baby dragon inside. 
Two weeks to the day since Destiny had discovered the egg, she was startled by a slight crackling noise, and turned around automatically. Behind her was a full grown dragon. Destiny did not scream, but her eyes flared into enormous round orbs, taking in the sight of the red-brown scales and black markings of the great beast before her.
“Tha mi a ’cur fàilte ort coigreach! D ’ainm a bhiodh fios agam,” said Kennocha graciously.
Destiny’s eyes reverted to normal size, but gained an expression of extreme confusion, “I…what?”
“Hi. What’s your name?” Kennocha sighed as she switched to the girl’s tongue and expressions.
“Oh, I’m Destiny…Destiny DuBois. What’s your’s, please?”
“Kennocha.”
Destiny smiled, “You must be Tick’s mum?”
“Tick? His name is Cuinn, Destiny.”
“Oh, right,” Destiny flushed, “But you must be his mum?”
“Yes,” said Kennocha, appeased. 
*
“Nocha, you’ll need to move,” said Destiny as soon as she entered the clearing a week later, “I just heard from Carla that there’s going to be some hunters in here, by special permission.”
Kennocha unfurled her wings angrily, “How dare they?” she spat furiously. 
“Please don’t just burn them up, Kennocha,” winced Destiny.
Kennocha batted her wings a few more times, but settled down on the ground next to Destiny and Cuinn, who was a fitful blue at the moment, evidently not very happy. 
“Hunters! Hunters! What does this mean?” snarled Kennocha.
Destiny wasn’t afraid, “They have guns…things that kill. They’ll be really interested in Cuinn. He needs to move.”
“How?”
“It’s two days until the hunters are coming, Nocha. I’ll come up with something.” 
*
Destiny lugged her oldish cranberry red bicycle through the woods. She stood it up on the frozen ground, and looked around for Kennocha, who landed, and knocked the bike over. 
“This is our answer,” said Destiny.
“What?”
“Kennocha, where do you need to move Cuinn to?”
“Back to the mountains, where the rest of us are,” said Kennocha seriously. 
“Well, what mountains? You never did tell me why you’re out here by yourself.”
“We were traveling, and a storm came up, and my wing was injured, and I got separated, and landed here. And then there was Cuinn in a wonderful shape for not carrying around.”
“Right. So where are the mountains?”
Kennocha explained in detail, with Destiny writing down every detail. And then Destiny explained her scheme.
“So, you mean to tell me that you got permission to leave for six months to visit a friend, and are now planning to travel over many miles of road, carrying a dragon egg in your…”
“Bicycle basket,” supplied Destiny, a smile on her face.
“Yes, that strange word,” said Kennocha, “Carrying Cuinn in your bicycle basket, and lugging your necessities in a…backpack, did you say?”
Destiny touched the blue backpack that she was already wearing, “Yep. Are you for it?”
“I fail to see any other option,” admitted Kennocha. 
Destiny pulled out a fuzzy, soft blanket, and packed it all around into the basket, and then carefully lifted the egg, which turned golden, and placed it inside with the uttermost care as to packing the blanket around it. 
“How long until he hatches?” she asked concernedly.
Kennocha eyed the golden oval, “About a week.”
“Just the one?” Destiny was a little alarmed, “Well, I guess we might be able to get there by then. Now, onto the road. I told them that my friend would pick me up after a little bicycling.”
“Once Cuinn hatches, I can carry you, and you can carry him. But you couldn’t hold onto an egg in midair,” Kennocha said casually.
“Oh, incidentally, are you invisible part of the time? Out of idle curiosity.”
“Not exactly,” said Kennocha, “I can just make it seem like thus to you humans.”
“Right. We’d better get going.”
*
Destiny pedaled leisurely on the sidewalk of a busy public road, not troubled with the traffic, for she was confident in her bicycling skills. But it was chilly, and the backpack was heavy, containing clothing, emergency supplies, and a blanket. And she was trying to run her bike as smoothly as possible so as not to jar Cuinn at all. She imagined with a wince what would happen if he hatched out in a public place. 
She turned her bicycle into the parking lot of a welcome center. It was busy. 
“Kennocha, I should be back in no more then fifteen minutes,” said Destiny hastily, and quietly. She could tell that Kennocha was hovering above her.
“I will incinerate anyone who disturbs the bicycle,” assured Kennocha serenely. 
“Nocha!” said Destiny, alarmed, “You can’t just go around incinerating people. I’ll be really quick.”
Destiny was true to her word, coming out in nine and a half minutes holding a bag of sandwiches, and a lemonade. 
“You told me you lived in an orphanage. Do they give you money?” Kennocha asked, as Destiny pushed her large lemonade into the cup holder, and half unwrapped a sandwich.
“No,” Destiny said, “I have an inheritance of fifty thousand dollars from my father, and I’m eighteen, so I can take out stuff from it. So I took out three hundred for this trip, just in case I need it. At least I don’t need to buy gasoline for my bicycle!” 
Destiny ate her sandwich, and started off again, pedaling furiously along the road, stopping to consult maps when she needed to. Kennocha flew overhead, marveling somewhat at the flimsy human being’s stamina. 
*
“Carla?!” Destiny exclaimed, as she saw that woman sitting on the hood of a car, parked next to Destiny’s bicycle.
“Destiny,” said Carla tightly, “I thought I ought to tell you that you are allowed to permanently leave the orphanage, whenever you want.”
