Dragon Spirit (Brian Kesinger Writing Challenge) ✔️

1 - Patumuk

When my grandma first told me about her dragon, I laughed at her.

"Grammy, don't be silly." I giggled. "He can't be real."

"Mark my words, Irina. One day, he'll come for you."

She stroked through my hair as she placed my freshly sharpened coloring pencils in front of me. Eagerly, I snatched them up and returned to my drawing while she settled onto her rocking chair by the fire, digging out her old fairy tale book.

I always drew along as she read the stories out loud to me. Over the years, the fairy tales were replaced by stories of adventurers, exploring mysterious worlds like Neverland and Oz. Robin Hood's battle against the evil Prince John sprang to live right in front of my eyes and my pencils sprinkled pixie dust onto Peter Pan, so he could fly.

The last day she told me about her dragon was the Sunday before my thirteenth birthday. We were sitting at the kitchen table, lazing the day away. It was snowing outside and she had made me a cup of hot chocolate; the darker kind that tasted so bitter that it made my hair roots curl, but deliciously sweet at the same time when I slurped it through a thick layer of freshly whipped cream. The chocolate morsels from the cookies she had baked melted on my tongue. It was the perfect afternoon–and the last day of my childhood. The next morning, she was gone.

After the funeral, they took me away to an orphanage. I was not allowed to bring my pencils or my colors and I don't remember whether I grieved more about my granny's death or the loss of the only material things I ever cared about.

I cried all day on my birthday, refusing to participate in any games or acknowledge the well-wishers. After the sun dropped like a big, fat orange behind the horizon, I snuck into my dorm to hide under the covers. Exhaustion overwhelmed me. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier in between my sobs when all of a sudden, flapping of wings caught my attention.

Peeking from underneath the cover, I found a dragon fluttering in front of me.

"Hey there. You must be Irina," he said with a nasally tone that brought out his undeniable lisp.

I rubbed my eyes, certain that all that crying caused me to hallucinate. "Who are you?"

"I'm Patumuk. I used to be your grandmother's dragon spirit, but since she's gone, the dragon master assigned me to you." He sneezed, a big flame shooting from his mouth that almost set my blanket on fire.

I scooted back a little to be out of the immediate danger zone. "I don't think we're allowed to have pets."

"Don't worry." He winked. "Only you can see me."

My head fell back on my pillow with a moan. That was just great. I was hearing voices of imaginary beasts in my head. If someone found out, they would lock me up and throw away the key.

When he kept fluttering next to my ear, I decided to better stop this humbug in its tracks. "Look, Patamak or whatever your name is, I'm not really interested. As you can tell, I don't really have a lot of space and don't have any money to feed you." I swooped my hands in his direction. "Shoo, shoo. Go away. I don't need a dragon."

He landed on my chest and regarded me with a stern look. I had to cross my eyes to get him into focus.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice. Your family has always been one of the guardians of Tassalon and it's your inherent right to have a dragon to guide and support you." His face turned smug. "And before you say you don't want to be a guardian, you don't have a choice in that matter either. You received a gift, so suck it up."

My forehead wrinkled. "What gift?"

"The gift of drawing, dear. Did you think the spirits bestow on you such a talent and don't expect something in return?" He twirled his tongue, a bunches of "tstststs" drifting my way which was obviously his idea of scolding. "Think again, girly girl. No escaping from your responsibility."

"Yeah, whateves." I had come to the conclusion that this whole conversation was just a figment of my imagination. "I'm going to sleep now."

I heaved my body to the side and he would have fallen off if he hadn't dug his sharp claws into my nightgown.

"Ouch," I protested although it barely hurt.

"Sorry." He flapped his wings to return to an airborne position. "I will wait over there." His head pointed in the general direction of the small nightstand next to my bed. "If there's an assignment, I'll let you know."

"Sure." I yawned behind my hand, convinced that all this craziness would have disappeared in the morning. The exhaustion and grief had just gotten the better of me. Nothing some sleep couldn't fix.

I should soon learn the errors of my way.

It was still dark when a buzzing in my ear tore me from my dreamland. "Wake up," Patumuk hissed. "We have a crisis."

"What crisis?" I blinked at him, trying to shake off the fuzziness from my sleep that was still surrounding my brain.

"He's back." His wings were flapping frantically. In that moment, he reminded me more of an annoying dragonfly then a grown protector of some world.

"Who's back?" His panic was catching. An ever growing unrest was bubbling inside my veins, my arms and legs tingling with anticipation.

"The Prince of Light. He's out to destroy us."

He was probably just exaggerating for some drama. A prince of light didn't sound so bad. Usually, the villains were dark and thrived on coldness and shadows.

I sighed. "And what will this prince do which is so bad?"

He let out a huff like I should know, more fire flying in my direction. "The Prince of Light will steal every single color"–more sparks were spewing from his mouth–"and you're the only one who can stop him."