DRAGON TEARS (PART 2)

DRAGON TEARS PART 2, by Caleb Williams, Artwork by Gary McClusky

Larohd du Masiim was a scribe of Varushe trained from his youth in calligraphy and blood magic, now an exile after his affair with princess Yadira is discovered. With knowledge that few possess, he wields the power of Alma, Goddess of all creation, to command the elements. He wants nothing more than to be with Yadira again.

 After escaping exile, Larohd embarks on a journey across the known world with his friend and mentor Ambroise. In his travels,

he discovers lost civilizations, mythical beasts, and the companionship of strangers all in pursuit of a host of rare and curious artifacts at the behest of the wisewoman and wonderworker, Amarantha, who promises that if he accomplishes this, she can give him the knowledge he needs to reunite with Yadira, who is now queen of Alma’Riha.

 After a year of near-death experiences and eye-opening encounters, Larohd returns to Amarantha with all that she had asked of him. But before agreeing to make Larohd her disciple she requires one more thing of him, that he sacrifice a piece of his own heart.

________________________________________

 

“What’s a dragon?” Amarantha asked me the following morning.

I had only just returned from setting Ambroise’s body adrift on the sea and was in no mood for puzzles. “A fire breathing beast. Sometimes winged. Sometimes not.”

She gave no indication whether my answer was right. I followed her into the depths of her cave. A splinter of morning lit the way. We arrived at the opening to her cave surrounded by water.

“Shall we go for a walk?” She asked.

“Would you have us walk on water?” I said.

“If there is no way then make one.”

Her meaning was clear. I stood over the precipice of the sea and dug a blade into my chest. I imagined the water rushing away from us and tried to make it so. The water foamed and swirled. My muscles cramped. With desperate motions I tried to force the sea apart but could not manage it.

I fell to my knees sucking air. Blood poured from my nose. Amarantha pricked her forefinger. A speck of blood was all she needed. She cast her arms over the water and tossed her head back like she was trying to breathe in the whole world. With one sweeping gesture she commanded the waters to part. The sea receded. Before us, a winding ridge appeared, as though it had always been so.

“How?” was all I could say.

“So much to learn fledgling,” she said.

 

***

 

Years of study under the palace scribes had made me a rote academic who could replicate what he had been taught. Amarantha made of me a virtuoso who could carve poetry into the flesh and commune in the Goddess’ own tongue.

The wisdom she possessed was more than one could obtain in many lifetimes. Her calligraphy was so unlike mine that it seemed another language.

“Forget what you have learned.” She led me along the land bridge she had created days earlier. “Knowing is not understanding. Understood?”

“I think so.” I waited for her to perform another miracle.

She slipped into a trance and raised her cupped hands skyward. After a time, she came out of her trance. Nothing happened.

“Patience, fledgling,” she said. “Patience.”

We resumed our daily meditation. We spoke little, drank little, and ate less. I had only memories of Yadira and what used to be and visions of what might be again to sustain me. Such hope kept me alive.

The next morn, a storm brewed. Days later, a merchant vessel appeared, pulled in by Amarantha’s calligraphy. She slowly pulled the ship nearer then summoned a wave to drag it down crew and all.

“Gather the bodies,” she commanded.

We used the corpses for practice. The method was simple. We sat in contemplation holding in our minds the image of something—water, wind, sky. We passed entire days until Goddess spoke into us some indelible truth. As she spoke, we transcribed it upon the waterlogged bodies.

“You will wrath into every line.” Amarantha critiqued my calligraphy. “Thoughts of vengeance are ever on your mind.”

“Why is your script so different from mine.” I said. “Were we not contemplating the same thing.”

“Do people not see different shapes in the same clouds? Alma speaks unto each as they can understand.”

Absent courtly duties and distractions, the days blurred. Weeks became months became years.

I hardly noticed myself change but for the occasional remark from Amarantha that I seemed taller or that my beard was filling in.

“You’ve grown without,” she said one day. “But have you grown within.”

She put me to the test. We stood on the land bridge beneath a still sky. I drew blood and performed a dance of my own. The wind whipped the clouds into a froth. Days later, a small boat dragged in by my storm beached against the outcrop. Terrified shipmen gazed upon us.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Alma’Riha,” the captain said. “The throne of his majesty Augustin du Venne.”

“Majesty?”

“Aye, may his reign be long and prosperous. And Goddess bless the young prince Samir.”

“Prince,” I roared.

The sky quivered. A crackle of thunder hurried across the sea. I had never seen such fear in men’s eyes.

“Kings make queens. Queens beget kings,” Amarantha said. “It is the way of the world, fledgling.”

“I will that it was otherwise,” I said.

“If you are strong enough it can be so. We have no use for these men. Make them disappear.”

They pled for their lives in silence. I stirred the water such that their ship dislodged from the outcrop. “Go.”

The captain barked orders. They steered away from the bridge and sailed into the wind.

