by Bonnie Elizabeth
in Issue 92, September 2019
I was eaten by a sea dragon when I was twelve. It’s the only story my student seekers want to hear about. That, and why I live near the top of a mountain, where the skies rain down hot lava three hours out of each day, forcing me inside the cave I have called home. Still, the showers keep the shadows of other winged predators from the sky and I feel safe here.
They ask why I stay there, with only the barest of necessities, provided to me and other semi-hermit teachers, in the bitter cold of the mountains that make up the spine of the earth.
Because, I tell them, I was eaten by a sea dragon when I was a child. Here…here I am safe, finally, from the threat of the sea. I shiver when I tell this story so I avoid it as long as possible.
It is hard for the students who must often sell many of their possessions and then climb the mountains to see me, their shoes worn to almost nothing by the time they reach the peak upon which I live. The only peaks beyond my little cavernous fortress are those that shoot fire. Many students are shaking with fear and fatigue by the time they reach my cave.
In theory I give wisdom to those who study with me, but the vast majority really just want to hear my story of lucky magic, survival, and unlikely heroism. Many leave disappointed upon meeting me and seeing an ordinary man with an extraordinary fear of the sky and the sea. No matter the tales below, people still come to hear about how one boy once got eaten by a sea dragon and lived to tell the tale.
I was twelve the year I was eaten by a sea dragon. I was short and plump and I walked with poor grace, particularly for someone who was on a sailing ship. None of this has changed, by the way.
My father was constantly disappointed in me. I had no brothers, not for lack of trying on my mother’s part, seeing I had eight sisters. I was the third youngest and sometimes I think my father thought he should have given up after that. Dowries for eight daughters daunted even the nobles and my father was far from noble, just a humble man who did well enough as a fisherman.
My family was lucky enough to have a large boat. It might have been a small ship, really, but I am not so knowledgeable about the differences. Once that lack of knowledge would have troubled me and I’d have gone to the library in town and looked up the differences between ships and boats in the musty tomes that hid in the dark and lonely rooms. Today, I don’t care, having other worries.
From a young age, even I could work the nets without falling overboard and when I was tall enough to reach the nets easily, my father took me out to work with him on the boat. There were six other hired hands, all men my father’s age. Each man had overgrown black beards and skin that was dark and lined from time under the sun. Their fingers were scarred and worn from years pulling and hauling nets.
My skin was not yet dark nor did I have anything resembling a beard which brought much laughter to the crew men. My fingers were not yet scarred either, but at least they held callouses from when I folded nets when my father returned from his journeys.
When the boat sailed out to sea, I watched as the sea chomped at the rocks near the land that had birthed the docks. Our ship rose and fell in the sea’s rhythm which went from angry to irritable to finally soothing. Away from shore, the sea cleared and you could see the dark bodies of fish beneath our hull.
“Will we be stopping to put the nets out soon?” I asked my father.
He laughed, as did the tallest of the crewmen who wore a dark scarf over his head and was missing a finger on his right hand. Fingerling, as some of the men called him, looked at me and shook his head at my ignorance.
“Those are small fish,” my father explained. “Good eating for the poor but you have eight sisters and I have eight dowries to fill. Further out, we’ll find huge schools of larger fish that bring in better coin.”
We sailed throughout the day and even when I curled up in a bunk down below, we kept on sailing. I never knew who piloted the ship during the night but someone must have. When I rose in the morning my father was splashing some clear water on his face.
“It’s about time,” he said, glancing at me and then wiping his face. He turned away without another word.
I clambered out of my bunk, which was almost too narrow for my wide frame and washed my face, hoping to wash off the disappointment from my father’s words. All I felt after that was the chill of the water and the twitch of my nose from the faintly briny scent of the room where I’d slept. I climbed out of the belly of the ship and looked around.
For the moment the sea was flat, flatter than I’d ever thought the sea could be. It was like the floor at our home, all tile upon a level floor, only this blue tile shone, reflecting our image back to us. The sky wasn’t flat at all. Instead deep dark gray clouds roiled like smoke across the horizon. A storm was coming.
