Island of Dragons

  At first Henry worried that he hadn’t given the crab enough seaweed, and even considered making a trip to the Island of Shipwrecks to get more. But after a few days of resting and eating, Karkinos began making great strides. Indeed, he became almost playful as more time passed.

  “He’s acting like his old self again,” Talon said one day as he and Henry stood at the edge of the island and watched the crab play tag with the squid and Issie. “He reminds me of the creature he was before he fell sick—which was well before your ship first landed here.”

  “I’m really glad to hear that,” Henry said. It was a relief to know their efforts had paid off. Karkinos lurched to one side trying to tag Issie with his claw, and Henry grabbed on to Talon’s arm to steady himself. “I think Karkinos has a long, healthy life ahead of him.”

  Talon put his bronze hand on the boy’s shoulder and looked at Henry earnestly. “I cannot possibly thank you enough,” he said. “You risked everything for us. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d been hurt.”

  Henry could see the gratitude in Talon’s eyes. “But I wasn’t hurt,” the boy said. “I’m really glad we could help. You and everybody here mean a lot to us. We talk about you all the time—about how much fun we had here. You are our friends.” He grew quiet, thoughtful. Talon made him feel like he’d done something right. But there was one thing that had been bothering Henry since the time they arrived. Something he couldn’t quite shake from his conscience. He looked back to the playful water creatures and frowned.

  “I’ve been meaning to do something,” Henry said under his breath, and left Talon’s side. “Spike!” he called out. He walked toward Karkinos’s reefy claw.

  The whale surfaced near Henry. “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Henry said, crouching down near Spike’s face. “I don’t think so, anyway. But I need you to speak to Karkinos for me. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, I can and will,” said Spike.

  “Tell him that I used a medicine on him that will extend his life indefinitely . . . perhaps even forever. And I should have asked his permission first, but he wasn’t responding to you and we were about to go over the waterfall, and, well . . . there were so many lives at stake that I administered the medicine without asking him first. And I’m sorry. I hope he thinks I did the right thing.”

  Spike waited until he was sure Henry was done with his confession, and then disappeared under the water. A moment later Henry could see Spike talking earnestly to the crab.

  The crab and Spike conversed for a moment, and then Spike swam back to Henry.

  “Karkinos says he does not wish to be dead or stuck in a rotating waterfall, and he wants to live as long as Talon lives, which is likely forever, so you have done him a great favor. He is very happy.”

  Henry breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh good. Thank you, Spike. That’s a big relief.”

  Spike left to go back to his hiding spot under the crab’s body.

  Henry stood up and went back to Talon’s side.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing,” Talon said. “Where did you get such incredibly powerful medicine?”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Henry said. “I’m actually glad I’m finally rid of it.”

  “I don’t understand,” Talon said. “Wouldn’t every healer wish to have a large stock of such a medicine?”

  Henry regarded the bronze giant. “You’ve lived thousands of years,” he said. “Have you ever thought about what it would be like if you could die?”

  “Many times in the past I’ve longed for such a thing,” admitted Talon.

  Henry nodded wisely. He had spent hours thinking about it since that day in Ishibashi’s greenhouse when the scientist had given him the seaweed. “I don’t like having the power to take away someone’s death,” said Henry. “It’s too much responsibility. For me, at least. I worry about it a lot.”

  Talon nodded thoughtfully. “You are wise beyond your years, lad,” he said. “I hope your worries subside now that you have so valiantly used up your supply.”

  Henry gazed out over the water. “I have a feeling I’ll sleep all right tonight.”

  Florence approached with an armload of firewood and some sand chairs. She stoked the fire as Lhasa the snow lion came prancing out of the woods, not quite touching the ground as always. Behind her was Bock, silent and observant as ever.

  Talon watched them settle around the fire. “I think this is our cue,” he said to Henry. “Time for a story. I only wish Fox and Kitten were here to tell it.”

  Henry laughed. “I guess you’ll have to tell one instead.”