“You have tender heart, fledgling,” she said. “It will be your undoing.”

#

I learned to make elixirs to thicken and loosen the blood and cures for illnesses unknown to civilization. She fashioned the hanowha scale into a solid piece of armor that fit me like a girdle. Every day she put the clay of my mind to the kiln.

“How many of Augustin’s subjects wish him dead?” she asked me once. “What stops them from seeing to it themselves?”

“His walls,” I said. “His scribes. His ships.”

“Did that keep you from your beloved?”

“Death is a dreadful thing. But a life without a dream is no life at all.”

“And that, fledgling, is the difference between us and them. Their lives are but threads in the fabric of time. Alma, has set us apart and put our fingers to the loom that we might weave as she does. In silence, She reveals the secrets of creation. We are less than divine. But we are more than man. What does that make of us?”

She left me to consider that thought.

As my understanding grew, I discovered I could grow fruit from seeds without soil or water and transmute copper into gold.

One occasion, I dragged in a royal galleon flying the scarlet and lavender banners of Alma’Riha. Aboard were terrified soldiers and an emissary in gawdy regalia.

“You’re a long way from Alma’Riha,” I said.

“My lord,” the emissary bowed. “I am but his Majesty’s envoy with news to bring to king Asa of Varushe.”

“Good or ill?”

“Both. Regrettably, lord du Masiim has departed. Taken by some phantom illness. By the time he arrived at court he was already unwell. We come to return the body.”

“Show me.”

“My lord?”

I didn’t repeat myself. They presented the body upon a bed of quilts. So many years had it been since I had seen my father, somehow fate had woven him back into my life one last time. Even in death he cut an imposing, hawkish figure. His powdered face was pockmarked, and his once cool brown cheeks were bloated and red.

“Wraithworm”, I scoffed. “A simple potion of pine sap, peppercorns, and turmeric would have cured him.”

“Forgive my impertinence.” the emissary said. “But his Majesty’s alchemists applied every known remedy to save lord du Masiim.”

“Yet they could not cure a man of worms.” Amarantha laughed. “a paltry thing human wisdom is.”

“It matters not. There is no cure for death,” I said. “Do you bring only ill omens? What is the good news?”

“An omen of life, my lord.” He bowed lower still and presented a beautiful orchid wreath. “The queen is with child again.”

“Praise Alma!” Amarantha snickered. “Joyous news indeed.”

“You shouldn’t delay then,” I weaved my fingers under my cloak. “King Asa will want to hear news of his daughter’s blessing forthwith.”

I summoned a wave that propelled the ship toward Varushe. They dropped sail and did not look back.

“How many times must I teach you this lesson?” Amarantha asked.

“But they must be on their way, teacher,” I said. “Before the warm rains arrive in two days’ time. Or else the wraithworm will spread across the ship and then throughout the harbor. They might even bring it back to Alma’Riha. That would be unfortunate.”

She smiled.

The time came at last for my final test. It was the same as the first.

“What is a dragon?” She asked.

“Pure will,” I said. “Ambition made flesh. Something less than divine but more than human.”

“Such understanding only Alma can bestow. There is only one thing left I can give you.”

With a bone chisel she carved a conversation into my flesh. All that Goddess had spoken to me, and I had written down, Amarantha transcribed on my body. Elaborate markings covered every inch of skin save for my neck and hands and face. The scarring took many moons to heal. When my strength returned, Amarantha arranged a ship for me.

It arrived the following morning, trapped in a vortex on the horizon.

“Where will you go?” I asked.

“After my heart’s desire,” she said.

“And what is that?” I had never thought to ask.

“You said once there was no cure for death. Quite right. But there is a preventative.”

I asked no more. She dove into the sea and vanished beneath the abyss. The sailors were having a terrible time of things, so I decided to meet them halfway. I drew blood and stepped onto the water. The sea tossed. I let the waves guide my steps.

The crewmen turned pale watching a man walking upon water. I climbed aboard and sat cross-legged at the stern. I said nothing and waved a careless hand across the sea. The winds died at once.

They whispered tales about apparitions who haunted wayward vessels. At last, the captain ordered them to ignore me and return to their posts. I stayed fixed to my spot like a handsome gargoyle. They tried to exorcise me with food and liquor but marveled at how I didn’t eat or drink.

I startled them the first time I spoke and asked what the year was. An anxious boatswain said it was the fourth summer in the reign of his Majesty Augustin du Venne. Nearly seven years I had been away from the world. Where do the years go?

When they realized I wasn’t a wrathful spirit, they warmed to my presence. They spoke of Augustin’s grand works, gallant statues in his own image and public works to appease the masses. He had schemes to build giant steam flying machines that sailed in the skies. He truly believed himself to be Olheric reincarnated.

He was gathering the nobles from all the archipelago to commission an expedition of the unknown world and claim dominion over all creation. Vainglorious madness.