“Eat a little now,” Fingerling said from his place by the nets. “But not too much. By afternoon, the storm will be upon us. We’ll ride it out and beyond that will be the schools of fish we’ve hoped for.” He nodded for emphasis and then left his post by the nets, where he’d been checking that they’d been rolled correctly.
I went to the upper cabin and got a bit of bread and ate that. I didn’t trust my stomach on the high sea. I’d been out near the coast in the small fishing boats when my father tried to teach me to cast a net and what not, but I’d never been out on a high sea. I had no idea how I would weather it but I suspected that, as in all other things, I’d disappoint my father.
I was put to work scrubbing down the deck, stowing what could be stowed, and making sure everything was lashed down. There were drops of rain falling before we’d checked and triple checked that the boat was as storm ready as it could be. Men began lashing themselves to the masts.
My father showed me how to do it, using the ropes to lash the slickers to our bodies and the mast. The rain was falling in earnest and I’d lost my footing a few times before I was well and truly tethered to the boat. It wasn’t long before the waves were lapping over the sides. My father was lashed to the wheel and he steered the boat into the great waves as they threatened to swamp us.
Fingerling ran the rudder, loosely shackled to it, keeping it straight so that the ship would steer where my father wanted to go. A few other men had the sails trimmed and they worked them as my father called out orders barely heard over the clash of the storm. It was as dark as night and I worried that I’d not live to see the day.
Instead, to my surprise, we rode out the storm. I even did it without being sick in the bucket that had been tied near my feet. The waves had sprayed their salt in my face and I had laughed in their playfulness. In the dark gray I thought I saw a fin in the ocean but who could tell? It could have been a whale. It never occurred to me that I would see a sea dragon. No one had ever seen one, at least not and lived to tell the tale. I didn’t expect to be the first, and perhaps, the only.
By the time night fell and it was full dark, the waves were done crashing around us and were only giving us a wilder ride than usual. I was unlashed from my mast and the men went back to work. Whoever was on mess duty made a light meal of cheese and bread and plenty of ale.
We sailed on into the dark seas, though not so quickly. The light wasn’t good as it was still cloudy and we had only half the stars we would normally steer by. Instead, as soon as the waves calmed to their usual playful fighting we dropped anchor and waited until the daylight for the schools of fish to find us.
I slept that night dreaming of the depths of the ocean below us. I dreamed that I was tossed out into the sea and dropped down through the waters, trying to find my way to the surface but never finding it, or the bottom of the ocean. All the while huge monstrous things with eyes that were too large and filmed over by the ocean waters looked at me and turned away. In my dreams I wasn’t even an interesting meal.
In the morning I woke but I was alone in the hull. If anyone else had slept, they were up topside already. I rinsed my face and climbed the ladder to the main deck.
The sun wasn’t yet high in the sky but already it pounded down upon the ship with a fierceness I had never experienced. I felt sweat spring from my arm pits as if I’d been running for an hour. The men all had their shirts off and were holding the lines for the large net. They were just beginning to pull it back in. No one had thought to waken me though I was to have a place at the net.
“Sleeping beauty’s up,” someone called.
“He ain’t no beauty!” Someone else laughed at the comment.
I knew I blushed but the heat was already making my face so red it was unlikely that anyone noticed.
I made my way to the net. It wasn’t as if someone couldn’t have woken me to make sure I took my place as I should. It was like they all wanted me to fail. I found my spot which was next to Fingerling.
“Grab like so,” he said, showing me how to pull, although I knew that. I’d folded before and while it was different from pulling the net in from the sea, I had been taught the basics.
My fingers grasped the heavy threads and began to pull. I have to admit I didn’t quite pull my weight but the look that Fingerling gave me suggested that I had pulled more than he’d expected. By the time we’d pulled in the catch of fish and were dumping them into the hold, he was slapping me across the back as if I were truly part of the crew.
I ran an arm over my forehead, hoping to rid myself of the feeling of sweat that dripped in my eyes but all I did was cover my sweating head with fish guts. There was nothing to it but to get back to work, stinking and sweating, and as filthy as I’ve ever been. I wondered what my father did to clean up.