  “I shall do it with pleasure,” said Talon. “Whose story would you like to hear?” Talon and Henry walked over to the fire to join the others.

  “The story of that smelly, blurry one, please,” said Henry.

  “Ah, the hibagon,” Talon said.

  “Yes, him.”

  They settled by the fire next to Florence, and Talon announced the Tale of the Hibagon.

  “I wish there were a great long story about the hibagon,” Talon began. “But Lhasa and I will tell you everything we know, won’t we Lhasa?”

  “We will!” said Lhasa, her voice ringing with laughter. “Start us off, please.”

  Talon smiled and began. “Not long ago, perhaps twenty years or so, a large bundle of logs bumped up against the side of Karkinos, just there,” he said, pointing to a spot on the eastern shore. “The logs were the size of entire tall trees, taller and bigger around than any tree we have growing here.”

  Lhasa smiled dreamily. “I imagined they were trees from a giant forest that had never been found by anyone but the creatures living peacefully in it.”

  Talon nodded. “I wrestled the logs ashore, thinking we could use them for firewood once they dried out. But when I released the cords that enclosed the bundle and the logs rolled apart, a strange creature emerged. I admit it gave me a fright, for I wasn’t expecting that. He was about as tall as you, Henry, covered in black bristles as stiff and sharp as pine needles. And he carried with him a rotten stench of death that could drop a human to his knees to beg for mercy.”

  Lhasa curled up her nose. “He walked upright like a man but hunched over, and darted about so jaggedly that he was hard to see clearly. And even when he stood still, which wasn’t very often, he seemed blurry. Like his body had no true outline—his bristly coat faded away at the edges. I admit I couldn’t stand to look at him.”

  “Which turned out to be good,” Talon said, “because once I coaxed a name from the fellow he insisted I not look at him again, for stories were told in the land he came from about the dangers of looking too long at a hibagon.”

  Henry leaned forward, intrigued. “What are the dangers?” he asked.

  “If you look at a hibagon, you’ll fall in love with him.” Lhasa tittered.

  “Ugh!” cried Henry. “That would be horrible! Once you fall in love with him, does his stink go away?”

  “I don’t know,” said Talon, “for I assure you I’ve never looked long at him again.”

  “Ah,” said Florence, “but what an awful curse to have. Poor hibagon. He seemed kind enough to warn you.”

  “He is kind, indeed,” said Talon. “But very uncomfortable around anyone. He soon dashed off into the woods, leaving us wondering about his origins. When I ran across him again some weeks later, he asked me about Issie. He said he knew of her from his world. She was as notorious as he.”

  Henry frowned. “He’s from another world? And so is Issie?”

  “So it seems, although Issie has never spoken enough to confirm it,” said Talon. “It’s a mystery to all of us. Both the hibagon and Issie are famous elsewhere, though we know not what for.”

  “Did you ever find out how the hibagon got here?” asked Florence.

  Talon gazed at her. “Eventually. He told me about his home in a forest, which grew high in the mountains. It was much like Lhasa imagined it—a peaceful place unharmed by outside
rs. Only the occasional hibagon hunters passed through, trying to catch him, but those instances were few, and years passed between them, so the hibagon felt safe in his land . . . that is, until one fateful day.”

  Henry’s eyes widened. The fire crackled, making him jump.

  Talon went on. “The hibagon heard strange noises in the distance, so he hid inside a hollow of an old dead tree as usual. But the noises grew louder, closer. Days passed, but the hibagon was comfortable, and he went out at night to eat, staying close to his tree.

  “But soon animals began bounding past his hiding spot, fleeing. The noises grew even louder, and it was as if the hibagon could hear the trees crying out. He could stay hidden no longer—he had to see what was happening to cause such unrest in his peaceful land.

  “That’s when he discovered the humans. They weren’t searching to capture him this time. Instead they were chopping down his trees, bundling them up, and loading them on huge moving machines, leaving an ugly scar on the forest bed. Horrified, the hibagon drew closer and closer to the human camp, hiding behind trees, until a human saw him and gave chase.

