This is the first in a series of short stories I will be sharing to the blog collectively known as “Salerian Shorts.” These stories take place in the world of the Penelope’s Dragon series. Some will focus on the the characters from the series. Others, such as this one, will expand on the myths and legends that shape the world. This story is the first I am going to share, but it is also titled “The First.” I hope you enjoy!
The First© Sara Cleveland 2021
Water dripped from the hem of Marta’s cloak. She’d done it this time. She’d let her anger goad her into foolishly getting herself caught in a summer storm. Now she had no choice but to huddle in this cave and wait for the season’s temper tantrum to run its course. She threw back the hood, and more water splattered the damp stone and dirt at her feet. She ran her fingers through hair that was already as soaked through. Marta hated wet hair, especially when she couldn’t comb it by the fire and dry it into neat waves. Now it would be a frizzy snarl.
Damn her temper. And damn Gerald for stoking it.
Heaving a sigh, Marta removed the cloak entirely before the rest of her clothing went from damp to sopping. She tossed it back into the cave, away from the deluge of water coming down just inches from where she stood. Then she sat, back to the wall, staring through the sheeting rain towards the lake, which had become all but invisible.
It was incredibly dull, waiting out a summer storm by herself, and Marta soon found herself nodding off, lulled by the gentle whoosh, whoosh. She was almost asleep when she felt more than heard the sickening crunch of something striking the ground outside.
Marta leapt to her feet, her hand going to the knife at her belt. It was just a small blade for eating, hardly even worth mentioning in a fight. Yet it was the only weapon her stupid ass had brought with her when she’d marched out of the cottage in a huff.
She squinted, trying to see what was out there that could have made that noise. Had that boulder been there before? She didn’t think it had.
“Don’t be stupid, Marta,” she muttered. “Don’t go out there and draw attention to yourself.”
But what if whatever was out there didn’t like the rain any more than she did? What if it was searching for a place to get dry? A place like this cave? She’d be trapped, with the monster between her and the only exit. And Marta knew this was the only exit. She and Gerald had explored every inch of their father’s holdings as children, and she knew the cave systems in these cliffs as well as the rooms of her own cottage.
Shaking the water and now mud from her cloak, Marta threw it about her shoulders and pulled the hood up. With her sad little knife in a death grip, she eased her way out of the cave and into the downpour.
The dark shape lay motionless not two yards from the mouth of the cave. Curiosity began to overtake Marta’s fear and common sense. She crept closer to it.(more…) No Comments