We tossed out the net again, hoping for a second catch. Some of the men ate. I didn’t. I was too messy to do anything. The second catch wasn’t nearly as good as the first, but it brought the hull near to being full.
The shortest, thinnest of the men in the crew said a small spell over the hull when it was full and I knew the fish would last until we got back to the island, however long that was. In fact, when I think about his words, I can’t help but wonder if the fish are still fresh down there in the bowels of the ocean depths.
It was nearing evening when we’d finished with the second net. Fingerling gave me a quick smile.
“This is our reward,” he said and climbed to the top of the rail and leaped into the ocean. A few other men did the same. I waited. They climbed up the ladder that was attached to the side, the gate to the deck open to welcome them. Then they leaped back in. Only then did I follow them into the softly lapping waves.
The water was warmer than I expected, but still cooler than my body. The calm waters wiped away the smells of the fish, seaweed, and garbage that had lurked on my skin. Even my ears felt clean. I was tempted to open my mouth but knew better than to do so. However, I’m not sure I’ve ever had a bath that felt better.
Several of the men were swimming. One was singing an off-color song, or trying to. The waves lapped around our ship making small noises. All in all, a pleasant evening.
And then the singing stopped. I heard something moving in the water, like a swimmer going far too fast.
From the corner of my eye I saw several of the men turning and swimming as quickly as they could towards the ship. Then the warning bell started to clang. My father started yelling for me.
“Barnan! Barnan! Swim!”
I was trained to do as my father ordered, so I swam. I am quite a good swimmer. I may be less than graceful on land or on ship but in the water, I am a thing of beauty. My arms and legs moved in concert propelling me back towards the ship. I was not the furthest away but I quickly became that because I was the slowest.
I knew the others were passing me when feet kicked up water and nearly hit me in the face. I turned my head and pushed myself to keep moving, my lungs desperate for air, my body tense with anticipation. I waited to feel teeth grasping a foot or a toe, pulling me under, never to be seen again. Instead I felt the softest caress of a fin, so soft it might have been a downy feather, tracing the underside of my belly.
I was so startled I stopped. At nearly the same moment the ship was raised up in front of me, men still hanging on to the ladder, screaming as if they were dying, and likely they would be shortly.
Beneath the ship was a giant head, with the enormous eye of a sea monster. The eye was slightly creamy with film but it was startlingly intelligent and green. I saw only one of the eyes for each eye was set on opposite sides of an elongated head, much like a horse.
I pushed myself backwards, away from the creature that seemed unaware that it had the boat upon its head like a shopkeeper’s hat. Men dangled from the ladder, trying not to fall. But the eye was on me. As I did the backstroke, I hoped desperately for help from the cool water that had felt so friendly and wonderful only moments ago.
The long snout, a mottled blue and green and black turned in my direction, such that I faced not a single eye but two. The creature lowered its head such that the boat went sliding back down into the water, blocking its view of me. I heard my father call something. Someone responded, singing or chanting perhaps. I don’t know for certain but I believe my father insisted our mage set a spell on either me or the entire crew.
My respite was short lived for the sea dragon—for I knew that’s what this was and that we would all die here this evening—reached up a large finned arm that sent the boat sailing through the skies, out of sight.
The finned arm was a thing of beauty, shorter than such a creature should have had, but the fin was clear like the wing of a bird, trails of water shimmering in iridescence. That such beauty could cause such harm didn’t register in my brain. Against this backdrop, the men falling from the ladder and perhaps the ship, were but raindrops on the sea.
Beyond the screams and crashing of the boat, there was only me and the dragon. It took notice of nothing but me. I have no idea what made me look so interesting. Was it my size? I was shorter than many of the men. I had no facial hair and perhaps dragons didn’t like that. Or who knows? I could have been the right fit for an appetizer plate.
Its jaws separated showing a thin line of gray white teeth. The sun was only a pink light along the horizon and in that light the teeth appeared to drip with blood. I continued to do a sort of backstroke, never taking my eyes from the dragon as it watched me the way a cat watches a mouse.