Despite his grand ambition he was not much loved by his people. He spent his days holed up in his labyrinth hiding from the plague breaking out in Alma’Riha. Bodies were piling up in the back alleys, pale as ghosts with bloated cheeks. Wraithworm. I smiled thinly.

The people did love their queen, though, who spent her days giving alms against her king’s wishes.

After months at sea, we sailed into the harbor of Alma’Riha. The bay was clogged with galleons whose decks were adorned with lords and ladies and flying the standards of all the nations of the archipelago.

A tugboat towed the ship ashore, and I slipped away in silence. Royal retinues processed through the city. I crept through the docks and climbed up the parapet along the outmost wall. I scaled the watchtower and choked out the guard who was watching from it.

Alma’Riha was nothing less than an architectural marvel composed of four districts shaped into concentric hexagons that became more opulent as one approached the center. The guards spread about the city were easy to spot in their painted chainmail and tall helms. I crept along clotheslines unseen by all except the all-seeing eyes of younglings who were too little to speak.

As I made my way to the palace the quality of construction changed beneath me—from thatch roofs woven from rotten reeds to painted wooden shingles to bronzed tiles. At last, I arrived at the inmost district where golden domes and minarets rose high above the city. Every street opened into another and another and eventually back where it began.

A desperate crowd formed beneath the canopy of the bazaar just outside the palace walls. I crept as near as I could before I ran out of rooftop. People pushed against each other with arms outstretched before their queen. I only saw the back of her, skin golden brown and curls black as shadow.

She wore a damask tunic that clung to her pregnant stomach. Her only adornments were the golden marriage circlet on her head and a necklace hidden beneath her upturned collar.

She smeared black salve about the faces of those afflicted with wraithworm. It was a worthless remedy, but she was no less than a saint to them.

The palace bells rang. Her guards escorted her behind the marble walls. The noble visitors began to make their way into the palace proper.

North of the palace, just inside of the third district the chieftain of Cotzualham was being carried in a palanquin upon the shoulders of six attendants. Her husbands were being carried behind her and behind them were her soldiery and servants. A lanky standard bearer lagged far behind his fellow bannermen. He was an awkward boy whose legs were too long for the rest of him. But he was about my height.

I stalked him from the streets. With my calligraphy I worked a subtle illusion that led him down a quiet pass. Once alone, I softened the pavement beneath him into muck. I suggested he give his clothes to me lest they weigh him down and he be buried alive. He didn’t take much convincing.

I quickly dressed into the lordly attire of my past life—pointy boots, knickers too lose in places and too tight in others, a linen shirt with buttons that weren’t meant to be buttoned, a frilly overcoat that rested awkwardly on my shoulders, and a wide-brimmed hat that slouched below my eyebrows. I felt distinguished and preposterous. Perhaps the two always went together.

I grabbed the flag and hurried to find my place in the procession. Some princelings, no older than twelve, were reciting a nursery rhyme about all the different parts of dragons and how they should be used.

“How might a man keep the strength of his youth?” One sang.

“Breathe the dust of a dragon’s tooth,” the other answered.

“If a fire fails to warm him as it should?”

“Drink a cup of dragon’s blood.”

“And if a man wishes to add to his years?”

The other boy was stumped.

“Dragon tears, my lord,” I said.

“What?” he glared down from his mount. “Speak up flagbearer.”

“If a man wishes to add to his years.” I bowed. “Drink but a spoonful of dragon tears.”

He nodded not ungratefully and rode ahead with his companion.

Augustin’s palace was predictably extravagant. I snuck away from the clamor in the reception hall and into the terrace at the end of which stood a guard watching a false doorway. Once I flashed the blade of my sword, he opened for me the true doorway.

I clung to the shadows, crept past guest rooms, and into the private chapel. A gilded pedestal rested upon an altar covered in the blood of freshly sacrificed pigeons. Atop the pedestal was a golden statue of Alma with her many arms weaving the invisible threads of fate. One looked suspiciously like a lever, so I pulled it out of joint. The ceiling slid open and revealed a spiral ladder.

I ascended the steps into a cluttered room that I guessed was Augustin’s study. Books were piled to the ceiling. There was a table in the center covered in childish scribbles of monuments yet to be built.

Far off, I heard a harp and the sweet voice of an angel. I followed it down a vaulted corridor to a chandelier-lit parlor. Yadira sat alone singing a song from our childhood.

“You sing a duet all by yourself.” I entered without a thought. “How lonely that must be. Perhaps-”

“Perhaps I should slit your throat.” She pressed a slender blade to my neck.

I never had a voice for singing, but that didn’t stop me. We finished the song she began. Her green eyes glowed with remembrance. Goddess she was beautiful.

“You’re flat,” she said.

“Forgive me, your majesty.” I bowed slightly.

She put her knife away and closed the door. “How did you get in here?”

“I found my own way in. Like always.”

“I could have you executed.”

“You can do whatever you like with me.”

