DRAGON!: Book One: Stealing the egg. Read online

  Gareth saw the double-talk for what it was and accepted it for both the truth and an evasion at the same time. No teacher had ever lied to him, as far as he knew. Lately, though, he had come to recognize some of the deft verbal maneuvers they used to avoid specific answers. Still, he might get relevant information if he asked the right questions in the right manner. Besides, the teachers were not the only ones who could shift the truth with a few words.

  “My finger touched black slime under the dragon nest they call dragon spit. It hurt. What is that stuff?”

  The teacher stepped forward and gently took Gareth’s hands in both of his own, examining the fingers while answering. “Some uneducated peasants believe that dragons actually spit fire, but that is not the truth. They spit a caustic substance, not unlike that of a spitting snake, or that of many other poisonous creatures. In the case of dragons, it prevents small animals from climbing the rocks and cliffs to reach their nests and vulnerable eggs during nesting season. They also use it as a weapon when they attack their enemies. Your fingers appear to have suffered no permanent harm.”

  Telling the teacher his fear of dragon slime and the pain he suffered might lower the intensity of his surveillance. They’d think he wanted no part of a dragon from now on. “I’m mostly healed. But, I wouldn’t want to hurt like that again. Teacher, what would you use on yourself if a dragon spits on you?”

  “I would use a very quick prayer because I am certainly going to die.”

  Gareth met his penetrating eyes with his own, searching for signs of humor and finding none. He said truthfully, “I never intend to get that close to a dragon again.” Because I will rob the nest and be gone long before the dragon returns.

  The teacher almost smiled as he shifted the hood over his bald head and pulled the front edge down low to protect his eyes from the sun. “Do you have more questions of me, Master?”

  “No.” Then Gareth thought of another, and blurted, “Are there always, at least, four teachers near me?”

  “Lately, yes.”

  That answer told him all he needed. His venture to the nest had forced increased security, which was why there were now so many of them near him all day long. Without saying good-bye, Gareth spun on his heel and walked away. He’d caught the guarded warnings in the tone of the conversation, and in the admission that more teachers were watching him than before. That gave him a lot to consider. The admission was not a mistake or a slip of the tongue. Teachers didn’t make that sort of slip. They were telling him of the consequence of his venture. He’d gone to the nest. Placed himself in danger. They were protecting him. And warning him.

  Faring was right. Gareth didn’t understand how he had missed the obvious when his friend had seen it from the beginning. Could the teachers have misled him, or influenced his perceptions? Had the many days sitting under a tree on Odd’s farm and listening to their stories misled him? Or the cold winter days studying beside the warm stove in the barn swayed his thoughts? Yes, they could have, all of them, and probably did.

  His mind reviewed the new information as he walked along the edge of the pine forest towards his hut. The teacher he’d talked to along the path said they also taught other people, but he knew there were no others nearby who received instruction. That told him the teachers were an organization spreading over a larger area. They formed some sort of protective unit, with him as their center, but they also looked out for others. At least, they inferred they taught others.

  The teacher had evaded the questions about who was ordering them to watch over him, and why. It gave him the feeling that his teachers were not the friends he’d always imagined them to be. He had to be careful in his escape because if he failed there might not be the second attempt. The night whispers hinted of others who were dangerous, too. Those others seemed to hate the teachers most of all, but there was no liking for the teachers. The tendrils of information from the night whispers shifted and oozed around him when he slept like a heavy fog. They were so real in his dreams, but when he reached out to touch them, there was nothing there.

  As he entered his hut, the sun settled low in the sky. He glanced at the forest across the stream and spotted two of the teachers that had been shadowing him. He’d kept them marginally in sight as he walked, so he knew where to look. The other two, the ones who had been lurking deeper in the forest, were unseen, yet he believed them still close. He pulled the rickety door shut, threw the bolt closed, and fell onto his sleeping pallet without eating.

