Unexpected Encounters of a Draconic Kind and Other Stories

By Beka Gremikova

Encounters. Whether with magic or science, expected or unexpected, they can change our minds, our destinies, even our world…

 

In this collection of twenty-two short tales, journey across multiple genres alongside various characters, including:

 

~ a mother who gathers dragon scales to provide for her family despite a perilous jungle and her own self-doubt;

 

~ a young half-human, half-mermaid girl on the search for her father with murderous soldiers on her heels;

 

~ an opera singer-turned-ghost-hunter attempting to thwart a Phantom who just won't stop interfering with her act;

 

~ a family at risk of losing their humanity to the Moon as its magic wreaks a monstrous change within them;

 

~ and an alien on a rescue mission to save her best friend's children from those who wish them harm.

 

Full of comedy and tragedy, heartache and hope, monsters and magic, these stories are an encounter that just might change you too…

• Language: English
• Publisher: SnowRidge Press
• Release date: Oct 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223225690

Book preview

Unexpected Encounters of a Draconic Kind and Other Stories

Beka Gremikova

UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTERS OF A DRACONIC KIND AND OTHER STORIES

Copyright © 2023 by Beka Gremikova

Published by Snowridge Press

snowridgepress.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

Cover by MiblArt

Chapter header design by Melanie J. Morgan

Interior Formatting by Dragonpen Designs

Contents

Dedication

Introduction

Author’s Note

Trigger Warnings

1.Unexpected Encounters of a Draconic Kind

2.A Taste of Grace

3.A Spoonful of Spice

4.Deep Dive

5.The Grave Dancers

6.Mer-Child

7.Tough Crowd

8.Topsy Turvy Tiger

9.Just a Hench

10.Change of Heart

11.Down in Flames

12.Prince of Bees

13.Of Masks and Macarenas

14.Retrieval

15.Tiger Bright

16.Sea Claim

17.The Perfumers of Qukamar

18.Sir Gawain and the Green Thumb

19.The Screwtech Letters

20.No Man’s Jungle

21.The Wolf at the Door

22.The Mermaid’s Soul

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also By This Author

For all those who face down Dragons to achieve their Dreams.

Introduction

When I was fifteen, I wanted to be a novelist, and throughout high school and university I started drafting multiple books and novellas. Then, during my second year of university, the mental health issues I’d struggled with for most of my life slammed into me full force, and suddenly the creativity that had once been a refuge turned into a curse.

Soon, my longform fiction became too much of a weight to bear; I couldn’t focus on one idea long enough to finish a story. Frustration and anxiety settled in, as well as a kind of hopelessness.

Then I discovered Havok Publishing’s website, where they publish daily speculative fiction pieces. I learned that I didn’t have to write longer narratives to still be a storyteller, and over the course of 2019 to 2022, I dedicated myself to flash fiction. Slowly, my heart and confidence started to heal, until I could once more face longform fiction without grappling with creativity-crushing fear.

Many of the stories in this book started as those flash fiction pieces—and have now been expanded into longer short stories to further explore the worlds and characters introduced in the original one-thousand-word tales. These stories explore a variety of themes: forgiveness, reconciliation, justice, mercy, and family, just to name a few.

My hope is that these stories will encourage, comfort, and challenge you in some way. And if the humourous ones can provide a chuckle or two, even better!

But most of all, I pray that for those of you struggling in your writing journeys, this collection can provide hope. Sometimes, it’s the small things that add up to something bigger than you imagined, and even if your path doesn’t look the same as other people’s, it is still valid.

And no matter how short or long a story may be, no matter how short or long a time it takes to write and/or publish it, that story is worthy of celebration.

~ Beka Gremikova

Author’s Note

A few notes about the formatting of this collection:

This book follows Canadian spelling conventions, so there will be extra or rearranged letters in some words, i.e. favourite rather than favorite, theatre rather than theater, as well as other differences.

Each story features a beautiful chapter header designed by Melanie J. Morgan. The headers hint to the genre of the story, with the dragon egg/under-the-sea banner, magical book banner, and crown banner representing fantasy; the planet banner representing science fiction; the mask representing comedy; and the eerie moon representing the stories on the spookier side. This way, if you prefer one genre over another, or are in a mood for a certain type of story, you can more easily find a tale to suit your tastes.

These stories are suitable for an older young adult or adult audience (think PG-13 movie rating). They are not recommended for young children. While none contain excessive content, many tackle mature themes. Starting on the next page, you’ll find a list of Trigger Warnings to help you decide which stories may or may not be for you.