She tilted her head as if to kiss me. I closed my eyes and leaned in.

Her lips stopped short. “You shouldn’t be here, scribe.”

“Goddess has woven the threads of our lives together. I will never be far from you.” I reached into my vest pocket for moon stones that I had fashioned into earrings. “A gift.”

“They’re beautiful.” She gazed in wonderment and wiped away spontaneous tears. “Where did you find them?”

“Beneath both moons full on the night of the solstice in the deep of winter in the northern lands where men do not live, I waited until the flowers bloomed across the vast plains.”

“When did you become such a worldly man?”

“When I saw the world. I’ve encountered mythical beasts. Toiled in exile. Scaled the heights of the world and beheld all of creation. And I forsook it all that I might but see you once more.”

“Larohd.” she finally said. “You do not know me anymore.”

“I’ve always known you.”

“Then you must forget me. As I have forgotten you.”

“True love is never forgotten. It is only abandoned.”

“We do what we must.”

“I do as I will. Besides, you have not truly abandoned me.”

Delicately, I lifted the necklace around her shoulders, the very same one she had gifted me. I caressed the blue stones while she inspected my shoulders.

“I don’t remember these marks.” She traced along my collarbone. “What do they say?”

“That you are the truth of my heart.” I spoke into her ear. “The one dream that I cannot let die. For which all others must be martyred.”

“It doesn’t say all that.”

“I was paraphrasing.” I smiled. “I could show you the rest.”

“You could?”

Her lips posed a question, but her eyes gave a command.

“You remember what these symbols mean, don’t you?” I rolled up my sleeve revealing the glyphs on my arm, the same which were carved on my saber’s scabbard. “I know you remember.”

“Fire. Desire.” Her fingers on each glyph as she traced down my arm. “Fate and sacrifice. You’ve always been persistent. And proud. You just don’t know when to stop. It will ruin you one day.”

I unlatched the golden collar of her gown. Fabric fell away from her slender shoulders revealing the bruises on her neck.

“That bastard,” I growled.

“That bastard is king of Alma’Riha.” She held my hands to calm me.

“He is a fool if he thinks he can bruise what is mine.”

“I do not belong to you or to him.” She kissed me and pressed her weight against me. “But you are the only man I’ve ever loved. I will not forget that. Now let this fantasy of you and I die.”

“Nothing in me remains but you. If I lose that what would be left?”

“You will find another dream. As I have.” With each step forward she forced me to retreat. “I’m a queen now. One day Samir will be king, and I will sit at his side. From there I can help these people who I have given my heart to. For I have found that in sharing my heart with them they return all that was given and more.”

“What if one returns tenderness with treachery?”

“Death will claim us some way or another. But we can live forever in others.”

“Yes. As you live in me, I live in you.”

“A part of you. And it always shall.”

“Now you can have all of me.”

“I could?”

Again, her lips posed a question to which she already knew the answer. She walked forward a few more steps. I felt the wind at my back. There was an open window behind me. She stared deep into my eyes and pressed her nails into my side until she broke the skin. I didn’t wince. She bit her lip. I puckered mine.

“Intruder!” she yelled.

She shoved me out the window. I tumbled blindly in the night. I heard the slosh of water and the creak of the drawbridge below. I beseeched Goddess’ aid. With arms outstretched, I made my cape like wings and tucked my head like a bird of prey. The wind swirled and slowed my descent. I landed lightly on bent knees and sprinted across the bridge into the courtyard. From above, arrows flew by. I ducked into the first open door.

Lit sconces revealed four passageways. The patter of feet echoed from each one. Soon I was surrounded. The scribes held hands and made the flames in the sconces swell. The antechamber glowed like a ballroom. Two dozen men aimed crossbows at me.

“Fire,” a distant voice cried out.

I swung both arms back and clasped them together with great force. At the clap of my hands, a gale howled through the room and extinguished the light. Arrows careened off course. I fled down a passage not knowing where it led.

I made a left and a right and another left. The faintest light emerged as I turned a corner, and I followed it to the royal living quarters. I glimpsed the shadow of a child hiding behind a pillar.

The boy armed himself with a crossbow. “Go away. Else my father will have your head.”

“Will he?” I said.

Prince Samir was unmistakable in his scarlet coat and a garnet ring upon his little finger. I could not see his face well, but I sensed no fear in him. He had his mother’s demeanor. I had no time to dawdle with a child, but a heinous thought crossed my mind then. The child had done me no wrong. He was Yadira’s son. But he was Augustin’s son too. That was sin enough.

I drew a knife and approached from the shadows moving from pillar to pillar. He fired into the darkness but missed. I noticed then his disheveled black curls and long limbs like his mother’s. I stalked closer. Another arrow bolt flew by harmlessly. He loaded another. I seized him and held the knife to his neck. Then I noticed his gray eyes and tawny skin wrapped around his lean, sharp face. Just like mine.

“Blood of my blood.” The blade slipped from my hand.

