The Dragon, the Captain, the Mermaid, and Me

By Helen Fouraker

In an enchanted land, twelve-year-old Ian Ryan and his sister, Shiobahn, live with their family. One day after the sun rises over Iremere, Ian sets out to find a fire-breathing dragon rumored to live in the nearby cliffs. Despite Ians unwillingness to bring her along, little Shiobahn secretly follows him on his journey. Shortly after the children arrive at the cliffs, they encounter the dragon and are carried off to his cave.

AnKeCh explains he is a prince who has been transformed into a dragon by witches, does not know how to break the curse, and wants to find his childhood friend, Ainsley, and marry her. But what he does not know is that Ainsley, who believes her prince is dead, has fallen in love with a sea captain. After Ian is dropped at home during a dangerous ride with the dragon, AnKeCh takes Shiobahn back to his cave where he promises not to eat her. But when fairies make an appearance and share a secret, everything changes as Shiobahn decides to do whatever it takes to restore the princes happiness.

In this adventurous tale, a little girl must rely on help from her new magical friends to help a prince reverse a curse and reunite with his long lost love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jun 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781480819818

Helen Fouraker

Helen Fouraker grew up in a small town in southeastern Nebraska, called Salem. She was raised in a family of nine children and fondly remembers her mother gathering the five youngest siblings onto her bed after lunch. There she would spend time reading to her children, quieting them all down for nap time. Helen believes that this was one of the greatest memories she has of growing up. She went to a small state college, later receiving a Master’s Degree in Education from Creighton University. She taught elementary and middle school for almost thirty years. After her retirement, she chose to spend her time volunteering, extending her hours with the American Red Cross, the Medical Reserve Corps, and Sarpy County Habitat for Humanity. This is her first attempt at writing a full length book. The idea for this book had its genesis in the mid-eighties, but her boyfriend at the time discouraged her from attempting to write, stating that no one would read anything she wrote. The rough idea from the manuscript was packed away but was never forgotten. After retiring, it was her New Year’s resolution of 2015 to write her book. She hopes you enjoy reading it.

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Copyright © 2015 Helen Fouraker.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-1980-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-1981-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015909977

Archway Publishing rev. date: 06/25/2015

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

CHAPTER 1

T he sun rose early over Iremere’s green valleys and white cliffs, illuminating the haze with a soft yellow glow. The morning sunlight entered the Ryan cottage, landing softly on the rough-hewn table. Ian, a lad of about twelve, was having breakfast with his parents, Grace and George, and his younger sister Shiobahn (who was about four). The baby, Brooklynne, was napping peacefully in her cradle.

The cottage was a simple affair. It was made of logs, with small windows covered with plain curtains. There was a large fireplace for cooking, a wooden table with four chairs, and three beds for sleeping, two of which were in a loft above the kitchen. There was a small cupboard for dishes and pans. On one cupboard sat a pan for washing dishes. Hooks made from deer antlers hung on the walls, which the family used to hang their clothes and various other items.

Grace, the children’s mother, rose from the table and fetched the small saucer of milk that had been placed on the windowsill the night before.

Mama, questioned Shiobahn, why do you put milk on the windowsill every night? Sometimes I want to get up in the middle of the night and drink it myself.

Oh, Grace replied, it would not be good for you to do that. This milk is for the little people. One must always put out milk for them to drink at night. If this isn’t done, they will creep into the house while we are sleeping and steal away Brooklynne. They will leave an ugly troll baby in her place. You wouldn’t want that, would you?

No, Shiobahn said, her voice quaking. I love my little sister.

We didn’t do it one night, quipped Ian, and look what happened.

What? asked Shiobahn.

We got you, Ian said, letting out a laugh that sounded like a donkey braying.

Ian, that’s enough, said George, the children’s father. I want you to take the ox to the west field today and begin plowing the field for the winter wheat.

Shiobahn was very excited because the apple trees were ripe with fruit and she loved apples. Can I go too? she asked.

No, my love, said Grace. You’re too little to walk that far.

Ian climbed the loft to remove his bedclothes and put on his work clothes. He tied his pants with a red rope, which his mother had said would keep the little people from playing tricks on him. All of the children’s clothing had red ribbons attached. Shiobahn’s and Brooklynne’s dresses had red ties, each and every one. Grace often worried about her children, as she knew there were little people all around the countryside.

