When Dragons Came Chapter 9: Fog of Worry

 I couldn’t rest after the rapids, and it was just as well, for the river required my attention for some time.

Eventually, though, it broadened outward into a wide, smooth waterway with hamlets dotting the banks from time to time.

I pulled my craft to the center, to avoid being seen by any who might be wakeful, and the current drove me along—I couldn’t say how quickly once the river shores lay shrouded in the mist.

Surely, though, I was well past Riverside and well out of the reach of the soldiers from there.

Or was I?

I’d never traveled beyond my village before, and had only a general sense of distances from the map. I was sure I’d now gone farther than I’d ever been before, but how much farther?

Could I safely stop? If I could get this far in a few hours, couldn’t soldiers do so as well? And what about that dragon?

I hoped the creature had overlooked me and would continue to do so, but I couldn’t squash a deep and growing sense of unease that settled in my gut.

The feeling pushed outward, spreading until it gripped my heart.

“That monster isn’t here.” I said it aloud in hopes the sound would help convince me, but the words made no difference to the fear seeping through me.

“I’m in a sweet little boat. Alone. On the Jade River.” Reaching my hand over the side, I trailed my fingers in the water, letting the cool wetness remind me of where I was.

The water moved quite quickly, carrying me farther and farther from the dragon and the soldiers—and my home and family.

I hoped Cali and Papa and Junior were all right and not too grieved about my disappearance.

“We will all be fine,” I whispered to myself, though I wasn’t sure I believed it. Khan and Rilla had siblings younger than Junior who hadn’t survived this day.

“Lord, please take care of my family,” I said.

How would they handle living without me? I’d taught Cali to take care of the cabin as well as I could. She no longer tore the clothes when doing the laundry, and she rarely burnt the bread anymore. True, she paid more attention to wildflowers than the vegetables when we tended the garden, but she was a good girl, and I was sure she could manage the home responsibilities. After all, we’d been working to make sure she could, seeing how I was supposed to marry and leave home in only a few months’ time.

I hoped Junior would behave himself. He never listened to Cali the way he did to me, and she would have too much to do to fuss over him.

But with harvest coming, it might be too dangerous for Junior to follow Papa to the fields as he had so often over the summer.

Had I done the wrong thing—leaving them alone like this?

But who else could slip out of the village to take the message?

At any rate, it was too late to change my mind now.

Still, the worries took over my thoughts, chasing each other in never ending circles—home responsibilities, the dragon, finding Khan’s cousin, the soldiers, raveling for the first time—alone, the king’s plans for Riverside, home responsibilities…

A word from our last family reading of the Good Book came to mind: “Who of you by worrying can add even a single hour to your life?”

I bit my lip.

Took a deep breath.

The word was right, of course. None of this worry would help me—or anyone—the slightest.

It would not get me to Wind Haven.

It would not help Cali or father get by without me.

It would not hide me from the soldiers.

It would not save me from the dragon.

But it was so hard to stop!

I couldn’t just stop thinking.

Could I force myself to think about something else?

I tried reciting passages of the Good Book, but I only faltered, and fell back into the whirlwind of worry. Thoughts of what the future might bring just added new worries to the cycle.

Finally, I tried singing.

I sang every song I’d ever learned—praise songs and children’s ditties, farm songs and river songs and dance songs and songs about traveling.

Eventually, the songs crowded out the worry.

And I rested.