Dragonslayer Read online

  But instead, she knew they’d tell him there was a sad accident while he was gone and little Wren got chomp-chomped by a dragon, too bad. And he’d be sad, but then he’d get over it, and everyone would LA-DI-DA off into their peaceful Wren-less futures.

  Moons above, Wren thought furiously as she wriggled her hands free from the ropes. They’ll probably tell him it was MY fault! That I was DISOBEDIENT AGAIN and THAT’S why I got gobbled! They’re going to make me into a story they tell other kids to make them behave!

  Now she was REALLY MAD.

  She yanked off the rope around her ankles and jumped to her feet. What she wanted to do most was run after the villagers and dragonmancers and yell at them some more. She wanted them to know they were unfair stupid stupidheads and that she absolutely refused to get eaten by a dragon and she didn’t even care if a dragon came and ate everybody else because they were all MEAN.

  Wren took two steps into the forest and stopped herself.

  If I run after them, they’ll just tie me up again, but tighter.

  They wouldn’t listen to her. They never did. The more she yelled and screamed, the less they listened. This was a fact she had noticed, but it only made her want to scream louder.

  Screaming right now would probably summon a dragon, though. Or the dragonmancers, with their cold fingers and scowling faces. Of those two options, Wren might prefer the dragon.

  She slid down the muddy bank and crouched beside the river, trailing her hands in the ice-cold water. Droplets flew up around her wrists, catching in the sunlight like diamonds tossed into the air.

  It isn’t fair, she thought, yanking a weed up from between the river pebbles. Why did they pick ME? Out of everyone in the village? Why did the dragons send a vision saying they wanted to eat ME?

  “I bet they didn’t!” Wren cried. “I bet the dragons don’t even care!” She plucked a rock from the riverbed and threw it at a bush on the opposite bank. “They’d eat anyone they found all tied up! If they could choose, they’d pick someone bigger and yummier than me. Like Camellia! She would make a much better sacrifice to the dragons! Why didn’t they pick her?”

  Everyone was always saying how SWEET Wren’s next-oldest sister was. She’d be so oily and sugary the dragons could choke on her.

  But the dragonmancers loved Camellia and the way she listened to them with her eyes wide and her fake “this is so fascinating” face on.

  Wren stared into the rippling water.

  “The dragonmancers would never choose Camellia,” she said out loud. “They chose me, because they don’t like me. And Mother and Father let them.”

  Of course the dragonmancers chose the loud seven-year-old who kicked Master Trout in the shins when he scolded her. The girl who stole their books and read all their secrets, even if she only half understood them. They’d be happy to get rid of her.

  And maybe Mother and Father were, too.

  Nobody tried to stop them at all. Not one stupid person in the whole village.

  She knew her parents were terrified of dragons and did everything the dragonmancers said all the time. But she still would have thought they might say, “Could you double-check that vision one more time? Are you sure it’s our daughter the dragons want?”

  Wren rubbed her eyes angrily.

  Stop crying. So people are terrible and can’t be trusted. That shouldn’t be such a big surprise, Wren. They’ve never stood up for you before. Nobody cares about you and so you shouldn’t care about them either.

  Well, I think I shall NOT get eaten, she thought. That will SHOW THEM. I don’t need a village! Or parents! Or any of them! I’m smarter than all of them and smarter than the dragons, too! I don’t have to be someone’s breakfast if I decide not to be. So there!

  But that meant she couldn’t go home. She could never go back to Talisman now that the dragonmancers had told everyone her destiny was to be dragon food and her parents had said, “Sure, that sounds right, fine by us.”

  She stood up, shaking the freezing droplets off her hand, and a flicker of motion caught her eye on the opposite riverbank.

  Instantly she crouched, her heart bursting into a gallop and screaming “DRAGON!” even as her mind registered that the animal, whatever it was, couldn’t be much bigger than a rabbit.

  She took a deep breath.

  It’s something little. Maybe my breakfast.

  She kept her eye on the spot where she’d seen it, but the movement had stopped. Cautiously, she slipped into the cold river and splashed across. The other side was rockier, covered in glassy black stones and small tangles of little leafless shrubs.

