always true. He knows from personal experience. He also
wants me to tell you that there is no shame in turning away from your chr-kirtah.”
“Personal experience?” Jack asked, “Wouldn’t he be dead if he had a personal experience? What is he talking about?”
“He’s a….. “ the young Tarantellan paused for a moment trying to think of the word, “He’s a grave digger.”
Jack was at a loss for words. Everything he had read about it, everything he had discussed with his wife convinced him that the tradition of approval by one’s mother-in-law was fading into obscurity. It may have been common in the old days, but not here and now, not in one of Tarantella’s busiest cities. To keep galactic commerce flowing, there were conventions to be observed. Planetary governments were required to guarantee their citizens certain rights. It couldn’t be true. Jack looked at the dirt on the bull’s feet.
“Not a construction worker,” he thought.
He looked up at the bull’s face, hoping to find the truth there. Jack read an article recently that stated that some Tarantellans could read each other’s faces. He memorized all the signs to look for- the third eye twitching, a wandering seventh. He tried it several times with his wife, and he believed he could do it. His wife told him he could. But now he realized he couldn’t. He was not Tarantellan. He couldn’t watch all nine eyes at once.
“Run,” the bull clicked, “and don’t look back.” He turned and started up the street. His cousin, the young Tarantellan followed behind. He paused to look over his shoulder once. Then they disappeared around the corner.
Jack felt alone, abandoned under a streetlight in a dark neighborhood on a strange planet hundreds of light years from home. His head began to spin. He tried to swallow.
“Jack!” He heard his name called.
Slowly he turned around. There in front of him he saw the house. It looked just like the pictures Helena showed him, round and squat like two great mud patties stacked one on top of the other, like most houses on Tarantella. The front door was set back in a wide, gaping alcove. To the left of the door two narrow windows ran up to the second floor. To the right of the door there were three narrow windows. His mother-in-law would be waiting behind those windows. Helena told him she spent most of her days there now that old age crippled her.
Jack felt someone’s eyes on him. He took a step forward, out of the glow of the streetlight, and looked around. He could see no one outside in the neighborhood, but he noticed the pipes on each side of the house jutting out and down into the ground. They looked like the long, spindly legs of some giant beast. Jack froze. It was the house. The house was watching him. The narrow windows were its eyes. Jack swore he saw one of them blink. The door and alcove were its mouth. He held his breath and strained his ears to listen for its breathing as it waited crouching in the darkness for him to approach.
The front door opened. Light splashed out on the walkway. His new wife, Helena, the love of his life, stepped out into the alcove.
“Jack?” she said, “what are you doing?”
He heaved a sigh of relief and hurried up the walkway. He embraced her and gave her a kiss just below her fifth eye.
“I was just looking at….. at the neighborhood,” he said.
“There’s not much to see at night,” she said, “Come on inside. It’s cold out.”
Jack leaned closed to her. “How is everything?” he asked, lowering his voice to almost a whisper.
“Everything is just fine, Jack” Helena whispered back, “Now don’t get nervous and ruin everything. Mother is in a very good mood tonight. She is looking forward to meeting you. Come inside.”
Jack nodded and followed her through the door. “Sure,” he told himself, “it’s nothing. I’m just going to meet my mother-in-law. There’s no reason to be nervous.” He put the words and the warnings of the bull out of his mind.
Jack’s mother-in-law sat in a corner of the living room on a large cushion. She filled her side of the room, being nearly twice the size of Helena. Thick, black hairs covered her legs. Her endoskeleton, faded and blotched in places, showed her advanced age. One of her eyes seemed to be stuck shut. The other eight eyes followed him as he entered the room.
“Ke dthik, kir tah,” Jack clicked politely, “Good evening, Mother.”
Helena giggled behind him.
With what seemed like a great effort, Jack’s mother-in-law lifted one of her appendages and beckoned Jack to be seated. He pulled up a cushion and sat down. Helena took a place next to him.
“See, Mother. Jack is learning to speak Tarantellen,” Helena clicked to her mother, “and doesn’t he look just like the men in the movies I show you.”
“Pretty,” Helena’s mother managed to say in English.
