Arrowhead Mountain

The mountain reached straight up from the floor of the vast forest, tearing a hole through the thick canopy, like a giant arrowhead, poised and ready for the call to battle. Unlike the forest below, the mountain was bare, no life could cling to its jagged surface. Well not quite. In plain sight it clung to the cliff, its wings spread across the face, absorbing the morning sun but reflecting nothing back to betray its presence. The large dull scales, its sharp edges, the unblinking slit of its eyes, the absolute stillness of its body, gave nothing away to even the keenest observer. It stayed there for hours, days, surveying its domain, like the predator it was.

The ancient beast had made this mountain its home many years before. At over a thousand years, it was feeling its age and had come there to die. When the time was right, it would burrow deep into the mountain and bring the rock down on top of itself, leaving no trace. But that was not for now. Now was for enjoying the peace far from its war-ravaged home. After eons of fighting its kind were diminished, the war was coming to an end. There will be no victor, there will be no celebration; these dragons only acknowledged victory or loss, right or wrong. For all their power and intelligence, their own arrogance was bringing about their demise.

It was late winter, but the aroma of spring was already beginning to fill the air with early blossoms. The evergreen trees would soon have to share their space again with the fresh new leaves of their deciduous relatives, Dragon took no notice, it had seen it many times before, it did not wonder at the repetition of nature. It wanted something different, a break from the mundane. When it was hungry, it would take what it wanted, if its food walked on four legs or two made no difference, its only concern was to stay undetected, so when need pressed, travelling to a different region for sustenance was prudent.

Dragon had taken an interest in the local village, its kind only took notice of humans when humans learned how to kill them, before then dragons considered men as nothing more than vermin and sometimes food. Now, these small upright walking creatures had weapons and ingenuity and ever-increasing numbers. They had changed the landscape and surrounded the dragon lands with farms to grow their own food. They had burrowed into the earth searching for the stuff that they needed to make their tools and weapons; the dragons did not see the threat from such insignificant beings until too late.

Daily, Dragon watched as men travelled through its forest. Sometimes at night, when the moon was absent and the sky ink black it flew over the village, its silent flight only concerning the ever-watchful owls. The villagers never travelled the forest road at night and would make vast detours to avoid it. Late one dark night, it spied a horse with two nearly indistinct shapes astride it. They were human but only small ones, and they were hunched over as though asleep. It could smell the life still in them. Normally this would be an easy meal, and horse would placate its hunger for a week, but this was an interesting turn of events and it wanted to know more.

The horse clopped along at a slow pace until the bodies lurched to one side and fell to the ground with a thud. The two bodies rolled away from each other, and it could now clearly see that they were woman and child. Dragon fell from its perch gliding down over the trail and landing quietly behind them. The bodies stayed motionless, but the horse was at full attention snorting and clopping a hoof on the ground to get its master’s attention, aware of danger and ready to bolt. Dragon was still, wings tucked back and its body flat on the ground, staring through the dark at the scene before it.

In time, the child began to move and with a whimper, dragged itself up and went to the woman. A noise began emanating from the small one that Dragon instantly found annoying, like the giant bats that infested the caves of its homeland. The child was pushing at the limp, lifeless body, crying ‘mummy, mummy, wake up’. This irritated the dragon even more so. Why were these beings so feeble? ‘The mother was dead, eat it and move on’, Dragon thought to itself in frustration. Having had enough, the horse bolted.

Soon though, the woman began to move and with some effort stood on shaky legs and spoke to the child, and though it was in whispers, the beasts’ excellent hearing missed nothing. She told the girl to go and find the horse. Without question, she did as she was told and wandered along the trail calling for the mare. Then the woman did something completely unexpected, once the girl was out of sight, she walked to the ancient oak tree that loomed behind her just off the trail, circled the enormous trunk, lay down among the leaves that had accumulated around it and proceeded to cover herself. Dragon was shocked. This was not normal human behaviour. It moved forward quietly to improve its attitude, then, though it could barely believe what it was seeing, the woman produced a dagger and slit her throat. She did it with such fluidity, like she had practiced her whole life.

In more than a thousand years of living, Dragon had never seen such behaviour. Is it a human thing to take one’s own life? Its kind certainly wouldn’t waste their life like that. Death should come in glorious battle, or life would leave when it was time. It watched the blood flow freely from the wound, the hand holding the knife silently falling into the leaves. One could hardly make out the face, which was still uncovered, but she had picked the perfect place to be never found.

