Tarn

Stories for Another Day

Long before Dharab became known as the greatest dragon-slayer in all of the fourteen islands, a terrible blight came upon the country where Dharab lived. One afternoon while Dharab was away on the other side of the mountains, battling a young dragon that was harassing a village, his wife Eva was foraging in the forest for herbs of healing. She was carrying their two little ones, Garth and Shanama, in a woven basket on her back.

Two people came up to her, in great distress.

“Our son is missing,” said the mother. “We’ve looked everywhere for him. Have you seen him?”

Eva shook her head. “I haven’t seen or heard anyone, except my own little ones. How did he come to be missing?”

“He was playing at my feet while I was cooking our dinner,” the mother said. “I went to the door to call my husband and when I turned back, my son was gone.”

The husband said, “How could he get out where there is only one door to the hut and you were standing in it? There must be some terrible wickedness here.”

Eva hurried back to the town and called people to come and help search for the child, but they could find no sign of him, although they searched long into the night.

When Dharab came home just before midnight, Eva told him what had happened. “But that’s not all,” she said. “I have been speaking to the villagers, and three nights ago, another child went missing, a little girl, her parents’ only child. She disappeared from her bed, although the door was bolted and the window shut. And last night, two more disappeared, without a trace. No-one saw or heard anything. The children just seemed to vanish as if by magic.”

Dharab’s face darkened. “Have there been any strangers in the town since I left?” he asked.

“Only the new cloth merchant,” Eva said doubtfully. “He brought a wagon full of silks and cottons, all beautiful bright colours, and set up a stall in the marketplace. But he’s very friendly, and very kind to the children. He even carries sweets in his pocket for them.”

Dharab strode back and forth distractedly. “No-one else?”

“No-one,” Eva said.

“I’ll go and pay this merchant a visit,” he said, strapping on his sword. “Just to see for myself what kind of man he is. Keep the little ones close to you. Don’t let them out of your sight, whatever happens.”

When he found the cloth merchant’s house, it was locked and bolted and there was no sign that anyone was living there. Dharab knocked and called, but there was no answer. Feeling more and more uneasy, he hurried back home. As soon as he came within sight of his house, his heart stopped in his chest. The door was wide open, ripped half off its hinges. He ran inside the house, and found Eva lying in the kitchen, in a pool of blood, with a great gash in her leg.

When she saw Dharab, she started screaming, “The children! He’s taken the children!”

Dharab rushed to her side, and grabbed a cloth to wrap around her leg to stop the bleeding. “What’s happened?” he said, fear clutching at his heart.

“The merchant!” Eva said, “He knocked at the door, asking for you, and when I opened it, he pushed me to the ground and snatched up the babies. I grabbed the kitchen knife and fought with him, but he suddenly reared up, and changed into the shape of a huge dragon!”

“I should have known,” Dharab said, through his teeth. “A dragon-enchanter! This wound will be poisoned.”

“I’ll take care of it!” Eva said, in an agony of impatience. “Go after him! Nothing matters but the children.”

Dharab grabbed his spear and ran out into the night.

It was easy to follow the dragon’s trail, through the village and up into the mountains. Eva had managed to cut one of the dragon’s arms badly, and drops of the dragon’s blood marked the track. Dharab followed them deep into the mountains, then up a steep, rocky path. The path grew narrower, and the rocks more slippery. Then Dharab heard a laugh behind him.

“So you are here where I want you, dragon-slayer!” the voice said.

“Tarn!” Dharab said. “I should have known it was you. Where are my children?”

The dragon sneered, “When I heard that the great dragon-slayer was fond of children, that he had children of his own, I could scarcely believe it!” Then he hissed, “But it was true. And they have made the perfect bait to lure you here.”

“I have come for my children,” Dharab said in a terrible voice.

“Your children? Squalling like young piglets – faugh! Still, they will make a tasty snack, once I have finished you,” the dragon said. “You have killed too many of my kind. Now it is your turn.” Tarn swung his tail, swift and low, to sweep Dharab off his feet but Dharab leapt out of the way and drew his sword.

They battled over the rocks, back and forth, up and down the treacherous pathway. The dragon pulled back inch by inch, until Dharab had him backed against a heavy rock, a sword’s-length away. He drew his arm back for the final blow, but the dragon’s breathless words stopped him.

“Kill me and your puny offspring die too!” he hissed.

Dharab froze. “Where are they?” he demanded. The dragon flicked his tail, once, twice, pointing down below the rock that he was pressed against. Dharab peered down and saw the babies lying on a ledge jutting out from the mountainside. One movement, even a shiver, would push the rock over the edge, crushing the crying babies, and sending them plunging into the ravine below.

The dragon laughed. “I planned to finish you tonight,” he said, panting hard, “but the woman’s knife cut my arm and that has slowed me, just a little, but enough. If you want to save your children, you must let me go. And know this: I will return, some day in your future and mine, to destroy you and them.”

Dharab hesitated for a heartbeat, then he lowered his sword.

“Fool!” shouted the dragon. Unfurling his huge, black wings, he lifted himself into the air. At the very last minute, he gave a backward thrust with his legs, to push the rock over the edge.

But Dharab was not such a fool as the dragon thought. He threw his sword like a spear, striking Tarn no more than a glancing blow to the chest, but it was enough to throw the dragon off balance, and give Dharab a few precious seconds. He scrambled under the teetering rock and leapt down to the ledge, grabbing up the children and pressing them and himself into a crack in the side of the mountain, just as the rock fell. It crashed and rumbled past him, taking half the ledge with it, the very place where the babies had been seconds before.

With a hollow laugh, Tarn swept away into the night. Dharab, his two little ones held tightly to his chest, made his way back down the mountains, to where Eva was waiting.

When she saw them, she took the children from Dharab and held them and cried over them until all three of them were crying together. But Dharab’s face was like stone. “I failed,” he said. “I let him go, to kill and destroy, wherever and whenever he pleases.”

Eva looked up into his face, her own covered in tears. “You couldn’t have done anything else. You had to save the children.”

So Tarn the dragon-enchanter lived to bring death and destruction wherever he went throughout the fourteen islands, until the day he returned to fulfil his promise to Dharab. But that is a story for another day.