Hydra (13 page)

“It had been damaged, either when it hit the water or the rocks below, or in the shiftin’ currents over time. But our eggs are leathery, ye know, not so brittle as a chicken egg. In spite of the years that had passed, she held out hope I’d hatch, and I did. But me knees were bent and me hands,” Ed holds them out. The night is dark, but he infuses his greenish glow in the malformed limbs, and now I understand. “They were never quite right.”

I slip my hand over his and the glow dies down. He gives my fingers a familiar squeeze and continues his story.

“Some say, ‘tis a dragon’s wings that are the last thing to form in the egg, like a caterpillar turnin’ into a butterfly. I dunno if ‘twas the injury to me egg, or the long hibernation in the cold water, but I never got me wings.” His voice is sad now, and mournful.

“Seeing as how I couldna fly, me parents feared for me safety more than most. Time passed, a generation of men came and went, and me parents took back their castle, but they knew another attack could come at any time. I loved to swim. Probably from me time marinatin’ in the loch. Our eggs are porous, too, so the water got in and shaped who I am. I loved the water and I could swim as well as any dragon could fly, so we made our plan. If our castle was attacked, since I couldna fly to safety, I’d hide in the loch.”

He falls silent.

I don’t want to ask, but it seems almost cruel to leave him stuck in this spot, in the most painful place. “Is that what happened?”

“Aye. Me parents fought while I hid. When the battle was over, they’d slain their enemies, but me father was dead and me mother on her last breath. I did for her what I could to make her comfortable, and I got to say goodbye. ‘Twas all.”

I squeeze his hand again, this time a long squeeze almost like a hug. “I’m sorry.”

He squeezes my hand in return. “So am I.”

I feel pain for him, terrible pain at all he lost and the long loneliness he’s endured since. But at the same time, the thing that’s pounding in my chest isn’t sorrow, but a question I’m almost too afraid to ask.

But I
have
to ask. I mean, I can almost guess at the answer already, even though it’s not the answer I wanted it to be. So I have to know for sure, because otherwise I might assume the wrong thing, and maybe I am wrong, maybe I’m worried for nothing. So after a long silence in which I battle with myself over whether it’s necessary to ask, and then make up my mind to do it, I finally put together some words.

“Ed?”

“Aye?”

“So does that mean, even though you don’t look like a regular dragon, you’re not something else? A hydra’s not a separate thing? You’re really a dragon?”

“I’m as much a dragon as ye are.”

“We’re the same kind, then?” My pulse is pounding through every vein in my body, screaming in a fit of silent terror he can probably feel clearly since I’m still leaning against him, my face pressed to that lovely dip between his shoulder and his chest.

“Aye.” He tenses slightly beneath me, probably because of the anxiety pouring out of me. “Does that trouble ye?”

I’ve got to get to the bottom of this. I don’t
want
to ask. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like the answer, but I
have
to ask. I have to know. Knowing might be terrible, but at least then I’ll have the facts so I can figure out how to proceed. “Did you know my grandmother, Faye Goodwin?”

“Faye was yer grandmother? Aye, yea, I knew her well. Her parents and me parents were acquainted, and made provisions that she and I should be betrothed. But when she met me and saw I was damaged, she didna want me, not as a mate. We stayed on friends a bit. I hoped she might someday change her mind about me, but then she disappeared and I never learned what happened.”

I’m breathing heavily now, battling these facts as hard as I fought the yagi.

Ed is a dragon.

He’s the dragon my grandmother knew, the dragon we came to Scotland to find. I should probably fill him in on what happened with my grandmother, but I’ve got to know something else first. “Are the Sheehys dragons?”

“Nay. They’re me people, the last of me parents’ faithful tribe of old. They keep me castle for me and make their livin’ lettin’ out rooms to guests. It gives me cash flow to buy cattle without dippin’ into my treasure hoard. They’re good folks, but nay, they not be dragons. Yer mother asked me the same thing.”

“Was that what the two of you talked about?”

“It was one thing.”

“So she knows?”

“Aye, she knows, and she told me the reason for yer visit. I told her she didna hafta to stay out her reservation, now her hope of mates for yer sisters was gone. The castle gets a waiting list in season. We can let out yer rooms to someone else.”

“You think she’ll be heading home, then?”

“Sounded as though she might.”

“I see.” So, then, my mother knows. And my sisters probably know by now, too, or will know soon—maybe they weren’t in on the purpose of our visit, but I’m sure they suspected something was up. And if my mother decided to cancel, she’d likely explain why. She’d explain everything, since there would no longer be any point in keeping it a secret.

