Free From Embers by Aaron Pogue

From Embers
     
    A soft, yellow light streamed through Elsa’s kitchen window, spilling a warm radiance into the simple room. The stone walls were still cold to the touch, and there was a chill in the air that would likely remain well into the spring, but winter was over! Elsa couldn’t help grinning, and she hummed a bit while she expertly kneaded the moist dough. She always loved this time of year, when the birds began to sing again in the thick mountain forest and all the children could get out and play.
    She chuckled at that. Every mother in the dwarven village was glad to have the kids outside after four long months of chest-deep snow and bitter winds. The house could do with some cleaning, too, but her first order of business was always the bread. Bread for the whole clan and a special honeyed loaf for her dear Wotan, if he ever came back. What had possessed him, calling a Council on the first day of spring? Shaking her head in irritation—even if she wasn’t that irritated—she began to pull off large handfuls of the dough to shape into loaves. When he got back she’d let him know what she thought! A Council on the first day of spring? Why—
    She heard laughing from the living room, and the happy noise pulled her from her idle thoughts. It sounded as though a troop of children were prancing about out there, but she heard only Michael’s voice. He was laughing, and he called out to her in delighted tones, “Mama! Mama, come see!” She wiped her hands on a wet towel nearby and found herself fighting another grin as she turned from the table.
    But when she came into the living room, her heart leaped within her chest. Fear stabbed into her stomach, sharp and cold as any winter. The door stood open, and in the middle of the room her baby boy was sitting—riding—atop a creature that made her blood run cold. It looked like a giant lizard, more than eight feet long, but a double row of long, curved teeth filled its mouth, and two immense fangs jutted from its upper jaw. Three-inch claws had scarred the wooden floor and shredded her fine Elven carpet—a trophy that Wotan’s father had brought back from the War. Michael was laughing merrily, seated atop the reptile in much the same way humans might ride horses or mules, entirely unaware of the danger.
    With utmost caution Elsa inched toward the beast. Her hands shook, and her head ached with the dreadful tension that gripped her. She moved slowly, quietly, but the monster seemed to sense her fear. Cold, dead eyes rolled toward her, and then the beast bared its teeth with a low hiss. Elsa heard the warning and imagined she saw flames dancing at the back of its throat.
    She froze.
    Michael stopped laughing.
    The boy looked into his mother’s eyes, and she saw him recognize her horror. She saw his lip tremble. She saw his whole body shake before he looked down at the beast beneath him and began to scream. The sound agitated the lizard. Its clawed feet pounded a thunderous tattoo as it tried to escape the screech. That long, snakelike neck strained around, trying to catch a glimpse of the panicked boy on its back, and the low hiss became a rumble.
    For a moment she wished Wotan had not taken his great axe with him to the Council, though she could scarce have used the weapon. Instead she retreated slowly, withdrawing a pace or two, then cautiously reached up and pulled her husband’s burnished shield from the wall. She held it awkwardly between herself and the beast. As she turned around she saw the monster shaking violently, trying to fling the screaming boy from its back.
    She forgot her fear. Elsa fixed her eyes on her child and rushed toward the beast. She made it three paces, then slipped on a fragment of the shredded rug. She fell forward, gasping in fear and surprise. A shock of impact and pain shot up her arm as the shield slammed against the lizard’s head.
    The creature dropped to the floor, stunned. It took Elsa half a heartbeat to recover her senses, too,