“Thank you,” said Destiny, “Why did you come out here, when I’d be coming back?”
“Because I wanted to ensure that you were alright. And look at this! Here you are, a day’s bicycling  away from the orphanage, and no sign of your friend?”
Destiny was alarmed, especially as she feared that Kennocha might decide to incinerate.
“I’m perfectly alright, Carla, thank you,” said Destiny hastily. 
“I think I should follow you until you get to your friend. Who is this friend?”
“Someone I met in the woods,” said Destiny frantically.
“Just some person?” snorted Carla, “This hardly seems safe. Destiny, don’t you want to hop in the car? I’ll take you to your destination and see this person for myself.”
“I’d rather not…” 
“Well, I insist.”
Destiny, with an agonized glance at the sky, unhitched the basket, put her bicycle in the back, and buckled herself in, holding the basket on her lap. Kennocha, flying overhead, caught exactly what was going on, and continued flying, soaring along with the white car.
“Where are we going, now?” Carla said in a silky voice.
Destiny named a museum very near to the mountains.
“That’s a very long distance, Destiny. I believe you were deliberately trying to deceive us.”
“I thought it a short enough distance to bicycle,” said Destiny desperately. 
“Of course you would,” said Carla, turning the wheel dramatically as she cut a sharp corner. 
A cracking noise sounded from the basket. Destiny turned as pale as she could.
“What was that?” Carla said indifferently.
Destiny shook her head in denial. Cuinn couldn’t be hatching! Not now. 
“We need to pull over,” said Destiny, “A gas station, anything.”
“What’s wrong?” Carla asked, obeying Destiny’s injunction.
“Nothing,” Destiny jumped out of the car almost before it stopped, and signaled frantically at the sky. Kennocha landed with a whoosh of wind. They had pulled over in a closed gas station, practically hidden from the road, and Kennocha stopped being invisible. Carla screamed. Destiny took the egg out, and spread the blanket on the ground.
“Destiny! Kill it! It’s a monster,” screamed Carla, “Do something to it! It’s going to eat us all alive when it grows up!”
Destiny turned an appalled glance at Carla, “You can’t just kill something because you don’t want it, Carla,” she said simply, and turned back to the egg. 
A head emerged, and then a small, wet body. It was long, thinnish, winged, and black. It blew some smoke out of its nose. Carla was obviously in shock, but Kennocha and Destiny were hanging over the baby dragon with expressions of delight. Destiny dried off the dragon, and Kennocha rubbed it with her muzzle. 
Carla got into her car, and zoomed off. Destiny looked worriedly at Kennocha.
“She’ll be bringing the animal control people! We need to go now,” she said hurriedly.
“Get on, and hold Cuinn tight. Look, he knows that I am his mother, but he must think of you as a sister or something. He’s so used to you.”
Destiny wrapped the dragon carefully in the blue fuzzy blanket, and clutched him to her, before scrambling between Kennocha’s wings. A rush of wind hit her as Kennocha took to the air. She made sure that she had a very firm but not uncomfortable grip on the infant dragon, who was evidently stunned by the rapid events.
“When will he talk?” asked Destiny above the roar of the wind.
“Anywhere from twenty to thirty years old,” said Kennocha.
“What?! Not until then?” Destiny said, astonished.
“Well, that would be equivalent to two or three in your human years.”
“So what’s an old dragon?” said Destiny, attempting to process this.
“Oh, once we get up to about one thousand we’re getting pretty old,” said Kennocha, “I am very young yet, you know.”
“Let me guess, three hundred?” Destiny laughed rather hysterically.
Kennocha gave a dragon’s equivalent of a smile in a tolerant fashion, flapping her wings to gain a little more speed, “Two hundred. So close to your age…essentially. It’s hard to compare.” 
*
Destiny yawned, struggling to keep awake as Kennocha searched for a place to sleep for the night. Suddenly Destiny heard a whirling noise in the air, and she turned her head, and lights shone in her eyes.
“Oh dear,” she said as she blinked, and turned away from the blinding glare.
“What? Oh!” Kennocha noted the helicopter that was whirling through the air. 
Destiny frowned, “Can’t you turn invisible, or speed up, or something?”
“Dessie, I am invisible!” Kennocha said, surprised.
Destiny raised her eyebrows, “Are you? But we really, really, really, really need to escape that helicopter.”
“Hold on tightly.”
“To what?” screamed Destiny.
“EVERYTHING!” roared Kennocha, as with an earth-shaking bellow she rose higher into the sky, her wings billowing across the sky with the force of a windmill or more. Destiny held onto Kennocha with her knees, and hugged Cuinn tightly to her. The baby dragon had fallen asleep. 
“Isn’t he hungry?” asked Destiny over the roaring.
“When he wakes he will be, but we shall have fruit for him!” Kennocha bellowed back, “I intend to be back on the mountains before Cuinn so much as opens an eye.”
“How fast are we going?” screeched Destiny, with an effort, as she usually didn’t shout, but the noise was just too much not to. The helicopter was pretty close on their tail. 
*
Carla tapped her chair impatiently, “Why can’t you just shoot the tranquilizer?”
