The crowd was oblivious to the turmoil within her. Throngs of people milled about the car boot rummage, turning over trinkets, haggling for people’s faded dreams. She stood quietly by her table, trying not to look at the knife laid as casually as she could amongst her other things. Soon, it would be over.
The Dagger of Fortune had been a gift from an elderly woman. She had offered to mow her lawn, and the old woman had given it to her, apologizing for not having any money. She had reluctantly accepted it, thinking she might at least be able to sell it.
Between the old lady’s house and her home she found a $50 note, received a call accepting her job application and her brother returned the $200 he owed her. She was still spinning when she felt the dagger slice her. She hadn’t realized it was in her hand.
Over the next few weeks both her wealth and her physical misfortunes grew. Money found its way to her in various ways such as scratch tickets, raffles, extra shifts. It took her a while to realize her daily mishaps with the dagger might be linked. Still the extra money was good.
The amounts began to grow, as did the injuries. One evening she won $20,000 in a jackpot at her favorite pub. The blade caught her as she was drifting off to sleep, leaving a deep wound across her palm. Her nervousness had grown to fear. She had tried to throw it away to know avail, the thing was always back on her kitchen counter when she returned home.
When she thought of the old woman a thought came to her. She realized the old woman had given it to her. She wondered if the handing over was needed but didn’t like the idea of giving this curse to anyone she knew.
She tried to shed the guilt weighing on her as she watched people rummage through her belongings. Any one of them could be cursed next. She didn’t want anyone to get hurt, but she feared what would happen if she held it any longer.
“How much?” The voice shook her out of her reverie. The form of a young man stood in front of her.
“For what?”
“The blade and the book.” The man held them out with a look of annoyance. She took them from him and began wrapping the book
“Five for the blade, $20 for the book.”
“I’ll give you $20 for both.”
“Sold.” There was no hesitation. She held out the blade and waited until he took it from her. He took the book and turned to leave. A part of her wanted to warn him, until she realized he hadn’t paid for the book.
The wizard could feel it calling to him, it wanted to be free. If he could get past that sentient lump of vegetation at the mouth of the cave, the Sword of the Well Lit Road would be his.
The plant guardian had proven impossible to pass. He had approached the first time unsure of what to do. He had tried to reason, but the guardian gave no sign it understood. He tried to push past it and had been thrown hard enough to bounce off of the trees in the surrounding woods.
It had taken a few months to heal, during which time he listened to the sound of the enchanting voice emanating from within the cave.
The guardian never moved unless someone approached. The wizard saw only one other attempt to pass. A strong knight, probably for some noble purpose. The armor was still scattered by the cave’s entrance. Strength was not the answer, which was good because he had very little. He had one more trick up his sleeve.
He strode in front of the guardian, who rose as he drew near. The wizard did not slow his pace and raised his wand. As the plant creature lunged at him he released a shot of fire that buried itself within the guardian’s chest. He watched as the creature burned slowly, then went inside the cave.
To his surprise it was not large. The Sword of the Well Lit Road lay glowing on a moss covered stone in the center. As the wizard raised the sword a pulse of cool waves washed over him,
“I, Robense Maenard, name myself as the wielder of the Well Lit Road! May it guide my path, lead me true and serve me always!”
“Of all the, my stars how did you even get in here?” The wizard spun on his heel, looking for the owner of the voice that was ruining his moment.
“Not with your wits it seems. I am the Sword of the Well Lit Road. I exist to guide warriors to glory. And apparently now you.”
“Excuse me, I slew the guardian. And besides you are bound to serve me now.” He tried not to make that sound like a question. Of his myriad expectations, a sword with an opinion wasn’t one.
“With magic, you cheat. And yes, while you live I serve to protect you as best as I can and obey your command. Now let’s go, the sooner you die in battle the better.”
The wizard sighed and slung the thing on his hip. He needed its power, not his friendship. He left and began the journey home. Soon he would be with his brothers again, and their real quest would begin.
Any moment now, the feathered beasts would spot them. Maxwell had precious little time to get into position. One false move and the flock would be on him. He crossed his fingers and readied to sprint. As soon as Dodger gave the signal his team would move in. It was risky, but to save the two gnomes he saw before him, it was worth it.
In the heat shimmer of the afternoon, he saw Dodger wheel out on a toy tricycle. He lifted his hands high, clapped once and sped away through the vegetable patch. The chickens darted after him. Maxwell and his team raced in to rescue the bewildered gnomes. They were badly shaken. One tried to scream but to her horror no sound came out. Her mouth had not been properly painted. Poor girl.