Ian grumbled to himself as he trudged to the barn. It wasn’t much of a barn, not nearly as nice as the Kanalys had at the next farm over, with its bright red paint and hand-forged hinges and latches. The Ryans’ barn leaned dangerously to one side. It had been painted once, long ago, but wind and rain and snow and ice had obliterated any color so that it was now a dull gray. If George hadn’t built a lean-to on the north side, it probably would have fallen over long ago.

Ian, his dark lank hair hanging in his face with one shock covering his left eye completely, was in a sour mood. He always had a pout on his face, and he looked like he wanted to kick something. Now he had to ready the field while his little sister stayed home and was babied by his mother.

Ian approached Ralphie, the oversized ox, cautiously. Ralphie was strong and could pull the plow all day without a break, but he could have a mean temper. Ian carefully put the large wooden yoke on Ralphie. Ralphie tried to knock Ian over with his head. When that didn’t work, he tried to swat Ian with his tail. Ralphie was always swishing his tail around, trying to get rid of the gnats and flies that flew throughout the barn.

Don’t have a cow, Ian snickered.

A small voice behind him admonished him in a motherly tone. Ralphie isn’t a cow. He’s an ox, said Shiobahn.

I know that, Ralphie replied. Anyway, you’re not supposed to be in here. Then, in a sing-song mocking voice, he added, You’re too little. Why don’t you go do some girl stuff, like make me some lunch to take with me?

Make your own lunch, Shiobahn retorted.

She stormed off angrily, muttering under her breath about how unfair life was. It wasn’t her fault she was little. And maybe Ian was right. Maybe she was really a troll; maybe that’s why she was so little. She picked up the hem of her flowered dress and looked at her feet. They didn’t look like troll feet: her small shoes fit perfectly over her toes. She imagined trolls would have hooves like Ralphie, and if that was the case, the shoes wouldn’t fit her. She wandered to the edge of the field and filled her apron with wildflowers to take home to her mother.

CHAPTER 2

S hiobahn then wandered over to the apple orchard next to the field where Ian was supposed to be plowing. She neatly placed the bouquet of flowers on the ground and shook out her apron. She stood on a large rock beneath the tree, grabbed a branch, and pulled herself up. She carefully climbed the upper branches of the tree, as that’s where the juiciest apples grew. Shiobahn filled the pockets of her pantaloons with apples to take home to her mother and father. But not for Ian, she thought to herself.

She then picked an apple for herself, biting into it and savoring the sweet white flesh. Not only were the best apples at the top of the tree, but Ian couldn’t see her there. She was able to watch Ralphie try and pull Ian off his feet as they plowed the field. With any luck, Shiobahn thought, I will get to see Ian fall flat on his face. It had happened before.

Ian led Ralphie to the field by putting a lead rope through the ring in Ralphie’s nose. It was an effective way to lead the ox, but it was painful to Ralphie. Maybe that’s why he was so mean (Ralphie, not Ian, but Ian isn’t any winner in the personality department either, thought Shiobahn).

Ralphie threaded the leather straps attached to the yoke to the small plow. He sunk the plow into the earth and ordered Ralphie not to move. Ian went to the apple tree and began pulling on the branches and watching them snap back. Shiobahn waited nervously to see if Ian would look up and see her spying on him. Unsatisfied with the branches of the apple tree, Ian went to a willow by the small stream that separated the Kanaly farm from the Ryans’. There he found a sapling that he had cut down with the knife he wore on his belt.

Snapping the young tree with his wrist, Ian grinned and stated, That’ll get the old cow moving.

Shiobahn bit her tongue and thought, He’s not a cow; he’s an ox. She then watched Ian snap his willow at Ralphie, and they both moved slowly down the field, plowing under the stalks of the old wheat and exposing the newly tilled soil while Ralphie’s tail swished at the gnats and flies that had followed them from the barn. Birds began following behind them, hopping about over the dirt, pecking at the bugs and worms exposed in the wake of the plow. Ian swung the willow at the birds and angrily shouted, I’m not here to provide you with a free meal. Go bother someone else. After only two passes through the field, both boy and ox were perspiring profusely.