Almost too late, Dragon heard the fall of hooves rounding the bend and like magic it was gone. The young girl came calling for her mother, dragging the fearful horse behind her. She stopped where she had last seen her mother and began calling into the dark, clear and strong to get the woman’s attention. For some time, the girl persisted but eventually the strength left her voice, and it trailed off as she fell to the ground crying, her knees tucked under her body and her head resting on the dirt, convulsive sobs wracking her small body.

In time the sobbing stopped, and she rolled onto her side clutching her coat around her for warmth and finally succumbed to sleep. Back on its rocky perch, Dragon kept vigil. Soon dawn would reveal everything to the child. Dragon pondered. It could eat all three and go on with its preparations for the inevitable end, but that could be a long time. Dying of natural causes was not an exact thing. It could eat the horse and let the child fend for itself. That had the most appeal to its empty belly; humans weren’t very appetizing and these two were so small. Once you rip their garments off, there is little left. There was another idea, tickling Dragon’s mind somewhere way back, but it was too absurd, and Dragon tried to ignore it.

***

The old woman patiently waited while the child slept, humming a song while she petted the horse which was also waiting patiently for the child to wake. A loud snort from the horse did the trick and she jumped with a start and fearfully staring up from her prone position, saw an old woman gazing back. “Ello deary, I am so happy you’re awake, I think yer ‘orse is thirsty. Come along and we’ll see what we can find you to eat, yer must be hungry.” As she spoke, she reached down and with unreasonable strength for such an old woman, heaved the child onto her feet and onto the horse in a single simple move. The girl was still groggy from sleep and could not form words to argue, the idea of her missing mother was still minutes from her consciousness.

As they meandered along the trail, with the woman still humming her tune, the horse’s hooves keeping time, the young one was looking up, mesmerised by the giant trees. She seemed to ask the forest a question. “Where is my mother?” The voice was matter-of fact, emotionless, not that of a child who had misplaced a mother. “What do you call yer ‘orse, deary?” “Oh, Mary. Mary the mare. Mother once thought that was funny. She doesn’t laugh much anymore. Have you seen her? I lost her last night. She wasn’t there when I came back.” The girl still hadn’t looked down, but looked up like in a trance, she spoke in a monotonous drone, her body gently rocked by the movement of the horse. “Well, what do ya know, my name is Mary too. Isn’t that funny?” The woman continued to ignore her questions. The girl dreamily persisted. “Where are we going?” “My ‘ouse is not far. We ‘ave to make a deviation up a ways, but not far.” “Thank you, Mary.”

The rest of the journey was relatively silent, the nightshift of crickets chirping, and owls hooting replaced by day birds calling each other awake, bees beginning their relentless search to feed their queen. They turned off the trail and soon came to a shambled shack, leaning against the base of the mountain. It looked as abandoned as the young girl felt, windows boarded, the porch falling at an awkward angle from the building, a tree grew against the side of the shack as if trying to stop it toppling.

Leaving the girl on the horse the old woman stepped onto the porch and dragging the door ajar disappeared into the dark. The child waited, and in no time the shack began to come alive. A glow of light could be seen through cracks in the timber, and smoke rose from the crumbling chimney. Mary returned and helped the girl down. “Oh dear, silly old me, I didn’t arsk ur name child.” For the first time the girl looked into the eyes of her saviour and saw a deep emerald-green shining back at her, and suddenly was both in awe and uneasy in the old woman’s presence. “My name is Katrine,” then unexpectedly out loud she asked. “Are you a witch?” The woman laughed and placing her hands on Katrine’s shoulders exclaimed, “no dear, not at all, far from it, though them townsfolk up the road think it. Mind you I have me tricks to get by. I know me ‘erbs and such to keep well.” Then she winked and added, “how do you think I’ve lived so long?”

The shack was a single room, with bare boards as a floor, a bed made of seemingly random tree branches and a lone chair. The rear wall was the stone of the mountain and the fireplace had been built around a natural fissure in the rock. Mary guided Katrine toward the hearth and went about tidying, pushing dust off shelves and windowsills then brooming it into the corner. She gathered up the tattered bed clothes and took them outside to shake off the dirt. Coming back in, she laid the blanket down and bashed the old pillow, adding to the dust cloud already filling the room. “Now you need some rest child, and I don’t got no food for ya, so I’ll wander into town and see what I can barter for. Ya, look like you need some fattening up.” “What about my mother?” Katrine asked, her eyes moistening with long held in tears. “I’ll ask around. Peraps she went there looking for you! Don’t you worry yerself Katrine, it’ll be fine. Now go and lay down, I’ll leave old Mary to look out for ya.”

