Dragon books.

Since I was young, dragons in mythology had always caught my imagination. It was at the age of eleven when I saw my first dragon, it was in a hardback at the local library, the book was battered, torn and broken beyond belief. The materials it were made of, well the pages looked like papyrus and the front was made of a strong leather dark brown with lighter patches in places around the edge. I found it in the general histories section of the library. I spent most of my time there browsing through all the books in the library. I found it on the bottom shelf behind a large set of encyclopedias. It was almost as if the book were trying to hide.

I stole that book from behind that set of encyclopedias. For days I would go back and read it. Take in every detail it was an escape from my own reality. Nobody noticed that eventually I put it in my rucksack and never returned. It may have been old tattered and dusty but within those pages I could see different species of magnificent dragons flying, slivering, climbing about the pages. Atop of mountains or under the ground in the sea or patrolling the skies blowing flames or ice, or manipulating peoples minds to do their bidding.

The book had no author as such but a small list of people who died making this book. I thought it must have been a joke. To fit the theme of dragons, one of the best part was the general section. It talked about the habits and famous tamers who helped dragons become integrated into their societies as workers or warriors.

I spent many days reading it, my mother had recently passed away, it was a car accident she had been in a coma for the past 3 weeks and then my father decided on the fourth that she wouldn’t have anted to be left alive being fed through tubes and being imprisoned in her own body. The decision had driven my father to depression.

He was well mannered and did not loose his temper but he lost his will to live almost he sat in a chair staring at the TV He worked the best he could to support me and him. Most nights I could hear him crying in his room, He used to pray for her to come back. He never used to be religious but he still clasped his hands together wishing that she would return.

The one time I caught him with a knife to his chest…he didn’t see me. But I knew he cared for he thought I watched him for two hours he might have just seen me as a shadow in the door but he lay the knife down on the table and then he smiled. That was the last time I read the book for a couple of years. I was fourteen. My father and me had befriended one another once more and he became a generally happier person. It took three years for him to recover. It was at the age of sixteen I began reading again. My father died, he had broken his leg. He was given some medication to numb the pain. Medication he didn’t respond well to being sixteen I didn’t ask questions I just know that when they tried to resuscitate him he was already dead. The funeral was a sad even in which I received many condolences. I was offered places to stay but I quit wandered home sat down and read the book.


It was after two years at the age of eighteen I grew out of the book again but it had left me with inspiration. I so wanted these mythical creatures to exist so much I decided to seek evidence. I applied to a university for archeology in London. I had done well in school before so I was accepted with great speed. They were amazed at my knowledge of ancient cultures and animals s they sent me out of field missions as soon as they could.

I happily for years dug around in the dirt and dust. It was at the age of twenty-six that I discovered something truly, well it was magical but at the same time it was disturbing. I was wondering through the desert I had left the dig site to investigate some mysterious ruins that lay over some dunes, the desert all looks the same. I thought it would be a ten-minute walk so I only bought enough provisions for a few hours, I soon ran out of supplies and it became apparent I was becoming dehydrated, with every step I grew wearier. I did not share much of my fathers fighting spirit. I had more will power that was apparent. But as for body I was scrawny. I felt the heat more my hair being a darker colour than that of my father. He was fair haired and I had chestnut brown hair, it was the same as my mothers, the sweat began to pour and I eventually fell limp all I could see was sand, I could not turn my head I just lay there. I waited.

Heat took its toll on me in the desert I heard everyone say when I was admitted. I saw one or so I claimed, according to the doctor I must have been disorientated. After all those years of staring at the book wishing the dragons would come alive, to comfort me…came true, there one was. It was beautiful iced over; it shimmered so I was not sure if it was a mirage at the time, Water dripped from its skin slightly. It had no wings it was a flightless ice dragon or in the book they were called lesser Icinderi, I researched into it. A dead language has a word close to it. It means ice.

Where it bounded in the scorching heat the sand iced over, it became damp…it protected me from the heat, it lifted me and I could feel an ice cool breeze as it ran…I may not have read the book for years but I carried it on my person. When I came to all my things were gone except one thing there open in the sand by my foot lie the book. I was found next to a well, dehydrated and disillusioned the book next to me, it was padlocked shut…

At the age of twenty-eight it opened again. I was let out of Reels mental institute for admitting it must have been the heat They did try and take the book from me in that place but it strangely always came back to me, perhaps in the book trolley or under my pillow. A mirage, That’s what they made me believe. That was until I realized the distance traveled was inhumanly possible for a dehydrated man.

