The Wizard, The Dragon and The Madman

Contest Entry for High Fantasy and YAScifiFantasy "The Dragon"

Word count- 1500

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Brenna stared gloomily at the heaps of mending to be done. The steady clicks of her sister's needles and the soft murmurs of the aunties gossip filled the room. Brenna did not want to darn or mend or embroider. She wanted a pair of sturdy boots and a malak, a sparring staff her brothers and cousins used, and she wanted to hunt a dragon.

Brenna had not quite believed her brothers as they whispered about the beast over breakfast. Their hushed tones and sly gazes however, told her there was something in the woods they did not want their father hearing about. Brenna compared her sloppy stitchery to that of Aine's, her eldest sister. She always had perfect little stitches and often embroidered a tiny little rose so the men of the village knew exactly who had done their mending. Mama said it was sure to land her a husband soon. Brenna let out a surly harrumph that earned her a reproving look from the aunties. What did she care for darning or husbands? Her twelfth nameday was fast approaching and everyone knew what that meant; the choosing.

Every boy and girl on their twelfth nameday, had a choice. Boys chose whether or not to apprentice with the blacksmith or apothecary, or miller. Most respectable girls chose homemaking or midwifing or as her sister had, to become a clothier. None of these options suited Brenna, much to her mama's frustration. Brenna much preferred adventuring, storytelling and magic. Things her family found quite disreputable. The last magician their village had seen was a drunkard who sat in the village commons shouting at anyone who dared to venture too close. "Do you want to end up a luny, like old Mortimer?" Her mother would warn whenever Brenna did something displeasing.

Brenna darned another ratty old sock, adding to her pathetic little pile. Glancing around furtively, Brenna slid her thumb across the sharp needle, drawing blood. She gave a small hiss of discomfort then held up her thumb to the aunties. Bright beads of blood raced down her hand and she was shunted out the door lest she stain anything.

In a matter of minutes she had 'borrowed' a pair of boots, 'liberated' a malak and was hotfooting it across the commons. Her palm was still slick with blood. Brenna had used this method of escape before but seemed to have nicked herself deeper than intended. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, she focused on her thumb. An icy prickle shot down her arm and moments later her thumb looked as perfect as it normally did.

Brenna spun about when she heard a sharp cackle. "Blazes Mortimer, you gave me a fright!"

The haggard old man cackled gleefully. "Did I now, girlie?" He stumbled towards her, cheeks rosy and skin weathered from years in the sun. Though Brenna had spoken to him on occasion, she had never seen him this close. He had the most startling purple eyes! Mortimer gave her a crooked grin, "and what might you be up to?" His eyes sparkled as he stared very pointedly at her thumb.

Brenna had never told anyone she could do magic. It wasn't much, she could heal little hurts and had a way with animals. She always knew when it would storm days before it happened or if it would be a bad year for the crops. It was a secret she had guarded very closely, until now. Brenna jutted her chin out obstinately, "I'm going dragon hunting!"

Mortimer cackled again, "do you plan on slaying yon beastie with that wee stick?"

Brenna's mouth popped open, "of course not! I just want to see it!"

"Well away with you," he shooed her and settled himself down in the dirt, his purple eyes twinkling mischievously in the noonday sun. "Oh and girlie, best watch yourself, dragons are terribly proud creatures."