The Storyteller and the Keeper of Words

As long as I kept my eyes closed, I could pretend everything was okay. I could ignore the rocking of the wooden cart beneath me. The straw poking through my pajamas. The cold nipping at my fingers and toes. The pounding headache that came from having too much to drink the night before.

It was the sound of goats bleating in my ear that finally convinced me to open my eyes.

There were six of them tied to the cart. Each took turns snatching mouthfuls of straw from my makeshift bed. They stared me down as they chewed. Their rectangular pupils gave me the creeps.

I sat up and tried to rub the sleep from my eyes. But my hands and feet were tightly bound with thick ropes. I scooched around the cart until I could get a good look at my captor. He was a large man. He must have been strong, too, if he was the one who had dragged me out of bed. He muttered out loud - either to himself or to the horse driving the cart along the winding path.

“What is going on here?” I asked.

The man glanced back at me for only a moment. “You won the writing contest, didn’t you?”

In my confused, hungover state, I laughed. “I was expecting my prize to be a quiet getaway in the English countryside. There was nothing on the website about being kidnapped and dragged to…”

My words trailed off. Where, exactly, was I being dragged to? I squinted as I stared into the bright, rising sun. The road wound uphill, through the forest, and directly to the front gates of a ruined castle.

“My employer has chosen you,” the man stated as simply as one would describe the weather. “It’s a shame. You seem like a nice enough woman.”

Before I could process the words, the cart came to a clattering stop. I glanced around. Trees as far as the eye could see. Green dominated the landscape. It clung to the gray stone walls in twisting vines and spreading moss. It threatened to swallow the castle entirely.

My stomach churned as the man made his way around the cart. “This is kidnapping,” I yelled. “You can’t keep me here.”

The man grabbed my foot and dragged me forward. “You can run if you want. But you’ll freeze to death in those clothes. If the wolves don’t get you first.” He pulled out a pocket knife. “Now, are you going to walk inside or do I need to throw you over my shoulder?”

With no other options, the least I could do was keep my dignity. “I’ll walk.”

***

My kidnapper had refused to step through the front doors. Instead, he’d instructed me on where to go before turning his attention to the herd of goats.

Following his directions eventually led me to a massive library. All the shelves were pushed against the walls, leaving the center of the room completely bare. Books filled each shelf and spilled over onto tables and piled up along the edges of the floor.

Only the front half of the room was lit with torches and candles. The far half was steeped in impenetrable darkness. A twisting sense of dread and curiosity pushed me to investigate.

“Come no closer,” a deep, rough voice bellowed. “Speak your name.”

I hesitated before answering. “Katherine.”

“Kaath-ah-ryn.” Each syllable echoed off the stone walls. “You told the tale of the mischievous fox spirit, yes?”

“I did.” I’d written a short story about a kitsune who’d outsmarted the emperor just to prove that she could. It was a fun story, but I doubted it would be good enough to win the contest. If I’d known this would be my prize, I never would have entered.

“Ahhh, yes. I do enjoy stories of clever creatures.”

A pair of large, golden eyes slid open. I froze beneath their piercing gaze.

A looming figure slowly rose from the darkness. The creature must have been bigger than a school bus. Pitch-black scales covered his enormous body. Sharp claws scratched against the stone floor with each heavy step. Horns protruded from his massive head, trailed down his spine, and stopped at the end of his tail.

I could only sputter out a single word. “Dragon?”

The beast stretched out his bat-like wings. “I am Archion. Keeper of Words. Lord of this castle. And you are my new storyteller.”

“Storyteller?” My voice trembled. “I don’t understand.”

The dragon folded his wings back against his body. “You need not fear me. So long as you perform your duties, your every need shall be attended to.”

“My duties?”

“Others of my kind hoard gold, jewels, and other precious treasures,” he explained. “I find stories to be far more valuable. You will tell me a new tale each night so I might continue to expand my collection.”

“And if I can’t?” I regretted asking the question as soon as it came out of my mouth.

The dragon raised its head high above me. “Then I will eat you.”

“Oh.” It was less of a word and more the sound of the air being knocked out of my chest.

The beast turned his head toward one of the hallways. “Your quarters are at the end of that corridor. There you will find food, clothing, and a soft bed. Now, go rest. I will summon you when I am ready for my story.”

***

Besides the ever-present threat of being eaten, my accommodations were surprisingly comfortable.

My kidnapper, who I soon learned was named Matthias, brought fresh food and supplies each week. He never lingered around for too long, though. The only time he dared to enter, he said, was when he presented Archion with stories from a new batch of potential storytellers.

The first few days, I explored the castle. I hoped to find something to help me escape. Weapons, a secret passage, a ring that would make me invisible. The most I found were knives in the kitchen. And I doubted that even the sharpest of them would pierce the dragon’s scaly armor.

I debated taking my chances in the forest. But the icy winter air seeped through even the warmest clothes. And the howling of wolves stole my courage each time I thought about running away.

All too quickly, I came to a harrowing conclusion: I needed to convince the dragon to let me go.

I had to buy myself time. Scheherazade won her captor over after one thousand and one nights of storytelling. I wondered how she would have fared against a hungry dragon.

I thought the direness of my situation would make it hard to focus on writing. But it seemed to have the opposite effect. I wrote story after story after story. Every idea bloomed into a tale worthy of any dragon’s collection. All the years I’d complained about writer’s block seemed so silly in comparison.

“The ultimate writing hack,” I said to myself. “Get kidnapped by a dragon with an insatiable appetite for stories.”

Every night, Archion’s bellowing voice called out. My name echoed around the castle and sent a chill down my spine. No matter how much confidence I had in my stories, doubt inevitably crept in during the long walk to his library.