Her brother looked at her, despite the fact that that took his gaze from the air, “Carla, I’ve told you again and again this trip, we can only tell they’re ahead of us because of the wind shaking those particular trees! I can’t just risk shooting a tranquilizer somewhere that it will only make the dinosaur angry. Anyway, are you sure it was a dinosaur? If this was just one of your hallucinations…”
“I saw it! Them. There was a smaller one too. And they are dragons, not dinosaurs. And they’ve hypnotized Destiny somehow…”
“Who?” said Earle blankly. 
Carla hissed, “Destiny DuBois. One of the girls at the orphanage. Anyway, she’s gone running off with these dragon things.”
“But, I mean, dinosaurs totally went extinct ten billion years ago,” said Earle, ignorantly repeating what he had heard at a debate three nights before. 
“Yeah! This is going to be huge news. We’re going to be absolutely famous, Earle,” said Carla excitedly, “So keep following them.”
“I’m doing the best I can!” observed Earle shortly, “It’s hard when we can’t see them.”
“I don’t understand. Destiny must be riding the dragon, but we can’t see her either. And it would be getting dark,” Carla complained.
Earle turned on some more lights, and then observed acidly that they’d probably be chasing the dinosaur for the rest of the night. 
“They have to tire out sometime,” Carla returned hopefully, “And I can control it for a while.”
“Yeah right,” scoffed Earle, “There’s a precise art to this. You ain’t got a clue as how to go about it.”
“You used bad grammar!” shrieked Carla, “Ain’t isn’t a proper word.”
“Don’t really care,” Earle said, “I’m hungry and thirsty, and I pretty much think that there’s just a strong breeze, and that you were hallucinating stuff again. I’m surprised you ever got a job, you hallucinate so much!”
“I don’t,” snapped Carla.
“Do!” barked Earle.
“Don’t,” affirmed Carla.
“Do…”
*
“How much longer, Nocha?” Destiny asked worriedly, “I bet that helicopter will be gaining on us any minute now.”
“Not long. We’ll be there before dawn,” said Kennocha soothingly. 
Destiny looked down at her watch, and pushed a button to make it light up, “It’s only two forty-two at the moment, though, Noch, that’s a long while. Can you make it?”
“Are you questioning my strength?” Kennocha sounded mildly affronted.
“Um, do you mean technically or insultingly?”
Kennocha remained silent, but Destiny gained the general impression that she was amused. 
Destiny threw a look over her shoulder, and noticed that the helicopter didn’t appear to have a very good idea of where it was going, and yet its lights were flashing over both Destiny and the dragon. 
“They must not be able to see us,” Destiny frowned, “That doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m invisible to their naked eyes,” explained Kennocha.
“So? They should be seeing me floating around in midair clutching a sleeping baby dragon in my arms,” said Destiny, still unconvinced.
“Perhaps you’re invisible too,” said Kennocha calmly.
Destiny snorted rather expressively.
*
Still no sign of them. Carlie, you were definitely hallucinating,” Earle yawned gapingly, tired out from guiding the helicopter for several hours, chasing what he fancied to just be a breeze.
“I saw them, Er,” insisted Carla angrily.
“Yeah, that’s kinda what happens when you hallucinate,” observed Earle, “If we don’t spot ‘em in half an hour, I’m givin’ up and going back home.”
“No, don’t,” urged Carla, “I promise, I was not hallucinating.”
“Let’s not argue. But that’s my final decision, Car,” Earle said firmly, “I’m not going to waste my entire life over nonsense”
“A couple hours is not your entire life! And it is not nonsense, I saw them, Earle!”
“We’ve been over this before.”
“Just keep going. I’m sure it’s over here. Just think how amazing we’ll be if we find them? Honestly, Earle, the payment possible from science museums.”
“Yeah, that would be cool,” admitted Earle, “Alright, one hour then. Which means I’m giving up at three A.M. Better watch the clock, Car, you’ll need to be aware of when I’m giving up, so you’re prepared.” 
*
“It’s nearly four now,” said Destiny, struggling to keep awake, “And that helicopter is still tailing us. I don’t understand…how do they know where we are, if they don’t know where we are?”
“My wings create a stronger flapping amongst the trees than is consistent with the windiness of the night,” explained Kennocha, “Still got a good grip on Cuinn, Des?”
“Yes…” Destiny sighed, “He’s asleep still. Wish I was.”
“But don’t sleep,” said Kennocha, “You’ll fall off, or drop Cuinn. We’ll be there before you know it.”
“The sun’s rising at about seven A.M. today, Nocha, that’s still,” Destiny yawned, “three hours to go. And frankly, the only way I’m not going to know how long it is until we get there will be if I fall asleep. And I’m not allowed to do that.”
Kennocha gave an angry flap of her wings, “I’m doing the best I can. And I fail to see a better alternative.”
“So do I,” agreed Destiny, “Right, I guess I’ll just have to―” another splitting yawn “―stay awake.”
*
“I’m not going for any longer,” said Earle at six thirty A.M., “Carla, I’m just not going another pace.”
“But, brother, look, there’s a mountain. I bet they’re heading for that,” implored Carla, “Let’s just scout it out a little?”
“Alright, but we’re going to land on top of that mountain so that we can stretch our legs. I bet there’s some spot…” Earle trailed off.
“What is it?” Carla asked eagerly.
“Nothing. I just thought I saw something, but I guess I was wrong.”
“Huh, and you talk about me hallucinating?” Carla bitterly snapped.
“Well…” Earle yawned, “I’m just tired.” 