Jack smiled and looked at Helena. “You never told me she spoke any English,” he said,
“I told you she likes Earth movies,” Helena said, “Besides its just a few words.”
Jack nodded. Not sure what to do with his hands, he put them in his lap.
Helena’s mother clicked something that Jack did not understand.
“Yes, Mother,” Helena said, and she turned to Jack, “My mother is scolding me for the meal being late.” She pushed herself up on her eight legs. “I better go check the stove.”
Once Helena left, there was an awkward moment of silence broken only by the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen. Jack felt something on his forehead. He reached up to brush it off and his hand came away wet with sweat.
“Kah kur kir kingk?” Jack clicked politely, “what was your mother’s name?” He read that this was a good question to ask at a first meeting with one’s mother-in-law.
“Pretty,” his mother-in-law said, and her ninth eye opened suddenly.
A few minutes later Helena returned with a tray loaded
with crisp, roasted lokibug on sticks, fresh petula salad, and a bottle of silkdew wine.
"Oh, Mother," she said when she saw what had happened, "I really hoped Jack would be the one."
"I’m sorry, daughter," her mother clicked, "but the two-eyes was no good for you."
Helena sighed. For a moment it seemed like she might start cry.
“Keep your chin up,” her mother clicked, “there will be other flies in your web.”
Helena managed a smile. “I know you’re right, Mother,” she clicked.
“Besides,” her mother clicked, “that Two-Eyes looked too much like a lokibug. We can’t have lokibugs living in the house. What would the neighbors say?”
Helena giggled.
Helena’s mother moved and settled into a more comfortable position on her cushion. “Now let’s eat,” she clicked.
The older female picked up a stick with slices of roasted lokibug on it and started to eat. But before she could take a second bite, she shuddered. She could feel the cold night air on the hairs on her leg.
“I’m sorry, Helena dear,” she clicked, “Would you mind getting up and closing the front door? The Two-Eyes must have left it open on his way out.”
“Yes, Mother,” Helen clicked.
For my first fantasy short story I wanted to write a story about a dragon. I decided to start with the angle that there had to be something more than fangs and fire to a creature that lived for hundreds of years. Wouldn’t it have learned something over all those years? And what if it had achieved an education? Would it not be capable of civilized behavior? That’s when I got the idea of turning the medieval story of a dragon, a princess, and the knight that comes to rescue her on its head.
What a Dragon Must Do
Copyright 2008 by S. Thomas Kaza
A sharp pain racked the knight’s chest. He coughed up a mixture of bile and blood that burned his throat. He didn’t want to move, but then he caught sight of the dragon not ten yards away, rocking back and forth on its haunches. Green blood oozed from a gash in the dragon’s left paw. Slowly the knight lifted himself off the ground.
Without the help of h
is squire, who waited just beyond the woods, he could not adjust his helmet which had been knocked askew. So he tore it off and tossed it aside. His long locks fell onto his shoulders. Blood and sweat trickled down his brow and into his eyes. He blinked and searched for something on the ground. He found it, shining in the sun. Clenching his teeth, he reached down and picked up his sword.
“Curse the dwarf that taught men to make steel,” the dragon hissed.
The knight pointed the sword at the dragon, “In the name of the king, do you submit?”
The dragon watched the blood dripping from the gash in his paw. It had been a lucky blow. He had been careless and underestimated the knight. He sniffed the air. And unlike the others whom the king sent before with promises of gold, unlike those whose bones lay scattered on the forest floor, this one had not wet himself.
“I submit,” the dragon said, “I do not wish to lose this foot of mine. It has been with me too long.”
“A wise decision,” the knight said nodding and touching the blade of his sword to his forehead, “Now I must banish you from the kingdom.”
“Yes, fine, fine. Get on with it.”
“In the name of the king, you are banished from these lands forever….. never to return on punishment of death.”
“I will be gone before sunset.”
“Very well,” the knight said lowering his sword “now, where is the princess?”
“The princess?” the dragon asked.
“Yes, the princess whom you have held hostage these past months. I have sworn an oath to my king that I would return with his daughter or not