We both understood. I repented of the evil in my heart and put my arms around the boy. A sharp pain seized my thigh. I fell to one knee.

“I didn’t,” he said innocently.

He spoke true, for the arrow had pierced me from the back and protruded from the front of my thigh.

Samir vanished into the depths of the palace. My assailant prepared another bolt. I whirled around and inhaled deeply prepared to incinerate whoever had dared strike me. No sooner did I see the old woman’s haggard face did I swallow the flames.

“Chandra.” I coughed on the smoke.

It was all I could say to the woman who had nursed me to health in my lowest hour. She staggered toward me and when she saw my face clearly her stoic expression quavered. I had long since buried her and Ambroise in my past but looking into her eyes stirred up in me a compassion I thought had died. A lingering pang of sentiment caused her to shiver, but she soon banished it. Her face hardened with hate.

Tears wetted her eyes, but they did not waiver. “He loved you.”

She shouted for the guards, then raised the bow high and clattered me in the head. What happened after I can’t recall.

#

I awoke with bruised ribs and gag in my mouth. The floor was up and the ceiling was down. My arms were outstretched and bound and I had been stripped naked. I had no way of  using calligraphy. Candlelight flickered. Two shadows reflected on the smooth stone wall in front of me. A door creaked open. The shadows saluted.

“Move aside,” someone said.

“Yes majesty,” they replied in one fearful voice.

Augustin stood in front me and removed the gag. He was about my height, though wider around the waist and redder around the cheeks.

After a time, he raised his gloved hands and applauded. “Bravo,”

“I don’t deserve his majesty’s praise,” I replied. “I failed in the end.”

“But you tried from the start. Most men don’t get that far.”

He smelled of lavender. Rings of discoloration splotched his powdered face.

“Wraithworm,” I said. “I know the cure. Peppercorn, pine sap and turmeric. Thrice a day for fourteen days and your noble glow will return to you.”

“Tell me, scribe.” He ignored my prescription. “What did you hope to achieve?”

“To reclaim what was stolen from me.”

“Yadira? She is beautiful. And competent. Still, she is one woman. Does a man with your ability desire nothing more than the love of his youth? Money. Power. Empire.”

“A man of many wants is always left wanting. The man who covets a single dream, when at last he finds it, he is fulfilled.”

“I’m a king. A single dream could never suffice me.”

“Of course, Your life is a fairytale. Beautiful fruit trees that you never admire as you walk through your gardens shouting frivolous orders at harried servants.”

“I don’t shout, scribe. My valet does that for me.”

“Yes, he escorts you to your bedchamber draped in finest fabrics woven by the blistered hands of peasant girls whose softness you never enjoy as you waste away all night scheming.”

“Well, sometimes he escorts me to my queen’s bedchamber.”

“Indeed. A woman you plucked in the springtime of youth for her grace and beauty and intellect. Merely a means to an end. You desire nothing for its own sake. You have never dreamt a dream truly your own.”

“This kingdom is mine,” He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth. “This palace and all within it are mine. And she is mine too.”

“But are you hers?” I asked.

“I can take hold of what is mine whenever I choose. In fact, I think I will have her this very night.”

“But I have her this very moment. In a place where you cannot reach her.”

“You’re clever, scribe, I admit. Well spoken. Well studied.” He grabbed my jaw and studied my face like one of the painted bird skulls in his study. “Well bred. But I am a king. I am beyond you.”

“Kings are not remarkable. They collect their tributes. Make their wars. Marry off their children. Build their monuments. Then rot beneath them. There have been many of you. There shall be many more. There is only one me.”

“Soon, there shall be none of you. Your body will hang from the bowsprit of my flagship. The histories will say Augustin du Venne, true heir of Olheric, conquered all creation. And you will pass into myth.”

“You honor me. Don’t you know folklore lives forever on the tongues of playwrights and poets? And no one reads history books anyway.”

“You’re a silly creature. Just like her. The two of you were meant to be. And you never shall.” He left and shouted at the guards. “No one gets through here.”

They bowed fearfully. “Majesty.”

“And send an alchemist to my chambers with turmeric and pine sap.”

“You’re welcome.” I chuckled.

He snapped his fingers. One of the guards marched over to me and reared back with a closed fist.

#

Time passed in silence, a day at least. My mind turned in on itself as I plotted some means of escape. Then my means presented herself.

“Majesty.” Two guards spoke with one reverent voice.

“Let me through,” Yadira said gently.

Locks turned. Metal creaked. Doors opened and closed. Yadira stood before me with a candlestick in hand.

“I told you to leave,” she said.

“You told me he was royalty,” I replied.

She was puzzled for a moment. “He is the queen’s son. When the last thread of Augustin’s life unravels, Samir will be king of Alma’Riha.”

I fell in love anew. “I saved my heart for you alone. Now I must make room for another.”

“The heart is a collector of others. In such a way we can all possess a part of one another.”

