Chapter 4: BOOM!

Mid-morning, ten days later, when Murtagh, in Cormac's custody arrived, the stench of the rotting dragon had Murtagh covering his nose with his sleeve. For the last two days, in every village, Murtagh had heard the tale of the dragon. Nana greeted him at the gate, whispering only, “Ask to lodge in the eastern turret.”

He was taken immediately to Lord Togair.

When they were alone, Murtagh bowed low, mocking the great lord. “Have you made up your mind?” he asked. “Am I magical? Or not? First you condemn me to death, claiming that I am not magic but rather an imposter, a pretender, who deceives and cheats the people.” Murtagh's tone deteriorated with every syllable. “But now that a real dragon is rotting just outside your gate, now suddenly I am magical, and you have decided you need me to feed to the next beast that shows up. Magical or not, I am a dead man.”

Lord Togair stalked across the room, his head high. Still unable to bear a shirt, he crossed his arms over his chest. His height—he was a full foot taller than Murtagh—the arrogant tilt of his head, and his naked, well-muscled chest would have intimidated anyone else. But Murtagh—pushed and prodded by Cormac—had been in the saddle five days. Before that he'd spent two weeks in a prison brimming with rats, each morning scratching a mark in the wooden door, each mark bringing him closer to the day he'd be cooked alive.

Lord Togair growled out his words, sounding remarkably like the dragon. “You'll do what I tell you, or you'll hang tonight.”

“Go ahead. Hang away.”

Togair leaned down until his face was but an inch from Murtagh's own. “I have brought you here to find the magical person in this castle.”

“Really? How?”

Confusion flickered across Togair's face. “You were trained by the guild.”

Murtagh rolled his eyes. “Obviously, you know nothing about magic. And nothing about my training. I managed to reacquire my books from my jailers when Cormac-the-thug “rescued” me. Perhaps you'd like me to educate you.”

Lord Togair clenched his fists; his eyes threatened to bulge from his face. “You dare much for such a short man.”

Lazily, Murtagh strolled across the room. Retrieving an apple from a bowl of fruit, he took a crunchy bite. With juice dripping down his chin, and his mouth full, he mumbled, “I would like to lodge in the eastern turret.”

“A well-informed short man.”

Murtagh swallowed down the bite of apple, and loudly demanded, “I will eat from your own lauder. My clothes will be washed and mended by your servants. Each year I will receive a new pair of boots, two new changes of clothing, six pairs of socks, as well as pens, ink, and parchment in abundance.”

“I will not be dictated—”

Murtagh interrupted, “-And I will be paid the normal wage due a seer of my rank.”

For a full minute Lord Togair said nothing. Murtagh resumed eating his apple. “This is quite good. Exceedingly juicy. You must tell me how you store your fruit.” He took another bite. “Mmmm . . . ”

“Can you find the magical person?”

“How do you imagine that I do that? Magic does not dye a person's hair blue.” Murtagh put the apple core down and wiped his fingers on the lace doily covering the table. “I suppose it is fortunate for you that I possess a fabulous mind.”

Murtagh laced his hands together behind his back and stared down at the carpet on the floor. His voice lost its insulting tone. “The dragon tracked the seer to this castle. But we don’t know where the dragon came from, how far it traveled, or how fast it could move.”

“It but lumbered up the hill,” Togair interjected.

“Yes, but where was it before it was on the hill?”

“What do you mean?” Togair asked.

Murtagh began to pace. “Did it fly here?”

“No, I don't think it could fly.”

“So, a five-hundred-foot-long creature suddenly appeared. How? Where was it before it was here?”

“I see your point.” Togair said.

“My books  . . . ” Murtagh gestured toward the window and the courtyard beyond. “My books . . .  I believe dragons can smell the scent of magic a hundred miles away.”

“A hundred miles, three miles, why is that important?”

Murtagh sigh was half exhaustion, half exasperation, “That dragon was old, sick, and hungry. Wherever it was, before it was here, it probably wasn't moving. Dragons were known to hibernate. Sometimes for a hundred years.”

“Where?”

Again, Murtagh looked toward the courtyard. “That is still debated at the guild. I believe the current thinking is caves.” He sat in a chair beside the bowl of fruit. “If we postulate that the dragon wasn't moving, it must be that the seer moved, close enough for the dragon to smell him.”

Lord Togair leaned backward, a grimace crossing his face as his movements wrinkled the newly formed skin on his back. “And this is important why?”

“It means the seer is newly arrived at Castle Togair. We can begin by identifying every person who was here when dragon arrived, but was not here . . . ” He paused. “ . . . not here a year ago.”

“Very well.” Wearily Lord Togair waved his hand in the air, dismissing Murtagh. Damn, when would his back stop hurting? “Go.”