Katrine lay on the bed and watched as the bent over old woman shuffled out of the room, wedging the sagging door closed as she went. The girl heard Mary talking quietly to the horse and then slowly drifted off as her body absorbed the warmth of the fire. Outside, the old woman was talking to her namesake, and though she spoke softly, her tone was threatening, and as she stared into the eyes of the horse, the animal began to shift and grunt in agitation. Mary, the woman, began her journey to the village, singing the same tune as before.

***

Walking through town, the traveller made his way to the busy market being run in the centre of the village. He inspected the produce on offer, poking and prodding the fresh fruit, accepting samples of cured meat and fish when offered, with a jolly thank you, exchanging banter with the vendors, and tossing coins to them when he found something that took his fancy. Following the rows of vendors, he came across a stall which was larger than the rest, brightly decorated and full of all manner of goods. He suspected this person had some sway in the town. He stopped to strike up a conversation with the merchant. By the look in her eyes, the traveller could tell she was shrewd and nosey, she would know every happening in and around town.

“My good woman, this is quite the store you have here.” “Why thank you sir, I don’t believe I know you. You’re not from around here, are you?” She asked, ignoring his hollow compliment. “No, no, I come from a place far to the south, certainly nowhere as lovely as this region. I have seen some wonderful scenery. The nature here is quite beautiful.” “So, what brings you so far from home?” She enquired shifting her stance to be more square with him and folding her arms. She clearly didn’t trust outsiders and his charms were not winning her over. “I call myself an artist, I draw what I see, and when I can, I sell what I draw, if I find someone with an eye for good art. It has enabled my travelling ways. I have seen the beautiful and the bizarre, the exquisite and the extreme. For example, the extraordinary mountain that rises like a great weapon from your woods, it’s so…dramatic!” “That would be Arrowhead Mountain. It is best seen from a distance, all manner of ill emanates from those woods.” Her gaze momentarily diverted to the distant peak, and her mood darkening noticeably. “There’s talk of witches and dragons and such. Not that I pay it no mind.” She added. Surprised, the traveller inquired. “What, you don’t have dragons here? The mountains near my home are full of the beasts.” Then, lowering his voice, he leant toward her and added, “I am almost ashamed to say, but it is why I left. Dangerous life to be had in the shadow of dragons.”

The seller was awestruck. “They’re not real! Are they? The traveller remained silent but stared back steadily. Something in his eyes told her it was true. A panic crossed her face. “Do you think they live in our forest?” The man chortled, “no, no, you won’t find them this far north, it is far too temperate here. They prefer colder climes.”

The woman began throwing question after question at the traveller, calling other sellers and villagers alike to listen. Soon there was a crowd surrounding the man and he was enjoying the attention. As if to prove his story, he produced drawings from the satchel slung over his shoulder, intricately detailed sketches of fearsome winged beasts. The pages were passed around amongst the crowd and soon coins were flowing his way as they were greedily snatched up by willing customers.

The crowd began to thin as he ran out of things to sell and stories to tell, but before they left, he asked the group a question. “Can someone tell me? I passed through the woods last evening and I could swear I heard a child crying. I searched the area but I’m afraid I found nothing. Has anyone here lost a child?” Somebody laughed and questioned his sanity for travelling through there at night. Nobody entered the forest at night, but no one knew of a lost child and suggested he was mistaken. Wolves perhaps. He took their advice with good humour.

The traveller and the seller were as they began, together alone, only now his satchel of pictures was empty and his purse full of coins and her status among her peers had been elevated for introducing the mysterious traveller. “Well, that was a surprising turn.” He exclaimed happily. “I have never had such a frenzied reception, at least not such a positive frenzied reception.” “Have you not been received well in other towns?” she asked. “Not everyone is excited by talk of dragons, especially those who have felt the heat of their fire. So with that my good lady, this has been a most excellent day, your village has accepted me with such warmth, but I must continue on my way, I still have much to see.” “Where do you wander next?” The seller asked, eager for more excitement. “I saw a rather large oak tree back in those woods. I believe I can draw its story. It has lived a long time and seen so much, I’m sure it has much to say.” “Well, you won’t catch me going in there this late in the day, so farewell to you and good luck on your journey.”

They parted new friends, and the woman handed him a small cloth bag, full of fresh berries, in gratitude for his most interesting company, and watched as he cheerfully made his way back into the dreaded forest.

