Tooth and Claw: A Short Dragon Tale Page 2
She sighed and joined Susi sitting astride the Bryo’s soft mossy back. It flapped its great wings once, twice, then heaved into the air.
As they plunged over the rim of the plateau that the dragons called home Jena clung tightly to the mossy hide of the Bryo. Behind her Susi gasped. Jena’s breath caught in her throat as she saw how impossibly high they were. She knew from growing up in the shadow of Dragonhome that it was a massive, towering rock, impossible to climb, but at this dizzying height the wall seemed absurdly high. The mountain at the centre of that plateau, riddled with the caves in which the dragons roosted, added yet more height to this massive upheaval of rock which jutted out of a seemingly endless plain.
Jena risked opening her eyes. She could barely make out where her village lay amongst the forest of ginkgo trees that covered the land below the immense table of granite. The Bryo arrowed headlong down the sheer drop. The ground below rose to meet them with alarming speed. This morning they had been carried up to the top by an elderly Ptero which had been content to take its time, rising in gentle circles. The Ptero had been almost chatty, enquiring about their visit to the world above. Jena had been fascinated by its skin, which was covered with feathery green fronds, delicately divided, and rolled into tight spirals here and there. She had toyed with small green curls and had thoroughly enjoyed the flight. She had even thanked the dragon when it had left them at the top of the wall.
This creature was entirely different, and seemed to take vicious pleasure in manoeuvring at speeds that caused its passengers no little discomfort. Jena felt her stomach flip, and struggled to keep her breakfast down. She heard Susi whimper as the dragon bottomed out of the vertical dive in a tight arc, and with furious backthrusts of its powerful ribboned wings landed in the centre of The Scorching, a roughly circular area of ground perhaps a hundred yards or so across.
In stark contrast to the rest of the plain, which was densely coated with gingkos as far as the horizon, the clearing was entirely devoid of trees. The packed earth was black and fused into a glass-like surface. Here and there a charred stump showed that once, a long time ago, trees had grown here. Myth told that in the time of the Ancestors people had risen up against their dragon overlords in a brief bid for freedom. The revolution had been short-lived. The dragons had summoned a mighty storm to dampen the passions of the rebels and then used their fearsome ability to spit streams of fire, creating a whirling inferno that had destroyed everything here; people, trees, houses - even the ability of the earth to sustain new life. The Scorching was a permanent reminder of the terrible power of the dragons, and served to quell all thoughts of rebellion.
Jena slid from the Bryo’s back and stood gingerly, her legs trembling. Susi fell to the ground and sat down, panting heavily, knuckles white and face drained of blood. The dragon curled its lip and raised its mossy wings to leave.
“Wait!” called Jena. “We are ordered to return tomorrow. Will you send a Ptero to carry us up the wall?”
The dragon snorted derision, and thrust upwards with its mighty back legs. The outstretched wings pulled at the air and the creature rose away from them leaving a warm rush of air.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jena said.
2 Pterophyta
She pulled Susi to her feet and the two walked home. Jena relaxed once they entered the trees. The Scorching was a bad place, full of bad feelings. They followed the path that wound its way between enormous tree-trunks, up to twenty-five feet in diameter. The trees soared high above their heads, some reaching to almost a hundred and fifty feet. Many were a thousand years old, it was said, and had been here long before the coming of the dragons. Even on the brightest of days the forest floor would have been depressingly gloomy but for the occasional light-windows that the forester Shambrook and her team of expert climbers made and maintained in the thick canopy high overhead.
As they reached edge of the village they were greeted with a loud bark as Bryan scampered to meet them, leaping up to express his joy on their return. Quite how the big yellow dog always knew that they were coming home was a mystery. Maybe he sensed the dragon landing half a mile away. Jena threw out her arms and hugged his wriggly fur. After Jena had made a fuss of him he gently took her hand and tugged her towards her house.
“It looks like he wants you back home,” smiled Susi. “I’ll be off, too. See you tomorrow, eh?” She angled off towards her own home as Bryan fell into step with Jena. Woman and dog walked the short distance to Jena’s house. Home, like all of the other dwellings in the village, was three small rooms hollowed out of the trunk of a living gingko. Shambrook was an expert at carving living spaces into the immense trees without killing them. Once she had hollowed out the desired shape, she coated the new walls with a potion of her own devising that not only healed the tree’s wounds but also created a pleasant aroma and repelled insects. She had added Jena’s third room shortly after James had been born.
As Jena approached the leather hanging that served as her front door it was flung wide and a breathless, wide-eyed Lizzie burst out.
“Mam!” she cried, obviously distressed, “Mam, James has… I was just playing tug with Bryan. And then James... I don’t know! There’s a man!”
“Whoa, take it easy,” Jena tried to calm her daughter, taking her in her arms and giving her a reassuring hug. “Now start at the beginning. And tell me clearly what’s wrong.”
Lizzie took a deep breath and launched into rapid speech. “I was out here playing with Bryan and his tug-rope. James was asleep on the bed. When I got tired I went in to see if he was OK only he wasn’t there. A man was, though, and he was sitting by the bed. I thought at first that he’d come to take me off to the Fringe a bit early, but he wanted you. He said James is safe, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. And then I saw you and I ran out and, Mam, what’s happening?”
“I don’t know, but I’m damned well going to find out.” She stormed inside, her mind wheeling with a combination of panic, anger and indignation.
As Lizzie had said, a man sat on the chair by the bed in the far corner of the room. He was perhaps forty years old, shaven-headed, and wore a long coat. His rangy legs stretched before him, high leather boots covering his feet which were crossed at the ankles.
“Ah, the dentist!” he said, in a low mocking tone.
“Where’s my son?” Jena demanded.
“My name is Johnson Miller,” the man said, ignoring her. Jena grabbed a knife from the shelf by the door and crossed to the man. She pointed the knife directly at his eye.
“Where is my son?” she spat. In one swift, fluid movement the man swept his legs against hers, knocking her off balance. He stood, grabbed her arm and wrenched it so that the knife clattered to the floor. Jena gasped as he twisted further causing flashes of pain to slice through her elbow.
“Leave my Mam alone!” Lizze yelled. Bryan launched himself at the man with a fearsome snarl, but was kicked backwards before he could do any damage. He stood warily not far away, alternately growling and whimpering. The man towered over Jena, scowling down at her.
“What a violent family you do have, dentist,” he growled. “I suggest that you keep them quiet
while I tell you what I want. Otherwise, I might just take it into my head to kill your cur and defile your daughter. Now sit, and be silent!” He threw Jena down into a chair and moved nearer the door, cutting off Lizzie’s escape. Jena rubbed at her arm and eyed the man. Bryan rested his heavy head on her knee, trying to comfort her. Her mind was a vortex of twisting emotion.
“Your son is alive,” growled the interloper, “at least for now. He will remain safe until you have completed a little job for us, at which point we will return him to you unharmed. If you fail us in this enterprise, then you will never see him again. At least, not all of him. Now, have I impressed upon you how serious your situation is?”
Jena nodded, tight-lipped.
“Good. I think that once you hear them, you will agree with our aims, if not our methods. Now, you are one of the privileged few who been granted access to Dragonhome on a regular basis. On your next visit, I want you to take this with you.” He hoisted a leather satchel from the floor and slung the strap over his shoulder. “It contains a number of these,” he continued, reaching into the bag and taking out a stoppered glass flask with a curiously shaped neck that resembled the sinuous throat of a dragon. He handed the flask to Jena. It