Song of Water
by Anna Madden
The cave was a prison cell and a nightmare. Inside, Nikal faced an opponent he couldn’t see. Cuts from talons and fangs laced his flesh. Nikal dared not wash them clean in the pool, wedged between rocks and dripping stalactites. Checking his left boot, he pulled a dagger free. Armed, he watched a shape in the water.
“Am I supposed to be afraid?” Nikal asked, trying to sound poised and cold.
Water splashed. “You are prey-born,” a female voice said. “It’s in your nature.”
Each breath felt precious. He had dangled helplessly from the blue dragon’s belly through the night to the blush of dawn, only to be brought to this abyss, the smell like rotten eggs.
The blue surfaced, watching Nikal with bright eyes, her pupils twin vertical slits. The dragon had sung herself a woman’s shape, losing the advantage of size and power. Whatever her reason, his chances in one-to-one combat were infinitely improved despite his wounds.
His blade’s hilt had warmed to his hand, but still, he hesitated. Dragons weren’t stupid. One fevered thought cascaded after the other. The unanswered whys outweighed all else.
He eyed the cave’s mouth on the far side of the pool. The blue couldn’t outswim him in her current form, or could she? He was weaker than he cared to admit. If he couldn’t run, he should save a fight for a last resort.
Better to try for a bargain. A dragon wouldn’t break their word, once given. Nikal shifted his weight, brushing his empty hand against the cave’s rock. It was slick, reminding him of spilled blood and slimy eggshells.
The blue pulled herself onto the pool’s edge, her curves unaided by cloth or leather. Sky-blue scales, like armor, webbed her skin. She was attractive in a defiant, stone-etched way. A small but possessive desire rooted within him, begging him to claim this prize. To see her dressed in smooth chiffon silks, perfumed by warm scents of chestnut and clove oil, her tresses tamed with star-like ornaments. He kept his lips still, his thoughts carefully hidden behind them.
Nikal leaned back against wet rock, feigning indifference. “Let’s discuss terms and part ways. I’ve a long walk back.”
The blue glared. Her cheeks drained of color. “I don’t make deals with egg-smashers. Men are but small flames, without honor and easily doused.”
“Kidnapping me wasn’t honorable,” Nikal said.
“You killed my hatchling,” the blue said, ice in her stare. “The first of my nest. In return, there must be payment.”
Light rippled across her scales, giving her a soft glow. Her eyes held his, and he thought of the battle, of dragons raining to the earth.
He didn’t waste air denying her claim. Men killed monsters, always had. No doubt her beauty was a bit of spellwork meant to lure him into compliance. Maybe he wouldn’t mind claiming her for his own, but on his terms—never hers.
Nikal studied her scales and looked for gaps. A direct hit to the heart wouldn’t be easy, but her abdomen and the main arteries in her limbs were perfect targets for knife work, especially on a smaller opponent.
He sprang up, ignoring his hurts, answering her with the keen edge of his blade, targeting her left forearm. The wound bled a trickle before it crystalized with hoary frost, sealing off.
Nikal froze. “What the—”
“Listen to the Song of Water and remember,” the blue said, drawing closer. She sang to him, her voice raw, full of sleet and heartache. Her wet hair grazed his cheek. He uncurled his free hand, as though to reach for it, to run his fingers through its long strands.
Memories flooded, pouring out notes of the past. Nikal saw wings beat up high and heard bow strings quivering like panicked voices. He yelled, ordering his men to kill the last enemies of the nest. A battle horn sounded as his pulse vibrated through his sword’s hilt. Newborn hatchlings crowded his feet, bloodied, their eggshells shattered.
It wasn’t that he didn’t remember what he’d done, but the emotions of a wronged mother flowed and ebbed through him, and tears rimmed his lips with salt until he hungered for a forgiveness he’d never earn. More, he saw an equal—a warrior with the grace of water, who fought in memory of love. She was strong because of the strength of her emotions, not despite of them.
The air was heavy, drenched with cold sweat and guilt. His vision filled with blue scales, so bright, like precious gems, their weight pinning Nikal down. His dagger was pried free and thrown aside. His arms encircled the blue even as her razor-sharp nails sliced into him.
If this was death, it was a trade Nikal accepted, for he could no longer see the dragon in place of the warrior she was.
_______________
Anna Madden is a Rhysling Award nominated poet. Her fiction has appeared in Apex Magazine, Haven Spec, Small Wonders, and elsewhere. In free time, she makes birch forests out of stained glass.