I don’t like it. Zilpha will be disappointed when she learns the truth, since she’d put so much hope in finding a mate.

But the only available mate is Ed.

The truth hits me so hard I sit up straight and gasp.

“What is it?” Ed sounds alarmed.

“You could marry Zilpha!”

“Yer sister?” Ed asks, as though there might be some other dragon woman named Zilpha in need of a mate.

“Yes! She wants to marry. She wants a mate, a dragon. She wants to make dragon babies.” I look at Ed. It’s pretty dark out, the moon a pool of silver mirrored by the sea, the stars distant glimmers winking at us between wisps of cloud, so I can’t see his face clearly. But what I can see does not look nearly as happy or relieved as I might expect of a man who wanted to marry years ago but was shut down and now finally has a chance.

If anything, he looks…sad?

I squeeze Ed’s hand. “Don’t you want to marry and make dragon babies?”

“Aye. Been wantin’ that for many a century.” But he still doesn’t sound happy or relieved, and his eyes, which were glowing with vibrant color moments ago, fade until I can hardly see their light. He turns his face away from me. His voice has gone cold and distant, like the depths of Loch Ness.

I’m not sure why he sounds that way. What could possibly make him anything but thrilled at this moment, when the thing he’s been wanting for so long is now within his grasp? I grapple to find a reason. “Biologically speaking, that’s something you can do, right?”

“Aye. All I lack is a willing mate.”

“Zilpha is a willing mate. An
eager
and willing mate.”

“I dunno that she seemed keen on me.”

“That’s only because she didn’t know there was a mate available, or if she had figured it out, she thought the Sheehy brothers were dragons. Once she finds out
you’re
the dragon, she’ll be keen on you.” I squeeze his hand again and try to stop my nervous babbling. “Come on, then. It’s a great idea, right?”

“Nay. I appreciate your concern, but I do not want to marry yer sister.” Ed’s voice is still cold, edged with pain.

I don’t understand. “Why not?”

“Because.” He turns to face me and looks into my eyes. His are green and lovely and lit like gemstones with a fire from within, glowing much brighter now, so that I can see his face, or as much of it as isn’t covered by beard. “Wren? I love ye.”

I drop Ed’s hand as if I’ve been stung. I may have even given a little yelp.

Maybe more of a scream.

Judging my Ed’s expression, it was a scream.

Hopefully I didn’t sound too terrified. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

Too late. The glow leaves his eyes and he turns his head away.

I don’t know what to say to him. What can I say?
Don’t take it personally? It’s not you, it’s me?
Considering how long Ed’s been around, he’s probably heard those lines before. I can’t do that to him. But what can I say?

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“Nay.” He doesn’t look at me. “I’m sorry. I should not have said anythin’. We were gettin’ along fine and now…”

“No, it’s my fault. I pushed you to say it. I should have kept my mouth shut. I just didn’t think you were going to say
that
.”

He looks back at me, but the darkness hides his expression. “I thought I’d communicated as much these last few days, takin’ care of ye, and all. I guess I dunno how that works.”

I stare at him a long time as the truth soaks in. Yes, of course Ed loves me. How could I not see that? He’s been attentive to my every need, he’s been gentle and sweet and considerate. Maybe he hasn’t done the typical love things like bringing me flowers or chocolate, but he’s given me raw fish and headless cattle. For dragons, that’s much the same thing.

He’s told me he loved me in every way but with words.

And maybe, I realize with regret, thinking back to the many times I’ve held his hands and leaned on the comforting strength of his shoulder, maybe I’ve been telling him, in every way but with words, that I feel the same way.

Even though I don’t.

I can’t. I mean, I. Just. Can’t.

Something wrenches inside me, more painful than tired muscles or a rock-sore seat. I can’t love Ed. He wants to marry and I don’t want to marry. He wants dragon babies and I don’t even want to think about wanting dragon babies. I’ve been taking advantage of his kindness, letting him fight my enemies for me, letting the yagi drag him down into the sea in my place, but I can’t love him.

But before I can attempt to explain any of this to Ed, he stands.

I haul myself to my feet beside him. “Where are you going?”

“Shh. I thought I heard somethin’.” He’s looking out to sea, past the rocks, into the vast blackness, dark waves tipped with silvery moonlight.

I see nothing but endless ripples and waves.

“Get the knives out the backpack,” Ed whispers softly as he draws the broadsword from its scabbard.

I need to talk to him, to explain where I’m coming from and assure him my feelings aren’t anything personal, to fill him in on my grandmother’s choice, as well, which I understood to be about her own position, not wanting to be a dragon at all anymore, rather than a response to his deformity.