  Several times he woke and looked up to the single small window on his east wall. When he judged it completely dark, he eased the door open and quietly slipped outside. The moon was near full. If they watched, he would be easily spotted, so he slipped into the shadows and moved to the path that led up the side of the mountain. While seeing his way in the moonlight presented no problem, he still kept to the shadows, making two full revolutions of the hut and surrounding area. He found no indication of any teachers lurking in the forest. Gareth made his way to the tannery and carried off a half-empty container of the soda solution, a scruffy leather apron that looked as if it hadn’t been used in years, and a pair of cast-off leather gloves that rose to his elbows. He moved past his hut along the path in the direction of the dragon nest and hid his goods under tangled brambles when he tired.

  Gareth raced back and slept the rest of the night. The night whispers came again, almost as soon as he closed his eyes. He shouted in his mind that he was preparing to leave Dun Mare so they could stop tormenting him. They quieted for the remainder of the night as if they understood, almost becoming soothing.

  Three mornings later, the plowing was completed and the seed for winter crops sown. Odd had little use for Gareth until spring, other than minimal daily chores a farm in winter needs, and of course, splitting firewood for use during the heavy snowfalls and cold nights. The supplies he’d taken from the tannery were now hidden much closer to the nest, carried a further distance each night. Along with the heavy apron and pair of gloves, he managed to remove the rope from the barn at Odd’s farm without notice, and had coiled it over his shoulder to carry. He’d sewn a crude leather sack with a shoulder strap from a scrap of leather he’d found at the tannery for the dragon egg he intended to steal.

  It was almost time.

  He had located his supplies close enough to the mountain top that another single trip would move everything into position directly above the nest. A bare cliff fell down the other side of the mountain from that high peak, and from there he could look directly down and see the nest. He cautioned himself to think about only snatching one egg, no matter how tempting the others might be. All the stories said that dragons laid two or three eggs. Sometimes four. If a man clever and brave enough managed to take one, the dragon would do its utmost to find and punish the thief, but would soon return to the nest to guard the remaining eggs. Taking all the eggs meant the dragon would pursue a man for weeks; maybe months, if he lived that long. There were tales of dragons going on rampages from the theft of all their eggs, destroying whole towns and villages. He couldn’t put the people of Dun Mare at that sort of risk.

  So far, Gareth had managed to avoid the teacher’s attention on his nightly excursions, all of them. He’d carefully examined his footprints when returning to his hut each night, making sure no obvious prints were present, then erasing or scuffing any other evidence of his passing. True, someone knowledgeable of basic tracking wouldn’t be fooled for a heartbeat, but Gareth doubted the teachers were looking for evidence of his excursions, or that they knew what to look for.

  More teachers came to Odd’s farm each morning, filling his head with more stories and lessons. He tried to pay attention. Every year, as the farm chores decreased in the fall, the teachers filled his free time with lectures, as a parade of them sat with him, usually within the comfort of the barn. A small stove kept them warm and provided additional light.

  Six days after his last discussion with the teachers about ceasing his efforts to steal an egg al
l his supplies were in place. He was safely in his hut in the early evening, resting, but not sleeping. He been sleeping later than usual each morning after his excursions, but nobody mentioned it if they noticed. Then, at the main farmhouse, he split wood until the woodshed could hold no more, his final chore for the winter. He wouldn’t want to do less than Odd required, or disappoint the old man in any manner.

  In the afternoon, he walked to the tannery and waited near the sour apple tree, again. The putrid smell was barely noticeable for the first time in memory. He was either getting used to it or the breeze blew it away. Finally, tired of waiting, he walked closer to the tannery and noticed that no smoke rose from the chimney, which was unusual. There was no movement of workers. No voices shouting orders or insults. He ran the rest of the way down the slope and pushed open the heavy oak doors of the main building. “Anybody here?”

  Echoes answered. He rushed through the vacant shed to the area of vats and found most of them empty of any liquid. No hides floated in them. None hung to dry on the stretchers. The usual banter of workers trading verbal barbs was absent. The tannery felt as dead as the skins that had been worked there.

