Why I chose this story: It conjures a world so well and Sarah’s fun in writing it shines through. To me it was the most complete story amongst the entries, with compelling imagery and poetic cadences. Most of all I love the ending.
Stormy Trees and Wounded Wings
by Sarah Oakes
When Skaldir entered the maelstrom, he hadn’t been sure what to expect.
Clouds of every colour surrounded the ship, thicker than dreams, as thunder boomed and lightning snapped, and he worried the ship wouldn’t make it.
With sails buffeting and wood creaking, he made his way through the churning centre, into the eye, into the unknown, a whirlpool where the wind held its breath, waiting to explode.
Its core took his breath away, like nothing he’d ever seen. A dragon curled around a great tree, its sapphire body bedazzling against the grey bark. It seemed impossible. But there the tree stood, with its ripe apples as bright as emeralds, high up in the clouds, in its verdant glade. It was scored with scars, and one knot formed an eye, that stared out, and he wondered what it saw.
Back home, they would have said it was Odin’s eye, a lucky sign. He hoped so. They hadn’t had much luck of late.
The dragon shifted, scales rippling, claws scraping bark. And as it did, Skaldir saw why it hadn’t rained. Deep scars riddled the wings, wounds as wide as a craters, blisters blossoming with every move.
It snarled as he approached, but he let it. Carefully, Skaldir anchored the ship to the tree, sails billowing, wood wobbling, and fetched every salve he had.
“I can help you. If you’ll let me.” He wasn’t afraid.
“You are brave to come here.” It said, voice as deep as a fjord. “You have a kind heart, that I see. Please. It hurts. I cannot fly.” A sob echoed in its words, and tugged his heart. He nodded. He knew what he had to do. For every rune has a rhyme, every route a reason.
He applied the salve gingerly, rubbing it into the vast wings as best he could. And for the next few days, he continued, chanting runes, singing songs, spreading salves. They shared stories and apples, as time passed and wounds faded. On the sixth day, the dragon flapped its wings, ready to fly.
“Thank you.” It said, nuzzling him. “Now I can fly again!”
“Go on.” He said, excitedly. “I’ll race you.” The dragon laughed.
He rushed to the ship, quickly loosing his anchor, waiting for a sign. With a roar, the dragon took flight, scales shimmering, wings thundering, soaring faster than a hurricane, and as his ship followed, the rain began to fall.
Sarah Oakes is a visually impaired science fiction and fantasy writer who loves music, mythology, and plays the clarinet. She has had one short story, three poems and many flashes published, both in print and online. Her work can be found in The Microlit Almanac, The Failing Writers Podcast, Bubble Lit Mag, Fictionette, Voidspace Zine, Pure Slush, Wishbone Words, Sixpence Society, FromOneLine, and National Flash Fiction Day.
Cath Barton 