The Eye Of The Beholder by Lala Celaya
Dragons & Wyverns Short Story Challenge
6th place
The Eye Of The Beholder
Eamon is a dragon who hoards knowledge in every form. There’s just one problem—he can’t read a word of it. Nora is a humble scribe who agrees to teach him to read in exchange for access to his library. But when Eamon’s finest treasure is threatened, Nora learns that dragons aren’t known for their willingness to share.
Trigger Warnings: violence (mild), abduction
“It was easier to collect knowledge back when humans etched it in stone. Less flammable, and not so easily damaged.” Warm smoke billowed out of the dragon’s nostrils as he heaved a sigh, and Nora eyed the nearest set of shelves nervously. Leather bound books, bundles of parchment, papyrus scrolls—disaster seemed inevitable with a dragon as their keeper. “Alas, I do like the way the new varieties smell,” he continued, his serpentine tail flicking absently as he rambled on. “Shall we proceed to the upper floors?”
Nora blinked at him, and then tipped her head back as she peered up at the spiraling rows of shelves. She’d heard tales that Mount Eamon contained an endless labyrinth of knowledge, but she’d never imagined the stories were literal. The peak was guarded by Eamon himself, a cunning dragon that entertained bargains as often as bloodshed. But his labyrinth was more than mere metaphor. She saw now that it was a proper library carved into the hollow cave networks of the mountain.
“You’ve really never read a single word of it?” She turned in a slow circle, equal parts dazzled and daunted by the dragon’s hoard. His eyes glittered like polished emeralds as his snout wrinkled into a sneer—or perhaps it was a reptilian grin that he was offering. Eamon was a frightful beast, even in his attempts at civility. He was as large as a draft horse, with thick scaly hide and a pair of leathery wings tucked against his sides.
“If I could decipher the texts myself, there would have been no point in summoning you here.” He tapped his claws against the ground in a startlingly human display of impatience. The dragon hadn’t summoned Nora specifically, of course. He was accosting travelers along the mountain pass, and the pilgrims then brought his message into the valley towns below. The dragon seeks a scholar, the people would say. The dragon will take a scribe for an apprentice.
Nora didn’t consider herself particularly brave, but she recognized a rare opportunity, even if it was a dragon presenting it. So, she set out for the mountain against the wishes of her guild master, determined to see what secret lessons a grand dragon might teach a lowly scribe such as her. She was stunned when Eamon revealed that he had no interest in a pupil—rather, he wished to become a student.
“You make a good point. I suppose it would have been hard for you to learn to read all on your own.” She gradually inched closer, hesitant to climb upon his back again. He’d carried her inside through a gaping hole in the mountain’s peak when she first arrived, rather than using the hefty stone doors on the lowest level. The flight was unpleasant, but a dragon has no need for stairs, and she saw no other way to ascend to the next floor.
“I suppose you and I will just have to discover the contents of your collection together, won’t we?” Nora offered the beast a timid smile. His eyes flashed as he cocked his head, his expression shifting with some emotion she couldn’t name.
“I suppose we have no other choice.”
Eamon was a dedicated student, if a slow-moving one. He learned his alphabet over the course of the summer, and Nora started him on simple words in the fall. Between lessons in reading, the two of them explored the library. The dragon would select some dusty tome and regale her with the tale of how he came across it. Then, expectant and greedy, he would hold his breath and wait for her to crack it open, unveiling its secrets to them both.
“This one isn’t in the common tongue,” she informed him when he chose a scroll that was as long as she was tall. Eamon deflated instantly, his disappointment evident in the droop of his wings and the furrowing of his ridged brows. “Not to worry. I’ve a knack for languages—I speak five, continental included. I can translate, if you’re feeling patient.” He bristled with fresh excitement, eyes flashing like a cat’s in the dark as he regarded her with renewed interest.
“What immense power you possess, Nora—such a wealth of knowledge in that tiny skull.” His serpentine tail twitched, delivering a playful whack to the back of her head. She beamed at him, and refrained from mentioning that it was no great feat for a scribe to learn multiple languages. Some knew as many as eight or ten. But like Eamon, Nora was as slow of a student as she was a passionate one. She found that the leisurely pace of a dragon suited her better than the constant rush of her fellow humans.
