The Gorgons Gaze # 2

1

Gold


“You’re going to get us both killed!” shrieked Connie. She was torn between terror and delight as Col nudged the winged horse into a heart-stopping dive through a wet, gray cloud.

Col laughed back over his shoulder, his flying helmet and goggles sparing him the worst of the weather. “You don’t fool us, Connie Lionheart—you’re loving every minute of the ride.”

“Am not!” she shouted crossly in his ear. “Aargh! Look out!”

The pegasus plummeted to the left. Thud, thud. Skylark’s hooves hit turf, almost jolting her off his back.

“Nice landing.” Connie slid thankfully to the ground.

“What d’you mean? That was a perfect Athenian dive, followed by a Thessalonian Roll!” Col’s eyes, an odd pair—one green, one brown—shone with indignation as he met her gaze. He was looking into eyes that were a mirror image of his own.

Connie stroked Skylark’s nose. “So now that we’ve got here, will you tell me what’s going on?”

They were standing at twilight on top of a hill in the middle of Dartmoor. For miles around there was nothing but grass rippling in the breeze. All was silent, except for the snake-like hiss of the wind in her ears.

“Ask Dr. Brock.”

“What? Why?” Connie was completely confused now. Col grinned. He could be so infuriating. “You’ll tell me what’s going on, won’t you, Skylark?” she appealed to the pegasus.

Skylark shook his mane and shifted his feet evasively.

Connie was beginning to feel angry. What was the point of dragging her to the middle of a moor when Dr. Brock was probably miles away sitting comfortably in his garden in Hescombe right now? “Oh, come on, Col! You can’t bring me all the way out here for nothing!”

“Not for nothing, Universal,” came a voice behind her.

Connie spun around. There was Dr. Brock, his ginger-streaked white hair flapping untidily in the wind. Where had he come from? He seemed to have sprung out of the ground itself.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in surprise.

“We have something special to show you. Follow me.” Dr. Brock—a companion to dragons and leader of the local chapter of the Society for the Protection of Mythical Creatures—turned and led Connie, Col, and Skylark to a steep path leading away from the brow of the hill. The track ended at a brook trickling through marshy ground. Undeterred, Dr. Brock picked his way upstream, splashing in the ankle-deep water. It gave off a gassy reek as he disturbed it. Connie wrinkled her nose but did not hesitate to follow him.

The rivulet issued from a dark gully that fractured the hillside. As they got deeper, the roof of stunted oak trees and lime green ferns shut out the little daylight that was left. Skylark’s hooves clattered on the stones, sending echoes ricocheting off the walls. The hair on the back of Connie’s neck prickled. She had a growing sense of a presence—there was a creature, or creatures, ahead.

“I think we need some light, my friends,” called Dr. Brock, taking a flashlight from his belt. “Do I have your permission?” The last comment was addressed not to Connie and Col, but to the dragon-shaped shadow crouched in front of Dr. Brock, dwarfing the humans. Permission must have been granted for a beam of white light sprang into life, rippling its way over the uneven rock walls.

“There!” Dr. Brock exclaimed hoarsely.

Caught by the beam was a second dragon, slightly smaller than the first, curled up in the far corner of the crevice. It was lying on the ground bent around so that its tail cradled its head. A pair of emerald eyes watched them steadily. The dragon’s hide shone in the light with the pristine tones of a chestnut fresh from its husk. Dr. Brock bowed solemnly, a gesture copied swiftly by Connie. Col and Skylark backed off, knowing better than to approach dragons, or any other mythical creature, unless you were their companion. The chestnut dragon lifted its head briefly, its tongue flickering out to scent the air, before bowing its snout in response.

“This is Castanea,” Dr. Brock said in a low voice to Connie, “Argot’s mate. Come closer—there’s something we want you to see.”

Connie followed him carefully over the stony stream bed. Argot shifted his tail to one side to let them pass, observing them with what Connie sensed to be suppressed excitement.

“Go on,” urged Dr. Brock, ushering her past him.

Connie moved forward into the pool of light until she was in reach of the outer edge of the circle made by the dragon’s tail. She wondered what she was expected to do. Did they want her to encounter Castanea? Share her dreams, as was the practice between dragons and their companions? Neither the dragon nor Dr. Brock gave her a hint, so she edged forward a few more steps and stretched out her hand.