The Return of the Dragon (4 page)

Niko awoke the next morning when his little sister, Daphne, shook his arm. “Wake
up,
Niko,” she kept repeating. Her small face was tear-stained and frightened. “Something terrible has happened,” she said. “The monster came in the night.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “It came right into the village,” she said. “It must have gone right past our house. It could get in anywhere. I’m scared.”

Niko threw off his blanket, jumped to his feet, and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. “It will be all right, Daphne,” he told her. “I’ll go see what happened. No monster can get in here. You stay in the house and you’ll be safe. Here, you can play with my toy horse.” He handed her the little wooden horse on wheels that his father had made for him when he was a very little boy. It was one of Niko’s treasures and Daphne always begged to hold it.

Leaving Daphne happily rolling the little horse back and forth across the floor, Niko ran outside. The entire village seemed to be standing in the street, shouting and yelling. Niko found his friend Stephanos at the edge of the crowd.

“What happened?” he asked. “What is everybody so upset about?”

Stephanos was a plump, cheerful boy with dark eyes and black hair. Usually he was full of jokes and laughter. Today he was solemn and pale. “The monster came right into the village,” he told Niko. “Two houses were attacked in the night. The monster broke down fences and snatched sheep right out of the pens. Someone saw the creature through a window. A huge dark shape with eyes of fire.” Stephanos shuddered.

A man’s voice rose above the frightened babble of the crowd.

“We must hunt this monster down!” he bellowed. “We must band together and destroy it before it comes after our babies in their cradles and our children in their beds!”

“He’s right!” shouted another. “We must kill the monster before it strikes again!”

“Arm yourselves!” yet another voice took up the cry. “Bring spears, daggers, bows! We will march together to the mountainside!”

People scattered to their homes and re-emerged carrying weapons. Peleus, the old carpenter, shouldered an immense iron ax. Zethus, the fisherman, hoisted a wickedly pointed spear. Diomedes, Niko’s father, carried a curving wooden bow. Purposefully the men strode through the village toward the little track that headed to the sheep pastures and the higher reaches of the mountain.

“I’m going with them!” Stephanos shouted, racing after the marching men. “Come on, Niko! Come help kill the monster!” Niko saw that Stephanos wore a short dagger at his belt. Niko, too, started to run. When he reached the path heading to the sheep pastures, however, he ducked off to the right, away from the armed marchers. He wriggled through brambles and thicket, taking a shortcut toward the mountaintop. He climbed and ran, ran and climbed. He was panting for breath and there was a stitch in his side. Where had he been the night before? All the rocks and bushes looked suddenly alike. That rock shaped like a goat’s head — had he seen that before?

“Dragon!” he shouted. “Where are you?”

There was a crackling sound of breaking branches, a sudden flash of gold.

“Right here, dear boy,” the dragon’s voice said.

Niko staggered through the bushes and sank to the ground.

The dragon was turned away from him. It appeared to be constructing something on a flat rock. Despite himself, Nikos was interested.

“What’s that?” he panted.

“A primitive clock, dear boy,” the dragon said. “A sundial. The shadow of the stick
here
”—it pointed—“falls on the marked dial
here
and tells the hour of the day.”

Niko moved closer. “I see,” he said. “The shadow moves as the sun moves.”

The dragon shook his head. “No, no,” it said. “Oh, no. The sun stands still. The
earth
moves.”

Niko frowned, puzzled. “The
earth
moves?” he repeated in incredulous tones. “But everybody says . . .”

The dragon shook its head and held up a silencing claw. “Think about it,” he said. “Observe. Weigh the evidence.”

It peered at Nikos down the length of its golden nose.

“The scientific method,” it said smugly.

Niko remembered his urgent errand. “Dragon,” he said hastily, “I came to warn you. The monster attacked our village last night. It broke down fences and killed sheep. Everyone is afraid that something even worse may happen next. All the men have taken their weapons and are on their way to search for the monster on the mountain. When they find it, they will kill it. And if they find you . . .”

“You feel they will assume the worst?” the dragon asked. “No time-out to assess the situation? No pause for clarification?”

“People are pretty upset,” said Niko.

The dragon sadly shook its head. “Of course you are right,” it said. “The time has come to seek more congenial climes. A pity. I have enjoyed my stay here. So restful. The urban architecture is superb. And such delicious olives.”

It sighed. “And I enjoyed our little talk, dear boy. I had looked forward to getting to know you better.”

“I’ll never forget you, Dragon,” Niko said.

The dragon bent its head low and looked deeply into Niko’s eyes. It nodded rapidly several times. “You’ll do very well,” it said. “Very well indeed.” For a moment, a golden claw gently stroked Niko’s hair.

Then the dragon turned abruptly and moved back into the bushes.

“A few items to pack . . .” it said. “How long before your compatriots arrive?”

