Beyond the Skyline

METAL FOR DRAGONS PT. 1

The first time she saw them was exactly one week after the scarred bear-man and his ships left the shores of Visithug.

They were large, rusted, probably from constant exposure to salty air and marine humidity, a strange weathered turquoise greenish color, and enormous.

Astrid's first thought when she saw them stranded in the harbor that day was how big those birds would be to need those giant cages. . It did not take more than two or three espionage conversations from the porters to understand that these cages were not for birds.

That day when serious, scarred and bearded men began to lower the giant cages of the new ships to the port of the peaceful and routine Visithug, marked a before and after. 

The sky was overcast and dark, the still air and silence consumed the streets of the town as if the gods themselves had agreed a few moments of tranquility before the disaster, before the storm. 

It was midafternoon and Astrid took the steps of the Sverson house two at a time, almost slipping as usual. She had no real reason to run or hide, but she was in the mood for some fresh air after a long and tedious etiquette class with Ms. Ludmila.

After unloading all the huge greenish cages from the ships, the port had stopped as if time had stood still for three days since they landed on the island. 

Every day Astrid would go down to the harbor and sit waiting by the curmudgeonly sailor's fishing post, who sometimes bored her with her stories, observing the cages and the men around them. Waiting for something to happen, she waiting for more information.

Maybe waiting for them to leave.

When she first heard the words "kill" and "dragons" in the same sentence, she almost let out a cry of surprise.

Even at her young age, Astrid understood what those giant, rusty cages that smelled of metal and salt were for. And she didn't like the idea. Not a bit.

Astrid didn't have an exact opinion about dragons. The only ones she had seen in her short life were the Terrible Terrors, the only dragons small enough not to make a fuss every time they approached the village. 

Of course, she knew the stories from beyond Visithug of raids, murders, fires, and theft of cattle. But she had never paid special attention to them.

That topic used to be the talk of the Sverson house at dinner time, but only a few minutes before old Brenda blurted in saying there is no talk of death or dragons at the table. 

Astrid had noticed that whenever dragons or raids were mentioned, the widow of the house became nervous, evasive, and grumpy. More grumpy than usual. But she had never wanted to ask, neither she nor anyone else in the house.

The Terrible Terrors were small and pretty cute, at least that's what Astrid thought, a rather unpopular thought on the island. The kid never thought they would really do any harm, they used to steal some fish from the stalls when the shop assistants were distracted and sometimes they would commit tricks when playing with a clothesline or scaring the shepherd's sheep. 

But they had never done anything to make Astrid think that dragons were cruel, bloodthirsty monsters, as everyone said.

The little mind of her childlike hers, still shapeless, was torn between what she saw and what they made her see.

So, she had no opinion, but all the people did.

Dragons were bad, dot. 

There was no further discussion. Astrid tried to gather information about them over the years, especially after the incident in which she earned one of her nicknames: "dragon girl", when on a walk with the children of the Sverson house, she had stopped to play with three playful ones. Terrible terrors with a stick. 

Astrid was three years old. She didn't even know exactly what those little creatures with big, bulging eyes, soft colored fur and that could flutter in the air were. But she knew they were harmless and not scary.

Mrs. Brenda didn't think the same when she brusquely pushed her away, scaring the little dragons with angry and frightened squeals. 

All that Astrid knew was that she had played with three adorable creatures and that afterwards she had run out of dessert for no apparent reason.

The incidents with the mischievous Terrible Terrors hadn't stopped, and now the girl she knew for sure that if she had found more types of dragons on Visithug, she would have approached them too. Undoubtedly.

But Astrid hadn't found them. When she was old enough to read, she tried to search the huge underground archives of the town, secretly of course, she searched for what her short stature and her poise allowed her to pull from the tall, extensive shelves on dragons. 

The only thing she found after weeks of searching was a dusty little yellow page book with pictures and crooked, blurry letters. But she was talking about dragons, and that was enough for her, even if she was missing half of the clearly torn pages.

Astrid kept that book under one of the shelves, perhaps out of fear that someone would remove it from the archives, although it was evident that this book had not been touched in a long time, but she considered it a treasure worth hiding.

Astrid spended hours reading those worn pages and drawings of dragons stained with now grayish ink, although she could not even read very well, for hours, hidden under a table so that no one would find her even if a soul did not come, with the sole company of a nearly finished candle, until she had to leave so Brenda wouldn't start freaking out because she couldn't find her before dark. Although she was always late. 

She fantasized about all the races of dragons that she had only seen in drawings, she dreamed of seeing them fly and play with them, no matter how dangerous everyone said dragons were. Astrid never hated them.

So when she found out that all those gigantic old cages were for dragons, she didn't like the idea. 

Astrid still didn't understand why everyone hated dragons, no matter how many grotesque stories she heard from people about them, the idea that those amazing and captivating creatures were evil still did not cross her mind. 

That was why she had secretly hoped that all these stories were false, like those exaggerated adventure stories that Trader Johann told the children of the village.

But the cages at the time looked very real. The comments and whispers of the people were very real, and the looks of hatred and fear that passed through the eyes of the people when dragons were mentioned were also real.

That day, Chief Birger, an upright and calm viking, called a village meeting where she wished Astrid hadn't sneaked in.