The Return of the Dragon (3 page)

Niko, perched on a rock overlooking his flock of nine sheep and four new lambs, was worried. It was a beautiful day, warm and lazy, the sort of day that Niko usually liked to spend napping in the sun or sitting in the shade of the trees, daydreaming of all the things he’d like to do or be. Perhaps someday he would be the captain of a swift red-sailed ship, traveling to strange and distant lands and coming home laden with gold and silver and jewels. Or a great warrior in a glittering helmet topped with dyed horsetails, setting off to battle the Persians. Or best of all, a brilliant philosopher in a long white robe, discovering the answers to all his many questions: What are the stars made of? What causes rainbows? Why does the moon change shape? And—if a boy built himself a huge pair of feathered wings—would he be able to fly?

Today, however, all the questions seemed to have flown out of his mind. He was wide awake and alert, his eyes fearfully scanning every rock and tree, the fingers of his right hand pleating and re-pleating the hem of his short tunic. A monster was loose on the mountain.

First, sheep had begun to disappear. Two had vanished from the flock of Niko’s friend Stephanos— simply gone without a trace. Soon more sheep were spirited away—one here, two there—almost, the shepherds claimed, between one blink of an eye and the next. Clumps of bloody wool were found caught in the bushes, and there were strange plots of crushed plants and broken branches — marks where something heavy had crouched, waiting for a chance to kill.

Then one of the villagers, a man named Jason, actually
saw
the monster. The creature was like no animal ever seen on earth, Jason said, gesturing wildly with his hands. It was a supernatural being with the body of a serpent, the wings of an eagle, and the head of a lion, yellow-fanged, with flaming red eyes. When Jason bravely approached it, dagger drawn, ready to do battle, the creature magically disappeared. He had found its enormous tracks in the soft ground, he told his awed listeners, but the tracks simply ceased at the point where the monster had vanished. Unfortunately a heavy rain in the night washed away the telltale traces. When he led the villagers to the very spot on the following day, there was nothing to be seen.

Now Niko, his heart pounding at the stir of every leaf and every rustle in the bushes, was afraid. He felt cold, even in the hot sun. He longed to take his flock and go home — but “Sheep have to eat,” his father said. So here he was, waiting on the mountainside, with a scary prickly feeling between his shoulder blades.

Slowly the sun topped the sky and began its long journey downward toward the horizon. Usually as he followed the sun’s path across the sky, Niko thought about the sun god, Helios, driving his fiery chariot toward his shining palace in the west. But today he just waited impatiently for the day to be over and the sun to be gone. As the sun sank lower and lower, he gave a sigh of relief. Nothing had happened. The monster had not appeared. It was time to call his flock and go home.

He hurried across the field, gathering the sheep together for the trip down the mountain, to the safe pen behind the little house. He counted the sheep as he urged them along toward home. One, two, three, four, five — that was Daphne’s favorite, a fat ewe with a comical black splotch over her nose — six, seven, eight, and nine. All were there. And then the four lambs, frisking about at their mothers’ heels. Niko had named each one. There was plump little Penelope; Dido, who had a crumpled ear; Ajax, who was always causing trouble; and his own special lamb, Panno, who had soft brown wool, just the color of fresh-baked bread. One, two, three . . . Niko paused, frowning, and counted again. Three. Just three. His heart gave a thump of alarm. Panno was missing.

He rapidly circled the grazing field, peering under bushes and behind rocks, and calling. Behind him, one sheep began to bleat, and then another. Still no lamb.

The monster could strike between one blink of an eye and the next, Niko remembered, with an awful sinking feeling in his stomach. Had it been here, after all? Had it somehow crept to the edge of the field and lain there, watching him through the thicket with its flame-pointed red eyes? Niko shivered. But he had to try to find Panno. Quickly he collected his flock and drove them down the hill, through the little village street, and into the family sheep pen. He made sure their water trough was filled, then fastened the gate behind him and ran to poke his head in the cottage door. He explained the dreadful news to his mother.

“Wait for your father,” his mother protested, but Niko shook his head.

“Maybe he hasn’t gone far,” he said. “I’ll go look again. It won’t be dark for a while yet.”

He ran back down the village street and up the winding track toward the mountain. Once again he circled the field where his sheep had been grazing. Nothing there. He climbed higher, poking his head into every little thicket, checking behind every rock and tree. Then, caught and tangled in a thorny branch, he found a tiny tuft of soft brown wool. Panno must have wandered this way, Niko thought. Lost and confused. He called, but there was no answering
baa.
He climbed higher and higher, searching as he climbed. He had never explored this part of the mountain before. The shepherds stayed lower down, closer to the village, where the grass was greener and richer.

Suddenly he heard a shifting in the bushes in front of him, a scrabble on the rocks. Little hooves on stone? “Panno?” he called softly. He pushed the branches aside and felt his heart leap in terror in his chest. He was face-to-face with the monster.

It was the most enormous creature Niko had ever seen — bigger and more terrible than he had imagined. It was covered with gleaming golden scales. It had polished golden claws, a long arrow-pointed tail, wings neatly folded across its glittering back, and — Niko gasped — three heads on long serpent-like necks. One head, its eyes a piercing green, was looking directly at Niko. The other two heads, eyes closed, were curled low on the creature’s shoulders, seemingly fast asleep. Niko’s knees gave way beneath him. He sank to the ground and buried his face in his hands. He was almost too terrified to breathe.

Then the monster spoke.