“Not me. My heart covets only one other. I must have you.”

“You do, Larohd.”

“All of you.”

“My heart belongs to Alma’Riha. Her poor. Her sick. Her orphans. Her widows. My heart shares their anguish and the dreams.”

“So many dreams will tear you apart. I am the only dream you need.” I searched for her lips in the darkness.

“Come morn, you will be freed.” She turned away. “I pray this is the last time I ever see you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“It isn’t me you love, Larohd. You yearn for yesterday. The simple joys of moons gone by.”

“No, I dream of what could be.”

“Whether your heart dwells in the past or in the future it is not here in the present.”

“Time is for the common man.” I scoffed. “Goddess has shown me deeper truths. I am beyond such concerns.”

“It seems you have grown beyond me as well.” She retreated. “You are Goddess’ chosen. I am but a common girl in a royal gown. Don’t you see that we could never be?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant. I have found where I belong. I pray you find your place one day.”

She left without a farewell. Even in all my years in solitude I had never felt truly all alone as I did then. I shouted knowing my anger could change nothing. Fire. Lust. Desire. All of them burned within me. If only I were stronger.

#

Morning spilled light onto the walls. Outside my cell, soldiers and servants shuffled about in preparation for the day’s ceremonies.

A voice which I presumed belonged to the captain said, “Bring the prisoner.”

A voice which I presumed belonged to an idiot shouted, “Ya sir.”

Heavy iron footfalls made the floor quiver. I imagined them belonging to a giant with either one eye or three. The door exploded open. Before me, a fellow two men tall and a wagon cart wide stood with close cropped hair like straw and a toothy grin.

I strained my eyes and my memory. “Herryck?”

“Ya ya. Long time.”

“How?”

He told all in his joyful way. Only a few months after we had parted all those years ago his tribe had trekked into the southern lands during the autumn pilgrimage. He amazed travelers with his feats of strength. Herryck offered himself to Augustin but the then prince said he had no use for a circus act. But his young bride said that there would always be need for giant men and gentle souls and in Herryck she had found both. She offered a golden brooch to the leader of his tribe in exchange for Herryck, and he had been in her service ever since. He had even found a city girl and, when he worked up the courage, he would propose to her.

All the loose threads of my life seemed to be converging in such a way that I could not describe it as anything other than fate. Time had proven Ambroise a prophet.

“Well old friend, I’m glad it will be you to escort me to my death.”

“What you mean?” With the slightest effort he crushed the shackles around my wrist and ankles. “You free now.”

So I was. Through the window, golden domes glinted, and a panorama of possibilities lay before me. Yet, my heart beat heavy within in me and would not cease. A sudden burning came over me. I couldn’t let her go. Commotion echoed from the end of the palace as people began to stir.

“But where would I go?” I asked aloud. “All I desire is here.”

“What you mean?” he asked.

“Yadira is my salvation and my damnation. You must help me get to her.”

“No.” He tried to sound serious. “You can’t or you ruin everything.”

“How do you mean?”

His cheeks burned red. “No no no no. I cannot say.”

“Yes yes yes.”

Back and forth we went until my will overcame his and he told all. In but a few hours Augustin’s fleet would be gathered in the harbor. He would except the title of emperor of the newly formed confederation. As the high priestess blessed him, all the ships would aim their broadsides across the sea. All but one.

“So you go now,” he said.

“Yes.” I grinned. “I will go as your prisoner.”

“What?”

The whole prison floor began to stir. Guards dragged prisoners from their cells crying and kicking. A heavy knock fell upon my door.

“Herryck,” the captain hollered. “Hurry up.”

“What now?” he muttered fearfully.

“Hit me,” I said calmly.

He looked confused and afraid. The captain knocked and shouted. I put a hand on his giant shoulder. He calmed down enough to hear me.

“Hit me,” I said once more.

#

My mind was still swimming as I stood shoulder to shoulder with my condemned brethren. The rope was snug around my neck as my toes hung over the starboard side of Augustin’s flagship. The men beside me prayed and groveled.

Herryck stood behind me anxiously with axe in hand. It would be his job to cut the rope when the time came. Across the harbor clogged with ships, Augustin stood at the bow giving a grand oration. Thousands applauded from the docks at the silent insistence of spear-wielding soldiers spread among the crowd.

I searched the decks for Yadira. The midmorning sun shone over the sea and illumined the beleaguered faces of the many in attendance.

At last, Augustin finished. Horns blared. Drums banged. The ships, two hundred or more, aimed their broadsides at the sun. All save one.

One ship tacked leeward ever so slightly with broadsides aimed in Augustin’s direction. On its main deck, Yadira sat stoically behind a platoon of spearmen. Chandra stood at her side. Prince Samir clung to the hem of the old woman’s blouse.