  “The hibagon raced around the machines, and when he was sure no one was watching, he dove into the nearest bundle of logs and squirmed deep inside, intending to wait until nightfall so he could escape. He listened to the humans laugh at the man who had claimed to see a hibagon, and then the work began again, with trees falling all around. The hibagon was devastated. Sickened! He had to get out of there.

  “As the day wore on, the hibagon felt his bundle of logs move, and before he could do anything, he was being lifted high into the air. He crawled to the end of the bundle to get a better look at what was happening, but soon the end was pushed up against a hot metal surface, and the hibagon could no longer see. He couldn’t turn around, and he couldn’t risk backing out from between the logs during daylight, so he remained still. But soon the logs were moving once more, this time on a bumpy journey that lasted hours. When finally the journey seemed to end, the logs were lifted into the air once more and set down again.

  “Able to see at last, the hibagon soon discovered that he’d been loaded onto a freighter. The ship left the docks and sailed for days, and the hibagon found very few moments throughout the journey where he could emerge from his hiding place and sneak food, for sailors patrolled the decks at all hours. He nearly died of thirst on the journey, and would have if it hadn’t been for the rain. As the rain soaked the logs and dripped down, the hibagon drank every drop he could.”

  Talon paused. “Unfortunately, the rain turned into a violent storm. After many hours of rocking, and waves coming up over the deck, the ship went into a sharp spiral. The hibagon lost consciousness, and when he woke, the ship was gone. He was alone on the sea, trapped inside the bundle of logs. More days passed, and finally the hibagon’s bundle of logs floated here.” Talon folded his hands in his lap.

  “Wow,” said Henry. “What a story!”

  “That’s incredible,” said Florence, shaking her head in awe.

  “Yes it is,” said Lhasa. “And now the hibagon lives peacefully here among the trees, away from the dropbears, of course. And away from Vido the golden rooster—the hibagon can’t stand Vido and all his strange warnings and senseless proverbs.”

  “Can Vido fly?” asked Henry.

  “I assume so,” said Lhasa, with a musical laugh, “or he couldn’t have made it to the tallest tree in the center of the island. But I have never seen him fly. Have you, Talon?”

  “Not even once, Queen Lhasa. Perhaps he flies in secret.”

  “Ha-ha!” The snow lion rolled through the air and shook her mane. “Oh, I’m just so delighted to have visitors, and so grateful that Karkinos is feeling better. It’s pure goodness to laugh again. How generous of you all to rescue us! We shall never forget the kindness of Artimé.”

  Making Masterpieces

  Back in Artimé, Ms. Octavia knew that wings for something as fierce and beautiful as a dragon had to be made of only the finest material, and when she ran into Crow with Thisbe and Fifer near the shore, she had her answer. For it happened that there was a garden of magical flowers on the lawn, and Thisbe loved to pluck their petals because new petals of different colors emerged immediately following. There was only one problem, and that was an abundance of flower petals to clean up. But Crow and the girls faithfully gathered the petals each time they were finished playing and brought them into the mansion’s kitchen to be used for table decorations and whatever else the chefs could think of.

  But a surplus of petals had built up over the months since Thisbe first discovered the flowers, and because they were magical they didn’t shrivel up and die. They kept their pristine beauty, and no one quite knew what to do with them all, until now.

  “They’re perfect for covering the dragon wings,” Ms. Octavia declared. She ordered the surplus to be delivered to her classroom and sent Crow and the twin girls to pick more immediately, to their delight.

  In Ms. Octavia’s classroom, Alex had finished the official designs for all five sets of wings, and now Aaron, Samheed, and Lani were experimenting with different materials, trying to create the best “bones” for them.

  Lani had a book of birds with full illustrations and diagrams that she and the others referred to. Alex sat alone at a table with the scales he’d taken from each of the young dragons, trying to replicate them magically so he’d have enough scales to match the patterns on the young dragon bodies. Sky was busy nearby, hand sewing sheets of canvas to cover the structures.