The esteemed seer did not move.

Lord Togair raised a single, questioning eyebrow.

“My pay?”

“I see no reason to pay a seer's wages to a charlatan.”

Murtagh pretended to sniff the air. “What a revolting stench hovers over your castle, my lord. Tell me, is there no one here who knows how to remove a dragon carcass?”

“I'll not pay a seer's wage.”

“Let me guess. Your men have been unable to move it. They can't lift the beast. They can't cut it up because its hide resists even the sharpest blade.”

The never-ending pain and Murtagh's annoying arrogance had Togair snarling, “You should be on your knees thanking me for sparing your life.”

“I'll need twenty men, no more. It will be gone by supper. That is if you agree to pay my full wage.”

“You are no seer!” Togair shouted.

Murtagh strolled up to the great lord and folded his arms across his chest. “And yet, I appear to be the only one who knows how to rid you of a dead dragon. And the only one who has any chance of finding the magical person you seek.”

Murtagh proved adept at giving Lord Togair's men orders. Already weary from burying their friends, but hating the stench of the dead dragon, they dutifully hammered iron pegs into the beast’s mouth, breaking its teeth. Into these holes they slid iron rods which they used as levers to pry open the beast’s jaws, quickly stuffing in logs to keep the dragon’s snout agape.  

Murtagh ordered the men to hollow out two logs, one twenty feet in length, the other twenty-five. Fortunately, that proved unnecessary. Two hollow logs of suitable lengths were found. The longer log was coated inside and out with oil. To coat the inside, the log was temporarily stoppered on one end, filled with oil, and emptied. These two logs they tied together so that at one end, the ends were flush, but at the other the longer log stuck out. Both logs, tied together, they thrust down the beast’s throat, the longest log closest to the ground. Only the enormous size of the beast—and thus the large diameter of its throat—and the strength of ten men shoving, facilitated this.

Using the longest log as a tube, Murtagh then bade the men pour oil into the beast’s stomach. This was accomplished after the snout of the beast was pried up and propped up, so that the oil would run downhill into the dragon’s stomach. Of course, the men mumbled and cursed Murtagh, “We already tried burning the thing. It won't light, not with all the oil in the world.”

When Murtagh demanded the blacksmith affix his large bellows to the end of the shorter tube, the blacksmith loudly shouted, “I'll not be giving you my bellows.” 

To every complaint, Murtagh's reply was the same, a curt, “Do as I command.”

But when Lord Togair also questioned him, Murtagh sent for parchment and ink and drew what he envisioned in his mind. Ever a perfectionist and having to draw with the parchment spread on the ground, he grew annoyed at the poor quality of his lettering, but the picture greatly aided his explanation. “Dragon’s only burn from the inside,” he said. “And then because they eat only magic . . .” The rest of his words were unheard by either Togair or the men, because Murtagh mumbled and turned away, speaking to himself.

“Why two tubes?” Togair asked.

“Great lord,” Murtagh did try to keep the sarcastic tone from his voice, but he probably failed. “One tube brings air in; one tube allows air to escape.”

“Air goes both in and out an open window,” Togair responded. “Only one tube was needed.”

At that arrogant pronouncement, Murtagh rolled his eyes, but held his tongue. Thankfully the men, having already rammed two logs down the dead dragon's throat, where none too anxious to remove one. They satisfied themselves with mumbling about useless work, and the logs remained in position, and the blacksmith did not get his bellows back.

As evening fell, when the preparations were complete, Murtagh bade Lord Togair and all his servants to hide within the castle, to shut and lock every window and door. However, the castle gate he enjoined them was to be left ajar. With only one man beside him, the blacksmith, who Murtagh decided should work the bellows he so loved, Murtagh lit the longer of the two logs, the one which had been soaked inside and out in oil. 

“Work the bellows!” Murtagh commanded.

Beside him the blacksmith furiously pumped air into the beast’s stomach through the shorter tube. As the bellows pushed in air, the fire burning inside the oil-soaked log flared, extending fully down the tube and into the belly of the beast. 

Murtagh glanced anxiously toward the castle gate. “Keep pumping,” he said as he took several steps backward. “You must heat its core,” he shouted. “Dragons were known to live in volcanos. Only the inside of the beast will burn.”

As foul-smelling black smoke flowed out of the longer tube, Murtagh backed up another ten feet.

The blacksmith coughed.

“Keep at the bellows!” Murtagh yelled.

Heat shimmered the air. The blacksmith, coughing violently, was forced to turn away, and catching sight of Murtagh now running toward the gate, dropped the bellows and bolted for the castle. He easily passed the much slower Murtagh. Barely had Murtagh darted inside and the blacksmith barred the gate when—

BOOM!