*
Destiny tumbled sleepily off of Kennocha just as the sun came into the sky. She was still clutching Cuinn, though. Kennocha landed beside her, a wary look in her amber eyes as she scanned the mountain tops. Cuinn woke up, and instantly made his way to a bush of very red berries, and began vigorously sucking them off of their stems. Kennocha was half lying on the ground, steam rising out of her nostrils. She was waiting, knowing that pretty soon King Cathal would be showing up, and she didn’t doubt that he would be angry about the appearance of a human girl in the midst of the dragons’ home. And the helicopter that was still buzzing over the top of the mountain. 
“Kennocha, what if that helicopter has guns, or something?” asked Destiny a few moments later.
“That?” snorted Kennocha, “Once the rest of us turn up we could set it ablaze in seconds. I fear it little, now that we are home. Silence, though. His majesty approaches.”
Destiny refrained from gasping as a massive, golden dragon landed with a soft thump before them, bright red eyes flashing angrily in the rising sunlight. Kennocha looked slightly exasperated, and a little worried. Destiny shrunk over towards Cuinn, who had finished eating, and was now climbing into Destiny’s lap like a puppy or a kitten would have.
“Kennocha! What is this?” roared the golden dragon, his wings gesturing stormily towards Destiny, who swallowed slightly.
She was a little puzzled in the back of her mind, because she understood the dragons, but somehow they seemed to speaking rather odd words. She shrugged, dismissing the thought. Their talk had to either be in English or French because those were the only two languages that she’d bothered to learn. 
Kennocha impatiently shrugged her wings, “Greetings, King Cathal.”
“How dare you bring a human into our midst?” spluttered King Cathal, “I grant that you are young and foolish, but to be so abominably foolish as to risk our discovery? How dare you! I am furious with you. I’m almost contemplating imprisonment until you learn a good lesson.”
“Imprisonment?” Kennocha’s eyes blazed, “I suggest you don’t try that, or you shall have wrath descending upon you, my king.”
“DO YOU DARE THREATEN ME?”
Kennocha’s eyes were snapping with fury now, “Do you dare offer insult to a mother dragon?”
King Cathal stopped shouting suddenly, and folded his wings in, noting the presence of the black, curled up ball of awkward limbs and legs. 
“Oh.”
“I would request a little more courtesy towards the human. She is, after all, the reason that you didn’t lose two members of your kingdom. Or at least, she is the reason that there was not massive exposure. Also, instead of imprisoning me, I might suggest you take measures against that helicopter.”
“What is a helicopter?” King Cathal looked at the sky, “Take the human, and we will go back to the colony. I shall gather the warriors, and bring that metal monster down and in for questioning. What fashion of creature is it?”
Destiny spoke up, “It’s not a creature at all. It runs off of fuel,” she explained, “There are humans inside…you’d need to question them, but please don’t eat them.”
“Fool! We are vegetarian,” snarled King Cathal in what was very clearly English now, “Come.”
Destiny scrambled back onto Kennocha, and they flew swiftly into a large clearing in the mountains, where cavernous holes in the stones suggestion dragon dens. They landed.
“What is the name of the human?” 
“Destiny DuBois,” said Kennocha quickly, “Des, I’m going to leave you here with Cuinn for a minute. Your majesty, I need to speak with you. I think that she might have…”
They were out of hearing before Destiny could pick up on what it was that Kennocha suspected that she, Destiny, might have. That was annoying, but Destiny quickly forgot it in playing with the now alert and rather wobbly legged infant dragon. 
*
“See?” hissed Carla, as the gold dragon, the reddish-brown dragon, and the tiny dot that must have been Destiny all moved away, “See?”
“Yes. We need to get scientists and the army here, quickly,” said Earle, dazed, “But first we need to see if there is anything we can take as evidence.” he lowered the helicopter and found the clearing. They spotted Destiny and the young dragon.
“Excellent,” Carla picked up a tranquilizer, and aimed out of the window, just as Destiny looked up.
*
Kennocha came back just in time to see Destiny fling herself in front of Cuinn. Destiny’s olive green eye was normal, a little wide and apprehensive, but otherwise quite the same as usual. Her vivid blue one was blazing with an unnatural brightness. Five other dragons had surrounded the helicopter by this time, but Kennocha kept her eyes on Destiny, for further things were happening. 
Destiny looked panicked as she felt a crushing feeling on her back, “Nocha, what’s going on? My hands and head feel hot. Is something on my back?”
Kennocha soared over, her hot breath landing in Destiny’s face, “It’s alright,” she said soothingly, “It’ll be over in a minute.”
Suddenly Destiny heard the ripping of fabric, and spun around to find that she still couldn’t see her back. She craned her head over her shoulder, and let out a shriek. A final rip, and two enormous wings burst out of her back, lifting her off the ground slightly. They were the same in shape as the dragon’s, but in color they were sapphire blue, but such a dazzlingly bright shade that it almost hurt to gaze at them. They were powerful too, lifting her into the air. Kennocha quickly pulled Destiny back to the ground.
Pools of fire were welling in the palms of Destiny’s hands, and Kennocha splashed snow over them. Destiny nearly toppled with the added weight of wings, but soon gained her balance, and started hysterically babbling. 
“Kennocha, what just happened? What happened? I have wings. I’m winged. Nocha, what happened? Am I dreaming? I have wings. I have dragon wings. I think I’m going to panic.”