  The thing she’d seen was caught in one of those nets of branches that leaned out over the river. She crept toward it slowly.

  A rabbit would be great. Breathe, Wren. Don’t panic. It’s certainly not a dragon.

  It was a dragon.

  Or at least, it was a very small, pathetic, skinny miniature of a dragon. Its scales were the palest orange she’d ever seen, like a sunset painted on wool and then left under a waterfall or out in the sunlight for too long. She’d never seen a dragon so pale before — all the ones in the mountains were bright reds or oranges, and the ones that came up from the swamps were shades of mud brown.

  Its eyes were closed and it hung limply in the tangled bare branches, its wings drooping toward the river.

  Probably dead, Wren thought, and was surprised to feel a twinge of pity. For a DRAGON. What was THAT about. Feeling sorry for something that would probably eat her if it were still alive!

  Then again, it wouldn’t be able to fit much of her in that tiny mouth. It would take it days to nibble off her pinkie finger.

  She snorted, and the baby dragon distinctly flinched.

  It was alive!

  “Hey,” she said fiercely. “Dragon baby! Are you faking being dead? So that I’ll come up close and poke you and then you can eat my finger?”

  The little creature’s eyes fluttered slowly open. It glanced around, spotted Wren, and let out a squeak of alarm.

  She realized that it was shivering. She wasn’t sure if that was from the cold water or because it was scared of her.

  A dragon scared of me! I bet that’s never happened to any of those stuffy mean old dragonmancers.

  Wait. This dragon can’t possibly be cold. It’s a sky dragon; they all have fire inside them. It could burn up that bush in a second and fly away if it wanted to.

  “This IS a trick, isn’t it?” she said. “You want me to go, ‘aw, poor baby,’ and try to set you free, and then you’ll set me on fire and eat me! I see what you’re up to, little weird dragon!”

  The dragon tried to twist itself one way, and then another, but it was too snarled in the branches to wiggle free. It let out another pitiful squeak, its minuscule claws opening and closing on the air. It sounded like the kitten Wren’s brother had once found in the woods, which their parents wouldn’t let them keep because they wouldn’t be able to keep it quiet if there were dragons hunting overhead. “That kitten will be the death of us all!” was how they’d put it, in typical overdramatic grown-up fashion.

  “Squeak,” the little dragon said pathetically. “Sqrble. Eeeek.”

  “Stop being cute and tragic,” Wren said, crossing her arms. “I’m not falling for it.”

  The baby dragon sighed, closed its eyes, and stopped wiggling. Its wings drooped and its head flopped sideways. It looked like it had given up and was planning on lying there in the bush until it starved to death.

  “Oh, fire butts,” Wren said crossly. “All right, fine, but if you eat even one of my fingers I am throwing you in the river and I won’t feel bad about it.” She clambered out across the stones, feeling the cold water eddy around her bare feet. The branches kept stabbing her as she tried to reach through them, so she started breaking them off and tossing them aside until she’d cleared a path to the little dragon.

  It opened its eyes again and blinked at her in either hope or alarm; she wasn’t entirely sure. It
s face was more expressive than a lizard’s, but still not at all human.

  “What am I doing,” Wren muttered. But she reached through the sharp web of sticks and carefully untangled the little dragon’s wings, tail, and claws until it slipped free and tumbled into her hands.

  She jumped back, holding it at arm’s length. It was still trembling, sending little shudders through her whole body, and now she could feel that it actually was very cold. She’d obviously never touched a dragon before, but she would have guessed that they’d be warm or even burning hot, given the fire inside them.

  This one was so different, though. Its eyes were pale, watery blue, like a frosted-over puddle. It nudged her thumb with its snout and tried to bury its head between her fingers.

  Cautiously, she brought it closer to her. It immediately latched tiny claws in the weave of her dress and stuck its nose under her chin, shivering tragically.