Trigger Warnings

Here you will find a list of the various Triggers/Content contained within the stories featured in this book. My sincerest apologies if I’ve missed anything; if there is something that should be included, please contact me via email at [e-mail], and I will update the list in future editions. <3

Tragic/Bittersweet Endings: Sea Claim, Tiger Bright, The Wolf at the Door, Deep Dive

Addiction: A Taste of Grace

Broken Families/Generational Trauma: A Taste of Grace, Tough Crowd, Mer-Child

War: Mer-Child, Tough Crowd

Genocide: Mer-Child

Human Sacrifice: The Mermaid’s Soul

Animal Suffering/Implied Neglect and Abuse: Down in Flames, Tiger Bright

Fantasy Violence: Topsy Turvy Tiger, Mer-Child, Tiger Bright

Child Abuse/Neglect/Abandonment: Sea Claim, The Mermaid’s Soul, A Taste of Grace, Just a Hench, Retrieval

Dementia: The Wolf at the Door

Spousal Abuse/Murder: Retrieval

Self-hatred: The Mermaid's Soul

Societal/Familial Rejection: Tough Crowd, Retrieval, Sea Claim

Government Experimentation: Retrieval

Implied Cannibalism: Tiger Bright

Unexpected Encounters of a Draconic Kind

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Dragon scales. That’s all she needed. Just a few shimmering handfuls, and her family would be set for the next year.

But had she found any in this cursed jungle?

Not even a glimmer.

Cahya was beginning to think she might have had better luck as a viskala, one of her village’s famed warriors, than as a dragon scale gatherer. She scowled at the mockingly empty basket tied to her belt before turning her glower on the simple dagger that hung at her hip. The weapon would ward off wild dogs or other smaller predators…

…but if she happened to meet a dragon, she wouldn’t have much luck protecting herself.

But she didn’t need—or want—to see a dragon; she just needed to find their scales, curse it all!

Dragons always shed more scales during the summer months here in the mountain jungles, but this year, Cahya hadn’t discovered any of the precious scales in time to preserve them before they crumbled away. After six months scrounging through scattered leaves, flower petals, and animal dung, she had nothing to show for her time away from the village—from her husband and children.

Was she what the village youths called kial, with sad shakes of their heads? A foolish old woman, clinging to the ways of the past?

Tears stung Cahya’s eyes, and she paused to lean against a tree, fighting for breath. She could almost feel the spirits of her mother and grandmother beside her, could almost feel their desperation for her to continue their legacy. To not let their ways be forgotten, snuffed out by sneers or pity.

But surely her forebears had never had such disastrous searches. She couldn’t remember her mother ever returning from her foraging empty-handed.

Forgive me, Mamua and Alumamua. Forgive me, Boskoro; forgive me, our children.

Cahya stood there a few moments, soaking in the chittering of the birds and the hooting of the monkeys in the distance. The sounds, now so familiar, also felt comforting. They seeped into her soul, each one a gentle reminder that every being in this jungle struggled in their own searches—whether for food, companionship, or shelter.

She swiped a hand across her eyes and straightened. She still had a few weeks left before she would need to return home. Until then, she must do her best to honour her ancestors and this place, where nothing was easy for anyone.

She stepped forward, squinting at the jungle floor and praying she might finally uncover her quarry.

About an hour later, her foot landed on something that crackled underneath the mass of withered leaves and discarded tamir petals. Cahya squatted, reaching out to brush away the slimy, decaying foliage to reveal long, paper-thin material reminiscent of crumpled scrolls.

A shed dragon-skin. Yellow and curled, it was probably a few days old. Whatever scales had once been attached had long since crumbled away, and eventually the rest of the shed skin would do the same, turning into dust amidst the brown leaves and crimson petals.

For a moment, her heart leapt…and then sank. While she seemed much closer to achieving her aim, she was still so far. A shed skin did not guarantee fresh dragon scales close by.

But at least there was hope that she was on the right track.

And the skin itself might fetch a few coins at the market as a novelty item. She added the discarded skin to her basket and rose to her feet with renewed determination. She would not give the young warriors more reason to shake their heads and murmur that the way of the dragon scale gatherers was the way of the past. She would raise another generation of gatherers who would love and honour these jungles despite the difficulties, who would fight to protect these forests from those intent on destroying them.

