Black Scales

Every evening, the small children were sent to the shore to collect the dragon scales.

When the pink warmth and light of the evening had finally faded, mothers kissed chubby cheeks and held back tears. Some shot fearful glances towards the lake, and others were steadfast in avoiding looking in that direction.

Without fail, before darkness blanketed the valley completely, the bigger children had pummelled the smaller ones and taken their irridescent haul. Many of them were too old for this venture, or getting that way. They collected no scales at all for themselves. An older brother would push his chubby younger sibling forward, and hang back afraid. Perhaps he would be alert, ready to protect his little charge from other children. Or maybe not.

When they got home with their pockets bulging treasure, maybe their parents knew full well where their brutish offspring got such a fine assortment of scales from. Or, again, maybe not.

Orla didn't have an older brother to protect her. Not anymore. Instead, she folded herself up between two large rocks, hidden from sight, and listened to the sounds of bullying and bargaining coming from the shallows. Punctuated, always, with anxious whispers of "Shh! It'll hear you!"

It was normally more sluggish at this time of day, but the rumours were that it was nesting - the first time in many years - which meant it would be unpredictable and aggressive.

The bickering faded, night deepened, and Orla waited, thinking of her bed. It would be so easy to sneak back now. Get up early and come back before it got light. The scales were near-impossible to see in the dark, and no one dared carry a lamp so close to the Lair. Especially not now.

Orla knew she couldn't go home empty-handed again. The bruises from last time still flared a sickly yellow across her skin.

Early in the morning, before the sun warmed the rocks, Orla emerged stiff from her hiding place, and rubbed the grit of tiredness from her red-rimmed yes with the heel of one hand. Glancing around to check the cost was clear, she picked her way between the trees and headed towards the lake.

Out here, by the water, it was misty and chilly. A shiver raised gooseflesh on her arms. Grit stuck to her soles. She trod carefully - she didn't want to find the scales with the sensitive skin on the bottom of her feet. Finding a likely spot, she squatted and searched through the silt and pebbles for a flash of greenish silver, or red, or better yet - black.

Black scales were the most highly prized, being near-indestructible. Some said the King was making a suit of armour from them.

Nothing.

She ventured closer and closer still to the water, finally hunkering down in the shallows, her brother's old clothes turned up at the bottom to keep them dry. The piercing cold on her feet and ankles smoothed to milky warmth after a while.

For the last four days, she'd used this strategy - searching while the sky lightened, instead of fighting with the other children at nightfall. As long as she was home before her father woke - and that would be late into the morning, for sure - and as long as she had something to show for her trip to the lakeside, all would be well.

Her fingers were tinged blue from the wintery chill, but her pockets were still empty. She looked across the lake, to the shore on the right, where everyone said the Lair lay. Staring and straining her eyes for the movement of a leg, or an unfurling of a wing. Maybe - surely - I will find some there?

It was dangerous to get so close, even for the little ones that the dragon seemed to have no appetite for. Orla didn't see that she had a lot of choice.

The closer she got, the worse the smell. A musky stink competed with smoke and a tang like melting stones. On the edge of it, bad eggs and charred wood. It was like a physical thing, a wall blocking her path. Breathing through her mouth didn't help; it stung her throat and made her want to cough and gag. Swallowing hard, eyes streaming, she forced one cowardly foot after another.

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To be concluded tomorrow

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