  Samheed and Lani were working with various pipes and hoses that they’d found, but the pipes were too solid and the hoses too floppy to work. They needed something firm yet pliable, so when the wings were magically instilled with life, they would move and flow naturally and fold up when the dragons weren’t in flight. They pondered other ideas for the bones, like tree branches and rope, but they ran into the same problems.

  Aaron simply stared at the drawing for a long time. After a while he looked up and excused himself. “I’ll be back soon,” he said. None of the others really paid much attention to him, expecting little from him design-wise, at least, for they hadn’t witnessed him in action. So his departure went largely unnoticed.

  He returned a short time later with several long strands of vines hanging from his shoulders, the ends dragging on the floor. He coiled them on his worktable and began to shape one into an outline of a dragon’s wing. When he got to outlining the joints of the wing, he doubled up the vine and used ribbon and glue to keep it in place, for that part needed to be a little firmer than the rest. Eventually he was satisfied that the shape was correct. But would it move properly? He put his hands on it and closed his eyes, and whispered, “Live.”

  The structure came to life, swishing gently on the table like Panther’s tail. Aaron studied it, picturing the wing on a dragon and imagining the movements it would need to make in flight.

  “Whoa!” said Lani when she noticed what Aaron was doing. “How’d you do that?” She dropped her sticks and went over to Aaron’s table. “Vines! Where’d you get these? These are great.” She picked up a vine from Aaron’s desk. “May I try one?”

  “Sure,” said Aaron. “I brought enough for all the wings in case it actually worked. What do you think, Alex?”

  Alex looked up from his project, and his eyes widened at the sight of the moving outline of a dragon’s wing on Aaron’s table. He stood up quickly, upsetting his chair in his rush to see what was going on, and hurried over. He studied the wing skeleton for a long moment, and then looked at Aaron. “It’s great,” he admitted. “And you just did this instinctively? First try?”

  Aaron blushed and looked down at the table.

  “Can I pick it up?” Alex asked.

  “Sure,” Aaron said again. “I’ll help you.”

  Alex picked up the base of the wing in one hand and lifted the first dart of the wing joint with his other. Aaron picked up the second wing-joint dart and the very tip of t
he wing. Together they held the wing loosely so it could continue to move as it wanted to.

  “Hey, Samheed,” said Alex. “Come over here. I need you to be a dragon for a minute.”

  Samheed frowned and put down his crafts, but once he saw what was happening, he came over willingly and turned his back to the brothers. “That’s pretty cool,” he said begrudgingly.

  “I know,” said Aaron, sounding a bit smug this time.

  Alex stifled a laugh and pressed the base of the wing to Samheed’s back. “Do you dare to let go of your end, Aaron? Or do you think it’ll break without the added magic of the flying material?”

  “It’s pretty sturdy,” said Aaron, “but it’ll need some more reinforcement before it’s finished. I’ll let go for a few seconds, and we’ll see where the weaknesses are.”

  Alex nodded, and Aaron let go of the tip of the wing, then the joint. The wing sagged slightly, but it continued to move in a swishing pattern that, with a little help from the cloth cover and the flower petals, would give the wings excellent movement and a great look. After a moment Aaron lifted the tip again and carefully bent the wing at the joints to make sure all of his measurements lined up and the movements were perfectly fluid.

  “That’s excellent!” Sky called out from her side of the room. “But how am I going to cover it with material while it’s moving like that?”

  Aaron pressed his lips together. “Um . . . I’m not sure,” he said. He tried fully folding the wing and it became still, but it only stayed still if he was holding the dart, as if the wing could sense through his fingers that he wanted it to stop moving. As soon as he let go of it, it began moving again. He had no idea how to make the wing stop moving for good. He’d never done a spell like that before. What was he supposed to say—“Die”? He looked at his brother. “Alex, do you know how to make it stop?”