Augustin rose his hand and signaled. Cannon fire howled. Guards pushed the prisoners over the side of the ship one by one. Amid the tumult, I noticed another ship, a small barque, in the corner of the harbor with its cannons aimed at Yadira’s ship. Time slowed in my mind.

 

 

I didn’t think, jumped off the deck and shouted. “Herryck!”

I heard him shout. The rope fell from around me. I landed upon the water and raked my nails across my arms. The hidden ship primed its cannons. I threw my weight back and swooshed my arms upward like a conductor in the final act of some grand symphony. The tide swelled beneath me and grew into a giant wave that engulfed the harbor. Galleons toppled. Smaller ships were swallowed whole. The cannons meant for Yadira plummeted into the bay. The wave I summoned careened into the docks and dragged a few onlookers into the water. Rest their souls.

Soon, ships fired upon each other. Sword turned upon sword. I could not tell who fought for which side or even how many sides there were. Only Yadira mattered.

A giant corpse crashed into the sea beside me. I dove beneath the surface and gathered Herryck arrow riddled body into my arms. He grabbed my vest and mouthed some words I could not discern. Then he breathed his last and I knew that it was my dream that killed him.

“I’m sorry.” I let his body sink into the abyss.

Two distinct groups of ships formed in the harbor and fired upon each other. Augustin had somehow made it to land with a detachment of soldiers. Yadira and her forces were not far behind as they advanced into the city. I sprinted across the water and climbed onto the dock where the fighting was thick.

Commoners and soldiers took up arms against each other. The greater number of sympathizers fought on their queen’s behalf, and they shouted her name as they did. I scaled the rooftops. I dispatched the few guards who turned their sword upon me. Most were busy fending off women with kitchen knives and men with shovels to bother me. A cloud of gunfire hid me well enough from any who might notice as I snuck into the palace.

Yadira’s and Augustin’s main force crossed swords near the southern walls of the palace, but I did not see either of them. The clamor of iron mingled with the scream and battle cries such that all that could be hears was one great roar. I scaled the walls into the palace. A battle had already taken place. I heard a scream and imagined it was Yadira.

I tiptoed around dead bodies and sprinted across the drawbridge. Arrows descended upon me from everywhere. I spun about like a dancer and summoned a twister to deflect the bolts. A few still found their mark. I collapsed from the pain. Wrath swelled within me.

Atop the highest parapet of the palace, Yadira and Samir were surrounded by her few surviving guards. They were encircled by Augustin and at least a dozen soldiers and as many scribes. More arrows rained down on me. I ducked behind a vaulted corridor. Another volley kept me pinned down. My wounds bled badly. I felt my life leaving me.

“Larohd,” Yadira cried out.

“Call to him again,” Augustin mocked. “Save her if you can, scribe.”

Would that I could, but the power was not within me. I would have sacrificed my flesh and blood, my very humanity, to rescue them.

“Father.” Samir called out. “Save us, please!”

I prayed to goddess for more power. All of it. I offered myself to her blood, body, and soul. Something changed then. She spoke into every part of my being. Her power filled me so completely it felt like my body was ripping apart. My blood boiled beneath my skin. I felt myself changing and twisting. An unquenchable fire erupted in the pit of my stomach and spread through the rest of me.

Yadira cried out for Samir. The boy cried out for me. I cried out to the heavens. My voice filled the sky and chased the clouds away. I begged Alma to carry me to the top of the palace, and she gifted me wings. I mounted the palace and twisted myself around the parapet.

Augustin stood mouth agape, as he held my son by his curly hair with a dagger in his hand. His soldiers fearfully aimed their bows and spears. In his terror, Augustin slackened his hold and Samir fled his grasp into his mother’s arms.

His scribes formed a tight triangle and began to perform some ritual. With one great swipe a cut through their ranks with a sharp gust. Augustin pointed and gawked trying to mouth some unspeakable word.

I inhaled deeper and shouted flames. Augustin yelped. No sooner did the fire touch him did he fall silent. A pile of char was all that was all that was left of His Majesty, and a moment later the wind carried off his remains. So ended the reign Augustin du Venne.

I blew another string of flames at his soldiers and scribes. They leapt from the parapet into the shallow moat below. Yadira and Samir cowered in a corner shielded from me by a few terror-stricken guards.

I called my love’s name. Yadira. And Samir too. In my heart I spoke but from my lips a roar escaped. She fled into the palace with Samir. The guards fired arrows at me. I retreated down the tower. Through the windows, Yadira ran through the west wing of the palace.

I flew after her. Another volley of arrows pursued me. I landed heavily on the roof, digging my hands into the shingles. A blew a stream of flames at my assailants that set the palace gardens ablaze. Samir cried out. Yadira carried him as she ran down the west corridor. I reached my hand through a shattered window, but she eluded my grasp.

More soldiers grouped in the courtyard. Hundreds of commoners followed behind them. The soldiers launched arrows. Common folk hurled rocks and glass shards. I had become enemy of all.

Yadira called for me again, “Larohd.”

