The Coming of the Dragon Read online

  ALSO BY REBECCA BARNHOUSE

  The Book of the Maidservant

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2010 by Rebecca Barnhouse

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Barnhouse, Rebecca.

  The coming of the dragon / by Rebecca Barnhouse. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Rune, an orphaned young man raised among strangers, tries to save the kingdom from a dragon that is burning the countryside and, along the way, learns that he is a kinsman of Beowulf.

  eISBN: 978-0-375-89349-0

  [1. Heroes—Fiction. 2. Dragons—Fiction. 3. Identity—Fiction. 4. Wiglaf (Legendary character)—Fiction. 5. Beowulf (Legendary character)—Fiction. 6. Mythology, Norse—Fiction. 7. Scandinavia—History—To 1397—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.B2668Com 2010 [Fic]—dc22 2009019295

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  For

  S K B

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Author’s Note

  Pronunciation Guide

  Acknowledgments

  PROLOGUE

  NO ONE KNEW HOW LONG AMMA HAD BEEN THERE.

  When the women and children who lived in the stronghold, taking advantage of a sunny day, came down the rocky cliff path to gather bird eggs and seaweed, they saw her standing just below the high-tide line, looking out to sea.

  Fulla set her basket down and approached her.

  “Amma? What are you doing so far from home?” she asked, but Amma didn’t answer. Instead, she stared out at the waves, eyes narrowed against the sun. Fulla turned to see what her friend was looking at, but there was nothing out of the ordinary—just gannets plummeting into the water for fish, while smaller birds swooped and skimmed above the whitecaps. She must have been there for a while, Fulla realized, looking down at the circle of dried salt at the bottom of Amma’s skirt. Long enough for the tide to recede and wool to dry, at the very least, although Fulla had the impression it might have been much longer.

  Gently, she touched the other woman’s arm. “Amma?” Again, there was no response. “Well,” she said, “I’ll be here if you need anything.”

  She might as well have been talking to a post for all the reaction she got. She pursed her lips and picked up her basket. Glancing back at Amma every now and then, she sent her son up the rocks to hunt for birds’ nests while she raked a stick through the wet seaweed, looking for the only kind worth collecting.

  She raised her head just in time to see a boy hauling his arm back, ready to let a pebble fly toward Amma. She rushed over and grabbed him. “Don’t you ever do that again,” she hissed. She gave him her meanest look, then let him run away as she scanned the group for his mother.

  Didn’t these women have any compassion? She saw the suspicious glances they cast at Amma, who stood as still and silent as a rock, watching the water. Unusual behavior had been common for Amma ever since she had shown up seeking a place in the kingdom some six winters back. Or was it seven? Fulla couldn’t recall, although she remembered the way people had treated Amma even then. Didn’t they recognize grief when they saw it? And they, the wives and mothers of warriors? It was said that Amma had lost her brother, her husband, even her son in a feud, but she never talked about it, not even to Fulla. No wonder she wanted to live alone, far from the hall where nobles’ sons spent their days honing their fighting skills.

  Fulla looked over to see her own son climbing down from the rocks, cradling eggs in his shirt, waving away a tern that screamed and flew at him, defending her nest. It wouldn’t be very many summers before Gunnar would be joining his father and his older brothers in the king’s houseguard, for all that he was still a boy. Sword training started early for the youths who lived in the stronghold, and even farmers’ sons traveled to the hall during the winters to learn how to wield spear and ax. She closed her eyes, indulging herself in a brief desire for a time when boys didn’t have to become warriors, when feuds didn’t have to be avenged, when other tribes’ raiding parties didn’t threaten the kingdom of the Geats.

  A gray cloud rushed across the sun, blocking its light, and a gust of wind sent dried seaweed skittering over the rocks. In the west, more clouds gathered.

  Fulla looked back at Amma, who still hadn’t moved. What did she see out there? Shading her eyes as the cloud uncovered the sun again, Fulla stared out at the water. Was that a black speck? No, nothing. Still, uneasiness crept up her spine.

  “Gunnar!” she called, and her son came running, eggs still clutched in his shirt. “Careful!”

  From the way he looked down and then back up at her with his lopsided grin, she could tell that at least one egg must have broken. She smiled and shook her head as he neared her. “Two broke, but I can get more,” he said.

  “No need, these are fine.” He held out his shirt, and she put the small, speckled eggs one by one into her basket. “I want you to do something,” she said, her eye on Amma.

  He craned his neck to see what she was looking at.

  “I want you to run home as fast as you can and find your father. He’s in the hall.”

  “I know that.”

