Heir to Chaos

Foolish humans.

Sakir cursed silently as he carried a squirming little child on his back, tucked tightly under his wing so as to avoid it falling to its death.

Superstitious, short lived, ignorant-

His skin pinched between his shoulder blades and he huffed at the brief sting. That little imp pulled loose a scale and was giggling like a bell in the wind at the tiny treasure, turning the dark, opalescent plate about in its stumpy hands. He could feel it start to tug at another and a grumble from deep within reverberated through him. The child seemed to understand that as a warning, or had at least become distracted enough by it to move on from harvesting scales.

Abandoned. That had to be it, for heavens knows why. Humans and their fragile sense of security. One bad stroke of weather or illness and everyone starts looking for a scapegoat, some reason or thing they can conjure up to blame and subsequently expel to make themselves feel in control over their fates until the next unfortunate event.

He had determined that to be the reason this child was out in his forest all alone. It was too far from civilization to have simply wandered off. No. It had been discarded. They had left it to die instead of killing it outright so they could pretend its blood wasn't on their hands.

But the pitiful creature wasn't to die, his forest would not take part in that. No, Sakir had felt something shift as he was roaming about that afternoon. It felt like the air was being pushed back, condensed. Something that did not belong had arrived and the forest was uncomfortable. He followed that feeling, the air thickening as he closed in, and began to hear the wailing; a horrid shrieking sound, hoarse and piercing.

Unsure what he would discover, Sakir cloaked himself in the vegetation of the rather bog like woods and crept closer. He lowered himself to the mossy forest floor and crept forward until he came upon it. The air was dense, he felt like he was walking in invisible tar. The forest had gone silent other than the wailing; no trickle of the stream, no rustling of leaves, no chirping birds or skittering squirrels. Every living thing had surrendered the area to this foreboding presence.

This was his domain and whatever lie beyond the brush could not stay. Sakir channeled acid to the pockets along his neck, felt the skin tighten as they filled, ready to incinerate upon release, and crept forward. He emerged through the leaves and brambles, raising his head up and spreading his wings in a battle stance.

But it was no intruder, at least, not a knowing one. It was a human. A child. He wasn't good at estimating ages with mankind, but he knew it was too young to be alone, no taller than a fawn. Light brown ringlets of hair stuck to its red, patchy face, wet with tears and snot. Big, round, bright brown eyes locked onto him. It had stopped crying the instant it saw him, and he prayed it remained so, that wretched sound was a curse upon the ears. The air gave way as well; the stillness persisted, but it was lighter now, suspended.

They stared for a few moments, appraising each other. It didn't take long for Sakir to realize what had happened. No parents nearby, no search parties calling out in their ugly clanging tongue. No one was coming for this child.

With it now rustling around on his back, running its filthy fingers across his wings and padding to and fro across his scales, he could see the appeal of being rid of it forever. He had thought to take it back to the village, but given the likelihood it had been cast out as some sort of beacon of misfortune, having a dragon return it to the village would likely elevate it to a deity or a demon in the eyes of its kind.

No, it could not go back, not only for how the villagers would react, but the child did seem to have some kind of ability not inherent to modern humans. The way its cries had changed the air, the way the forest settled once it was calm, it was not a normal human, of that Sakir was sure. That left one option, the Witches.

The Witches were still reverent of the ways of old, ways modern humans had not the dedication or lifespan to master. If they were willing, they could raise the child, if not, they could discern a place for it.

Flying had proven too challenging, twice the child had wriggled out of Sakir's grip and almost fell to the forest floor. Keeping it tucked beneath the fold of his wings seemed to keep it contained, but also kept him grounded. Which meant they had to use the caves. It was a half a day's walk to get to the nearest one large enough to house Sakir, whose height rivaled the majority of the trees in his domain.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since the human had eaten, nor was he sure how often humans needed to eat, but it was much more often than a dragon, at least. It's clothes were dirty but not soiled, with any luck, that meant it had a meal that day. So help him, if it started wailing as before, he might find himself more sympathetic to the humans that left it.

Fortunately, it did not come to that. At some point in their journey, Sakir noticed the restless running had stopped, looking back, he found the human sprawled out and drooling. He gently pinched the back of its shirt between his teeth, careful not to touch the filthy thing with his tongue or lips, and pulled the child up, nestling it between his should blades, and tucked his wings in tighter to keep it in place.

They reached the cave as the sun was setting. Sakir entered and followed it all the way back, no light would have seeped in even at the sun's highest point this far in. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dark, and although it wasn't as sharp as in the light, his vision was good enough to see the mark. A small pendant of woven twig hung from the ceiling, shaped into triangle with an oblong eye going up and down the middle. He took his talon and scraped a line from one wall of the cave to the other, creating a threshold, an crossed. They were entering the Witches' domain now.

