The Dragon and the Stone Read online

  She lay down and tried to sleep, but her mind stirred with a mess of thoughts: dragon wings, sponges, smeared banana. Science tests, scales, and claws. The discovery of a pale stone.

  The memory of the dragon’s eyes penetrated through all the images. Their bilious shade, and the ruthless way they bore into her made her shudder. She hoped they would never lock her in their menacing gaze again.

  And yet, in a part of her mind she couldn’t explain, she marveled about what would happen if they did.

  She drifted into a fitful sleep. Hours later, when the stars blinked awake, the stone around her neck glowed like a dollop of moonlight.

  Chapter 2

  The Knight in the Schoolyard

  Lily awoke to the school bus grinding away from her house.

  At first, she couldn’t place the sound, and blinked at the ceiling to shake off the last remnants of sleep. When the hour dawned on her, she bolted out of bed and peered out the window just in time to see the bus drone down the street and turn the corner.

  “Not again!” she yelled. She still wore her clothes from the day before, but had no time to change, and so she fastened a few buttons of her father’s shirt to hide her day-old outfit. Berating herself under her breath, she grabbed her bookbag and dashed to the bathroom to gargle with mouthwash. A brush tugged through her hair still snarled in dried banana, so she just smoothed away her bedhead with her fingers and raced out the door.

  She ran the two miles to school and arrived to find her teacher already writing on the board. Mrs. Santiago’s back was turned to her, and Lily dared to believe she could slip in unnoticed. She held her breath, ignored the eyes of half a dozen students who turned to scrutinize her, and tiptoed toward her seat.

  “Ow! Look where you’re going!”

  Her bag had whacked Susan Jeong in the back of the head, and the girl now rubbed her scalp and scowled at her. Lily mumbled an apology and scooted into her seat, but not before all eyes in the room, including Mrs. Santiago’s, trained on her.

  “Lillian. Do you have a tardy slip?”

  Lily bit her lip. “Um, I’m sorry, Mrs. Santiago. I didn’t get one. I was in too much of a rush.”

  A few kids snickered, and Lily slunk further into her chair. She wished she could disappear.

  “Next time, stop by the office for a tardy slip,” Mrs. Santiago said. “Or better yet, be in class on time?”

  Lily nodded and tried to ignore the gum wrapper that struck her in the head as Mrs. Santiago returned to the board. She lugged her notebook from her bag and tried to focus on the class.

  She fought to listen, but worries nagged her and her attention soon strayed. At first, she doodled a star kestrel, a mythical bird of prey she’d dreamed up. As the morning wore on, her bird drawings morphed into sketches of the dragon.

  It seemed so real, she thought, as she outlined the scales with a red colored pencil. But why would it be in my kitchen? Could it really just have been my imagination? Soon, that same imagination took her far from the classroom, into lands where the sea crashed against cragged cliffs, and where dragons of every color wheeled through skies lit afire in the sunset.

  “Lillian. Can you please give us an example?”

  Lily had just finished shading the eyes in yellow ochre, and she jumped when Mrs. Santiago called on her. She felt eyes boring into her and glanced around the room to see more and more of the class staring at her, some smirking, some barely withholding laughter.

  “I’m sorry, what was the question?” Lily asked, her voice cracking.

  “Can you please give us another example of a woman in history who overcame incredible difficulties?”

  Lily’s heart pounded. She first thought of her mother, who dressed patients’ wounds and gave them medication for their pain long into the night. Her mom, who fought to keep their family afloat through her tears. Knowing she needed a different answer, Lily’s thoughts raced in search of another name. With her cheeks flushing and her palms sweaty, she blurted the first that came to mind.

  “Lady Guinevere?”

  Laughter rippled throughout the room, and another balled up gum wrapper hit Lily in the back of the head. Mrs. Santiago, arms folded across her chest, shook her head.

  “Quiet down please, that’s enough. Lillian, no, Lady Guinevere was not a real person. Can someone else please give us an example?”