The dragon exploded. The entire castle shook. Murtagh and the blacksmith were knocked to the ground, incapacitated by a massive pounding in their heads and a sound, like a thousand ringing bells, which filled their ears. 

Inside the castle, bits of ceiling plaster rained down on the people, dishes fell to their deaths, tapestries hit the floor, plaster cracks appeared in the walls. In her room, still recovering from childbirth, Lady Togair, hid beneath the blankets. Next door, in the nursery, the closed windows and locked shutters were no match for the magic bursting out of the dragon. Nana watched as sparks of magic of every color, rose gold, violet and scarlet red, silver and lime green, flew through the closed shutters alighting on the babe, twinkling and disappearing into her, as she giggled and cooed. How brightly the sixteen stars on her arms shone. Twenty seconds later, it was over, and the corpse of the dragon completely gone. All that remained were scattered bits of burning wood.A bone-tired Murtagh moved into the eastern turret. Most of the castle was abed when Nana crept up the turret stairs and softly knocked on the door.

Murtagh quickly ushered her in. “Is there a magical person in the castle?” he asked.

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How easily the lie rolled off her tongue. “How would I know? I begged Lord Togair to bring you here to save your life.”

“You begged him! I'm to be fed to a dragon!”

“You were to be roasted alive!”

He nodded pretending to consider her words, “I see your point.” With a look that said she was obviously without wits, he added. “This is an immense improvement!”

“And here I was thinking you'd be grateful.” She drew her mouth into a grimace. Only if she had spit, could she have looked more disgusted. “Then I'll be guessing you won't be needing my help finding the secret passageways.”

“What are you talking about, woman?”

“Castle Togair was built with secret passages. They run behind every room, except the rooms in the royal apartments. From the passageways you can spy on almost everyone.”

“How did you learn about them?” There was that nauseating tone again, the one that said women were brainless.

“I've been here well-nigh 60 years. I know where Lord Togair hides the great seal.”

He grabbed her shoulders. “Where is the entrance?”

Roughly, she shook off his grip. “Oh, so now I'm useful, am I?”

“Is my life worth nothing? I must find this magical person before the next dragon comes.”

She had practiced her words, and her tone, and the tilt of her head. She was an actor upon a stage. “So, you believe that nonsense? Nathan, there aren't any more magical people. The dragon that stumbled here was daft with hunger and died on our doorstep. Its wits were addled.”

“I'd really like to believe you. But the convenience of a lie bends it not a wink toward the truth.”

Shrugging, as if she could care less what he believed, she pushed aside the writing desk. As she knelt on the floor, she said, “There are four entrances to the secret passages, one here, one in the servant's quarters, one in the barn, and one beneath the cliff. That one is the sea door. Come on, now. What are you waiting for? Help me.”

Together they pried up four floorboards exposing a hole and a ladder leading downward. She sat back on her heels with a self-satisfied look on her face. “Now I'll be needing a favor from you.”

“For this?” He gestured to the dark hole.

“No, Nat.” Her words were firm, but quietly spoken. “For your sister.”

He didn't look at her. When he spoke, his voice was harsh and filled with bitterness. He spat his words at her. “What do you want?”

“A tutor for little Saoirse. Lord Togair is not one to waste a cent educating a girl. But I have a fondness for her.”

“Very well. If I am still here when she reaches five years of age, bring her to me.” He grabbed her arm, pulling her none to gently to her feet. “And never speak of my sister again.”

Seven days later Lord Togair called Seer Murtagh to the great hall for a private audience.

“Have you found the magical person?”

“There were only four people here the day the dragon came that were not here last spring,” Murtagh said. “One, the young archer is dead. He was on the wall in plain sight when the dragon trudged up the sea road. If he had been the magical person, the dragon would have easily sniffed him out. The other three people, though they were newly arrived at Castle Togair, lived all of their lives within three days’ walk of the castle. Two are over 50 years of age, one is 33 years of age. If they were magical the dragon would have found them years ago.” Murtagh's tone changed becoming more thoughtful, while his eyes seemed to look inward. “My lord, I believe that we should be looking for someone who came from a distant land, probably by ship. Someone who clearly was not here, and nowhere near here a year ago.”

Lord Togair nodded. “I'll have the three quietly killed.”

Murtagh's head jerked up. Even seasoned as he was to cruelty, he was stunned by Togair's casual tone. “But, I, I, I am confident the three are not magical.”

Lord Togair raised his eyebrows. “I'll not risk this castle on your ‘confidence.’”

Later that same day, an accident befell each of the three. The two over 50 burned to death together in a house fire, and the 33-year-old man became entangled in his fishing nets and drowned.Days drifted into weeks and weeks into months and years.