He typically perched in the center of the room. Most of his enormous body was concealed in darkness. Only his head, neck, and front legs were clearly visible. There was a rocking chair next to him which he insisted I sit in while I read to him.

He kept his head low, only raising it when something in my story intrigued him. When he did, I knew a question was coming.

“What is a peen-goo-een?” he interrupted one night shortly after I began reading.

“A penguin? It’s a black-and-white bird that lives in Antarctica. It can’t fly but it’s an excellent swimmer.”

A low rumble rose from the dragon’s chest. “It sounds delicious. You may continue.”

Night after night, I brought him a new story. Whenever I reached ‘The End’, I held my breath. Would this be the last story I ever told? Had he grown tired of me? Would he swallow me whole or tear me into little pieces first?

But every night, he offered the same reply. “Thank you. I shall call for you again tomorrow.”

That was our routine for nearly two months. During the day, I wrote and wandered around the castle. Every evening, I read to Archion. Each night, I tossed and turned in my bed as I put together the pieces of my escape plan.

On the fifty-third day of my captivity, I made the first move.

***

“The end,” I said. I nervously waited for the dragon’s approval.

Archion nodded. “Thank you. I shall call for you again tomorrow.”

“Actually,” I started before he could lumber off into the shadowy half of his library. “I was wondering if you could tell me a story, too.”

The dragon let out a noise that almost sounded like laughter. “I am no storyteller, Kaath-ah-ryn.”

“Oh, it’s not that hard,” I said in my most encouraging tone. “Besides, you’ve been collecting stories for hundreds of years. You must remember a few that were particularly interesting.”

He lifted his head. “Dragons have an impeccable memory. I can recall every story in my collection.”

“That’s even better,” I said with a smile.

The dragon huffed and grumbled. I knew I was pushing my luck. It didn’t matter how much he liked my stories. He’d happily eat me if it meant getting rid of an annoying pest.

Eventually, he settled back down. “I will share a story, but I fear I will do a poor job of telling it.”

He started slow. I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or was simply trying to recall the details. But he quickly fell into a natural rhythm. And I, despite my best efforts, found myself drawn into his words.

When he finished, he turned his focus onto me. His eyes, normally sharp and piercing like a predator, were wide and gentle. “I hope that was suitable.”

With careful movements, I placed my hand on the tip of his snout. “You are a wonderful storyteller.”

After that, our routine changed. At first, we exchanged stories. I read one to him and then he recited one from his collection. But soon he grew quite eager to share and insisted on presenting one of his first. Within two weeks, I didn’t need to write anymore. He called me to his library simply to listen.

***

“It’s a terrible idea,” Matthias muttered. He hefted a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. “We’ll both end up in the dragon’s stomach for sure.”

“He won’t eat anyone,” I insisted. “It’ll be good for him. But I can’t do it by myself.”

“What makes you think anyone will come?” he huffed.

“You made a whole fake website to trick writers into getting kidnapped and held hostage by a dragon. If anyone can get the word out, it’s you.”

“And what happens when they see the dragon?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Tell them he’s a hologram. Or a puppet. I don’t know. All I know is that this is the only way to change things. For all of us.”

He let out a long sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it. But if it goes wrong, I’ll make sure he eats you first.”

***

The castle’s front doors creaked open just as Archion settled into his usual spot in the library. He reared his head up in a flash.

“Who dares intrude in this place?” he bellowed.

I placed a hand against his rough scales. “Don’t be so loud. You’ll scare them.”

The dragon glared down at me. My life flashed before my eyes. The time had come. I’d pushed my luck too far. He would snap me up in his massive jaws and that would be the end.

The sound of young voices turned his attention away. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

Matthias led a group of strangers into the library. People of all ages, families of all kinds, filed into the room. They gaped and awed at the mighty dragon.

“The latest in animatronic technology,” he explained. “Please, take a seat.”

I glanced at Archion while the group settled down. The dragon was unusually stiff and silent.

“They came to hear a story,” I whispered. “From the Keeper of Words himself.”

It’s hard to tell when a dragon is smiling. But I swore I saw a grin spread across his face.

He lowered his head and faced the crowd. “It would be my pleasure.”

For over an hour, Archion told many tales to his audience. The crowd hung onto his every word. Even Matthias couldn’t help but smile. (Though I did notice he kept close to the exit in case the dragon got a little peckish.)

As the evening wound to a close, the guests took turns cautiously approaching the dragon. A few of the children were bold enough to pet his scales. Archion seemed to revel in the attention. Something I imagined he hadn’t known in centuries.

As Matthias led the group out of the castle, I turned to Archion. “I hope you aren’t too upset about your surprise.”

A low hum rumbled in his chest. “I should have known you’d do something like this. You are quite the clever creature, aren’t you? Though a more clever one would have snuck off with the others. You could have slipped into the cart and escaped with your life.”

“If I ran away, Matthias would bring you another storyteller.” I ran my hand over his snout. “Then you’d never learn the true value of collecting stories.”

“And what would that be?” he mused.

“Sharing them, of course.”

***

Blame it on Stockholm Syndrome if you want, but the ride away from the castle was one of the saddest moments of my life.

I sat up front with Matthias but I spent most of the trip looking back. All too quickly, the castle disappeared into the trees. Swallowed up by the green.

“What are you going to do now?” I asked Matthias.

He shrugged. “I think I could make a successful business out of this. Who wouldn’t pay good money to hear stories from a ‘real-life dragon’?”

“You think he’ll be alright?”

“Archion? I’ve never seen him happier. So long as someone’s there to listen to his tales, he’ll be fine.” He paused for a while before speaking again. “What about you? How are you going to explain all this when you get home?”

I shook my head. “Honestly, I have no idea. But it’ll be one heck of a story.”