  Lily shrank into her chair and wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She spent the rest of the class with gritted teeth, staring at the drawing on her desk and feeling somehow that she was caught between worlds.

  When class ended, Lily skulked to the back of the room to slink out with the crowd, but to her dismay Mrs. Santiago stopped her. “Lillian? Can we talk, please?” She motioned for Lily to sit beside her desk. Lily tried not to wince when a boy smacked her in the shoulder as she turned back into the room.

  Lily plunked herself down. Out of nervousness, she unrolled a sleeve of her father’s shirt and played with the button on the cuff.

  “Lillian, how are you doing?” Mrs. Santiago asked as she wrote notes in her planner.

  “It’s Lily, actually.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My name. It’s Lily. Like the flower?”

  Mrs. Santiago put down her pen and raised an eyebrow. Lily regretted she’d said anything.

  “Lily. How are you doing?”

  How was she doing? She’d lost her father, was worried about her mom, had missed the bus, and had dried banana in her hair. And a dragon had ransacked her kitchen the night before.

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  “You’ve been through a lot lately. It’s hard enough to skip a grade, and then—”

  “I didn’t skip a grade.”

  “Oh, really? How old are you?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were younger.”

  “It’s okay. Lots of people think that.”

  “Well. Still. It’s certainly hard to lose a parent. And I worry that you’re having trouble coping.”

  Lily bit her lip and worried the button more vigorously. She knew Mrs. Santiago meant well, but she just wanted to leave.

  “Your grades are slipping. You’re constantly late. And Lily—” she leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, “this isn’t art class, you know. Do you even remember what I taught today, when you spent the entire class scribbling?”

  Lily blushed.

  “You know, Lily, you can always talk to me. Or maybe you’d like to speak with Miss Liu, our psychologist?”

  Before Lily could answer, a shadow slid across the floor. It was long and sleek, a black arrow bisecting the room. Pointed wings fanned from its sides.

  Lily jumped from her chair, knocking it over in her haste. She scrambled to the window and strained her eyes against the glare of the sun.

  There it is.

  The dragon flew in a streak of red, its wings slicing the sky like blades. It soared upward, curlicued, and then disappeared behind the trees. Unsuspecting kids played kickball in an adjacent field.

  “Lily? Are you okay?”

  Instead of answering, Lily bolted from the room and barreled through a line of third graders standing single file in the hallway. “Young lady, no running!” a teacher shouted, but she didn’t listen. She could think only of the kids on that kickball field, oblivious to the deadly monster circling nearby.

  She raced into the school driveway and, with a hand shielding her eyes from the sun, she turned circles and searched the skies. She saw power lines, the stippled tops of trees. A few gauzy clouds stretched thin by high winds. A solitary crow. But no flash of red, no sharp outline of tail and wings caught her eye.

  I must be going crazy, Lily thought. She searched the horizon one more time, but found nothing and dropped her hands in defeat.

  A scream startled her. She spun toward the cry and expected to see some poor kindergartner bawling in the dragon’s clutches. Instead, she only saw Adam Sykes, his lips curled in a sneer and his cowlick waving like an antenna, wrenching a lunchbox away from a kid half his size.

  “Let’s see the baby food your mom made you for lunch, worm!” Adam sneered. The younger boy fought tears as Adam yanked away his lunchbox and dumped the contents onto the blacktop. “What’s the matter?” Adam said. “You hungry? Here, I’ve got some food for you!” With a mighty stomp, he ground the boy’s sandwich into the asphalt.

  Adam’s laugh and his cowlick standing on end reminded Lily of a rooster. With a groan of disgust and a shake of her head, she walked toward the field to resume her search for the dragon, but as she turned, the little boy caught her eye. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and with pudgy hands he frantically reached and grasped at the empty air while Adam mocked him. As Lily watched him, the adrenaline that had pumped through her a moment ago hardened into anger.

  Lily marched across the blacktop and planted herself between the two boys. “Leave him alone, Adam,” she said. “Just give him back his lunchbox, and find something better to do.”