***

Mary, the mare, was jolted with fright when she realised Mary the woman was next to her, as if from nowhere. “There, there old girl, I won’t eat you. I promise.” Mary entered the shack and was surprised to find Katrine awake and tending the dying fire. “Ello deary. Sleep well?” “Thank you Mary, but no I didn’t sleep well. You have you been gone a long time.” “Oh, it is quite a walk for these old legs, but I brought you back some delicious things to eat. A lovely pork pie fer now, eggs and bacon fer breakfast tomorrow, I got milk and butter and some nice crusty bread. Oh, and I nearly forgot, look at these juicy ripe berries. Everyone at the market were going on about em.”

Mary led Katrine onto the porch where they sat and shared the pie. Katrine devoured her piece in seconds and with pleading eyes, looked at Mary for more. The old woman offered her portion and greedily, Katrine grabbed it. “Oh well, I don’t really like pie much. I might fetch some water, you’ll need sommin to wash that down with.” Mary left Katrine for a short while and when she returned, she found her talking to the old mare. “Don’t you go believing anything that ‘orse tells you. I been right kind to ‘er.” Katrine looked puzzled. “I talk to her all the time Mary, but I know she doesn’t understand me.” The old lady chuckled. “Oh, yes, of course. You don’t speak ‘orse.”

“Mary… did you see my mother? I’ve been fretting for her.” “No child, no one seen yer mother. I arksed all round and no one seen anyone that looks like your mother.” There was a long silence as the young girl dropped her head and sobbed quietly. Mary and the horse exchanged glances in the stillness, allowing the girl her moment, then Katrine broke the silence. “How do you know what my mother looks like?” Mary wasn’t sure if the look in the girl’s eyes was fear or anger, perhaps it was both. “I…I, uh, I described you, but taller!” The woman clumsily replied. “But I have dark hair and my mother’s is light. Her eyes are blue, and I have my father’s brown eyes.” “Well, I were just guessin’.” Katrine looked at the old woman, studying her closely like she was finding it difficult to focus on her features. “You don’t live here Mary, do you?” “This place is mine fer sure!” She exclaimed. “But you don’t live here. No one has lived here for a long time. The dust everywhere, you had no food, it’s falling down! Who are you Mary and where is my mother?” Katrine was nearly screaming at the old woman. The pieces of a bizarre puzzle were coming together, and she was becoming fearful for her life. “Do you know what happened to my mother? She loudly and emphatically asked Mary, her young voice echoing off the mountain wall.

Mary cocked her head, considering her next words carefully, “I will tell you what I can, but first tell me why you and your mother were travelling through my forest alone a night.” She had dropped her unrefined regional accent, and spoke calmly, clearly, eloquently, and not like an old forest dweller. The young girl was confused but answered anyway. “We were running away.” Katrine whispered. Mary said nothing. “From a man.” The girl added. The old woman found a spot on the porch, but still said nothing.

Katrine took a deep breath and began the long sad tale that led her there. She began with the death of her father, who had been killed in a bloody duel with the man who would become their pursuer, the king’s son. She told how, after the death of her husband, her mother entered a sadness that she could not rise from and when the prince demanded that she marry him, he who murdered her only love, her mother chose to flee. With their pursuer not far behind, the mother decided to chance entering the dark forest, hoping the prince and his entourage would likely not follow until daybreak. She finished the tale with her dragging the horse back and waking to find Mary. After a pause, she asked once more, what happened to her mother.

Mary looked at the small girl, standing before her and wondered how much information she could absorb, without losing her mind, and running off wildly into the woods. “You are correct, I don’t live here. In fact, this is the first time I’ve been here since… I live in the mountain and that will have to suffice for now. I was there when you and your mother fell off your horse. I watched as you went to retrieve Mary, and I continued watching as your mother left the trail and entered the woods. It would seem your mother’s sadness got the better of her. I don’t understand how humans think.”

Mary made this last comment as if to herself, but it was not lost on the child. “What do you mean? What are you? You are a witch!” “No child, I am not a witch, I am not of your kind.” Katrine became rigid and Mary could sense the fear rising in the young girl. She knew her next move was either to fight or to flee, and as strong as the girl seemed, she was certainly not big enough to fight anything. Mary continued, “I am nothing you need fear and if you allow me, I will show you. We will have to do something with the mare though, she already knows my true form, but seeing me may be too much for her.” The woman untethered the horse, and whispering in its ear, sent it on its way. She turned to Katrine and said, “Mary will be fine, we will find her later. The olive colouring of Katrine’s skin had drained away leaving her face as pale as her mother’s. The young girl desperately wanted to run, but her feet seemed rooted to the spot and her knees began to buckle under her, so she fell to the ground, eyes fixed firmly on the phasing image of the thing before her. Through chattering teeth, Katrine asked, “What are you?”

