Forty-Four: Climbing the Mountain for a Meeting
Lilith woke with a storm under her ribs; dawn felt like cold water on the face.
She’d risen early, still foggy, and then saw fried eggs on the inn’s breakfast tray, two little suns staring up at her.
Her stomach flipped like a boat in chop; she couldn’t stomach eggs at all today.
It was simple: last night, after a gauntlet of pain, she had finally laid an egg—her own moon set on the pillow.
She’d known human cramps were bad; as a Little White Dragon, egg‑laying had been a thunderclap sharper than that.
Thank the heavens dragons ovulate by the year, not by the month; that thought was a warm shore.
The egg lay now in her room with Nidhogg, a pale stone waiting in quiet light.
Dragon eggs hatch only a newborn body; the soul, the true ember, must wait for a god’s gift.
Lilith took comfort in that; no shock of coming home to a cracked shell and a tiny voice calling her mom from the floor.
She was already burnt at the edges raising Litt; smoke rose from her days and nights.
Luckily, Abaddon shared the load, so Lilith could juggle Litt and still keep Nidhogg company like balancing plates in a breeze.
Thinking of Nidhogg stoked her temper again, a spark catching dry grass.
Before they grew close, the Black Dragon had looked proper as a temple bell; after falling in love, she stuck to Lilith like warm tar and played tricks like a cat with string.
Lilith fumed, but her better nature kept her from lashing out—truth was, she was timid as a rabbit and hated getting swatted.
So she picked a different battlefield, a small revenge sweet as fruit.
She slid her tray away; Nidhogg’s plate gleamed with ham and bread, a slice of cheese melting like gold.
The Little White Dragon’s hand flashed like a sparrow; in a blink, the breakfasts traded places.
“Mmm. So good,” she sighed, eyes half‑lidded like petals in sun.
Melted cheese and seared ham on soft toast felt like the world’s greatest recipe, a hearth in her mouth.
Seemed Nidhogg did have taste; that thought was a small ribbon of smoke.
“You could’ve just asked,” Nidhogg laughed, voice smooth as silk on wood. “No need to take the whole thing.”
She lifted the fried egg with a deft fork and ate it with swanlike grace; the sight made Lilith’s gut twist like a wrung towel.
Lilith patted her lower belly, whispering to herself that the Black Dragon wasn’t eating what she’d bled to bring forth.
“I want yours, and you know why!” Heat rose in her like a kettle; words steamed.
Last night, Nidhogg could’ve used word‑sorcery to help; instead, that scoundrel had just stood there making faces like a paper fan flapping.
Lilith’s slim tail snapped across Nidhogg’s back with a light thwack, a willow switch in spring, and she bit into the toast to vent the crackling in her chest.
“Alright, alright. We aren’t even the same species,” Nidhogg said, hand gentle as rain on grass, smoothing Lilith’s hair.
She set a cup of warm milk before her; steam curled like a pale veil.
“Drink up, then wash your face. We promised Ella we’d climb the Holy Mountain today and attend the theological symposium those old men at the Majestic Court are hosting.”
“Hmph. No idea why those old men want me,” Lilith muttered, hugging the milk like a hot stone in winter.
She took a deep swallow; her small tongue flicked out to clean a milky line from her lip, a kitten’s quick lick.
“Let’s be clear. My loyalty to Lord Icarus won’t waver; they won’t twist me into a believer of that so‑called God of the High Mountain. Mali neither!”
“Telling me won’t change the wind,” Nidhogg said, napkin brushing her own lip like a falling petal. “I don’t keep a faith.”
“Just hope you sound that tough in front of the Majestic Court geezers.”
“Then forget it,” Lilith wilted, her bravado folding like wet paper.
By now, Nidhogg knew her well: a mouth hard as iron, a heart soft as tofu; a hedgehog without spines, a pufferfish that looks fierce until you poke it and it sighs flat.
“Eat up. We still have the Holy Mountain to climb,” Nidhogg said, rising like a shadow.
She cleared her plate, tipped scraps into the trash with a clean clatter, and headed for the kitchen, the door swinging like a calm tide.
“Return your dishes,” she called, light as wind through leaves.
“Got it,” Lilith sang back, voice stretched like taffy.
They left early, their footsteps small beads on a long string.
Abaddon and Litt stayed behind, little embers in the hearth.
The little Demon chirped that today’s lesson was how Lord Satan seized supreme control of the Demon Realm, so the two dragons could go without worry.
Lilith fretted that such stories might warp a kid’s sapling heart, bending it in strange winds.
Before she could voice it, Nidhogg tugged her away like a kite reclaimed by its string.
“I’m really worried,” Lilith muttered as they climbed; the Holy Mountain rose like an altar, steps stacking to the sky.
Her tail flicked like a metronome ticking; if she’d had beast ears, they’d have flattened into airplane ears.
“Abaddon’s still a kid without a steady compass; is it really fine to have her tell Litt that story?”
“She’s telling a children’s tale,” Nidhogg said, palm stroking Lilith’s long hair with the grain, a hand smoothing silk.
In these close days, she’d learned that petting like that calmed the Little White Dragon faster than tea.
Sure enough, Lilith’s breath settled like dust after rain.
“Don’t fuss about them. Think about facing those old scholars at the Majestic Court,” Nidhogg added, voice light as a feather that still found its mark. “You’ll be alone in there.”
That offhand line hit like a pebble in a pond; panic rippled.
Lilith grabbed Nidhogg’s hand, fingers clutching like ivy. “You’re not coming with me?”
Nidhogg shook her head, a calm bell. “I’ll walk you to the Majestic Court, at most.”
“After that, it’s on you. I can enter, but in a place like that, unbelievers aren’t allowed a voice.”
“Then you still have to stay with me!” Lilith squeezed tighter, cheeks puffing like buns.
“Don’t you dare run off. I’m not tanking a room of old geezers alone. I hate old geezers most in this life!”
“Aren’t you pretty close with Lord Tiamat? That ruby he sent is the one you wear the most,” Nidhogg teased, a smile like a sly crescent.
“Hey!” Lilith’s tail flicked across Nidhogg’s backside, a playful whip of reeds.
She fell silent after that and put her breath into the climb, step by step like beads on a prayer string.
The Majestic Court crowned the Holy Mountain like a circlet; the road up was long as a sigh.