  Gareth spun and ran back to the main door, intent on locating Faring. Why hadn’t he heard the tannery was closed? Was Odd’s farm so isolated that important news never reached it? Or were the teachers that had been there daily keeping that information from him? Teachers had been at the farm lecturing him, and nearly every day there had been other lessons, yet none mentioned the tannery closing. As he pushed through the door to leave, he noticed a teacher standing motionless only a few steps away, near the edge of the trees. It was a familiar teacher who seemed to hold a certain amount of affection for him, if such a thing was possible. He didn’t even bother searching for the second one he knew would be close. “Teacher, what’s going on, here?”

  “You can see for yourself this tannery has ceased operation.”

  “But how are Faring and his Da going to earn a living?”

  “That question is not within my realm of knowledge. Nevertheless, the tannery has finished operating. The people who once worked here will move on and find employment in other places, I am sure.”

  “Where’s Faring?”

  The teacher shifted positions and slipped each hand into the opposite sleeve as if delaying answering. “Our duties do not include knowing the whereabouts of others.”

  Not lying, but not telling the truth, either. The whispers called teachers “the Brotherhood” as if that meant something relevant and ominous, but his mental image of them remained one of a teacher. Mentioning the name “Brotherhood” might tell them he was gaining information from another source. For the last few nights, the whispers had become louder, more insistent, the words they hissed almost understandable. Without hesitation, Gareth turned and marched up the hill in the direction of Faring’s house at the far edge of Dun Mare.

  “I have the answer to a question you asked several days ago,” the teacher said as he matched Gareth’s fast stride.

  It was unusual for a teacher to walk that fast, and even more unusual that he seemed to be alone. Gareth glanced to either side and into the surrounding forest. He didn’t find another, but didn’t mention it. “An answer to what?”

  “Paying money for not placing yourself in danger is not a reasonable request. Therefore, it has been rejected.”

  Gareth’s concern for his friend still foremost in his mind paused near the top of the hill and faced the teacher, his anger growing as the situation of the tannery resolved itself. “Then, there is nothing that prevents me from returning to the nest and stealing an egg, is there?”

  “Of course, there is,” the teacher replied calmly without panting from the climb, as Gareth did. “Your sense of self-preservation and common sense will keep you safe. The earlier venture to the nesting site was simply a youthful learning experience. Now that you understand the hazards of such excursions we believe you will never venture that close to a dragon nest again.”

  “I see what you mean,” Gareth said, controlling the tone of his voice to avoid sounding angry or distrustful. Agreeing with the teachers did not mean he had to obey.

  That simple but revolutionary idea instantly transformed his way of thinking. He concealed a wry grin.

  Gareth started walking again, neither leaving the teacher nor inviting him along. The teacher remained at his side, matching strides. Gareth panted, “I’m going to see Faring to offer my condolences about the tannery closing. Any objection?”

  “On the contrary. We would expect no less of a gentleman.”

  We. Gentleman. The teachers often referred to him as a gentleman and themselves in the plural. Usually, they deferred to him as they would any person of high position, or at least in the way it was described in the history lessons. Yet, he was a penniless orphan who plowed the earth behind an ox and split firewood for a meager living.

  Instead of taking the longer and well-used road to Dun Mare, Gareth cut across a mire and quickly stepped through the damper sinks, ignoring the wetting his boots received. The air above the swamp buzzed with the whines of hungry mosquitoes, gnats, and swarms of tiny, biting, no-see-ums, an insect far more offensive than most because they bit before you knew they were there. Gareth ignored the variety of insects landing on his bare skin and walked faster. The shortcut brought him to a series of low, tree covered hills thick with tangled underbrush, and finally to a small hill at the rear of the house where Faring and his Da lived.

  The teacher still matched his rapid pace without displaying any signs of exertion. Somehow that made Gareth angry, but he said nothing and fought to control his breathing.