The one who called herself Mary, the old woman who stooped, bent with age began to rise and seemed to unfold her body before the cowering girl, her tattered clothing, fell to the ground, and like a veil being removed Dragon showed its true form. Katrine was now staring at the stuff of her nightmares. Fables told by her father of brave men slaying fire breathing, winged beasts, celebrated as heroes by their countrymen, which once filled her dreams, was now standing before her.

With fearful eyes, the girl studied the animal from tip to tail, taking in every detail, the long snake-like tail, the large dull green scales, one wing spread wide with its translucent membrane showing fine bones radiating from the main arm. The broad chest heaving with breath and finally the giant spiked head, with glowing emerald green eyes and its mouth full of sharp rows of teeth.

Initially this revelation was nearly too much for the young girl to comprehend. Her body was struck still with fright while shaking involuntarily at the same time. Katrine should have feinted from the ordeal, most sane people would, but something struck her. As she examined the creature before her, she realised it fell short of the terrifying stories told by her father. It was barely ten feet tall, standing fully upright, fifteen if the tail was added. The wingspan was barely that of its height and though it could easily obliterate a small thing such as herself, Katrine now found it suddenly underwhelming.

Dragon watched as the child rose from the ground where she had been cowering to stand steadily and walk toward her. Katrine was now mesmerised by the dragon, walking close, studying the skin up close. “Do you mind if I touch you, Mary?” Surprised at the sudden change, the dragon flinched at the suggestion, “Yes, I suppose…if you would like to. My name is not Mary though.” “What is your name,” Katrine asked as she gently ran her hand over the belly of the dragon. “I don’t have a name. We know each other by sight and by scent, there is no need for names. It can be difficult to speak clearly when one is flying, especially while being pursued. We recognise markings and such things. “Are you all this size?” Katrine asked casually. “What do you mean by that Katrine?” “Well, you are not as big as I had been led to think. My father told stories of giants that ruled the skies and put fear into the heart of all that saw them.” “I am not the biggest of my kind. There are those perhaps double my size.

Katrine continued circling the beast, running her hand along its body, then asked casually. “Are you a girl dragon?” “Katrine, I believe you are the type of human who bares offspring, yes?” The girl blushed and giggled, betraying her youth “Yes, when I am older perhaps.” “Then yes, as I am one which lays eggs, I am a girl dragon.” “Do you have children? Oh, may I please call you Mary?” The dragon smiled. “Yes, you may call me Mary. It would be nice to have a name before I die.” “Are you going to die?” Katrine came fully around Mary, to face her, concern furrowing her brow. “My fire died; it is why I came here. I have lived through over a thousand winters, and dragons rarely live past that number. To die in battle is something every dragon dreams of, so most don’t get to my age.” “How did you, Mary?”

Katrine stepped back from Mary and sat cross-legged on the ground, waiting for a reply. “I stopped fighting is why I am alive today.” Mary began. “When I was young, I was fast and could outfly them all and fire was my weapon. I would out manoeuvre my enemy and hit them with my fire. Battles could last for days at a time, but one day…” Mary raised her other wing and Katrine saw the hole torn through it and gasped with shock. “I could still fly, but my days were numbered. I began watching the battles and realised there was no reason to fight, our only prize was extinction. The last dragon standing won. Our arrogance would be our downfall.”

Mary gently fell forward to lay on the ground, her large, spiked head nearly touching the girl. “How can you look like old Mary.” Katrine spoke quietly, but her eyes were wide with wonder. The dragon looked away from the girl. “Dragons can mimic what we consume.” Katrine’s look of wonder was quickly replaced by that of fear, and she scrambled backward in a vain attempt to distance herself from her predator. “You ate Mary?” “No, I think her name was Anna. She had lived alone in this cabin so long, that she had forgotten her name. She was the first human I ever spoke with. We became friends.” “How can you eat a friend?” “Because she asked me to. For nearly ten winters, we would meet. Often, I would become human for her. We would eat together; we spoke of many things. She asked that when she died, I was to eat her so that she may live on in me.”

Katrine had been silently listening and regaining some of the composure she had lost. They stayed quiet for a long time. Eventually standing up, Katrine moved and crouched over the giant head and pointedly asked. “Did you eat my mother?” “Your mother took her own life.” The dragon softly replied. “Did you eat my mother?” “The wolves would have ripped her apart.” “Show me.” “Katrine, please, no. I won’t.” “Show me, now!”