  “Why are you all alone?” Wren asked it. “And why are you so cold?” She ran one hand gently along its side, and it leaned into her palm with a whimper. She’d always thought dragons would feel kind of scaly and slimy like fish, but blisteringly hot. Instead the dragonet’s skin was more like a lizard’s, smooth and cool and a little pebbly, especially the softer scales under its chin and wings. Wren touched one of the wings softly with two fingers and the dragon unfolded it to rest in the palm of her hand.

  She was pretty sure this dragon wouldn’t eat her. It looked as if it wanted a mommy more than a meal, or at least something warm to curl up against.

  Do dragons take care of their babies? Does it have a mommy somewhere nearby? Wren realized she had no idea. She’d been told to avoid mother bears with their cubs, and not to take baby birds out of their nests, but the only thing she really knew about dragons was to hide if you heard one coming.

  “Well, if you do have a mommy somewhere, she wasn’t taking very good care of you,” Wren said. She patted the little dragon’s head. “Don’t feel too bad. Mine is very, very terrible, too.” She felt a stab of deep, lonely sadness trying to sneak into her heart, but she shoved it back down under her anger.

  A roar suddenly split the sky overhead, and Wren ducked into a crouch. The dragonet clutched her in a panic, trying to burrow into her armpit.

  “Calm down!” Wren barked, although her heart was pounding like an avalanche. Now she could hear wingbeats coming closer — and she was still out in the open, here beside the river.

  She wrapped her arms around the baby dragon and bolted toward the trees. Dark green leaves enveloped them as she tumbled into the first large bush she saw and pressed herself against the trunk.

  Through the cracks between the fan-shaped leaves, she saw a rust-colored dragon soar overhead. Its yellow eyes glittered as it swung its head back and forth, studying the ground. The air crackled with heat and tiny flames curled from its nose.

  It’s hunting, Wren thought, her heart going even faster. This is the dragon who would be snapping me up right now if I hadn’t gotten out of those ropes.

  She squinted through the leaves and noticed a mark on the dragon’s face — an odd burn on its cheek that was smoking as though it was brand-new.

  “ROAR!” the dragon in the sky bellowed. “ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAR!”

  It sounded almost human, although that was a bonkers thing to say about a dragon’s roar. But there was something about it that reminded Wren of her mom calling her name whenever Wren had a tantrum and went to hide in the trees. This dragon’s roar was like that; it sounded mad and frantic and worried at the same time.

  Yeah, right, Wren thought. As if dragons can have that many complicated feelings! A roar is just a roar. It probably means “WHERE’S MY DINNER HUNGRY NOW” and that’s it.

  She wondered if dragons cared about their babies, or if they ever threw them out to die. Maybe they were actually better parents than humans. Maybe they fought to protect their kids.

  If my mom came back and called for me right now … would I go to her? Would I let her take me home, if she said they’d made a mistake?

  No, Wren decided. Because they could change their minds again tomorrow. Now I know they could throw me away anytime for no reason. So they can never, never have me back.

  The baby dragon in her arms squeaked the tiniest squeak and wrapped its tail around her arm. Its face was completely hidden in the folds of her dress and it was shivering again.

  “Shhh,” Wren whispered. “It won’t hurt you, but it’ll definitely eat me if it finds us.”

  Another roar shook the leaves, and the baby dragon squeaked again, small and tragic.

  “Unless …” Wren thought for a moment. “Do you know that dragon?” she whispered. “Is it the one that threw you in the river?”

  She knew the baby dragon couldn’t possibly understand her, but something about the way it trembled made her think the answer was yes.

  Was that its mother? Did she get rid of the baby — and then change her mind? Or is she making sure it’s really dead?

  Whoever it was, the baby was clearly scared of it.

  At least someone is looking for you, Wren thought, hugging the little dragon closer. But I won’t let them take you and hurt you again.

  The red dragon swooped around in another circle, glaring at the river, and then kept flying, following the river south and east toward the sea.

  Wren let out a breath and nudged the baby dragon’s head up to look at her.

  “It’s gone,” she said. “I won’t let it find you. We’re safe.” She glanced out at the vast, dangerous sky and the unfriendly wilderness that stretched all around them. “Well … kind of sort of safe. As safe as a seven-year-old and a baby dragon can be all alone in the mountains anyway.”

