Ancestry

Ancestry

By C. Jyl Parker

Roscha the Red folded her wings ever so slightly as she descended toward her mountain lair. Landing on the ledge to the entrance, she ducked below the rocky ceiling and entered the tunnel to check the nest of her three dragon eggs. It had been a century since she attempted a clutch, and for that matter, find a mate. Any day now, she would have three babies. She had mated with an older silver dragon from the Lost Hills, so the young ones would likely be either red, silver or a combination of the two. There was also the ancestry to consider, as her sires were not always red, nor were the ancestors of her mate all silver.

She entered the main cavern. To her left, an even larger chamber held her treasure hoard, a collection amassed over her two hundred years. On the right side of the cavern a large nest held her three eggs.

Except it didn’t.

Broken egg shards littered the nest and spilled onto the rocky floor. A panicked fire mass erupted of its own accord from Roscha’s throat, followed by a tremendous roar.

“Noooo!” It was as much a scream as a wail. Roscha scanned every inch of the cavern, then stomped over to the treasure chamber. Nothing had been touched there. Who could have done this?

“Humans.” She spat the word out and barreled back out of her lair, taking flight toward the nearest village. Why? Why would a human destroy her eggs? It had been decades since she or any dragon had molested the villagers and eaten their sheep. In her rage, Roscha belched another blast of flame that singed the treetops below her. A nearby lake surrounded by a handful of houses beckoned, and Roscha landed in a clearing by the shore. All that fiery explosion had left her thirsty, and she bent her long, scaly neck to the water and drank deeply.

Satisfied, she sat back on her haunches and planned her attack. The humans going about their farming duties had no idea what was in store for them. Her mind battled between the outrage and the nagging sensation that perhaps the destruction was not made by one of these humans. Could it have been a competing dragon? Her family had no love for the black dragons of the Obsidian Cliffs, nor the greens of the Deadly Swamps. And how could any of them have found her nest? Roscha had placed wards at the entrance to her lair when she first laid the eggs. No dragon should have been able to enter, and only a human with incredible dexterity and courage could have climbed the steep crags and smashed her dragon eggs.

Her brief musings were interrupted by a strange new sound. It was almost like a cat mewing, but not quite. The noise came from a clump of bushes further down the lakeshore. Roscha got down on all fours and crept along the sand. She didn’t detect any particular animal smell, but that could be because the pines and firs around the lake were so pungent. Rounding the edge of the bushes, Roscha gasped at the sight: a human child.

What was it doing here, alone by the lake? Roscha could exact her revenge by eating this small one, but she had another idea. Summoning her glamor ability, she approached the child. To him, and now Roscha determined it was a male from the aura of muskiness, she would appear as a human female.

“Come here, child,” Roscha commanded, using the sweetest tones she could muster.

The boy looked up from the pebbles it had been tasting and broke into a happy grin. Using his plump hands to steady himself, he rose from his seated position and, once he had his balance, padded over to Roscha. With upheld arms, he said, “Ma.”

She scooped the child up with one foreclaw, and with a bound, Roscha flew back to her lair. “I will raise this boy as my servant. That will be my revenge.” Upon entering the cavern, she deposited the now sleeping child in the nest where her eggs had lain. He was clad only in a long shirt. Thinking that he might get cold, Roscha heated some stones with her breath and placed them near him in the nest.

The next morning, Roscha left at dawn to get some food. What would a little human eat? She considered creeping into the collection of houses she had seen from the lake and taking some of their food, but ultimately she opted for a young deer. It was a simple matter to swoop low, grab the fawn in her talons and puncture its heart. It thrashed a moment, then went limp. When she landed on the ledge to her entrance, she tore the animal into smaller pieces.

“Don’t humans cook their food?” Roscha gobbled down all but a hind leg raw, then blew low, yellow flames on the remaining meat until the fur had burnt off. Satisfied with the results, she picked the leg up with her mouth and approached the child’s nest.

Except he wasn’t there.

In his place, a small black dragon baby snored softly. Roscha cocked her head to one side and peered over the sleeping form to confirm what she was seeing. She dropped the charred deer leg on the cavern floor and considered this new development. Where had the child gone? Had this interloper managed to slip past her enchanted wards and eaten the child? Or was something else going on?

She poked the baby with a claw. The little dragon opened his eyelids a slit, shook his head and then transformed into the human child. “Ma?” he ventured.

Roscha chuckled at the deception. Then the reality of her situation sunk in. She examined the broken egg shells to confirm. Clinging to two of the shells were remnants of scales from a red dragon and a silver. The third cluster of broken shells revealed two black scales.

“You’re not hungry, are you.” It was an accusation, not a question. Roscha recalled the original feud between the red and black dragon clans. The black dragons were notorious for their glamor ability, but Roscha was amazed that one so young could affect the ability. No, not glamor, this was an actual transformation.

“I will name you Beguiler.” Roscha stroked the child’s head, and Beguiler returned to his natural form. He stretched his small, nearly transparent black wings, yawned and nestled himself into a small, scaly black lump.