As Maxwell ushered the pair into a cart he heard Dodger’s screams growing nearer. The team ran for the gate, escaping through the gap in the fence they had come in through. Maxwell stood ready with a wooden plank. Dodger sped as fast as he could straight past the group, still screaming. The team barely nailed the plank in place before the chickens arrived, angrily pecking the wood.
All stood frozen for a moment. Then Maxwell, taking the handle of the cart, began the walk back to basecamp.
“What. Is. That?” She was used to his pranks, but this was a new level. The little imp shifted from foot to foot, mumbling out incoherent words. Enough stuck out to tell the librarian they were in hot water.
“Found it. Shiny. Good gift. Dragon. Free.” The librarian stared at the huge egg on her desk. A dragon egg. If her truly limited knowledge of dragons was correct, this was a winter wyrm. Nine feet long, they were not monstrous, and covered in soft white fur they could even be said to be cute. They breathed icy winds rather than fire, were relatively easy to tame, and came with a several thousand dollar fine if caught with it.
She was debating what to do when a faint line appeared across the length of the egg and the little imp hopped on the desk in excitement. As the egg shattered under pressure, iridescent wings came forth. It was free in moments, staggering around as if in a daze.
Pure white with shimmering fur, deep blue eyes and a small set of spikes along its spine combined into a very cute and confused beast. It swiveled its head to settle its sight on the Librarian.
“No.” The wyrm took as much notice of her commands as the imp usually did. It slunk nervously towards her, the air around her growing colder the closer it got. She nearly recoiled when it rubbed its head on her leg. Then she made the mistake of looking down into its eyes. The poor thing was scared.
One day it would get big and freeze things but right now it was the size of a dog and clinging to her for security. The librarian picked up the shuddering beast, freezing as it settled itself across her chest. She sighed and with the imp skipping after her she headed to the never used wing for Arcane Relics. Maybe if she made it a bed in the back no one would notice.
Sophie stood dumbfounded, the only sound in the cavernous space was the dripping off the stalactites. There in the center of the dais, stood the very treasure they had come here to get. Unguarded. Grush, the ogre she had hired for protection, made to move towards it and she motioned him back. There was supposed to be a dragon.
The lair, she had been told many times, was a massive cave network, filled in each tunnel with various treasures. They descended the echoing tunnels, alert for any change in temperature. Despite the many variances in the local’s stories, all agreed the rarest treasures were guarded by a dragon.
So where was the thing? The further down they had climbed the greater the group’s nervousness grew. The goblin relic specialist, Patok, muttered repeatedly about a bad feeling. Sophie shared this feeling when they came to a huge room, so large they couldn’t touch the rock formations that hung like daggers above them. Like the tunnels the room was empty, save for a gold dias in the middle. On it stood the Amulet of the Rose Queen.
It truly was beautiful to behold. Made of rare elven metal the amulet’s large pink crystal glowed softly. Said to give the wearer the power to woo anyone, all Sophie cared about was the paycheck when she delivered it to her employer.
But, this was too easy. She scanned the room for any sign of a trap. Nothing but bare rock, her own team and an unguarded priceless treasure. Finally, Patok could wait no longer. The goblin tiptoed towards it, his hands hovering over it for only a moment before snatching it up. For a brief moment nothing happened. Then a cracking began.
Stalactites of all sizes began to rain down, morphing into dragons as they fell. Iridescent stone flew around the upper space, with more and more joining them. The group stood in shock as cries echoed loud enough to deafen them, then the glowing stone began to descend.
“Run!” The ogre’s shout knocked Sophie out of her shock. The team ran back up the tunnel, the grinding of stone wings in pursuit. The tunnel began to heat up and the ogre picked up Sophie and the goblin to sprint.
The trio barely made it outside before flames erupted from the mouth of the cave. The ogre didn’t stop running. Sophie looked back to see dragons at the edge of the cave. They shot fire and roared but they didn’t emerge.
At the bottom of the mountain the ogre finally slowed. They caught their breath at a stream. Stone golems? Sophie thought of how great the hoard must have been to go to the length of enchanting an entire cave network with personal guardians. Then also, who or what is powerful enough to do that?
“We found them in the chicken coop!” THe kids were smiling, as though this was a good thing. Liam tugged on his beard, staring at the largest eggs he had ever seen.
“Can we keep it?” The hopeful faces would have melted most men. But Liam was not most men. Liam was a parent.
“No.”
