By Evelyn Johnson
The crone’s home lies deep within the forest, so covered in moss and vines that I almost miss it. The old woman sits on a stool by her front door, hunched over a massive tome, running her fingers across lines of text.
I adjust my hood as I approach.
She barely glances up. “Welcome Salis, daughter of Lordfather Rhys.”
I swallow a gasp.
Her vibrant amber eyes meet mine. “Yes, I know you.” Her voice creaks like an old door. “You have come for magic. You seek a way to drive out the dragon that threatens the Lordfather’s villages.”
I remain silent and nod.
“Dragonsbane.” She reaches into her ratty pocket and produces three thick, woody leaves. “Cast these into the beast’s flame, close as you can. If it is truly a dragon, the smell will drive it back.”
If it is truly a dragon? I raise an eyebrow. What else could it be?
I snuff out the question before it takes root, focusing on the rest of the crone’s words. “Will it stay away?”
The crone hesitates. “Yes.”
“But?”
“But I fear we may face something more than a dragon.” She slaps the book shut. “Tonight’s sky will tell.”
She slides off the stool, standing barely as tall as my shoulders, and somberly hands me the three leaves. They’re surprisingly heavy.
“Hurry home,” the crone rasps. “The path is not safe after dark. Your betrothed would not want you to wander.”
I almost ask how she knows about Reylian, but decide not to. “Thank you.”
Sliding the dragonsbane into my pocket, I turn and leave.
***
Grass crunches softly under my dainty boots as I near the edge of the woods.
The forest around me gleams with twilight air, and the sky is a defiantly cheerful orange tainted with deep purple. A full moon edges higher as the sun retreats. I smile.
A distant scream meets my ears.
I freeze, hand darting to my pocket. It can’t be attacking again. Not so soon.
A plume of black smudges the sky ahead.
I run toward it. The forest opens on a small farming town sheltered by a stone tower. Several buildings are already in flames. People stream toward the forest path, lugging packs of belongings and tripping over themselves in their haste.
I rush through the small wave of panicked villagers. A few of them glance at me. None stop.
A dark shape swoops overhead.
Some of the townspeople scream.
The dragon, larger than a carthorse and blue as royal blood, alights on the side of the guard tower and screams its fury over the empty village. I dodge through bright orange tongues of fire, praying it can’t see me as I weave closer and closer.
I pick out one of the thick dragonsbane leaves as I run. The dragon continues to snarl over the village, watching homes flare golden in its all-consuming fire.
Its eyes fall on me.
I close my fist over the leaf, crushing it into a heavy ball.
The dragon leaps from the tower and crashes to the ground in front of me. Its impact throws me to my knees. Heat washes over me. When I look up, the dragon stands a mere ten spans away.
A dim orange flame flickers under its chin.
I hurl the balled-up dragonsbane.
The flame turns green as the leaf burns, and deep smoke rises before the dragon’s face. It chuffs, then snorts, retreating backwards down the street.
I push to my feet. The other dragonsbane leaves steady my shaking hands.
But… the dragon isn’t flying away.
If it is truly a dragon, the smell will drive it back.
It claws at its nose as if trying to escape the smell of the leaf. Its scales begin to pale—some patches fade into a pinkish brown almost like my own skin, while others retain their deep blue. Its body shrinks and deforms, twisting into something almost familiar. Claws become hands. Horns become hair.
The dragon lets out one final screech, which ends in a very human groan.
A man lies in the street, sides heaving, face turned away from me. His royal garments are ragged—and familiar. My eyes widen.
Reylian?
I look to the sky where a full moon stares back.
A were-wyrm. The legendary dragon curse hasn’t been seen in hundreds of years.
I dash forward, skirts threatening to trip me, and kneel by my fallen betrothed. Carefully, I turn him over, resting his head in my lap.
Reylian’s eyes seem hollow, and his chest constricts with obviously pained breath. “Salis?”
I pull him closer, running a hand through his uncombed hair. His breathing eases, and he relaxes in my arms.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I’m so sorry…”
I shake my head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
A dragon-like chuff escapes his lips, and he turns his head away. “What would I say? ‘I love you, my angel, and by the way I’m cursed’?”
I rub his shoulder. “Perhaps not.”
He sighs. For a moment, silence reigns as we absorb the shock of the evening. Fire crackles around us. Orange and black swirl together in the sky above.
“Perhaps there is a way,” I say. “A way to keep you from transforming, or at least to keep you from becoming destructive.” I hold out the dragonsbane. “An old crone gave me these leaves. It’s what changed you back. Perhaps she has more. There must be an elixir, or a counter-curse… Something that will help us.”
Reylian’s shrouded eyes flicker with a gleam of hope, though his face is still downcast. “Us?”
“Whether we find a cure or not, we’ll search together.” A smile cracks my face. “You’re still my betrothed, and I love you. Curse and all.”
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Another excellent story, Evelyn! I love how Salis is willing to stick by Reylian, even with his curse.
Great twist!
The pictures this story painted in my mind were vivid, great work! I also really enjoyed the idea of a were-wrym, it’s unique. And the loyalty was neat to read, too.
Lucy Pevensie reading this like “Wait, all I had to do was throw some leaves at Eustace??!”
Oooooo, we’re-wyrm, I like it. Like a Dragonborn but without the 24-hour scales! Thanks for sharing!
This was a fun one! When do I get to read your novel??
I love the twist! I didn’t see that coming! Another awesome story!