Cahya strode along a narrow path used by generations of gatherers before her, the way marked by faded paintings of dragons on the trees. These trails criss-crossed the treacherous mountain jungles, offering safer passage than if she attempted to cut through the untamed tangle of brush and trees herself.

Finally, around mid-morning, she caught a glint of rose near a stunning array of tamir flowers, their petals nearly distracting her from the treasure that lay nearby. Cahya knelt to run her fingers across the scales, their edges sharp and ridged.

Only two.

Not quite as many as she’d hoped to find after such a long search, but still far better than nothing.

And they hadn’t started to crumble yet, so they would fetch a decent price on the market.

If she preserved them in time. She hastily dipped her fingers into the pouch at her waist and smeared the sweet-scented tamir paste across the scales before dropping them into her basket on top of the discarded dragon-skin.

Cahya frowned, rubbing her fingers together. Such fresh scales despite the days-old dragon skin.

There had to be a dragon somewhere nearby.

And where there were dragons, there would be even more scales.

And more dangers, Boskoro’s worried voice echoed in her mind. Though her husband had accepted her desire to follow in her mother’s footsteps as a gatherer, he didn’t understand her commitment to this perilous venture.

Her fingers clenched into a fist. Some dragons tolerated the scale gatherers in their forests, but it was never a guarantee. She’d heard plenty of stories of gatherers who crossed the wrong creature and ended up losing limbs—or lives—to the poison of a dragon bite.

Cahya sucked in a deep breath. Yet to feed her babies, to support her husband, the risk was always worthwhile. As chancy as it was, gathering was still one of the richest methods of support for her family; the difficulty in collecting scales made their value soar in the Tanguarian markets.

She may not be what her people considered viskala, but she could still fight to survive in her own way.

Even if most everyone back home thought her a fool.

Senses alert, Cahya resumed foraging through the mountain jungle with its towering trees. The vibrantly green, wide-brimmed leaves of fuska plants brushed against her bare arms as she passed them, and tingles of warmth swept through her skin. Fuska was another good sign; her mother had once claimed she spotted a pregnant dragon harvesting the plants.

Hope simmering, Cahya crept along overgrown paths and through softly lit glades where sunlight slid through the gaps in the trees, her gaze darting to every fallen log and boulder to ensure they weren’t actually a dragon.

She didn’t need to find a dragon, after all—she just needed to get close enough to their den to find a hoard of freshly shed scales.

She stumbled into a field of golden flowers; on the far side stood a clump of rocks.

Then, as the rocks moved, they were no longer completely grey; bright splashes of rose flashed across them.

Not rocks at all.

Cahya dropped into a crouch, her fingers splayed against the dirt.

Foreigners loved to brag about their winged dragons with piercing horns that swooped down from the sky, but among these mountain jungles, there were many places to hide from such beasts. Cahya feared far more the dragon without horns and wings—the dragon that could dash over in the blink of an eye and sink its teeth into her before she knew what happened.

The entire clearing seemed to shudder with the frantic pounding of her heart. She forced her breaths to slow, to go quiet and even; she must show the creature that she was someone to respect, not attack.

Even from this distance, the dragon seemed massive. Close up, it would likely be her height, and its snout as long as her arm. She felt pinned by its glittering eyes as its tongue flicked in and out, tasting her scent in the air.

What did it sense? Did it smell her desperation, her terror?

If she stayed still, perhaps it would leave her alone. Perhaps it would turn back and slink into the woods…

The dragon stepped forward, its hide rippling with scales and muscle as it glided towards her.

Cahya’s throat closed, and her limbs locked; even if she ran, she couldn’t outpace a dragon.

Her breaths came out in a rush, her vision wavering.

Images and sounds flooded her mind, teasing her with everything she might lose: her three children scampering through their village, voices echoing across the huts; Boskoro whispering stories of their people to the eldest; evenings with her family spent creating jewellery from broken scales and bones to sell at market or offer as gifts to loved ones.

If she gave in to the tight, chilled fear coursing through her limbs, she truly would lose everything. She had to fight, somehow.

She shoved back the panic and took quick stock of her situation, much as she would while resolving an argument between her children.

The dragon was about halfway across the clearing. Her dagger—a gift from her mother—would work best against smaller dragons that hadn’t yet developed tough protective skin underneath their scales. She might be able to stun it, but she couldn’t kill it.

Sweat beaded on her skin. Nobody she knew personally had ever come across such a large dragon, and, despite the horrors she’d heard surrounding dragon attacks, when deciding whether to feed her children or spend a lavish amount on an upgraded weapon she might never use, she’d opted to buy more food.

