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Meneka stayed up all night watching the dark waters. Fog and smoke hovered over the bay, but he could still see the stars reflected in the tide.
What happened to Kaempie? Why doesn’t he show up here and help us out?
Some of those shimmering reflections on the water were moving. They weren’t stars at all. Meneka knew that. They were ships, and most likely Hacatine’s ships. If Meneka didn’t do something fantastic, she’d invade this village looking for him. And these people would probably hand him over to her.
Meneka glanced up at the mountain that towered over the village behind him. Eerily glowing in the starlight, its peaks appeared like ghostly hands caressing a dimly lit candle.
Why should he let the murderess snuff out his life when he had this entire land at his command?
Meneka cupped his hands and concentrated on the power that pulsated beneath the flesh of his fingers. Even if he couldn’t make a serpent come to life, with the right maneuvering, he could fool the villagers into thinking the vision was real. He breathed into his hands, closed his eyes, and imagined a most horrendous creature. Eyes of marble hollowed into a skull of dark shadows, coated with scales, its pointed fangs arched dangerously over its mouth. A gilded body sweeping into a tail of thick mass as heavy as lead.
“Yes. The essence of wickedness! This is what I think of you, Hacatine. And you won’t own these people. I will. They will hate you and love me. They’ll never be your slaves, but they’ll be my loyal subjects,” he whispered.
He held the fireball for a long moment, soaking in the warmth it churned, and then tucked it into his shirt. Content that his plan was going to work, he nestled in the sand under the stars and fell asleep.
The wind picked up in the night. By dawn, the tide was high, and breakers broke the silence of the morning, pounding on the beach like explosions of thunder.
The ships were offshore, but the gale that stirred held them back. Meneka stood and watched as the villagers ran in panic. Lines of people streamed toward the mountain. Meneka’s eyes rested on the yurts they had erected the day before. They stood firm, barely wavering. Their matted walls flapped quietly.
“Eric,” he called as he spotted his friend. “Send them into the yurts!”
“Hold up!” Eric called out. It took a moment for Eric to redirect the people, but soon they turned back. Many of the men eyed him suspiciously as they passed, but Meneka nodded in confidence at those who peered.
“It’s fine. The yurts will hold. You’ll be fine.”
When the people were sheltered, Meneka walked to the beach where the abandoned fishing boats tossed on the waves. He could see Hacatine’s ship plainly. There was no mistaking that vessel, appropriately named The Intruder. The ship hadn’t always belonged to the sorceress but was once owned by the wizard king Bolero before the uprising. Meneka’s eyes rested on the beak head as the boat rocked on the water. A young maiden carved from a lush red wood, common in the forests of Taikus, clung to the bow as though the ship was her cargo. Meneka knew the vessel well, for he came from a family of seafarers who had sailed with the king long ago.
Thoughts of his father made Meneka’s heart beat hard, and he felt the ball of fire warming his chest. The heat of his anger satisfied him as he watched the sails tear and the ship come dangerously close to the rocky cliffs.
“Douse the sails.” A woman’s voice shouted above the whistle of the wind and then he saw the silver hair and black costume of the queen. She stood at the helm, shouting orders to her warriors. No wizard was on that ship, only Hacatine’s army of sorceresses. Men could no longer sail from Taikus, for those that had been spared life were disabled of their senses.
“Take your world of sorcery and lack of wisdom and drown.” he uttered.
She must have seen him, for Hacatine now had a spyglass in her hand. Meneka moved to higher ground, hoping she would see who it was about to destroy her.
There was no sun, but a flash came from her hands, regardless. The dagger. With the swelling of the sea, a serpent appeared. Meneka should have known she’d use her sea slaves. This serpent, unlike the one tucked secretly in his shirt, was real. As far as he knew, sea serpents couldn’t leave the water. Meneka ran inland, past the yurts, toward even higher ground.
The wind had strengthened, bringing rain that stung him as it slapped against his body. His hair, now dripping, clung to his face as he slipped on the muddy trail toward the peaks. If he hadn’t looked over his shoulder, he wouldn’t have seen the serpent break the surface and take to the air like a giant condor. He never expected wings on one of those slimy beasts.
The wind swirled like a cone and lifted the serpent into the air. Sounds of terror came from the yurts. The people watched from the doors and windows crying out in panic.
“This is it. This is my time to shine,” Meneka said to himself.
“Come in here, fool,” someone from the yurt called out to him. Meneka shook his head.
“I’ll save you. Have no fear,” he answered. Working his way toward the mountain peak, he stumbled over rocks, keeping one hand tucked in his shirt, caressing the fireball as if it were the very heartbeat of his life. Glancing anxiously at the sky, he studied the funnel that carried the serpent. The storm moved violently toward the mountain, and Meneka followed it.
Only once did his eyes scan the sea far below. Pounding rain made it almost impossible to see Hacatine’s ships, but the sound of splintering wood cracking against the rocks confirmed their doom. Longboats were already drifting over the white caps away from the wreckage.
He climbed to a ledge in view of the yurts and balanced himself against the wind.
The dragon spun atop the funnel cloud directly overhead. Meneka calculated the pattern and then ripped his shirt off and threw it on the ground, embracing the fireball with both hands. Aware of the native eyes on him from below, he released his trickery. Fire flew into the clouds, disappearing for only a moment, and then appeared as a monster fiercer than Hacatine’s winged serpent, the two engaged in a battle. Thrilled, Meneka laughed and climbed higher. He would meet the dueling dragons on the peak and retrieve his work of art.
Years later
Eric sat on the rock by the sea, squinting at the setting sun. The fingers of his young grandchild combed his beard gently. “And that’s the story. I swear it’s true. My sight fades now, but I could see just as fine as you back in those days.”
“But what happened to him after he reached the mountain, grandpapa?”
The old man closed his eyes, bringing the memory to mind. He breathed in the calm sea breeze. A gull called overhead.
“Why, the moment Meneka reached the mountaintop, the battling monsters fell like a comet from the sky. The fire of Meneka’s dragon had all but consumed the winged sea serpent. At that very moment, thunder rattled the Earth, and the brightest bolt of lightning anyone had ever seen struck them all. Do you see that mountain peak up there, standing tall like a pillar, split with black coal down the center?”
The boy nodded, his blue eyes wide with fear and awe.
“It was in the crack of that rock that Meneka turned into a fire-breathing dragon. He saved us from the evil of the East. And his magic still hovers deep in the caverns of the mountain. He’s to be feared. Revered. We follow his will, young man, and call him master. And your children will, too. He made the village of Menek what it is today.”
