The Debt Must Be Paid in Full

My chest tightened; it was squeezing my heart to a standstill. Every muscle in my body seized. I held my chin high, and looked serene, just as my mother would have. My steely hair up in a bun on top of my head, just like she wore hers. I look like her from the iridescent scales that run down my midnight colored shoulders and thighs to my fingers, overly long for a human with fingertips more talon than fingernail. Still in moments like these—a very human cold sweat rolls down my back. My breaths are short and shallow enough to remind me that I am not a fierce, powerful half dragon who commands fear and respect. I’m just a lone hatchling of a meager 13 years. For three seasons I’ve been running my family’s inn—the exact number of seasons that have passed since my father died of grief.

The inn’s small dining room was made smaller by the crowd of bodies cramming in for the lunch rush. Goblins, pixies, elves, all pushing and clamoring to be heard, even the few centaurs that waited at the window were snorting and grumbling. To think The Copper Kettle, a dank shadowy spot in the Spiny Woods was once a refuge to me. It’s been in my father’s family since before the treaty of the realms was signed into law. My ancestors negotiated the first trade agreements with the dragons of Black Mountain, opening the land to settlement. My father used to say those early covenants served only to make the dragons wealthier and all the other creatures of the land poorer and more depraved.

Nevertheless, those early bids for land endeared the Croon family to the dragons. If it weren’t for that he never could have married his beloved, my mother, Onyx, more than a hundred generations later. He wooed her endlessly with songs, poems, jewels and feats of daring; but dragons are very particular creatures—such that even half dragons will only marry into the oldest bloodlines. When retelling the story of how he finally won his bride over, Father would always wink and say, “There are secrets of the land that only the oldest families know and we’d all like to keep it that way.”

I drew a breath, deep and slow, to calm my heart and my mind.

Think. What would father do now?

It came to me as a distant but distinct memory. I reached into a small unlabeled jar hidden among the bottles behind the bar. My fingers, long and nimble took a small pinch of fine and silty black powder from within. I brought my still pinched fingers to my pursed lips and blew out a breath, long and steady. As the dust spread and filled the spaces around each of the customers they succumbed to its power and slowed to what any onlooker might perceive as a halt. The time pepper worked is magic and I worked mine. Cooking backed-up orders, preparing the unmade rooms for new guests, and bussing dirty tables for new diners.

When the dust settles

I miss my parents most when I’m in the kitchen. Mother and I always cooked together while father would run the front of the house. He had a gift for dealing with the guests. He haggled with dwarves, kept an eye on the goblins and made sure the pixies ordered food rather than just eating the table scraps of paying customers. All I have left now is an egg. The only egg of mother’s last clutch.

I served the packed dining room and as the dust settled it became lively once more. From table to table I moved and served, more apparition than innkeeper, when a gravelly voice spoke and cold hand that felt like wet leather clenched my wrist. It was a goblin, probably one of Malodor’s underlings.

“How is your brother, child?” his grey and yellow teeth were like jagged rocks protruding from the bog that was his mouth. Every word made my nostrils flare and my stomach wretch.

“Has he hatched yet?” The squat, long eared, hairy, hunched creature spoke the words like one long “h” sound. “Malodor reminds ye the debt must be paid in full.”

I snatched my hand away from his grasp and narrowed my metallic green eyes. “The debt will be paid, cretin. You can tell your master I need no nurse maid, and I expect you to pay for your meals with coin not threats.” Every idiot knows a deal made with a goblin must be honored. Their pacts are sealed with magic and any who tries to deny a goblin his due suffers painfully for an eternity before dying.

“Malodor expects a full report, hatchling. I must make a visual inspection to ensure his interests are secure.”

A low growl rumbled in the back of my throat as I conceded, “Fine. Follow me.” I led the way through a maze of back rooms reserved for plumbing, storage, and inn keeper’s quarters. I stopped at the narrow door constructed of a single plank of knotty greenish-grey wood. Just seeing this door made my heart wilt, this is the room where my mother died, behind this door is the egg that she died for.

I opened the door allowing the red light of a single heat lamp to spill into the dark interior corridor and flicked on another light. There in the center of spread blankets and piled pillows sat a single egg that stood about as tall as the seat of a dining room chair. Its shell was a pale blue color speckled with flecks of yellow that seemed—I drew in a breath so sharp it felt as if I’d been stabbed in the chest.

The spots on the egg were turning orange. My brother would be hatching in just a few days and Malodor the goblin crime boss of the south would take him to repay father’s gambling debt. My scales bristled at the thought.

“The boss will be pleased with this news,” the little imp beside me taunted. “See you soon, innkeeper.”

Clarity in the fog

The hours that passed from that moment until the tables were cleared and all the boarders were in their rooms passed like a numbing fog. I walked to the small closet, a place of death soon to become a place of life. Stepping inside I collapsed to the floor and wept in heaving sobs that exhausted every muscle. I looked at my brother’s egg and mourned, mother was lost to childbirth, father’s heartbreak led from depression, to gambling, to death and now my brother… What fate could Malodor have planned for him? A life of servitude until he grows large enough to have his bones, scales and hair harvested for sale?

I’d always hoped, I’d save enough from the inn’s earnings to pay someone to kill Malodor before I settled my debt, or at least steal my brother back from him after; but there was no way. No one in the south would stand up to him, not for the small sum of coin I could offer, and now there was no time to seek out someone in the north.

I crawled across the padded floor as I have a million times looking for a spot to lay down where mother’s scent might still linger. Finding a good place, I curled up on my side, only to get jabbed in the ribs by something sharp. Feeling around with only the heat lamp for light I found a book. My eyes adjusted for the low light the way only a dragon’s could. The hardened leather cover of the book was embossed with the seal of mother’s family, a dragon outlined in the stars. Below the seal was the word “Recipes”.