And now here she was, facing down her likely death with only a basket for a shield. Though it didn’t offer much protection: the best she could do was wedge it into the creature’s mouth to buy a mere few moments before it would shred under the creature’s sharp teeth.

Perhaps, if nothing else, the scent of the scales and skin would distract the creature and make it think another dragon encroached its territory. Then any ire would be directed to the basket rather than her.

Cahya’s gaze dropped to the scales and tangled skin within the basket. There was enough here to make a bit of money for her loved ones, but what would it matter if she ended up dead? Slowly, she untied the wrappings that secured the basket to her hip and maneuvered it to lie on the dirt between her and the dragon.

The dragon stopped suddenly in the middle of the field. Its scales glistened in an array of rippling rose, crimson, and orange mixed with a soft, stone grey.

Are those dragon scales? The dragon’s question slid into Cahya’s head like a snake’s soft hiss. Its voice sent chills down her spine; she’d heard rumours that dragons in other countries could speak, but she’d never considered Tanguarian dragons could as well. The only stories she’d heard about the Tanguarian dragons ended in bloodshed, not conversation.

This complicated her plan. She hadn’t accounted for the creature having reason as well as instinct. Her gaze dropped back to the reed-woven basket that she’d placed between them. Would the dragon think she was stealing?

Her hands trembled, and she hid them in the folds of her dark green wrap dress. Y-yes. I… I’m collecting them. Her heart thundered.

How odd. The dragon tilted its head, its tongue sliding in and out of its mouth. It sounded dissatisfied.

Would it demand Cahya leave the scales behind? Tears pricked at her eyes. Hungry mouths waited for her at home. Her husband’s jewellery-making, as important as it was to their people, did not make enough to sustain their family. They needed her scale-gathering to survive.

She could not fail her loved ones, not when they had to give her up for six months of every year.

She couldn’t return empty-handed.

So she raised her head slightly, though she still avoided the dragon’s gaze. Are there more questions I might answer for you, dragon of the glade? She kept her tone measured and respectful, as she would while addressing a village elder. She held her breath.

Yes. The dragon’s tongue darts slowed. Why does a scale-less need scales? The beast did not sound angry, merely curious. Confused, even.

If Cahya had to guess, she’d say this creature was on the younger side; perhaps, she surmised, it had been orphaned before its mother could teach it not to speak with humans, to keep the secret of dragon-kind. Or did dragons teach their young like humans taught theirs?

Not that it truly mattered as long as the dragon’s curiosity could be used as a shield against any outright hostility. Curiosity offered her a chance of survival…if she did not err in her wording. We…trade them for food. Or we make medicine and jewellery from them.

I don’t understand. The dragon’s tongue darts started going faster again. A sign of unease?

We—when we are wounded, we use them to get better. And we use jewellery for…displays. She flushed, thinking of moments when her husband would slip both bangles and kisses across her skin.

Courtship displays? Are you preparing for courtship, scale-less?

N-no, Cahya said, though in the presence of this creature she felt just as awkward as she had in those days. Well, what I mean is…I am already courted. And I… Her mind scrambled for a way to describe her children that the dragon might understand. I have made my nest and…and laid my eggs. Did laying eggs hurt as much as pushing babies out? She didn’t dare to ask.

You have dragonlings, then? The dragon’s voice rose slightly, and its talons scratched at the dirt.

Cahya’s fingers dug deeper into the folds of her wrap dress. For a moment, all she could see were her children’s large dark eyes and the shy, gleaming smiles they shared whenever she returned from her journeys. Smiles that so quickly turned into heart-aching hugs once they remembered she was their mother and not a complete stranger.

Three of them, she choked out. They are back in our nest. Far away.

The dragon’s tail lashed against the grass, and its tone pitched higher in her head. You will return to them soon?

Was she imagining it, or did the creature sound distressed? As though it was saddened that Cahya had to wander so far from her territory to provide for her young? It glanced over its shoulder towards the tangle of brush behind it before gazing upon her once again.

I hope to. Their father cares for them while I’m away. She spread out her arms to indicate the basket before her. Your scales—selling them helps me feed my…my dragonlings. She bit her lip, but she couldn’t keep the desperate note from her voice. "I need them," she whispered.

The dragon studied her for a few moments, its tongue flicking slowly. How long until they breathe fire?

Until they were grown? She prayed that’s what the dragon meant. "In my…my nesting ground, we care for