Though Lord Togair never fully trusted him, he put Seer Murtagh, and the secret passageways, to good use. Every noble who came to negotiate a trade agreement or treaty Murtagh spied on. Yet, Togair often withheld Murtagh’s weekly stipend, saying, “You are short on answers.”

Murtagh gave the lord Nana's lie. “I have come to believe that the beast was crazed with starvation when it attacked Castle Togair. It smelled what it wanted to smell, like men thirsting in the desert see palm trees and water. There never was a magical person in the castle because there are no magical people.”

Yet Murtagh watched the servants, the guards, the villagers who came and went. At night he reread his books, the twelve books of the seers, bestowed upon him by the guild. The books confirmed what he already well knew, dragons were addicted to magic. If  there was a magical person in the castle, and if there remained one breathing dragon, it would come to Castle Togair, and the people, thinking him magic, would certainly throw him to the beast.Little Saoirse grew into a beauty with stormy blue/gray eyes and long tangles of blond, nearly white curls. She was so tiny, with small bones, her father once declared, “Daughter, you are all hair.” Thankfully, the sixteen stars on her arm never twinkled. Indeed, as age slowly took Nana's memory—where had she laid her thimble, what was the pattern for the new French style of lace—she wondered if she had seen the stars at all.

I should never have told the child.  . . . Oh, of course I should have told her. She sees the auras and who knows what she hears. She is her best defense, and I, I will soon be laid in my grave.

Every evening after Saoirse had changed into her nightclothes, after her hair had been combed clean, and her face washed, she begged Nana, “Tell me a story.”

“Oh, child.”

And her favorite story was the one Nana told about the dragon. “Please, Nana. I want to hear about the stars that came out of the dragon.”

“I canna tonight child. My old bones be tired.”

“I have an idea.” Saoirse hopped from her bed, her eyes shining. Taking Nana's hand, she pulled Nana across the room to the small alcove where Nana slept. “We'll do it backwards. I'll stand up, and you get in bed and tell me the story while you lie down.”

Chuckling, Nana obliged, easing her old bones onto the straw-filled mattress. As Saoirse knelt beside the bed, Nana began. “Seer Murtagh was newly arrived. He bid the men of the castle to bring two hollow logs.

Nana closed her eyes, but Saoirse bending close, whispered, “You have to say how one log was longer than the other, and one soaked in oil while one was not."

Nana opened a single eye. “Oh, I've got to say that, do I? What else should I be saying?”

Often on festival days, Lord Togair paid storytellers to entertain the family at dinner. Now Saoirse imitated them, acting out the story as she told it. She pretended to light the longer log on fire. Then shouted—actually she whispered, but she made it sound like a shout—“Work the bellows!”

With wide fright-filled eyes she backed up.

Nana couldn't help herself, she belly-laughed. “Oh, child. You've got that coward Murtagh down pat.”

Suddenly Saoirse turned and ran, pretending to bar the gate behind her. 

“BOOM!”

She wiggled her fingers in the air.

“And colored stars flew out of the beast and through my closed window. Why, they didn't mind the closed shutters at all! And they landed on me.”

She danced around the room.

“And how you giggled, lass.” Nana shook her head, smiling softly. “Babe though you were, how you giggled.”

Saoirse ran back to Nana's bed. “Am I really magic?”

With a kiss to her forehead and a finger over Saoirse's lips, Nana said, “You can see the auras and hear the music of life. Yes, child, you are magic. But you must never talk about magic to anyone else. And,” she added, “if ever your stars twinkle you must hide them.”

Saoirse nodded and repeated the words Nana had taught her. “Because people will be afraid of me.” With one disappointed finger Saoirse drew circles on the coverlet. “But I want to tell people.”

“Promise me, child. Dunna you tell.”

“Yes, Nana. I promise.”

Around Nana's head a smoky blue light hovered, the color of unshed tears.

“Nana, there’s a light around your head again.”

“Shhh, don’t speak of it.”

“But I think you’re sad.”

“What have I to be sad about? With you beside me, I couldn’t be happier.” She tucked a heavy lock of the child's hair behind her ear.

Saoirse watched the blue light grow even sadder, as if the light was made from fret. “Are you worried about me?” she asked.

“Worried? Never.” 

“Nana,” Saoirse stared intently, “there's a black snake in your aura.” 

“To bed with you. Off, you go.” Nana said in a brusk tone that meant Saoirse had to obey. “I'll not be hearing another word from your mouth. Not tonight.”

So Saoirse scrambled into her bed and shut her eyes, but she didn't fall asleep, not for a long time, because she knew what the black snake meant.

Nana lied.

I have added a Map of the Dragon Lands to the Glossary. 

 

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