I wrote the following short story for an anthology about “Fool’s Errands,” meaning hopeless causes and impossible tasks. Although this story will make FAR MORE sense if you read “Marked” first, it may also stand alone. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
Davy leaned against Ar’we’s warm side and stared at the sky. On clear summer days, the heavens had an almost yellow cast to the pale blue. Davy took it as a sign that something good was coming, some relief gifted by the blindingly bright Eye above.
The last year had been hard.
He had been a scrawny boy before, but living in the cave had limited his food options to meat, gritty tack with hand-ground flour, and whatever he could forage in the vast mountain forests. And the fact was, he didn’t know enough.
Ar’we curled her sinuous tail around him, fluttering the soft vanes at the tip against his nose until he sneezed. Why can you not eat just meat? All this foolishness with fire and flour is extra work for you, especially with no one to help, she teased.
“Humans can’t eat just meat, Ar’we, and I would still need fire to cook it.” He battered her away, but she kept flicking her tail at him until he lunged for it.
Although securely in hand, her tail continued to spasm beneath his fingers. The rumble of her laugh vibrated through his body.
He glared at her, then broke into a laugh as she nuzzled him. His lightness lasted a few moments, but he sobered as he pondered the two graves marked by rock cairns. “I miss them, Ar’we.”
His dragon didn’t answer, but she did project understanding. She felt the depth of his feeling, just as he could feel hers through their powerful bond.
Today was the second anniversary of Pa’s death, or as near as Davy could tell without some way to mark the days. Something about the weather, the day length, perhaps the scent of particular mountain flowers blooming…told him the time was right. It was a combination of queasiness in his gut, night sweats as he relived that horrible night, and an absolute, heavy certainty in his bones. He got up and laid a flower chain on each cairn, with Pa’s getting extra daisies.
Davy bowed his head and gnawed his lip, the heat of tears welling up. “Bright day, Pa. Bright day, Ma. I miss you and wish you were still here.” He shuddered, trying to regather his composure. “I love you, and I know you loved me.” He couldn’t say more without crying, so he turned and hugged Ar’we’s giant neck.
Of course they loved you, she stated. You’re wonderful exactly as you are.
He buried his face in her soft red mane and whimpered. “If that was true, why don’t I have any friends?”
You have me.
“I mean people.” Davy sighed. His parents dying had been hard, but it was even harder knowing that not a single person from town missed him. The town had rejected him, called him an urchin and a freak, and when he disappeared into the mountains, no one had looked for him.
Ar’we’s disdain emanated in waves. We live in the high mountains for a reason. You really want human friends that badly? Her nostrils flared with a heavy sigh. Then I should probably tell you there are people on that hillside.
Davy looked far across the meadow to the south. “Do they seem nice?”
Ar’we was intent as she listened. At least one of them is. They are children like you.
“Let’s go see.” Davy jumped on her back, and she galloped across the meadow in her drake form. As they neared the woods, Davy asked her to slow, unease churning in his stomach.
You are worried they’ll be afraid of me.
Ar’we always knew what he was thinking.
I will hide, so you can approach them.
Davy apologized, projecting his adoration to her, but she melted into the brush at the scuffle of footsteps. He tugged his ratty beige cloak straight and headed toward the sound.
He entered a sun-dappled glade just as the visitors did, and everyone froze. Two older boys, identical twins, flanked a girl with braids reining in her long brown hair. Her jaw dropped, and a harvester’s knife fell from her grasp.
“Davy?”
She ran to him, flinging her arms around him and hugging so tightly he thought he’d suffocate.
“You’re alive! Where have you been? How did you—” She bit her tongue with a surreptitious glance around. She forced Davy forward with an arm around his shoulder. “Davy, this is Sharon and Shandy, my neighbors.”
Davy wasn’t sure which was which. They wore identical blue cloaks and fine leather boots.
One crossed his arms. “How do you know Tara?”
“Davy is a neighbor to the north,” Tara interjected, gesturing vaguely upvalley. “I’ve known him forever.”
The twins traded dubious looks.
“Where’s Mikkel?” Davy said quietly, hoping Tara’s brother wasn’t nearby.
Tara shrugged. “He’s so busy helping Papa, he doesn’t come out with me anymore. That’s why I have them.”
“And we do have work to do,” said maybe-Shandy.
“Can I help?” Davy retrieved the fallen knife and handed it to Tara.
She smiled and shimmied up the nearest tree where a golden shelf mushroom protruded. (Another sign of good things, thought Davy.) Her own blue cloak flapped behind her.
Shandy grimaced as he inspected Davy, then glanced at Sharon. “You can only stay if you’re one of us.”
Sharon nodded. “You need a blue cloak.”
Shandy leaned in, as if imparting a secret before Tara could come back down. “You have to use kiltberry dye so you can match, and then you’ll be one of us.”
Davy agreed, and Shandy nodded his approval as Tara ran around the tree, tapping the mushroom in three spots for good luck. When she was done, Shandy waved Davy away.
“Until then,” he said.
Davy grinned, hope surging from his heart for the first time in over a year.
Tara protested, but the twins pulled her away, leaving Davy alone in the glade.
So this will make them like you? Ar’we hovered over the boiling pot.