“Not very long at all,” Niko said. “They were moving fast.”

“Then farewell, dear boy,” the dragon said. “You shouldn’t be discovered here.”

Niko nodded. “Goodbye,” he said, one last time. Then he turned and headed rapidly back down the mountain.

To Niko’s dismay, he found his eyes misted over, blinded by tears. He hated to see the golden dragon go. He stumbled over rocks and roots, tripped over branches. Finally his foot slipped off one jagged stone and he fell, sprawling full-length in the middle of the little path. He bumped his head and skinned both knees. Everything hurt. No one, Niko thought, could possibly be more miserable than he was at this very moment.

Then behind him he heard a sound that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. A long, low, menacing growl. Very slowly Niko turned his head. His blood ran cold. There above him, straddling the path, stood a gigantic gray wolf. It bared its fangs, growling again deep in its throat. Stiff-legged, it took one step toward Niko, and then another.

This,
Niko realized, horrified, was the villagers’ monster. The real sheep-killer. And here he was weaponless, without even a knife to defend himself. Very slowly he stretched out his hand and gripped a stout stick. It was hopeless, he knew, but he couldn’t just lie there, doing nothing, and let the wolf tear out his throat. At least he could die fighting. He gripped the stick tighter. The wolf crouched, snarling viciously, tensing its hind legs, preparing to spring.

Then it hesitated. Overhead, from the cloudless sky, came a sound of unexpected thunder. But this was not the rolling crash and rumble of a summer storm. This was the thunder of beating golden wings.

It was the dragon.

It roared into sight, blazing brilliant in the sun. As the wolf, recovering itself, sprang at Niko, the dragon swooped low and swung its glittering tail, catching the creature in mid-air. The wolf was flung across the mountainside. It crashed to the ground and lay still.

The dragon landed next to Niko, bending over him in concern.

“Are you all right, dear boy?” it asked.

Niko got shakily to his feet. He looked at the fallen body of the wolf and shuddered.

“It was a wolf,” he said in a strangled voice. “A wolf. There wasn’t a magical monster after all.”

“Often there isn’t,” the dragon said. It, too, looked toward the fallen wolf. “A regrettable necessity,” it said.

“It would have killed me,” Niko said. “You saved my life.”

“As you came to save mine,” the dragon said. Then, in a different voice, it said, “Please hold out your hand.”

Puzzled, Niko put out his hand, palm upward. The dragon extended a long golden claw. Niko felt a sudden pang like a bee sting and then a lovely spreading warmth. There in the very center of his palm was a glittering fleck of gold.

“It is a sign,” the dragon said. “The mark of the Dragon Friend. From this day on, dragons will know you and stand by you in time of trouble. As you have done for me.”

Niko closed his hand tight over the precious mark.

From the distance they heard a clash of metal and the sound of shouting.

“That’s the men from the village!” Niko cried. “Please, Dragon! You can’t let them find you here!”

“Indeed,” the dragon said. It spread its golden wings and rose slowly toward the sky. For a moment it hovered over the mountain path.

“Goodbye, dear boy,” the dragon said. “And good luck.”

By the time the first villagers burst through the trees, the dragon was lost in the distance. Only Niko, who was looking for it, could still see the last disappearing speck of gold.

Niko’s father raced toward his son, calling his name. There was a confusion of voices and excited cries.

“What happened?”

“How did the boy come here?”

Then they discovered the body of the wolf.

Old Peleus approached it cautiously, ax raised. He prodded the wolf with one sandaled foot.

“Dead,” he said.

“What happened?” someone else asked again. “Where’s the monster?”

“It was a wolf,” Niko said.

“What about the serpent’s body and the lion’s head?” someone shouted.

“And the wings and the flaming eyes?”

Jason, armed with a rusty sword, gingerly approached the dead wolf. He peered at it over old Peleus’s shoulder. Then he began edging unobtrusively toward the back of the crowd.

“Niko has killed the wolf!” shouted Stephanos. “He’s a hero!”

Niko started to protest. “No, I didn’t,” he said. “It wasn’t me.” But the villagers’ voices drowned him out. No one heard him.

“Thank the gods you are not hurt,” his father said, hugging him roughly. “I’ve never seen such a wolf. You should never have tried to battle the creature alone.” He looked from the wolf to Niko and back again. “I am proud of you, my son.”

“But . . .” Niko said.

“A hero!” shouted Stephanos again.

All the villagers began talking at once, laughing with relief. Old Peleus began to tell stories about wolves he had fought in his youth.

“It’s all over now, son,” Niko’s father said. Then he raised his voice and said it louder. “It’s all over. Let’s go home.”

Niko glanced up the the now-empty sky. The last glimmer of gold was gone.

“Yes,” Niko said. “Let’s go home.”