But before I can say anything, the sea breeze carries a hint of an odor that’s different from the brine of the sea.

Sea yagi.

Their stench is a little like the regular yagi and a little like the worst low tide odor ever. I’m far, far more familiar with it by now than I ever wanted to be.

I step back toward our bags and pull out the weapons we brought, which seem so feeble compared to real swords. But they’ll have to be enough. It’s all we have.

I put the knives—long, dagger-like knives with blades nearly a foot long—on a rock, then slip the backpacks on over my shoulders, glancing about to make sure we haven’t left anything behind. Ed’s got the water bottle clipped to a loop on his kilt. We’ve got everything we brought, if we need to make a quick exit.

Gripping the knives, one in each hand, I walk back and stand beside Ed, facing the lake, staring out at sea, studying each glimmer to determine whether it’s water or yagi.

The first one leaps from behind a boulder. It’s closer to me, but Ed steps toward it and severs its head in a single slash.

I’m impressed. The seam between the head and body of the yagi is a narrow gap hardly big enough for a sword. You have to hit it at just the right angle. It took me years of practice to learn to execute regular yagi properly, and a bit of adjustment to adapt the move to sea yagi.

Ed got it right on his first try. But then, I figure he’s probably had decades, even centuries of practice with that sword, even if he wasn’t using it to fight yagi.

The next creature bounds through the darkness from Ed’s other side. With only one sword, he has to swing it across his body. The blade glances off the yagi armor once, twice, before severing the head.

By now I can hear them coming, even if I can’t see them in the darkness. I hear the clatter of their exoskeletons and smell their stench.

And then they swarm, pouring over the rocks in streams, balancing on their two feet, clambering with their extra sets of hands, grasping, grasping, too many hands. I’m slashing, trying to aim, lunging to reach them since the knives are shorter than the swords I’m used to.

With two knives, I adapt my swing. Instead of beheading two at a time, I lunge right, then left, then right again, whipping my blades and ducking back to behead another. It’s an effective maneuver, though I wince each time at how close I have to be before I can use the short blades, and the water yagi are crawling up from the sea in ever-larger numbers.

I miss my swords.

Ed moves further away from me as he swings his mighty broadsword. I understand that he doesn’t want me too close to the powerful blade in action, but I still feel exposed without him at my back.

When steaming yagi heads are as numerous as the stones as our feet, as the yagi pour forth faster, I leap atop a tall rock and scream to Ed. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

“How?”

I look out to sea. The water is vast, immense, filled with many yagi. I decapitate two more as I make my decision.

I’m not going out there.

“Ride on my back!”

“Yer too tired.”

The yagi are swarming thick around me. “Just get over here!” I shriek. I can’t argue any longer, but swell and change, growing into a dragon.

Ed bounds across the rocks and leaps onto my back.

He is so heavy.

I strain upward. Taking off from low ground with no wind is always hardest, besides which these are water yagi we’re fighting. They grab my talons and cling to me and try to pull me down. I kick my legs and fling them away, lifting off, circling wide over the rocky shore, catching what little sea breeze I can find, fighting gravity and exhaustion as I circle back again, three times around in circles as I slowly glide and climb, each inch higher a strain on my sinews, until I’m high enough to top the sheer cliff.

We land among the trees. I can go no farther, but change back into my human self.

Ed props me up and I cling to him, never mind that less than an hour ago he told me he loves me and I told him I don’t love him back, and clinging to his shirtless chest is probably not the best way to reinforce my detachment. I simply cannot hold myself up without him. I need his strength.

“Think we’ll be safe up here?” I ask, panting.

“That’s a steep cliff, close to a hundred feet high, with nothing to hold on to climbing up,” Ed assures me, and I recall that he explored the area before it grew dark. “There’s no way up that I could see. We’re safe from them, but I don’t know what else might be up here.”

I nod, but on the inside I’m not so sure. If the yagi are part octopus or squid, who’s to say they can’t climb up the cliff like a spider? I don’t think they have suction cups on their hands, but neither can I rule it out.

I’m struggling to catch my breath, and maybe some of the raggedness of my breathing is due to my shaky emotional state. Ed is way nicer to me than he needs to be. If you’ve been keeping track, he declared his love for me, and I rebuffed him, and then he fought yagi to keep me safe and he worried that I would be too tired to escape (which I essentially was, so you can’t fault his assessment), and now he’s holding me close when he could be pushing me away and pouting.

Ed is not a pouter. I appreciate that about him.