My insides began to warm and flutter as the scents of mother’s stews, roasts, and teas wafted through my memory. I opened the book turning each page with reverence. I made it just past the center of the book when a pressed flower fell from between the pages. I held it between two fingers careful not to jostle its many tiny bunches of petals. It was pressed on a page that had a drawing of its likeness, labeled elderflower. The recipe beside it read:

Dragon Brew

A halfwing or even a quarterwing may take on full dragon form with this potent drink.

Be forewarned there is no tincture strong enough to bring one who is less than one quarter dragon into full form. (Therefore producing such a feeble creature should be avoided).

Furthermore, the effects of the brew for a halfwing will last from one sunrise to the next, but the effects will not last more than three hours for a quarterwing.

Grind 1 bunch of dried elderflower blooms to a course powder.

Pour 1 cup of boiling water over elderflower powder.

Add 1 gram stone chippings from Black Mountain.

Steep 8hrs.

Tincture can be stored for one moon cycle.

My mouth hung open. I had my answer. I could protect my brother. I’d give the hatchling to Malodor, in that I’d have no choice, goblin magic is binding; and any attempt to break such a contract would end in agony. But now I’d be strong enough to make Malodor return him to me.

The only trouble would be the stone chippings. My heart hammered as I tore through the pantry inspecting every jar and vile finding nothing. Next was mother and father’s room, again—nothing. Traveling to Black Mountain was out of the question, I had no means of travel and even if I did, by the time I arrived my brother would’ve hatched. I’d be too late.

I felt my breath becoming still as failure submerged my heart in anguish. Exchanging one pain for another I drove my fist into the wall and immediately regretted it. The sensation that rattled through my bones, made me sink to my knees clutching my arm. Every wall of the inn was thick with soft plaster, the interior walls were thatch and the exterior walls were stone. This interior wall, unlike the rest was very thinly plastered and beneath the cracked veneer was… black stone.

Of course!

Why would mother, a halfwing, leave herself and her young totally powerless to defend themselves? She wouldn’t. I peeled back more damaged plaster and went to work chiseling chips of the rock away to complete my recipe.

When the brew was complete and steeping, I finally rested and dreamt of what it would be like to have a full complement of scales, wings, and a tail.

Tick Tock

Each passing day the egg showed more orange spots until the shell began to crack. Every day Malodor sent a new lackey to inspect it and report back.

It was late into the evening of the fifth day when a peculiar crunching and chirping woke me. With eyes that were open but still in the fog of not-fully-alert I crept over to my little brother’s egg. Little, pudgy, slate grey fingers with tiny black baby claws on the end peeked through to tug down a bit of eggshell.

In silent wonder, smiling my first smile in so many moons I watched the hatchling brake free. Finally, I wasn’t alone; but if things didn’t go exactly according to plan tomorrow this joy would be short lived and long regretted. I took him into my arms and nursed him with the mixture I prepared from mother’s recipe book. Already the boy looked like father with warm and generous eyes. I held him through the night, watching his every breath, too afraid of what may come to give him a name, never-mind sleep.

Malodor

In the morning Malodor was at the inn sitting at a table like he’d been there all night, “It’s time to pay your debt in full.” His voice was raspy with phlegm.

Having my baby brother on my hip, nowhere to go and no stalls to make, I simply walked over to Malodor. His sinewy green arms looked moist and covered in something viscose, each hair on his arms was thick and hard like the bristles of a brush. His long green ears pointed at the ground probably weighed down by the massive gold hoops he wore in them. His gnarled mouth and beady eyes smiled at me as he received what he was owed.

Powerless, I gave the expected reply, “Indeed the debt has been paid in full.” I walked away to the bar taking each step with measured control. “Have a drink?”

“No,” he snarled as he pulled out his own flask. “I’ll not be poisoned today, child.”

“It’s just as well,” I said swallowing my cup of brew.

Before the goblin’s eyes scales began to form a dense armor over my body. Wings jutted out and took shape, just as a thick tail began to stretch itself from my backside whipping itself about. The goblin boss of the south, a shrewd dealer, and master of unfavorable contracts, sat unphased and drew a long slow drink from his flask—still holding the unnamed baby in his other arm.

In full dragon form with stretched wings I asked, “The hatchling is yours now. What will you do with him? Perhaps use him to pay tribute to the full-grown dragon who holds your life in her talons?”

“Perhaps,” replied the goblin smiling. “Perhaps, I’ll eat him, and you can try separating his remains from mine.”

I growled and Malodor snapped his fingers. His imps flooded the inn pouring in through doors and windows. By now they knew the inn as well I did. The goblins were an army. I’d never seen so many in one place. I couldn’t stop them all, even if I could the struggle would cost my brother’s life. I roared but it sounded hollow. All my efforts had come to nothingness, being a dragon was useless.

That’s when I saw it. The small bottle that had helped me through so many lunch and dinner rushes, time pepper. My tail swept wide and flicked the little vile smashing it to the ground. With deepest breath I blew the dust into a cloud. The goblins were stuck in place as one, their eyes darting from wall to wall. The most frantic of all the empty black eyes were those of Malodor.

A low rumble rolled in the pit of my stomach, and I remembered I hadn’t eaten in days. Having had my fill of goblin meat (which tasted the same way it smells, but slightly peppery), I picked my baby brother up and said “Your name is Onymagnus, after our mother and father. Grow fast hatchling. I’m going to need your help.” Together we rested and dreamt of what it would be like to be a family.

Time to go

When I returned to my natural quarterwing form I went to work. News of Malodor’s end would travel quickly, and I needed to be ready, I needed to make more brew.