“Oh, dear no,” said Kennocha patiently, “You simply have An tiodhlac teine. The Gift of Fire.”
“I don’t think I want it. What is it? Nocha?” there was definite panic in Destiny’s face and voice.
“It’s rather rare, but occasionally humans are born…only they aren’t quite human. They have fire powers, and dragon wings, so obviously can fly. But you won’t shoot fire out of your mouth, just your hands. You’ll get adjusted to your new capabilities soon.”
“Did I inherit it? Is it real? Why now?”
“Well,” said Kennocha placidly, “You wouldn’t have inherited it. It just shows up at random. But it’s certainly real. And often times it doesn’t come until the possessor has been in extreme contact with dragons. That or true danger. And you’ve been exposed to both, so…”
*
Carla and Earle were standing shocked by the wreck of their helicopter. Heavily guarded by massive dragons, they were awaiting trial. Or at least, so Earle surmised. He couldn’t understand a word the dragons were speaking. A red dragon finally marched over to them, wearing a not very amused expression, but at least he spoke English.
“King Cathal will see you now,” he said shortly.
“Okay,” quivered Earle.
The dragon’s eyes shut and opened in a slow, deliberate blink, “Come.”
He led them into an elaborately carved stone pavilion, where a golden dragon stood motionless in the center. On the side the red-brown dragon was sitting patiently, a very small, black dragon tumbling about her feet. Carla drew her breath in with a sharp hiss. 
Standing next to the red-brown dragon was a girl. Her face was very familiar, tan, different colored eyes, and a fluffy medium gold bob. But shining forth in vivid splendor were two huge blue wings emerging from her back. She was dressed much differently than her skirt, vest, and blouse, for she was wearing a trailing turquoise dress (embroidered with scarlet) that looked as if it were made of silk, and fire was wrapping itself around her fingers, without burning her. 
In short, other than her face, nothing, seemingly, remained of the subdued and uninteresting Destiny DuBois. And even in her face, her blue eye was as unnaturally bright as her newly acquired wings. 
Carla drew in a difficult breath, and tumbled over in a faint.
“The human has died,” said the red dragon disapprovingly.
*
Destiny hurried over, or as fast as she could in the long dress that Kennocha had insisted on her donning (it did have convenient slits for her wings to push through), and felt Carla’s pulse.
“She’s alive, she’s just fainted,” she said reassuringly.
“Wake her up,” sighed King Cathal impatiently.
Destiny hesitantly shook Carla, and nothing happened. 
Kennocha came over, and roared in Carla’s face, and Carla’s eyes sprang open as she uttered a terrified whimper.
Kennocha and Destiny returned to their former places. 
“Humans! What have you to say for yourselves?” snarled King Cathal.
Carla and Earle’s mouths moved soundlessly.
“I think they are terrified,” said Destiny, “If you please, your majesty, perhaps they should have a little time to recover before you interview them? I mean, most people think that dragons are mythical…”
“Fine,” said King Cathal, “Take them to your den,” he shooed the red dragon and Earle and Carla away. 
Kennocha, once they were gone, inquired, “Your majesty, where is my mother and Calum?”
“Out searching for you. They will be back in three days, I believe they said. I’m sure that that they will be extremely relieved at your return home, and most interested to see the young Cuinn.”
“Excellent.”
*
Earle pulled out his smart phone and frantically sent texts to several friends of his, most of whom loved to hunt, and were very wealthy. He was hoping that they could get together and bring enough ammunition and weaponry to pull him and Carla out of the frightful mess they’d fallen into. Once that was done, he put his phone on silent, and tucked it securely back into his jacket.
*
“Hey, Earle sent me a text,” said Matt, sounding profoundly surprised, “Hey, guys, he’s found dragons.”
“No way!” screamed Nicholas, entirely over excited, “WOW! I got a message too. Look, Austin, he’s even got…a pic of this big red dragon. This is so totally awesome.”
“He wants us to give him aid,” said Austin frowning, “We’re trying to watch football.”
Several people were gathered around a television in a living room, having specifically come to Matt’s house to be able to better shout at the football players while eating very unhealthy potato chips.
“Yeah, but I mean, we can miss a game. My sis Sarah can catch us up…” David hesitated, “This is like…kinda of a cool thing.”
“But football?” implored Austin, “But I guess he’s serious.”
“What are you talking about, boys?” Megan, Matt’s sister, came in.
“Earle got himself captured by a dragon, and he wants us to come rescue him, but honestly, Meg, we’re in the middle of football game, here,” said Austin complainingly.
WHAT?” screamed Megan, snatching Nicholas’ phone from him, “Guys, this is totally serious. We’ve gotta go. He’s on that mountain,” she slammed maps into their faces, “We can get to it on our mountain bikes. Let’s go.”
Half an hour later Matt Wilson, Nicholas Moore, David White, Austin Hill, Megan Wilson, and Alyssa Wilson (Matt’s other sister) were all piling onto mountain-bikes, with big backpacks hanging on their shoulders. 
*
Earle’s phone vibrated, and he slipped it out, the red dragon not noticing. He saw a text from Megan Wilson.
Where are you?
Earle sent a screen shot of his location from his GPS application. 
Cool. Matt, Nick, Dave, Austin, Allie, and I are all coming for you. 
Earle pushed an answer into his screen. 