  She suppressed a smile. All of her sons seemed to have a second sense when it came to their father’s duty roster. Long before she did, they knew when he was leaving on patrol, when he was on guard at the hall entrance, when he was standing watch beside the throne or serving as the king’s bodyguard. “Tell him …” She hesitated, not knowing quite what she wanted Hemming to know. “Tell him what Amma’s doing.”

  He nodded and started to run.

  “Wait!” she said. “Wash the egg off your shirt first.”

  He ran to the water’s edge and dabbed some foam over his front. Ah, well, Fulla thought. He was sure to get plenty of other things on that shirt before the day was out. She watched until he had climbed the path up the cliff and disappeared. Once he was out of sight, her gaze shifted to the giants’ mountain, looming out over the water in the distance, its top covered with mist. Amma
lived out beyond the mountain’s roots, alone in a hut on Hwala’s farm. There was another beach near the farm, so why had she come all the way here? Fulla walked over to stand beside Amma. Shading her eyes with her palm, she looked out to sea again.

  Again, she thought she saw a black speck, far out on the horizon. When she blinked, it was gone. Just waves, she realized, which have a habit of making themselves appear to be whales and sea monsters and longships.

  She glanced sideways at Amma, at her dark hair and brows, so unlike the blond and brown and red hair of the Geats. Near Amma’s ear, strands of gray mingled with the dark hair. Fulla unconsciously touched the hair above her own ear before concentrating on the horizon again.

  There! She had seen something; she was sure of it. She squinted into the distance. Far out at sea, something bobbed on the water, winking in and out of existence as the waves pushed it from crest to trough. It might have been a bird or a piece of driftwood. Or it might have been something else.

  She watched it for a long time, until the clouds had rolled over the entire sky, taking the sparkle off the water and turning it a hard metallic gray, like the color of chain mail.

  “What is it?” someone beside her asked, making her jump—Elli, a girl Gunnar’s age.

  “Probably just a bit of wood,” Fulla said. “Come, we’d best get home before it rains. Where’s your mother?”

  Elli pointed and Fulla shooed her off. When the girl was gone, Fulla whispered, “Amma? Do you know what it is?”

  Without taking her eyes from the water, Amma quirked her lips, then moved her chin in the slightest approximation of a nod.

  “Could you tell me?”

  There was no response.

  “Is it …” Fulla hesitated to say the word. “Is it raiders?”

  Again, Amma said nothing.

  It could be a longship full of warriors ready to sweep down and take the Geats captive, enslaving them. And like bait to lure them forward, defenseless women and children swarmed over the beach while gulls and terns screamed and swooped over their disturbed nests. How foolish she’d been, standing here doing nothing! Fulla gathered her skirts and ran. She called for the other women, trying to hurry them without causing panic. A few of them looked out at the water and, understanding her rush, began to help.

  Just as the children had all been rounded up, the sound of hoofbeats from the cliff made Fulla turn in alarm. She let out her breath in relief when she realized it was her husband, Hemming, Gunnar in front of him on the horse. Behind them rode two other warriors, Dayraven and Horsa. They reined in their mounts, and she saw Gunnar pointing excitedly at the sea.

  “Let’s go,” she said to the woman in front of her, who called out, “No pushing, Tor!” as she shepherded the children up the rocky path.

  The children were safely at the top of the cliff and heading down the trail toward the stronghold, Elli in the lead, by the time Fulla reached her husband, who was still on his horse. Gunnar had dismounted. “It’s a boat,” he said.

  She reached for her son, wrapping her arms around his chest, and turned back to look. She could see now that he was right; it was definitely a boat, but too small for a longship. Gunnar tried to shrug himself out of her grasp, but she held him and said, “I want you to go back to the stronghold.”

  “I just got here,” he protested.

  “Let the boy stay,” Hemming said. “It’s nothing dangerous.”

  Fulla gave her husband a sharp look, but he was grinning at Gunnar, who capered to the other side of the horse, away from his mother.

  Several of the women had stopped on the cliff to watch as the boat grew more defined. Fulla thought there might be someone in it, but it was still too far away to see clearly. The wind insisted on sending her hair into her eyes. She pushed it back and scanned the sky, now cloud-covered. The air had a heavy feel, but it didn’t smell like rain. On the beach, Amma still hadn’t moved, even though the tide had turned to creep back toward her. “If it’s not dangerous, I’m going down to her.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Hemming said.

  She shook her head and gestured toward Gunnar.

  “He’ll be all right.” He dismounted and threw his reins to Gunnar. “Watch my horse, son.”

  Gunnar beamed and stroked the horse’s neck.

  Hemming looked up at the two younger warriors, who sat on their horses, scanning the horizon. Some wordless conversation seemed to take place among them before they both gave Hemming sharp nods.

  A movement made Fulla turn toward the mountain. It was just a goat, standing on a rock not far away. It almost seemed to be watching them. Inwardly, Fulla laughed at herself and tried to calm her nerves. Then she made her way back down to the beach, Hemming behind her.