I desperately called back to her, but I could not form words. The more I pursued her the more she ran. My attackers fought for their queen. I rose up into the air with a few forceful flaps of my arms and landed on the temple dome just outside the palace.

The entire city mustered its defenses against me. Soldiers fell into lines, loaded, and aimed their muskets. Bell towers rang out. People shouted at me from below and I could make out their calls.

“Dragon!” they cried. “Dragon!”

They armed themselves with whatever they had and made projectiles of them. I swept through a clogged street and hurled flames here and there. I trampled through the city with heavy steps. Innocents fled from my grotesque shadow and the carnage that followed it. I tried, I swear I did, not trap any underfoot, but I could not avoid them all.

A phalanx of spearmen formed against me and halted my rampage. I swiped at them, but they did not break their line. They advanced on me with spears angled at my breast. They pressed me from the front and flanked me from either side. The sky was my one refuge. I took flight and retreated behind the outmost city wall.

The ships still afloat turned their broadsides upon me. I soared above the harbor and flew out their reach. Cannon fire pummeled the docks. I roared flames that set the sea ablaze. Soon, I was being attacked from land and sea.

I retreated further to the cliff faces at the harbor’s edge. Gunfire pelted the cliff face. Yadira emerged surrounded by soldiers. Samir held her hand tightly. She commanded the city’s remaining forces to direct all its munitions at me.

There she stood. Just across the harbor was all that I yearned for. I had to possess her. I spread myself and sailed upon the wind. The ships fired at me. I hurled fireballs at anything in my way. Each flap of my wings sent waves crashing into the harbor. I called out to her. My roar sent ripples across the bay. Terrified sailors cowered as my shadow engulfed their ships.

I was so near I could see her eyes.  Her eyes widened and she held her outstretched hand aloft. She made her lips to form words. My heart leapt. Just a bit closer and she would be mine.

“Fire,” she shouted.

Her scribes quickly summoned a gust to halt my advance. From behind hidden defenses, a pair of ballistae appeared. Two giant bolts hurtled at me. The first missed only just. The second scraped my side and tore through my wing. I yelped and roared, struggling to sort myself out.

Her scribes lined up on the city wall and summoned a wind that forced me back. I flapped desperately to stay above the range of ceaseless cannon fire. Tried as I might I could not get nearer to Yadira. She fell back behind the city walls. A rain of arrows from the harbor pelted me. I fled across the sea until the triumphant chants were far behind me.

I flew as far as the wind would carry me. At last, I crashed into a solitary island, and dragged my body to the shore. I looked into the water and saw myself through her eyes. Jagged and feathered not-quite wings. Long but dull almost claws. A malformed, misshapen thing. Something less than divine but not human. Something that had no place in this world. I roared in agony. The sky wept.

It all came out then. I shed tears like I hadn’t since I was a child. They burned and shimmered like liquid jewels then vanished.

The sky dimmed. From the depths of the sea, something slithered nearby. I growled but it paid no mind. The leviathan came ashore as a slender woman.

Amarantha, I said. But words would not come out, only a confused grunt.

“What has become of you, fledgling,” she said. “Did you not find the dream of your heart? Well, I have found mine.”

I growled for help. Scalding tears flowed from my eyes.

“If one wishes to add to their years.” She blew freezing air into my eyes. “Swallow but a spoonful of dragon tears.”

She harvested my frozen tears in a vial. I snapped at her hand. She pulled back and smiled darkly.

“A dragon is pure will,” she said. “Its tears are life distilled. Precious but fleeting. A spoonful is more than enough. As for you, fledgling, you will live on. And on and on.”

She told me all she knew of dragons, how she had sensed that fire in me the first time that we met, that she had foreseen that I would let it consume me before I would let it die. Then she said farewell and vanished into the sea.

Dragons live until the furnace stoked by the passion within finally burns out or else by a blow from enchanted steel that pierces the heart which is the furnace itself. When at last that fire vanishes so will I.

I scaled the heights of the island and slithered into a dark place, an exile of my own choosing. The very fate to which I had been damned, in my pride, I had damned myself too. A double condemnation. The unbearable weight of irony fell upon all at once.

Long after Yadira has departed my love will endure. So then must I. The fire will burn. My death shall be the slow kind. A dying every day.

Sem. Uhm. Waya.

 

________________________________________

Caleb Williams is a part-time architect fo fictional worlds.  His fiction has appeared in Intergalactic Medicine Show and previously in Heroic Fantasy Quarterly.

Gary McCluskey has been a professional artist for more than 20 years. He’s done book covers for every genre imaginable from fantasy, horror, romance and sci-fi to an afterlife memoir, as well artwork for children’s books and RPG games. Recently he completed 4 issues of comic book about a vampire-shark and several interior illustrations for a new hardcover version of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ ‘The Oakdale Affair’. He’s currently working on a creator owned comic book ‘The Dawn Hunters’ for the near future.