  “Oh, it’s Silly Lily, come to the rescue!” Adam jeered. “Does your book want to go for a swim again, Silly Lily?”

  “Give him the lunchbox.”

  “Answer my question, and maybe I will. Does your book want to go for a swim?”

  “Grow up!”

  “Ha! You like this, guys?” He motioned to a couple of his goons, who snickered behind him. “The midget thinks I should grow up. What grade are you in? Kindergarten, right?” He tugged at her shirt. “That’s why you still like to play dress up. Do you see this, guys? She’s dressed up in her dad’s clothes!”

  Lily clenched her teeth. “Give. Back. The lunchbox.”

  “Or what? You’ll tell your dad?” Adam’s smirk deepened in
to something sinister. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t tell him, because he’s dead!”

  Lily reacted before she could think. She leapt forward like a coiled spring and knocked Adam across the chest. Caught off guard, Adam pitched backward onto the ground, then lifted his head just in time to see Lily’s fist connect with his face.

  The little boy, his eyes wide, gathered his mutilated lunch and dashed off. Someone yelled, “Fight!” and a crowd soon aggregated around the two wrangling kids.

  Adam knocked Lily aside with his elbow. As she staggered backward, he delivered a kick to her knee, and Lily’s leg buckled under the strike. She bent forward and gripped her knee as pain seared through the joint, and her pause gave Adam just enough time to knee her in the chest.

  Lily fell backward and gasped for breath. Fireflies danced before her eyes, and noises suddenly muffled, as if she thrashed underwater.

  Then Adam’s face, fierce with hatred, appeared above her. He retracted his fist. Too winded to stand up, Lily braced herself for the next blow.

  Flash.

  A halo of light suddenly engulfed them. It was blue, brilliant, like the blazing cone at the center of a flame. Adam backpedaled with his mouth agape, and the spectators cried and shielded their eyes against the radiance. Lily blinked away tears and searched for the source of the light. She glanced down.

  The pendant around her neck shone like a star.

  Another sound broke through the chaos. Adam, who had forgotten his determination to throttle Lily, rose to his feet. “What the heck is that?” he cried.

  Kids and teachers backed away as a white horse reared against the sky. Astride its graceful back sat a knight, his armor shining like liquid metal, a plume of white feathers adorning his helm.

  Lily’s heart pounded. How is this happening? As the horse’s hooves clattered on the pavement, she remembered the stories of Camelot her father had read to her over and over. Awe broke through her fear. He’s magnificent. Just like I always imagined Lancelot would be.

  The horse stamped the pavement in anticipation, and the knight raised his shield. Then, he lowered his lance.

  He pointed directly at Adam.

  “Prepare to defend your honor!” the knight cried in a thick French accent.

  Lily’s delight evaporated. “No, wait!” she cried. “Please don’t! Don’t hurt him!”

  “W-w-what’s going on?” Adam backed away and held up his hands. “This is crazy! This can’t be happening!”

  The horse’s every muscle tensed. It whinnied, pawed the ground, and yanked against the reins. The knight held the steed back but leaned forward in the saddle, readying to charge.

  “This can’t be happening!” Adam cried again. He looked to Lily. “Call it off, you freak!”

  Lily scrambled to her feet. “I don’t know what’s going on! Please, don’t hurt him!” she called, with her hands raised to the knight.

  The horse, frantic, neighed one last time. Then the knight pulsed his heels against the horse’s flanks, and the steed sprinted forward in attack.

  Adam ran screaming across the field. A crowd of kids followed, as well as two horrified teachers. As she watched them go, Lily held both hands to her head and trembled.

  Something is wrong. Something is so very wrong. She glanced down and saw that the stone dangling around her neck still glowed with pale fire. She concealed it with her palm and in a panic ran from the schoolyard.

  She raced to the Fortress, the treehouse her father had built in the woods so many years before. Although it had no portcullis or ramparts, no drawbridge or moat, as her mind reeled it struck her as the only safe place.