Shiobahn could understand why Ralphie had a froth of white sweat pouring from him, but to her it appeared that all Ian was doing was walking and hitting poor Ralphie with the switch.

It’s no wonder he’s so mean-spirited, with Ian hitting him all the time, she thought to herself. She then giggled as she pictured the situation reversed, with Ian being hitched to the yoke and plow and Ralphie following behind on his hind legs, whipping Ian repeatedly with the switch. That would give him a reason to be so moody, thought Shiobahn.

Ian stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow. This is too darned hard, he thought with little feeling for the ox and all for himself. Papa should be doing this. I’m not even getting paid.

Ian stared at the white cliffs across the field above the Kanalys’ farm. Their fields had already been plowed and seeded with the new winter wheat, and they were growing green already.

That’s because they have a hired hand, thought Ian. They pay to have their crop in early. He threw down the reins of the yoke and left Ralphie standing, yoked, in the hot autumn sun.

Ian had heard there were dragons living in the cliffs, great fire-breathing dragons that terrorized all the villages in the county. Ian didn’t know anyone who had actually seen the dragons, and his parents thought it was all malarkey, but Ian thought his parents weren’t very smart and wouldn’t know a dragon if it came up behind them and bit them on the … well, you know … but then dragons don’t bite. They don’t have to—they breathe fire.

Shiobahn felt sorry for Ralphie, standing alone in the hot sun. She quietly climbed down from her hiding place in the tree and began to run after Ian, her curly red hair flowing out behind her.

Ian, wait, she called. Then to cover for the fact that she was in the field where she wasn’t supposed to be as she was told she was too little, she shouted, Mama sent some apples for your lunch. Shiobahn pulled two bright red apples from her pockets and offered them to Ian.

Yuck, he complained. Where’s the bread? Where’s the meat? Where’s my milk?

Shiobahn thought quickly. Mama only sent apples. One is for you, and one is for Ralphie.

Stupid old cow, said Ian.

He’s not a cow. He’s an ox, retorted Shiobahn.

I wasn’t talking about Ralphie, Ian said.

It slowly dawned on Shiobahn that Ian had just called their mama a stupid old cow. She didn’t know how to respond. That was just so, so … rude!

Where are you going? Shiobahn asked, giving one of the apples to Ralphie, which he gently took from her hand and greedily ate. You can’t just leave Ralphie standing here in the hot sun.

He won’t know any difference, said Ian. Anyway, I’m just going over to the white cliffs to see if I can spot a dragon. I’ll be right back.

Can I come? asked Shiobahn. I’ve never seen a dragon.

Most people have never seen a dragon. But I’m going to find it. Then I’ll become famous because everyone will want to talk to the boy who has seen the dragon. And I can give tours and show people where I saw the dragon. And I’ll draw fantastic pictures of the dragon and travel the world telling everyone who will listen about my adventures.

If no one has seen the dragon, how do you know that it’s there? questioned Shiobahn.

I’ve never seen my brain either, but I know it’s there, Ian said, pointing to his head. I’m not so sure about yours though.

Can I come with you? queried Shiobahn.

Ian laughed rudely then replied, Of course … not! You’re too little, he mocked. And off Ian went across the untilled field.

Shiobahn was angry at Ian for laughing at her, for insulting her, and for leaving her behind. She slowly walked up to Ralphie and petted him on the nose.

I know, she thought to herself. I’ll unhitch Ralphie and send him home. Papa will wonder what happened and come looking for Ian. He’ll be in trouble then for not finishing the plowing. She unhitched the ox and swatted him on the rump, but all Ralphie did was wander over to the apple tree and begin munching on the fallen apples.

Shiobahn watched as Ian grew smaller and smaller as he went farther and farther away, climbing over one fence then another, scaling the rock walls that separated the Kanalys’ farm from the one even farther away.

Humph, she thought. I am not too little. She took off after Ian.

CHAPTER 3

I an finally reached the base of the white cliffs and stared upward. He thought he saw the opening to a cave as he approached from the field and was fairly confident that he was just below it … if that is, you consider one hundred feet