  The tiny creature blinked its large, trusting eyes. Its trembling abruptly stopped, and it put one small paw on her hand. As if it was saying, Yes. I am safe now; safe with you.

  Wren smiled at it. This was still a pretty terrible plan, saving a baby dragon who would probably eat her just as soon as it was big enough. But she suddenly didn’t care. She had a feeling someone had decided to toss aside this baby dragon, exactly the way her parents and her whole stupid village had thrown her away.

  People are awful and untrustworthy and mean, so I’m going to make friends with a dragon instead. My dragon is way better than any person I know, so there.

  “We don’t need anybody else, right, little dragon?” Wren said, stroking one of its tiny ears. “If they don’t want us, we don’t care. We can look after each other, can’t we?”

  The dragon squeaked again. Even though it couldn’t understand her, it was still a better listener than literally everyone in her village.

  “I’m Wren,” she said. “Do you have a name? It’s probably something like Rawrgllorf, isn’t it?”

  “Squeak,” said the dragon.

  “Well, I can’t call you Squeak,” she said. “When you’re big enough to eat me, I’m pretty sure you won’t like that name very much.” She ran her fingers lightly over his smooth scales, the color of the palest sunset over the mountains. “I think you’re a mountain dragon, even though your color is a little wrong. How about Sky? I kind of like the name Sky.”

  The baby dragon poked its snout into the center of the palm of her hand and made a little snortling sound. Wren giggled.

  “I think that was a yes. Hello, Sky. When you grow up, will you burn down my village for me? Especially the dragonmancers’ houses. That’ll show them. I’m going to grow up on my own just fine and then come back and be like, ha! I did NOT get eaten by dragons and now my pet dragon is going to eat YOU, take THAT!”

  Wren lifted Sky to her shoulder, where he curled around her neck, closed his eyes, and fell into a peaceful sleep.

  She had no more family, no village, no people to take care of her. She knew she could never trust a human again.

  But she didn’t need any of those things. She had a dragon of her own, and she was going to be better than fine. Together, she and Sky were going to be
amazing.

  One could say that Leaf did not like dragons, but it would be more accurate to say he hated them with a fiery burning passion.

  He’d disliked them from the moment he was told, “No, you cannot play outside today; the dragons are restless.” His entire life was all about rules for avoiding dragons, placating dragons, hiding from dragons, not annoying dragons. He couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without a dozen warnings about the dragons, and if he was ever a minute late getting home or played too long with his friends after school, his parents would think he’d been eaten and lose their minds.

  It was stressful and it was frustrating, and he couldn’t even argue that they were overreacting because people from the village of Talisman did get eaten sometimes.

  But he didn’t want to live like a scared rabbit forever. He didn’t want to become one of the grown-ups who were always yelling at kids for being too loud or hiding all wrong. He didn’t want to spend his whole life just trying not to be dragon food.

  “Follow the rules,” his mother said. “The rules will keep you safe. Do exactly what you’re told. Listen to the dragonmancers. Never ever ever ever be disobedient.”

  “Disobedient children get eaten,” his father would agree. “We’re always in danger, do you understand? It’s a dangerous world. Dragons everywhere. It’s a miracle we’ve even lived this long. We’ll probably all get burned up in our beds tomorrow.”

  This would always make Leaf’s little sister roll her eyes and whisper, “Well, how are we supposed to avoid that by following the rules? Is there a rule about sleeping in less flammable pajamas?”

  Wren didn’t even try to follow all the rules. Leaf would run straight home from school, and then turn around to discover that his sister had been distracted along the way by an extra-adorable chipmunk, or she’d heard a weird noise in the woods and gone to investigate (“You don’t go toward the weird noises!” their father would shout), or she’d thought of a new question for the dragonmancers and gone to bother them. (“The impertinence!” their mother would say through gritted teeth. “You don’t ask questions. No one speaks to the dragonmancers without permission, least of all nosy little girls!”)