Alright. Hurry. Carla and I are both up here.
*
“The dragons have got Carla and Earle,” said Megan, pushing her phone back into the back pocket of her jeans. 
“Okay, we’ll just have to hurry, then,” said Alyssa. 
*
Destiny entered the den, Kennocha following her. Even in the dim light, Destiny’s wings were glowing. She hadn’t gotten used to them, and was in fact trying her very best to ignore them and think that everything was normal. Kennocha had assured her that the fire that would sometimes trickle from her fingertips or palm would soon stop, and so she just didn’t look at her hands or back, and contrived to deal with it fairly well. Soon, she knew, she’d have to realize that she actually had dragon wings, but she needed a good night’s rest first, and it didn’t look like she’d be getting that for a bit yet.
“Carla, you shouldn’t have come after me,” she said softly, as she sat down on a ledge which half faced the Reed siblings. 
“Destiny, what do you think you’re up to? Wearing such an outlandish costume!” screeched Carla, pointing a shaking hand at the wings.
Destiny frowned, “Please don’t mention the wings. I haven’t quite reconciled myself to them.”
“Tell them to let us go!” snapped Earle.
“Do you think I have the power to command them?” Destiny asked concernedly, “I wish you hadn’t gotten yourself into this fix, because I honestly don’t think I can get you out of it. Kennocha has promised to do her best, but you see, the colony can’t have you blabbing, and you’re sure to.”
Earle’s face grew rather concerned as he thought about the texts he’d just sent, and the reaction of the dragons when a further six human beings turned up. 
“Destiny, light the fireplace, will you?” asked Kennocha, as she turned to talk to the red dragon. 
“Alright,” Destiny said finally realizing that it would simply not do to ignore her power. She sighed, and willed fire into her hands, and saw streams of red flames shoot into the fireplace, which soon was alive with crackling fire. There was a lot more blue mingled in with the red and orange than there would have been in a normal fire.
Carla stood up, “Destiny, I insist that you let us go.”
“I told you,” said Destiny quietly, “I have no authority. You know that. Please accept the reality of the situation. I know this won’t help at all, but you did bring it on yourselves.” 
“I was attempting to ensure your miserable safety!” Carla screamed.
“It didn’t need ensured,” Destiny said apologetically.
“I KNOW THAT NOW! YOU ARE A MONSTER JUST LIKE THEM AND SHOULD BE HUMANELY PUT DOWN!” bellowed Carla.
Kennocha snarled, “Don’t threaten Destiny. You’re not in the position of power here, prisoner.”
“Oh, please don’t argue. Carla, I assure you, I don’t want you to be hurt,” said Destiny desperately.
“YOU MONSTER!” Carla had clearly gone beyond control or reasoning, “I WANT OUT! LET ME GO! I NEED TO GO SHOPPING WITH PENELOPE ON TUESDAY!”
“Come, Destiny, let us go,” said Kennocha, with a disgruntled look.
“Noch, where’s Cuinn?” Destiny asked, as soon as they were out of the den, “I thought that you had him.”
“He’s making the acquaintance of King Cathal,” said Kennocha amusedly, “King Cathal is my uncle, you know.”
“Really?” Destiny was surprised.
“Which is why I can get away with a lot more than most dragons,” Kennocha said, “I bet you think it odd that I call him King, don’t you?”
“Well, a bit, but I guess decorum must be maintained.”
“Precisely.”
“You know, I hope Carla and Earle haven’t called a bunch of people to their aid.”
“How would they do that?”
“Oh, their smart phones,” said Destiny, “One of them could have sent messages to tons of people, without us knowing.”
“We’d better communicate this information to King Cathal. He’ll want to know the details of how this messaging works, and we shall have to organize a defense.”
*
“Almost there,” said Matt triumphantly, “I’m tracking Earle, and we’re just about to him.”
Nicholas swallowed a large chunk of his energy bar, “Ooo! I can’t wait to see the dragons.”
“Seriously, you want to be incinerated? That is crazy,” Alyssa said disapprovingly, “I hope we can get home, though. I’ve got homework.”
“I thought there was something odd happening on this mountain,” said Megan, “I’ve just been researching the past years, and there’s been some odd incidents. So I guess I was right,” she looked pleased with herself, “And like, it is kinda of cool that there’s dragons, but I bet they’re so totally dangerous that we’re gonna have to be really, super careful.”
“No prob,” assured Austin, “I had the sense to bring along my pistol.”
Several of the others had also had the forethought to bring their pistols. Alyssa, who was the youngest at sixteen, didn’t own a gun, but she had brought a hefty bag of throwing knives which she had been collecting since her tenth birthday. 
*
“Your majesty!” a dragon with similar coloring to Kennocha landed frantically in front of King Cathal.
“Well? Your report?”
“There are six other humans…they are coming up the mountain on some sort of metal steed!”
“I bet it’s mountain bikes. At least it’s only the six. They probably have got guns, though,” said Destiny, “Er…are dragon scales bullet proof?”
“We won’t know until we find out,” said Kennocha unconcernedly.
“We must catch them alive,” said King Cathal, “Put them with their fellow intruders. I have yet to decide what shall be done with these miscreants.” 
He sent a slightly upset look at Destiny, whom he evidently was blaming for the arrival of eight unwanted humans…not including her, although she, with a little panic, wondered if she still counted as a full human. 