“My dear boy,” it said. It sounded concerned and upset. “Please don’t be frightened.” It nervously twitched its golden tail. “Despite my impressive and powerful appearance,” the monster said — it turned pinkish and looked modestly down at its claws —“I am quite peaceful. Pacific in nature. At heart, my dear boy, I assure you, I am gentle as a lamb.”

Niko tried to ask a question. At first, no sound came out.

Then he said, in a high, strained voice, “But aren’t you . . . a monster?”

“The designation,” the creature said in an offended tone, “is highly rude.”

Look what you’ve done,
one part of Niko’s mind shouted at him.
First you stumble into the monster. Then you have to insult it and make it angry.

“Highly rude,” the creature repeated huffily. “The proper, or common, name, as one might call it, is
drake
or
dragon.
We are, to be precise, a tridrake. A three-headed dragon.
Tri,
as in
trident, triangle,
and
tripod.
”

“I’m sorry,” said Niko faintly. He gulped nervously. “But was it you that? . . . Have you ever? . . . Do you . . . eat sheep?”

“Eat sheep?” the dragon repeated. It shuffled its claws uncomfortably. “Well, I cannot deny, dear boy, that in the distant past I have—occasionally . . .” Its voice trailed off. “But not in recent centuries,” it said firmly. “Dragons, by and large, are vegetarian. Besides”—it made a face—“sheep are so
woolly.
And they bleat.”

“Vege . . . ?” Niko began uncertainly.

“We eat vegetables,” the dragon said. “And cereal grains and fruits.” It eyed Niko severely. “Clearly, education is not what it used to be.”

A breath of wind rustled the bushes, causing Niko to jump and look hastily over his shoulder.

The dragon looked with him.

“You seem on edge, dear boy,” the dragon said. “A not uncommon state, I find, for humans. Perhaps a soothing soup . . .”

“There’s a monster on the mountain,” Niko said. His words tumbled over each other in his hurry to explain. “Everybody’s frightened. Sheep have been disappearing for weeks — dragged off and killed. Just today, one of our lambs disappeared. And Jason — he lives in our village —
saw
the monster. He even saw its footprints. The monster ran along the ground and then the footprints just stopped. It vanished into thin air.”

The dragon nodded.

“How big were these footprints?” it asked.

Niko shook his head. “Nobody saw them but Jason. It rained in the night and washed everything away. But he said they were
huge.
And he could see”—his eyes flickered uneasily toward the dragon’s immense golden feet—“the marks where its claws dug into the ground.”

The dragon hurriedly curled its golden claws out of sight.

“I see,” it said unhappily. “I can only assure you, dear boy, that it was not me. That is, not I. I would never attack innocent ovines in such an uncivilized fashion. Decent dragons do not indulge in murderous theft.”

Niko decided not to ask about the indecent dragons.

“I know that now,” he said. “Now that I’ve talked to you. It was just . . . surprising . . . coming upon you so suddenly. I’ve never seen a dragon before. And you are . . . awfully large.”

“Yes,” the dragon agreed in pleased tones. It settled itself more comfortably in the grass.

“It has been a long time since I’ve had a really good conversation,” it said wistfully. “Do tell me about yourself, dear boy. What do you do all day? And what do you want to do when you grow up? What is your favorite food? Your favorite color? And when is your birthday?”

In no time at all, Niko found himself talking to the dragon as if they were the oldest and best of friends. He learned that the dragon’s favorite food was lemon pudding and that its favorite color was green; the dragon learned that Niko preferred pomegranates, fig cakes, and purple. Niko told the dragon about how he dreamed of going to Athens one day and of all the things he would like to learn. He asked the dragon its opinion of his plan to make a pair of giant feathered wings, and the dragon replied with a somewhat confusing story about the principles of aerodynamics.

As Niko and the dragon talked, evening fell. The sky, Niko suddenly noticed, had grown dark. The dragon glimmered before him, golden in the dimness. Overhead, the stars were coming out. The two gazed upward in companionable silence for a moment, lost in the beauty of the night. The dragon gestured with its golden tail.

“Magnificent,” the dragon said. “Look carefully and you should be able to see six thousand stars. Dragons, of course,” it continued in superior tones, “can see many more.
We
have excellent eyesight.”

Niko craned his neck back and studied the sky. “People say,” he said, “that the sky is a huge crystal bowl set over the earth and the stars are stuck to the inside of the bowl like little jewels.”

“They do,” the dragon said crisply. “People say all sorts of things. Not all of them, unfortunately, are correct.”

Niko flopped over on his back and gazed up at the stars with his mouth open.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” the dragon said. “Quite jewel-like. But not jewels, dear boy, not at all. Think about it.”

Regretfully Niko scrambled to his feet.

“I wish we could talk more,” he said. “But I have to go home. It’s late. I shouldn’t have stayed so long. My mother and father will be terribly worried.”

“Before you go,” the dragon said, “I would check beneath the bush over there next to the big rock. I believe you will find what you came looking for.”

Niko picked his way over to the bush. Beneath its branches lay Panno, sound asleep.

“He arrived some time before you did,” the dragon said, “obviously confused. I’m sure he will be glad to return home.”

Niko lifted the sleeping lamb. It was warm and heavy in his arm. Its curly fleece tickled his arms.

“Thank you,” Niko said. “Thank you for everything.”

“My pleasure, dear boy,” the dragon said. It reached out one polished claw and patted Niko gently on the shoulder. “Have a safe journey home.”

“Do come again,” it added, “if you’re ever up this way. I have enjoyed our visit.”

“So have I,” said Niko. “I’ll think about what you said. About the stars, I mean.”

“Do that,” the dragon said. “Good night, dear boy.”

Niko turned away and headed back down the mountainside.