By the end of winter, Nora had learned the histories of ancient kingdoms lost to time, and marveled over compendiums of creatures long extinct. She grew misty eyed over rare poetry, while Eamon enjoyed the fairytales featuring maiden-stealing dragons. “I wonder why no knight comes to rescue you,” he purred, and she giggled at the ridiculousness of it.
“Well, you’ve not abducted me, for one thing. But—knights only rescue princesses. Nobody goes looking for a missing scribe.” An old ache pulsed behind her ribs, and she busied herself with putting the book back in its place. It was alright not to be important; a scribe’s role was only to observe the world, not be one of the forces that reshapes it. But Eamon read her mood as easily as she read his books, and he was always quick to respond to any change in it.
“I would search for you,” he purred, “should any knight be bold enough to try and rob me of such a prize.” Nora’s chest tightened, warmth spreading across her cheeks as her eyes stung.
She took a moment to collect herself, careful to keep her tears from falling anywhere near the real treasures lining the shelves. Dragons were many things—possessive, avaricious, uncompromising. But hers was also rather sweet, when it suited him.
“It’s much too dusty in here,” she finally choked out an answer. “Come along—perhaps we can find a grimoire with some cleaning spells in here.” She didn’t look to see if Eamon was following as she hurried down the hall. He was never too far behind, content to spend his time wherever she was spending hers.
Eamon never opened the doors to his library. He didn’t allow visitors, and when Nora found herself craving the sun on her skin or the breeze in her hair, he always flew her out through the open peak. It had taken nearly the entire year, but she’d grown accustomed to flight. Still, Eamon was thoughtful enough to carve footholds into the walls for her to use, and she delighted in seeing just how far she could climb before tiring.
Neither of them considered that Nora’s way out might serve as another creature’s way in. Only fools stole from dragons, but fools were abundant among humans. Knights, wizards, thoughtless adventurers—or, as it was in their case, common thieves. It was a bright night under a moon that was nearly full, and Nora found herself unable to find sleep. She wandered aimlessly, lantern in hand as she searched for Eamon. He never minded a late night interruption, so long as it included a reading opportunity.
She followed the sound of shuffling of pages into the main hall, eager to see what book might have already caught his interest. But when she turned the corner, there was no dragon to be seen. A masked human froze in place, a sack in one hand, the other still wrapped around a book.
For a single, foolish moment, Nora wondered when Eamon had decided to bring in additional teachers. Realization sank in as her eyes drifted to the footholds in the wall beside him. A scribe is an observer, not a force that reshapes the world. But Nora charged forward anyways, wielding all the fiery wrath of a dragon. She let out a furious shout, knocking the sack from the thief’s hands as she clawed at him. Chaos erupted, the sounds of their struggle bouncing off the walls of the cavern. From somewhere within the labyrinth, a roar called back to her in answer.
Each time the human threw her off and tried to scale the wall, she went tearing after him again, desperately reaching for the stolen treasures slung over his shoulder. But the thief was quick and strong, while his temper was short and violent. Another roar sounded from below as Nora wrestled with the man, and she looked over the ledge for only an instant. There, she saw him; Eamon, smoke billowing from his gaping jaws, green eyes glowing with fury—with fear.
The thief tore the sack from Nora’s sweaty palms, shoving her hard enough to knock her off her feet. A dragon has no need for railings, and so she grabbed uselessly at nothing as she soared head first into the labyrinth below. The wind rushed in her ears, and she thought that falling wasn’t so different from flight.
And then it was flight, after all. Thick, scaled hide rose up to meet her, and she grunted at the impact as leathery wings beat on either side of her. “My treasure,” Eamon whined, “my poor, precious—”
“I’m sorry,” she wept, peering up to see the disappearing feet of the thief as he leapt out of the open peak. “I tried to save it. This is all my fault.” The dragon landed hard, and she slid off of his back with a hiccuping sob.
“What do a few books have in comparison to you?” He pressed his snout to her cheek, warm smoke still leaking from his nostrils. “Such knowledge you possess, Nora. Such heart. You are worth a dragon’s hoard twice over.”