The dragon who had brought the message nodded its enormous head, and flapped off again. 
“Kennocha, Kennocha, you have brought trouble upon our heads,” sighed King Cathal.
Kennocha looked slightly piqued, “Surprisingly,” she said in a dry tone, “I had no intention of doing so.”
“Yes, it is surprising. You always were one for trouble,” said King Cathal, “Why, when you were one hundred you nearly caught the berry bushes on fire!”
“I was yet youthful then,” said Kennocha.
“And you’re hardly ancient now,” snapped King Cathal, “Bringing a human into our midst.”
“Only she bears the Gift of Fire, o king,” said Kennocha shortly.
“Even so! You didn’t know that when you brought her, did you?”
“Well, no, but I had major suspicions.”
“Suspicions!” flecks of spit and fire flew around the stone pavilion, “And on these suspicions you endangered the entire colony?”
“She’s already done it, why do you waste time blaming her?” Destiny asked coolly, looking King Cathal squarely in the eyes. He looked taken aback at her audacity.
“Look here, girl, just because you’ve got wings doesn’t mean that you’re a dragon.”
“Thank goodness,” said Destiny calmly, “Who’d want to be a dragon, if the general population have tempers like yours? You shouldn’t blame Kennocha for what she cannot change now. Instead, you should blame yourself for not finding her earlier, and therefore preventing this catastrophe altogether. It’s hardly my fault that you leave a mother dragon and her baby to the mercy of the humans, now is it? You should just be thankful that I wasn’t someone who wanted her dead, because I’ve got a feeling that it wouldn’t look too good for you if you lost a young mother under your regime!” 
Kennocha blinked, surprised at the outburst on the part of the formerly quiet, docile young girl. It seemed that the wings and fire made a difference even to humans. Kennocha smiled grimly, a little amused and a little worried at the disconcerted look in her uncle’s dragon face. 
“Well, never mind that. We’ve got to deal with these six other humans,” he sent a nasty look down the mountainside.
*
Megan looked up, they had just reached the top, and were confronted by about fifteen adult dragons (or at least she guessed them to be adult, they were large enough) and a golden-haired girl with different colored eyes and sapphire wings.
“That’s totally not freaking me out,” Alyssa said idly, flashing a picture of the girl and a seventeen second long video of the entire group.
“WOW! SO COOL! THIS IS AWESOME!” shrieked Nicholas, enthusiastically bouncing up and down on his mountain bike’s seat. 
“SILENCE FOOL!” bellowed a great golden dragon, “HOW DARE YOU TRESPASS? YOU SHOULD PAY WITH YOUR LIVES?”
“What else could we pay with?” asked Alyssa, “Just for some options.”
“INSOLENT CHILD, don’t speak to King Cathal like that,” snapped another dragon angrily.
Alyssa heaved a great sigh, “Honestly, can’t you tell that I’m an adolescent? Not a baby. Anyways, we’re here to grab Earle and Carla Reed…so hand ‘em over.”
“Or what?” asked a surprisingly quiet voice, as a red-brown dragon took a step forward, a wobbling black creature stumbling about her feet as it tried out its disproportionately large wings. 
“Or we shoot!” Austin, clearly, had lost his head, and was balancing on one foot on the seat of his bicycle, waving a yellow pistol around. 
“Austin, sit down. Guns shouldn’t be used out of their place!” snapped Megan, she and Alyssa both thoroughly disapproved of the hunting that was so popular amongst their brother’s group of friends. 
“This is their place, Meg,” said David White surely.
“Nope,” said Matt, “We might as well parley a bit more!” he looked flushed, and was snapping photos as a tremendous rate.
Megan readied herself for the dragon’s displeasure, wondering rather unhappily if they’d get Earle…or get burned.
*
Destiny, her mind working quickly, turned to King Cathal, “Your majesty, I think I should inform you that if they wanted to they could contact others very rapidly upon those little rectangular things they are holding in their hands. But on the other hand, if they are absent for weeks at a time or so, then it will cause a major investigation, and a huge number of people will know where you are.”
“Then what do you suggest we do?”
“I say we burn them up and send their bodies back,” said a black dragon nastily.
“Don’t be stupid,” said Kennocha witheringly, “That is an idea worthy of a human, fish.”
Destiny smiled, “Noch, did you just call him a fish?”
“That is a great insult, Des. Keep out of this though.”
“How? I know humans better then you.”
“What do you suggest we do?”
They didn’t have time to converse more, because the black haired man who had been waving around the vividly hued pistol now started firing it at random. 
Destiny screamed, and hurled her wings in front of her as the gun flashed towards her. A bullet came whizzing through the air. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them half a minute later the shot lay at her feet, and her wings were thoroughly undamaged, though vibrating with the effort of reflecting the bullet. 
Destiny gazed down at the wings which she’d been reluctant to accept, and thought of their bullet proof qualities.
“Okay, that’s pretty cool,” she admitted to the air, and then noticed that one of the party, a girl who looked stronger then any of the others in the group, had restrained the randomly firing person, and had snatched his gun away.
“YOU STUPID IDIOT!” she was bellowing.
*
Earle, cowering behind the red dragon in the den, heard Megan Wilson’s bellow, and he stood up, hitting his head on a particularly low point in the ceiling of the den. The red dragon gave a short cackle of laughter as he rubbed it ruefully. 