The waves continued to froth against each other, slightly more than they had been a minute ago but there was a disturbance in their center. Perhaps they were as fearful as I. The dragon leaned forward as if to get a whiff of me.
I smelled brine and sulphur. It made a snorting sound as it got closer. I might have whined or cried but I couldn’t tell you. I’m sure I loosed my bladder but there in the sea no one was around to notice and even had there been, the sea kept my fearful secret.
My heart hammered in my chest as I waited for death. I knew that next it would chomp down and eat me. In fact the jaws had opened when I was pulled aside by a swimmer. My father. He must have dived from the boat as it was being tossed aside. He’d come for me.
“Father!” I cried, even as the jaws clamped down and the only thing left of my father was a spread of red in the sea.
I thought I saw his hand, flick a wave at me, telling me to swim away. So I did. I turned my back on the monster and swam for what I was worth, which was not much. I’m sure I flew across the water faster than I ever had or ever will again.
But the dragon was there, swimming beneath me. The dark waters told me nothing but the faint tickle of the feather fin told me where it was. I tried to change course but it was too large for me to do any such thing. The dragon rose from the sea and looked at me again, freezing me in place.
This time when it opened its jaws there was no one to save me. The sharp teeth, as long as my entire leg, swooped under me, scooping me up like I was in a dish of soup, and then I was flying high. There was enough light for me to pick out part of my father’s shirt caught in one of the upper teeth, the only thing left of the man I had loved.
I tried to go with the water which streamed out of the dragon’s mouth but the creature raised its head so that I was thrown downward into its gullet, swallowed whole. I could see nothing and felt only the massaging sensations of a throat swallowing me.
I should have suffocated. In fact, I waited for death but I continued to breathe. It was only after a few minutes that I realized I had had a keep fresh spell put on me. Perhaps our little wizard had done that for all of us, or perhaps only for me at my father’s direction. It’s hard to say. But there I was, in the belly of the serpent, breathing and alive.
I spent hours listening to gurgling and gooping. The fluids felt warm and hot against my skin, warmer than I’d like and with a slight sting. I was certain my flesh would dissolve in the beast and I would feel every second of it as it happened. While I waited, I listened to the loud boom of a heart much too close to my ears and the gurgle of juices that flowed. I felt contractions and was bumped by other things, which, fortunately, I could not see in the darkness.
My imagination let me guess that perhaps I was clashing with my father’s torso, or when the thing was narrow and soft, his leg. The smells around me worsened, if anything could be worse. The smell of rotting fish on a hot summer’s day was nothing to this. This was as if a dog had vomited the rotting fish on a hot summer day and I had bathed in that. But even that doesn’t feel as if it does the rankness of the smell justice.
I was pushed downward and then I felt myself being pulled through another opening. But I stuck fast, too large to go through. The pulling continued and got ever more fierce. I was certain I would be pulled apart. Then the contractions went back the other direction and I was pushed free, high into the stomach chamber, hitting the top. I fell into the fluids with a plop and a pling, barely audible over the sounds of the heart.
I was pulled back towards that hole again. I reached to grab what I could, flailing in a darkness so complete I couldn’t see my hand. I wasn’t even sure the thing I flailed was my hand, I had become so disoriented, but something narrow filled my reach and I held on.
This time when I was pulled downward, I used the object to grasp onto the edge of the chamber. I was lucky for the inner part of the sea dragon’s stomach was soft and pliable and the thing in my hand was hard and sharp. While the contractions of the stomach tried to force me downward, I held onto the object with both hands, hoping against hope that this was the right thing to do.
I didn’t want to descend further. My scholarly curiosity did not extend to the digestive processes of a sea dragon. I just wanted out, but didn’t know what to do.
When the contractions eased, I felt around for something else sharp, but that only served to loosen the object’s grip on the stomach wall. I was back floating inside the muck that was the partially digested meal of the sea dragon. It was not lost on me that I was part of his meal.
I hoped to make it his last.
I used the object and thrust it into the sides of the stomach again. I pulled it out and did it again and again, hoping to injure the creature from inside. If I was lucky, perhaps I could cut my way out of the stomach and leave the dying beast when I did so.