I was back at the museum for archaeology within the next month. They sent me on a hiking expedition in the Alps, I was on my own near the base of the mountain when I tripped broke my leg, the blood that pooled in the snow attracted some hungry wolves The snow’s had been heavier this year, my guide told me to watch for the wolves, they had been driven down from the mountains to hunt. After a few hours a small pack had gathered they eyed me for a brief while. I had the book again in my possession I had never let it out of my sight since the incident two years ago. I clutched it to my chest hoping for a miracle. It was then I realized the padlock was loose I opened the page to a dragon I was very fond of; I liked it because it reminded me of safety. It had what the book called the voice of the forest. When in the forest he would protect those who had paid sacrifice. It was a larger dragon that that one from the desert and it was composed rather differently. It looked more of a mount with a mossy saddle and a wooden harness, but not shaped wood. The wood was untamed and wild, there it was as I opened the page, the wolves would pounce but I could feel safe in my last moments before I left the world. It was then I looked up, a huge beast, the dragon! I looked at the page and then up at it. It was of similar look apart from there atop of the dragon rode a woman; she had fire red hair it flowed down her back. She didn’t treat it as a rider would its gorse. Instead she whispered into its ear. I could not see what she was saying. But the dragon dropped its head and snarled at the wolves. They did not seem scared but the bowed there head turned and cantered away. I tried to stand but winced, the woman gazed at me her eyes as red as her hair cut through me… I sat with my mouth open as they dissipated into thin air.

It was later that year I realized that the books name meant something. Wergild…this means blood price. I never noticed before the book was so old and tattered I couldn’t piece it together. A wergild was something used in England meaning blood price. The creatures I had been summoning required my blood, or pain. I couldn’t understand how the book opened before but when I felt distressed but I was not damaged I realized the book would open itself. My traumatic childhood may have been the cause for it always being open. I never even noticed the padlock when I was happy, as I never read the book. It must have been my fascination with dragons later on that compelled me.

It was late autumn where I realized something; it would change my life forever, now when I wished to open the book I stared at the picture of my mother and father. There faces bought tears to my eyes. It is when you miss someone you realize how much you love them. I can smile when I think like that but then I juts tell myself I will never reunite with them…they are gone forever. When I do that the tears flow and the book opens. I discovered that gives me the whole day browsing time for traces of my anguish remain until I have fully rested.

There were so many dragons all-varying in size, I still had not worked out the wergild for any of them except one. The first one, a small dragon called Shardeem. Little black. It said there are pests commonly found in the forest, they prey on merchant wagons they are fond of cheese. I did wonder because how a dragon can be fond of cheese I still am not sure. This little guy requires a broken finger, or so the passage tells me. Or I think it’s telling me. It’s complicated. This little dragon and I mean little. About the size of a starling. I don’t know how long it will last but I was willing to try it. I had stocked up on cheese and some other food some raw meat, I didn’t know why. I suppose I was worried it may stay around for a while. I had to solve this mystery so I had to do this. I grabbed my finger and pulled it with so much force that I heard it snap. I screamed in pain before I could re adjust to the pain. I slammed it back in place and bandaged it tightly to the finger next to it. I looked around…and there standing before me its head cocked like a curious puppy would tilt its head was a Shardeem.

‘May I help you’? This stunned me; nothing in the book said they could talk!
‘Yes you, don’t look at me like im an idiot. ‘Why were you paying so much for a Shardeem, we are only messengers you do know its only a fingernail don’t you, not the whole finger’! I had almost passed out.
‘If you don’t have a message for anyone then I should really go’, I looked shocked I suppose for the dragon seemed rather frightened and confused by the way I was looking at him.
‘I will go then, your wergild will be refunded’. He started to edge away. Then it hit me, the red haired girl. I could ask about her.
‘w-wait’! I yelled out to the little dragon as he began a run up. He halted and looked at me rather frustrated.
‘Yes’, he looked at me now with expectation.
‘If I show you a hand drawn picture could you send the message for me’.

The little jet-black dragon eyed me and sat himself by the side of the table. I knew I might be a while so I placed down some cheese. He looked greedily at it before tucking in. He was peculiar he carried a tiny satchel and he walked on two feet when he was talking, he had rather large wings for a small creature and he had molars instead of canines of which you’d expect of a dragon. I assumed this meant they were herbivores, of course this didn’t explain the liking for cheese. I didn’t have time to go into the ideas of it so I continued busying myself going after paper pens pencils and colours. In earlier years I had done art for a GCSE so I hoped that my drawing would be of enough likeness so the dragon could find her. I drew her quickly, I finished just as the little black dragon swallowed down his eighteenth piece of cheese. He dusted off both hands and opened his wings. He stood up right as he chewed the cheese and he held out a hand so I could give him the picture.

‘Ok’, he said gruffly
‘And the message’? I though for a minute what could I say to the mysterious woman without divulging too much to this small dragon.
‘Ask her’, I looked up in thought.
‘Ask her, her name’, the dragon looked at me nodded. I turned to give him some more cheese as payment for this but by they time I had turned myself he was gone.

I sat for quite a few days in that kitchen with a mug of tea. I watched the book and a few nights I even slept there. I even considered summoning the dragon again to see if he was ever going to give me the return message. I weren’t sure