_______________________________________

The cave dried out, slowly becoming brighter and smoother as he walked. It was shifting from an uninhabited hole to a carved out home. The stone became a smooth, polished marble, still rounded but as an arched hall, no longer a jagged tunnel. Soon torches appeared, fastened in the rock on alternating sides. At last, the door. It was a mighty thing, taller than he and carved from the marble, a smaller door was tucked into a panel on the bottom for lesser creatures. On both a portioned metal knocker was bolted in, sharing the same design as the twigs from the cave, a long eye in the middle of a triangle.

Sakir lifted his talon and hooked the brass knocker, clacking it against its accompanying plate three times. Immediately following the third knock, the door pulled away, sliding back and granting him entry. He stepped through to a familiar sight.

It had been too long since he had seen the Witches. The smell of spices and flowers mingled in the air, collecting into an unidentifiable but inviting fragrance, like a forest without rot. The high marble walls rounded and twisted about, there was not a corner to be found. Trees had carved out nooks in the floor and an accompanying open circle in the ceiling for them to freely grow. Sunlight filtered in through the tree ports and birds were singing from the branches. Hundreds of books were stored on shelves woven from branches which hugged and followed the ebb of the wall, tucked away from the openings to keep safe from weather. Jars of brightly colored contents were interspersed among them as makeshift bookends. Time and Nature would not be unkind here, here they were welcome, here they were home.

As Sakir rounded the entry way, he heard the gentle chatter of the trio, "Come, Sakir, we've been eager to see you." He crossed the main hall and entered the garden, all three of the Witches were there, rows upon rows as far as could be seen of flora stretched behind them. All the plants of the world were here in this room, laid out in a coiling path that seemed natural and designed at the same time, shifting from the forest to the marsh, to the desert to the plains as it went along. Pools of every body of water and trees from every soil dotted the sides. This was a room for only the eternal, not even a dragon could comprehend its diversity.

"It's been too long," a deep, sweet voice said. Othenna approached, a tall, brown skinned, slight woman with wild coils of dark brown hair and round, soft green eyes. She removed her working gloves, setting them on the marble table that was stationed at the entryway of the garden. Sakir lifted his arm out, too big to clasp hers, he rested it in front of her. She laid her hand on his. "Nenise says you have discovered something of an oddity."

"Is that all she said?" he looked up at the Witch in question, she sat reading a book at a table with the remaining Witch, Cyril, who was enjoying a rather large cup of tea. Cyril smiled, lifting her exacting, pale blue eyes over her teacup, and waved at Sakir as she took a sip, both were sat across from where Othenna had been harvesting the leaves from a thorny flower he was not familiar with.

"I didn't want to spoil the surprise," the dark skinned woman said, turning her black, almond eyes from the page to grant him a mischievous smile. Her many braids of raven hair fell from behind her ear as she turned back to her book, masking those infinite, knowing eyes from his.

"I doubt there's much that surprises you three," he chuckled, "but an oddity is an apt description," Sakir unfurled his wings and tilted his head to the side, gesturing for Othenna to come aboard. She climbed up his still lowered arm and made her way up to see what was nestled on his back, gasping as a light came over her face.

"A baby," she cooed, hoisting herself up over the rim of his wing blade and taking the child in her arms. Sakir could see then that if Othenna had her way, the babe would be staying. He looked over at the others to assess their reactions.

Nenise remained seated and unreadable, face was still concealed behind a curtain of hair. Cyril rose from her seat then, mid sip, she sat the teacup down and as soon as she swallowed, managed, "a baby?"

Othenna had slid off Sakir's back by then and Cyril met her, peering over at the lump in her arms. "Not a newborn, but surely no more than 2." Othenna smiled, already smitten.

Cyril, a tan boulder of a woman, with her muscular build and fair to say taller than average height, did not seem as smitten. "An oddity, you say?" Her voice and eyes now distant. She had an answer.

"It was abandoned, and showing signs of abilities that common humans do not have," Sakir offered, though he could see the Golden Witch already knew.

"It's not human, not wholly," she corrected, still staring at it. " This child is of Brodika. It has been given a gift." The room fell silent then.

Brodika.

That name had not been relevant for almost a thousand years. The last time its bearer had emerged, the whole world was nearly lost to destruction.

"How? What kind of gift," Sakir asked.

"Calamity," Cyril responded, it wasn't alarm in her voice, it was a quiet curiosity. She tilted her head at the child, as if to discern something more out of it.

"That's not a gift, it's a curse," Sakir scoffed.

Nenise had remained quite unbothered, legs crossed and now resting on Cyril's empty seat. Stealing a sip from the Golden Witch's tea, her eyes still turned toward her book, she simply said, "that's a matter of perspective."