“But Dad…”
“We don’t even know what they are. I’m sorry but I’ll need to hand these in, well, somewhere.” Ignoring the laments, Liam went to look for a box to put the eggs into. The trio had settled somewhat by the time he returned. He began lining the box when a faint crack was heard.
Liam’s head snapped around in time to see a shard of an egg go flying. All three kids jumped back as the largest egg split to reveal the strangest looking lizard Liam had seen. As the other two eggs began to crack, the larger one stretched up and out of the towel nest the kids had made. It was as long as his shin from nose to tail tip, covered in dark green skin. The lizard rubbed its head on the carpet, trying to shed the last of the egg sack.
Frozen in place, Liam was at a loss for words. Lizards don’t have wings. The thing gave a cough and a tiny flame was spat out. Lizards don’t spit fire either. He stopped the small flame out and looked to see all three kids slowly shuffling towards it.
“CAN WE KEEP IT?!” THe kids descended on the pseudo-lizard. Liam lunged to stop them from touching it, but the thing rolled over and leaned into the pats. The other two pseudo-lizards came down to join in, one navy and one red.
“No. Just, no.” Liam reached for his phone, at least he knew who to call now.
“Dad, wait!”
“Why not?”
“My dagon.”
“It is NOT a dragon! I’m calling animal management. Guys, we don’t know what they are. The fire spit thing is not ok. You can play with them until they get picked up.” They couldn’t be dragons. They had all but gone extinct after the government began destroying egg nests.
Dragons had been a fashionable pet once upon a time. As the practical implications of having a pet that will outlive you became apparent the government had taken steps to prevent their breeding for sale. Private ownership was no longer an option. Feral dragons released into the wild after their owner died were a real problem and anyone caught harbouring eggs was given severe penalties. These were not dragons.
“My dagon.” The little one cuddled the blue lizard tightly, which just seemed to make it happier. The other two were silently stroking one each. The ringing led to an automated message, which Liam missed entirely.
A short growl was followed by the lunge of their dog, who rushed the lizards. Liam caught him before he could get too close. The lizards however, had scattered, the kids running after them.
The blue one was trying its best to fly. Its wings were not up to the task and the poor thing nearly landed in the fish tank. The green one was sitting on top of the red behind the sofa. It growled when the kids tried to coax it out. Liam pulled the kids away and sent the elder one to take the dog back outside.
“My dagon.” The little girl had the blue one in her arms again. Liam redialled animal control and blessedly, a real person answered.
“Hi, yes, look I’ve had a few of what appear to be a type of dragon like lizard hatch, the kids found the eggs in the chicken coop and they hatched just now.”
“No worries Sir, we get many reports of nests in strange places around this time of year. The feral ones tend to come into town more and more these days. It’s the…” Great, Liam though, a talker. By the time she had finished the mandatory policy warnings and given him a full weather report the kids had assembled in front of him.
“Please Dad, what about just this one?” The blue one had not left the girl’s arms once. They levelled him with their best expressions of hope again.
“Pease, Dagon?”
“Ok Sir, how many eggs were there in total?”
“Three.” The navy lizard, despite being the same size as his daughter, managed to make itself look small in her arms. He really couldn’t tell which one was clinging harder.
“Oh good, a small nest. And how many survived the hatching?”
“Three.”
“Did any make an attempt to fly?”
“Ah yes, one.”
“Noted. Occasionally the dragons are kept as guardians for various facilities but flying is a trait we don’t want. Please make sure you let us know which one as it’ll be put down on site. Did any escape?”
Liam paused for a moment. He wanted them gone, he didn’t really want them dead. The navy dragon had started snoring.
“Pease Daddy.”
“Yes one escaped, the other two are balled up behind my lounge.” He waved at the kids and tried to shush them. The force of holding in the excitement went to their legs and they bounced around him.
“Ok Sir, we’ll send someone out to collect them within the hour.” Liam hung up the phone, wondering how the hell they were going to hide a dragon in the middle of the suburbs.
Liam turned to the kids, still bouncing.
“We need to hide it. Look we’ll keep it but you need to follow the rules I set out. And I guess it needs a name.”
“How long have you known about this?” Stacey tried her best to be empathetic. The look of confusion on the tiger’s face suggested this was a new thing. For both of us, she thought.
It had started out normal. Daniel was a local pub manager, one kid (she had two of her own, no judgment there), into standard family activities like camping and whatnot. His stoicism, however, came off pedestrian. She had been almost bored, when suddenly whiskers grew from his beard.