  After running on the sidewalk for several blocks, Lily veered onto a trail and plunged into the forest. The ground, still soft from a recent rain, flew behind her in clumps. As the sounds of cars faded into the distance, the mustiness of sodden leaves perfumed the air. She heard the familiar melody of the creek—Silverstream, her dad had called it, to remind her of beautiful things, just as he’d named her Lily to remind her that summer always comes. The farther she ran, the more her panic ebbed.

  She crossed the stream in a single leap and swerved around the boulders, two heaping chunks of mountain displaced by glaciers millennia ago. Finally, she came to the Fortress, nestled in the crook of a triple-trunk maple.

  She climbed the rope ladder, withdrew it from the ground, and then dived into the keep and barred the door. She crouched on the floor with her knees to her chest and fought to catch her breath. As her pulse slowed, she glanced at the pendant. The stone had dimmed, as if all along it had been an ordinary rock.

  Lily burst into tears. “What’s wrong with me?” she said. She wrapped her arms around herself, gripping the fabric that once clung to her father and wishing she could hold on to him again. He would have known the answers, or at least the words to calm her. He would have reassured her that she was okay.

  Lily wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and sighed to breathe away the loneliness. She stared into the stone, mining its depths for answers. Maybe there wasn’t a dragon or a knight, she thought. Maybe the stone hadn’t glowed at all. Maybe she just needed to believe there were knights and dragons in the world. Maybe she needed to dream.

  Was that all it was? Just a dream?

  She never discerned an answer. Instead, a growl, guttural and inhuman, sounded from the ground below.

  Chapter 3

  An Intruder in the Fortress

  Lily held her breath. For a moment, she could hear nothing except the creak of the treehouse swaying in the wind.

  Then, suddenly, leaves rustled beneath her. She peered through the slats in the floor and leapt back as something red swept past.

  It’s here.

  Lily heard a huff and another growl. A thud resounded, and Lily realized the dragon had leapt onto the Fortress balcony.

  She scoured the room for a weapon. Art supplies leaned against one corner and a stack of books against another. A few water balloons lay limp and unused on the floor. Could she use a plastic sword? A half-deflated soccer ball?

  She settled on an unused softball bat, which she hoisted to her shoulder with sweaty hands. She turned to face the door and clenched her teeth to stop herself from shaking.

  A clink of claws against wood rattled outside the keep. Floor boards groaned. The dragon snorted, sending rivulets of steam billowing into the room.

  It’s just outside the door.

  Boom. The door rattled as the dragon planted a kick against it. The bar, a wooden plank straddling two wedges of wood, bowed under the impact.

  Boom. A tail strike splintered a center board.

  Lily backed away, and her hands tightened around the bat. Please, don’t let it hurt me, she prayed.

  Boom. The door buckled. The dragon screeched in triumph.

  A sickening crack split the air, and splinters flew into Lily’s face. Then, with a horrible crash, the monster burst in.

  Lily didn’t wait for its attack. She swung the bat, striking the dragon across its horned face. The beast staggered backward and shook its head as if tousling away dizziness, and for an instant Lily considered darting around it to escape.

  She never had the opportunity. The beast recovered, then glared at her with its unearthly amber eyes.

  Lily found herself staring back. As she returned the dragon’s gaze, confusion broke through her fear. Its eyes were icy, otherworldly, yet also . . . exasperated? How was that possible?

  Before she could ponder further, the dragon reared on its hind legs, spread its wings, and shook the treehouse with its roar. The curtains whipped, and Lily’s hair flew back from her face.

  “Leave me alone!” Lily shouted. “Get out!” She swung the bat again, but missed. To her horror, the dragon grasped the bat in its talons, and with an awful crunch its jaws snapped the weapon in two.

  It’s all over now, Lily thought. She backed against the wall and fumbled blindly for something, anything, to defend herself. Her heart threatened to pound straight out of her chest.