“Carla, this was the number one stupidest idea that you have ever had.”
Carla moaned in agreement.
“And now everyone else is going to be in a fix. I thought they’d have the decent sense to bring along some…you know, animal control or something. People who have tranquilizers and stuff. But oh no, the idiots had to come by themselves. Look!”
He pointed to the den’s opening, where, through a gap that the red dragon’s tremendous body wasn’t covering, they could distinctly see a group of young adults and their mountain bikes.
“Uh-oh,” said Carla, “We need to join them!”
She made a heroic dash for it, and was totally surprised when a dragon swept her and Earle up and led them outside.
*
Megan gasped. Maybe Austin’s bullets had done some good then! They were bringing Earle and Carla out, but something seemed to be wrong. 
*
“Is that whom you’re looking for?” sneered King Cathal, “Well, well, I suppose you’ll have a nice long talk while you sit rotting in our dungeons.”
The red dragon looked affronted at this styling of his den, but wisely kept his mouth shut. 
Destiny looked pale, but unafraid as she said in a ringing, distinct voice, 
“I say again, keeping them away from normal life will not solve but further your problems. Did you not hear, or are you foolish enough to ignore, my saying of earlier? People will search for them, and though I have no doubt of your immense skills in firing things up, they will have a way to defeat you. I’m talking about massive guns shooting out of the sky! Did you think that pistol was something? Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t at all. And if you’re holding young humans up here, well, I can’t say I blame anyone for viewing you as a threat.”
“Then what do you suggest we do, Destiny DuBois?” asked King Cathal as icily as possible for a fire-breathing dragon.
“I suggest that you talk with them. Find someway to send them home while being perfectly sure that they will hold their tongues about you,” Destiny shot these last words off at the group, now expanded to eight since Carla and Earle had joined them.
“What are your names?” asked Kennocha.
“Alyssa, Austin, Carla, David, Earle, Matt, Megan, and Nicholas,” said the strong-looking girl, gesturing at each of her group with her thumb, having pointed to herself at the name ‘Megan’.
“Very well. You shall be contained for a short time while I work out a scheme. Failure to comply will certainly mean life long imprisonment or death,” said King Cathal with an obvious and not-very-good attempt at polite graciousness. 
“Just so long as we get home in time for Friday,” yawned Alyssa unconcernedly.
“What?” snapped King Cathal.
Alyssa’s eyes widened, “Well, we always have pizza on Friday…” she looked worriedly at King Cathal, evidently viewing someone who didn’t have or didn’t think other people had pizza on Fridays was a person or creature of great mental instability.
“Guard them in your den,” said King Cathal irritably. 
*
“And you will never know when or how the dragons are tailing you or not tailing you, because they’ll be invisible to you,” finished King Cathal, having thought up a way to keep the dragons unmentioned. He threatened a guard, and they would never know when it was there. It seemed to do the trick, they definitely were looking compliant.
Destiny sat curled up on a stone, her dazzlingly bright blue wings wrapped around her shoulders, and Cuinn snuggled in her lap. Kennocha was lying down behind her, a grave expression on her scaly muzzle. 
Destiny suddenly sat up a little straighter. Unless if she was mistaken, Megan Wilson and Nicholas Moore were about to discover that they, too, had the Gift of Fire. And sure enough, within minutes Megan was pawing anxiously at her back, and Nicholas was giving himself all sorts of kinks attempting to peer over his shoulders.
Destiny gently deposited Cuinn on the ground, and strode over, her own wings relaxing down her back.
“It’s alright,” she said comfortingly, “It’s not going to hurt much.”
What’s not going to hurt much?” Alyssa demanded frantically, “What’s wrong, Meggie? Nick, stop being an idiot. Meg, is something wrong? Earle, this is all your fault.”
What’s all my fault?” demanded Earle angrily.
Destiny sighed, “Stop arguing, please. Kennocha, I think they’ve got the Gift of Fire, too.”
“Indubitably,” said Kennocha in a startled voice as a pair of light brown wings burst from Megan’s back, matching her eyes. Nicholas’ dark gray wings soon followed, they, too, were the color of his irises. 
A white dragon suddenly swooped into their midst, her purple eyes glowing with an unnatural brightness as she gazed around at them all.
“It was inevitable that this should happen. The Gift of Fire is spreading, and winged humans shall surface. The world must acknowledge us, and we must acknowledge them in all their filthy splendor.”
Matt opened his mouth to be affronted, but took in the fire-breathing capabilities of the creature before him, and wisely shut his mouth. 
“You three,” the white dragon turned to Destiny, Megan, and Nicholas, “are just the beginning. You will go through the world, and you will fight for it, oh yes, you will. But one of you,” ― Destiny squirmed as the firm purple gaze flicked towards her during this portion of the speech― “will always be stronger than the others, and not just in power. You will all stumble, but the others may well fall.”
Her eyes moved towards Nicholas and Megan, and then focused slightly on Nicholas. 
“Now look here,” said King Cathal, indignant.
“You cannot stop it,” said the white dragon ferociously, “The Fire Gifted have risen once more, and they will either protect or desolate the earth.”
Nicholas and Megan’s hands were wreathed in uncontrolled flame as they stared open mouthed at the white dragon. Destiny remained silent, her wings quietly swaying with the wind. She didn’t understand exactly what she had to do, but she knew beyond a doubt that she had to do it.