  Gareth hadn’t visited Faring’s tiny cabin in a long while because Faring’s Da frowned on his lowly status as an orphan and silently discouraged all his visits. A vegetable garden surrounded the old cabin, used to plant different kinds of beans, berries, red and white turnips, carrots, and several other fruits and vegetables.

  Faring’s Ma had left the two of them long ago, dancing to the tune of a minstrel with a soft voice and pleasing smile. Faring’s chores included many his Ma used to do; planting, weeding, and caring for the garden, as well as preparing most meals. His duties at the tannery prevented him from spending much time in the garden. Usually, it was more of a patch of wild growth than the well-tended garden it appeared to be today.

  Barefoot, Faring knelt between rows of corn, furiously digging weeds from furrows with a hand-shovel stabbing the rocky ground and throwing each weed at least twice as far as necessary. The corn stalks stood head-high, with tassels turned brown and ears almost ready to harvest. One glance at the freshly overturned dirt between the plants and the pile of wilting weeds in the rows told of the hours spent working the garden over the last days.

  As Gareth approached, Faring spotting him and slowly stood, hands on hips. His eyes flicking from the teacher to Gareth, and back again. He threw a fistful of weeds to the other side of the corn as if in frustration, not caring where they landed. “Go away. I got lots of work to do.”

  “Never saw your garden look this good,” Gareth said.

  Faring kicked at the dirt with a bare toe. “Never had the time to care for it properly. Since the tannery closed, we got nothing but free time, so I work it all day while Da lifts mugs of ale at the inn.” Faring’s thumb jabbed in the teacher’s direction. “Why’s he here with you?”

  “He’s a teacher.”

  “I know who and what he is. I asked why’s he with you.”

  Gareth turned and faced the smooth-faced man in the green robe. “Perhaps you’d like to answer Faring?”

  The teacher turned and faced Faring. “My mission today, as always, is to educate Gareth. If he does not remain on farmer Odd’s farm where we can do our lessons, I must travel with him to pass along any meager lessons that I may provide.”

  Faring said to Gareth, “My Da thinks we might have to move down-valley near Queensgate. There’s another tannery there, and maybe he can co
mbine operations with the owner. Or maybe Da can get work there for himself. He intends to sell me for a hired hand to anyone with enough coin, for at least a year. Maybe after that, maybe we can live close enough to be friends again.”

  Sell? Faring? Gareth said, “What do you mean, he needs to sell you?”

  Faring hung his head. “I have few skills so I won’t bring much, but Da needs every coin he can raise to work out a deal, at least the ones left over after paying for his ale.”

  The teacher slowly turned, and he examined the tiny cabin. His eyes lingered on the state of disrepair of the roof, shifted to the rocky, infertile ground the cabin sat upon, and the teacher unexpectedly spoke up, “Learning a skill for a year might not be the worst thing for you, master Faring.”

  Both Faring and Gareth turned to face him. Teachers seldom volunteered information of any sort, and the comment came as a surprise.

  The teacher appeared almost confused by his own outburst, then stood up straighter before continuing, “My point was perhaps unwelcome, obscure, and thoughtless. I apologize. I thought that since this is not the most desirous plot of land on which to grow a garden, and it will not sustain you and your Da over time, certainly not the winter, a change might be in order. Your cabin is old, rotted, and unless I’m mistaken, termite infested. In a year, it will be a mound of wood pulp overgrown with weeds. On the other hand, a year of servitude for a young man, such as yourself, might teach you the beginnings of a trade to last you a lifetime.”

  Gareth took a step nearer to the teacher. “Are those the first words you have ever spoken to Faring?”

  “Possibly. I do not remember.”

  Gareth looked at his friend for confirmation. With Faring’s nod, he continued, “Last year the tannery was the largest and most profitable business in Dun Mare, other than the inn. They had money to buy food and pay the men working for them a fair wage. Now it’s closed, and the owner’s looking for a job in the lower valley while his son is to be sold as a slave for a year. Sold somewhere far away from Dun Mare, I’m guessing.”