But it was not to be. More contractions, but these were harder and tighter, pushing everything in the stomach closer together, making my body contort in ways it wasn’t meant to. I was squished against the other food items in there, making me gasp for air. I was pummeled and propelled but all the while, I was uninjured, though uncomfortable. The spell continued to work.
Normally a keep fresh spell works until another wizard removes it. I had never heard of a human having such a spell put on them so I didn’t understand what exactly I was protected from. Would I get thirsty? Or hungry? I had no sense of time. Perhaps I should have gotten hungry or thirsty already. I didn’t know.
I was pondering this as I was thrust upward and tossed through the sea dragon’s gullet back up and out past those sharp teeth and into the ocean which was starting to shine in the pink dawn of morning. I fell, surrounded by bones and odd clothing and even a small piece of wood. I was holding the edge of a rib bone. I nearly dropped it, thinking it was my father’s, but I held on.
It was my only weapon.
The creature gave me a long backward glance. My eyes met his and I saw intelligence in there when it saw me floating. It knew I was alive. Some shadow passed behind its eyes in that look but the dragon gave a sort of belch and turned and swam away.
When it was gone, I tried to stick the bone in what was left of my pants, but there wasn’t much left at all, so I hung onto it and made a slow sort of paddle along the current hoping it would bring me to safety. All the while I waited to feel the feather touch of a fin on my belly.
I got hungry as I swam, and thirsty. As the sun rose high in the sky my skin began to tingle. Clearly I was learning the limits of the spell. If I moved too much my body had the needs of a body not under the spell. It was only if I rested that I didn’t need food and water. The sun burned right through the protections.
Knowing I could breathe beneath the water, I dove, not terribly deep but far enough that I no longer felt the heat on my skin and swam as slowly as I could, pulling myself with the current. It was still work but it didn’t seem to exhaust me. When the sea darkened, I rose through the waves to keep my head above water.
I saw no land and no ships. I had no idea how I would keep going. I tried to nap, floating on the waves. After all, it didn’t matter that water crashed over my face. I could still breathe. When the sun rose again, I dove down and swam as I could through the sea, trying to keep the sun from my skin, which tingled at the merest touch of sunlight.
I did this for two more days, although on the second day I was barely able to keep myself moving forward. I was floating before the sun went well below the sky. I was lucky, though, for a ship spotted me and they picked me up.
They were perplexed by my nature but fortunately had a wizard who saw the spell. He released me so they could give me water and some broth, which I drank eagerly. I wasn’t sure when I’d be up to food. Though their accents were strange and we struggled to understand each other, they took me to a port.
My father’s name got me on a ship back home, where I found he had had a decent insurance policy against his death. He had always been the sort to prepare. It allowed me to leave the port city and move inland where I used his connections to work as a counter in a merchant’s house for a number of years.
Still, I couldn’t help thinking of the sea dragon. I worried about the shadows in the rivers that flowed near the city. I found myself fearful of everything. I looked longingly towards the mountains and one day I set off for them, coming here.
My cave is dry but for the water we collect to drink. It’s high above the sea bed and I feel almost safe with the fire that the peak behind me sends into the air.
You see, when the sea dragon looked back, I know it saw me. Saw that I was alive and it was angry that I’d escaped its jaws.
You would think I would feel safe on land but I saw those fins that could have been wings, could be used as either fins or wings. That is why the shadows in the sky make me shudder.
You would think a sea dragon would die like a fish that we catch once it’s out of water, but you didn’t see that it snorted air from its nose when it looked at me. You didn’t hear the breath when it surfaced. It can breathe the air like we do and the sea like the fishes. It could come for me.
In fact I know it will.
So I hide here in a place where even the skies aren’t safe for a creature of fins or wings and I hope that’s enough. But I can never be sure.
Are you sure you want to be here with me if today is the day the sea dragon flies?
©September 2019 Bonnie Elizabeth
Bonnie Elizabeth’s work has been seen in several anthologies, most notably Fiction River . This is her first appearance in Swords & Sorcery.