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Jennifer Racek
The Dragon Keeper
Like Moses, the baby arrived in a reed basket. No river
carried her, only the howling eddies of a blizzard flinging itself
against his door. The river came later, when she left, and by then
the basket was no more than ash. Maybe if he had pulled her
from the river, claimed her as his own in that way, their little
family could have remained as it should: a father, his daughter,
the two dragons. Everything the world needed to be perfect.
Instead, he had only the blizzard scraping the wooden
logs of the outer wall and hissing icy breath underneath the door.
That was how Minchka arrived in his life, heralded by a rattling
knock.
•
Aleksandr shifted on the sleeping platform, rolling onto
his back and adjusting the hay-filled sack that formed his pillow.
The clay fireplace, white face dark with soot, trickled heat into
the room, carrying the stench of fresh dung and moldy hay. His
stomach rumbled, unsatisfied by the turnip and beet dinner of
only an hour before. A knock sounded from the door.
He shoved up onto an elbow and stared. Who would travel
on such a night The sun had set hours ago. Besides, his home was
far from the village, an hour’s hike through the forest. Only a fool
would travel the Russian mountains during a storm. Or a witch.
His hand dipped below the sleeping platform, groping for his
short ax.
Another knock, louder than the first. Aleksandr called
out, “Lord’s blessing upon you.”
If a witch stood outside the door, invoking the Lord would
drive her away. A third knock sounded, quick and impatient.
44 Writing Tomorrow Magazine