Daniel began to cough. Stacey reached for the water jug, freezing as Daniel began to turn orange. After a moment she realized she was looking at fur. The fear on her face was mirrored in his as he watched his nails grow and harden.
Without a word he fled to the restrooms. Stacey sat there holding the jug, wondering what on earth just happened. She barely registered the faces of the other patrons. After several minutes, she calmly set the jug down and followed him.
Thankfully the place was quiet. Stacey stood in the corridor trying to come up with a plan. She needed to find Daniel…the tiger. She ignored the thought that she was most likely the one in danger. A low growl behind a set of ferns near the foyer mirror made it a struggle not to run away. Slowly, she made herself turn around.
There, crouched as if waiting for attack, was a tiger. A rather large, rather sharp clawed tiger…wearing Daniel’s necklace. Almost in reflex, Stacey extended her hand toward the wide eyed creature. He whimpered softly and leaned into her palm.
“What should I do?” Stacey was lost, both for words and ideas. The Daniel tiger just leaned into her further. A hug, she could do that.
More than anything else, Tanner wished for a snake. Venomous or not, didn’t matter. Maybe straight poison was the way to go. All he knew was the “humane” trap did anything but its job. The damned thing was still in the roof.
Scuttle, scuttle, thump. Possums had been bad enough. Tanner had seen his share of city vermin, but this was a new one. Possum…shifters. When he’d finally gained the courage to go in the roof, he’d been met with a strung out young man who lunged at him. Animal management had been less than helpful. Between them and the local police he’d felt like a tennis ball.
The scurrying sound let Tanner know the shifter was still intoxicated. After two months he had gotten an understanding of the thing’s routine. Wake up, leave, return plastered, shift, run around the roof until dawn. Almost the same as his previous housemate, and just as regular on the rent. His resentment might have softened, but there were only two days left. Two more days and the cops had the right to arrest the shifter. He was looking forward to a silent night.
I was left in a state of annoyance upon finishing your litany of arrogance. ‘It’s so easy’ and ‘I do what I want when I want’ were quite bad enough. You then added insult with ‘I don’t know why you struggle so.”
Allow me to explain, though I’m sure it will simply entertain rather than enlighten you. As a birdshifter, my daily experiences are quite different to yours. I am marred with obligation you know nothing about. Can you comprehend what it is like to have your nest continuously relocated by “Shifter Rights” advocates? All of them seem to believe I’d be happier surrounded by nature. I cannot convince them I like the library roof.
I even went as far as attempting to live like you, in an apartment. Simply unacceptable. All of a sudden I was introduced to “cleaning”, what a waste of time. Simply to remain in one place required me to direct large portions of my day to removing shed feathers and carcasses. I need the open air for my nest.
And what would you, with your predator’s instincts, know of food scarcity? The humans are forever headed towards a “safe society”, which means alleyway murders are at an all time low. I am a scavenger, not a predator, yet I find myself having to lure humans into an accident more and more frequently. Yes I could consume the various rodents and marsupials littering the city, as you so readily pointed out, but why? There used to be more than enough humans, I’ll not lower my standard of eating now. Please, I beseech of you, invite me the next time you are hunting in a campground.
Though truly, the bane of my existence are the other birds. You need only deal with your pride. When in bird form I am at the mercy of all and any feathered fool who wishes to give me their life story. It is always the same story with Pigeons, as they are too stupid to come up with anything new. The finches act like five year olds and the kookaburras are bullies. Only the magpies are worth talking to, but even they are subject to impulse and dart off halfway through a sentence.
I dare not leave this cesspit, for at least there is some food here and the humans are amusing at times. I do not know what concentration of people can be found outside of it. I may take you up on your offer to host me, if only to see what life is like outside of concrete and steel.
She had a good mind to give him a permanent ban. Of all the things she’d endured while working here, a solid two thirds were brought about by him.
The imp stood there in the middle of the room with a can of bug spray and a swatter. She loved that he was sweet enough to bring her flowers but wished he’d looked for pests first.
Somewhere among the books was a spider. It appeared the same as any other spider, but one bite was enough to create an itch that spread across the whole body and lasted for many days. It had eluded the imp so long the librarian had joined in the hunt.
After much futile searching, the librarian began flipping through the phone directory, looking for magical pest control, when she saw the tiny creature descend on a thin silver thread, right in front of the imp.
He caught sight of it shortly after and having carefully lined him up, swatted as hard as he could. His squeal was barely heard over the librarian’s laughter. He stormed off to get something cold for his nose, unaware of the spider crawling up his back.
C.M. Wellsmore 