  When she glanced up to check on Gunnar, she saw that many of the women had gathered on the cliff. Even some of the children had returned and stood watching from behind their mothers’ skirts. Fulla frowned. It didn’t seem wise for them to stay so close to the beach, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  As she moved to stand beside Amma, she could see the boat more clearly. It wasn’t very big. Unless they were flattening themselves against the bottom, it couldn’t hold very many warriors.

  She looked at Amma, whose lips were now parted. She leaned slightly forward, and her eyes were narrowed, not against the sun’s glare but with what looked like eagerness. She was breathing quickly. Fulla’s own breath quickened with anticipation and fear.

  Pulled by the incoming tide, the boat drew nearer, rocking on the waves. As the prow dipped, Fulla got a glimpse of something inside—a head? But the prow rose again, blocking the view.

  “Is there someone in the boat?” she asked Amma, her heart pounding.

  Amma nodded, her eyes never leaving the water.

  “Hemming?” Fulla turned to her husband to make sure he’d heard and saw his hand gripping his sword hilt. She glanced back at the cliff to find Gunnar, who was now sitting atop his father’s horse. At least he could get away quickly if he needed to. But what about all the women and children who stood watching?

  The craft drew nearer, near enough that she could see it was a rowboat, and not a very big one. There were no oars. Fulla swallowed, trying to quell her anxiety.

  The prow rose, then dipped again. As it did, she saw something round—a shield. Hemming had seen it, too; he walked forward, unmindful of the waves splashing over his shoes.

  The boat was no more than a furlong away now, but the nearer it got, the more its high sides shielded its contents from view. Those on the cliff would be able to see into it more easily, and Fulla glanced back in time to see Dayraven, one of the young warriors, dismounting from his horse.

  When she turned around again, she realized she was alone; like Hemming, Amma had been drawn forward. Water rushed over Amma’s shoes as a wave came in, then sucked at the bottom of her skirts as the wave rushed back out to sea.

  Fulla moved forward, too, ignoring the icy water on her ankles, keeping her eyes on the boat, on her husband, on Amma. She could hear the slap of the water against the boat’s sides and see a line of barnacles attached to its wooden hull.

  And then, coming in fast over the rocks, the boat was upon them. Amma rushed into waist-deep waves to grab a side of it as Hemming took the other, and Fulla found herself hauling at the prow, aware of a sharp reek floating on the salt air.

  A wave pushed the boat forward, and she scrambled out of the way, bumping into Hemming in her hurry. The boat scraped over the rocks and sand, Amma and Hemming pulling at it as Fulla watched, hand to her chest in astonishment.

  From the bottom of the boat, surrounded by a sword, a shield, and a chain-mail shirt, a wool blanket exposing its bare shoulders, a baby stared up at them with wide brown eyes.

  Fulla looked from the baby to Amma, who was reaching for the child.

  “Don’t touch it!” a man cried out.

  Dayraven strode toward them, his sword raised.

  “It’s just a baby,
Dayraven,” Fulla said.

  “I said, don’t touch it.”

  Fulla could see the fear on his face as he reached for Amma’s arm, pulling her back from the boat.

  The look Amma gave the warrior would have caused Fulla to crumple if it had been directed at her, but Day raven stood firm, putting himself between Amma and the boat.

  “What’s this, now? Why shouldn’t she touch it?” Hemming asked, coming around to the other side of the boat.

  “Look at it,” Dayraven said. “Don’t you see what it is? We can’t interfere with somebody’s offering to the gods—that would be sacrilege!”

  Fulla turned her head just in time to see the baby screw its eyes closed, open its mouth, and begin to wail. Her heart hurt for the child, and she longed to comfort it. It must be so cold, so hungry, so afraid. But Dayraven could be right. The weapons and armor arranged around it did make it look like an offering to the gods.

  “Get out of my way,” Amma said, her voice a snarl. Unable to loosen Dayraven’s grip from her arm, she tried to shoulder past him.

  Dayraven jerked her by the arm.

  “Dayraven!” Hemming said, his voice cold. “Let her go. Amma, stand with my wife.”

  Fulla saw Amma glare at him, but she shook off Dayraven’s arm without trying to go to the boat. When she didn’t move, Fulla went over and stood beside her, her eyes on her husband’s.

  “What are you suggesting we do?” Hemming asked Dayraven.

  “It’s obvious. Either the boat has to go back out to sea, or we have to kill the child.”

  Outrage filled Fulla and she couldn’t stop herself. “Dayraven! We don’t kill babies. We’re Geats—we’re civilized people!”

  “Do you want to bring the wrath of the gods down on us?” he said.