Sweet smells pervaded Davy’s nostrils as he eagerly pulled softened berries out, leaving only the color from their dark blue skins. Then he placed his cloak into the pot and mashed it down with a stick. He didn’t know how long it would take for color to adhere to the cleaned fibers, but extra time wouldn’t hurt. He patiently stirred and waited, then stirred some more.
He had spent all day foraging kiltberries, then an afternoon washing and drying his ragged cloak. Luckily, Shandy hadn’t said he needed a new one because Davy didn’t have any money.
He decided it had been long enough. With utmost care, he pull the garment out with two sticks.
It was pink, a scaldingly bright fuschia.
Davy’s heart sank to his feet.
That is not blue, said Ar’we matter-of-factly.
Upon Davy’s approach, Shandy cackled so hard he doubled over. Sharon rolled on the ground giggling.
Tara plucked at the garish color of his cloak. “Well, I’ll never lose you in the woods again,” she said with a smile.
Davy felt his cheeks burning.
“We told him—” Shandy struggled to speak. “We told him to dye it with kiltberries so he’d match.” He and Sharon wailed with laughter.
Tara’s smile faded. “Go do something useful,” she snarled, flinging her pack at the twins. They sauntered away as she guided Davy to a log and sat. She waited as Davy struggled with his tears.
“Why?”
“They said we could be friends.”
Tara hugged him. “You don’t need friends like them. They tricked you just to be cruel. Kiltberry pigment becomes pink when it’s heated.”
Davy looked up at her. She was a few years older and knew so much more than he did about the wilderness’s gifts. “But what do I do?”
“Butterfly peas,” she answered. “But it doesn’t matter what color your cloak is.”
“Yes, it does.”
Tara sighed, then pulled him up by the hand. “I’ll show you what they look like,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But it really doesn’t matter.”
Davy watched the trio of blue cloaks through the trees.
I do not understand why you keep trying, said Ar’we, her voice tinged with sadness.
Davy pressed forward. How this went depended on Tara and the twins. He had done everything they asked, and been made a fool.
He emerged on the trail ahead of them, blocking their way, and crossed his arms. His cloak, now a magenta reminiscent of pansies, fluttered from his shoulders.
Shandy and Sharon both snorted, and Shandy approached to pluck at it. “Nice job. It’s even worse than before.”
Tara shoved him aside and pursed her lips. “The blue didn’t stick well enough over the pink, did it? Not enough to cover it.”
Davy glowered up at her. “You knew it wouldn’t work, didn’t you? You’re just like them.” He eyed the pleasant lighter blue of her fabric, different from the twins but still the right color. “You’re one of them.”
With that, he silently called upon Ar’we, and she came crashing through the brush with a deep growl. It escalated as she neared, and the twins shouted in fright. Ar’we appeared from the greenery in a flurry of crimson and teeth, snapping and snarling like a wild animal.
The twins ran, tripping over each other first and then stumbling away. They abandoned Tara, who stood locked in place.
At first, Tara was tense with fear, then wonder, and finally relief.
Ar’we growled directly in her face, but she didn’t budge.
Instead, Tara reached out a tentative hand, hesitating as Ar’we showed her teeth, then touched the dragon on her muzzle.
“So that’s how you survived,” Tara said softly. “You’ve been with them, up on the mountain.” She smiled brightly at Davy, who glared back at her with nothing but distrust. Then she stepped forward and hugged Ar’we’s head. “Thank you for taking care of my friend,” she murmured. She backed away slowly, meeting Davy’s eye once again. “I didn’t trick you, Davy. I promise.”
Davy jutted his chin out, refusing to believe her, then turned and walked away.
Humans were a disappointment, a disgrace, and he didn’t need them.
“I love you, Mama,” Davy mumbled as he placed a chain of purple asters on Ma’s grave. “I wish you were here.” He released a long sigh, feeling entirely deflated.
The last weeks had been hard.
“I don’t know how to make anyone like me,” he confessed to the grass-covered mound. “I don’t think it’s possible to change that.”
You are still sad about Tara, Ar’we stated, half in question and half not.
He nodded. That had hurt more than anything else.
Then I should probably tell you she is coming over that hill toward us.
Davy wiped his eyes just as a girl in a magenta cloak appeared, waving wildly as she ran. Tara skidded to a stop a few paces away and spun around.
“Do you like it? Now we match.” Her ruined cloak billowed outward in purple flutters. “I used kiltberry on mine too.”
Davy didn’t answer at first, unsure how to react, for his first impulse was to leap onto Ar’we and run.
Tara’s smile faltered. “I am sorry about the twins, Davy.”
He looked beyond her, terrified they might appear.
Tara shook her head. “I slipped away. Being escorted is like being in a cage with invisible bars. When I’m older, hopefully Mikkel will let me forage alone. Davy, I wanted you to know I’m still here. I knew you’d be here to visit them…” She plucked a flower and placed it on Ma’s grave too, then patted Davy’s hand. “Please let me in, and I’ll teach you everything I know about the woods. I’ll help you. Gotta get some meat back on those bones.”
Ar’we announced her approval, and Davy eased.
Tara. It had always been Tara, his one and only true friend.
Ar’we snorted, giving him a look.
You know what I meant, he replied internally.
His magenta-colored cloak no longer seemed so bad.
The End