Inferno Legacy

His inner eyelid opened, slowly, tracking movement through the forest of the creature whose loud breathing had woken him from his slumber. Between the trees he saw a small human, a boy wearing a tunic too large for his little frame, wandering up a rough and poorly maintained path. He flicked out his tongue, tasting the air, smelling the boy’s fear and confusion, with a tiny dose of determination mixed in. He detected no other human scents nearby, though within a couple of leagues or so he smelled others, including one he’d encountered before. In fact, the scent of the boy, who was clearly lost, resembled that of the familiar one but with a stronger scent of determination. Perhaps his long wait was finally over. Perhaps he would be able to fulfill his father’s wishes after all. Sinuously, he moved his head forward until it was only a few feet from the path. Grasping some leaves, he spread them over his head. Motionless, he then concentrated for a moment. Just in time, as moments later the boy, clearly exhausted from walking up the steep path, sat down on his snout with a sigh. He waited a few seconds before shaking the boy off, then slowly rose to his full height. Unlike the last human he’d met, this boy didn’t run off screaming, instead holding his ground despite the growing scent of fear he emitted. He’s the one, he thought, opening his jaws in a grin that let his fangs sparkle in what little sunlight filtered through trees. He lowered his head towards the boy…

His small hands tightly grasped those of his parents as they walked down the path through the large crowds. Eyes wide, he was constantly looking around at the brightly costumed grownups, the occasional horse, and the green trees and shrubbery that surrounded everything. Close to three years old, Jeff was barely able to understand what was going on but he was still able to enjoy this rare trip from home.

“Hear ye! Hear ye!” shouted a nearby bearded man in a red cap with a matching tunic, as he held up a long scroll. Further down the path, a woman in a flowing frilly dress stopped playing her harp as the crowds grew silent. A stocky man froze, a greasy turkey wing dripping in his hand. “Sir Richard having triumphed over Sir John in the jousting tournament, the final event of this year’s Festival, namely, The Annual Philosopher’s Stone Scavenger Hunt, shall begin forthwith by order of his grace, our king, Adam Smith.”

Jeff had stopped paying attention to the bearded man with the strange red cap as soon as he’d started using hard words like “triumphed”. When the man mentioned something about a “scavenger hunt” though, he had Jeff’s complete attention. He wasn’t sure what that was, but Jeff knew it sounded like fun.

A tall man wearing a crown stepped forward from the crowd and patted the bearded man on the back. “Thanks John.” Adjusting his crown, he then turned to the crowds and continued, “Afternoon everyone. Commissioner Adam Smith of the New York City Parks & Recreation Department, or” he added with a grin “for today only, King of the Cloisters for the annual Fort Tryon Park Medieval Festival. As some of you may know, The Hunt began thirty years ago, after the rumor first spread that among the many items transported from Europe to the Cloisters Museum when it was first built was the famous Philosopher’s Stone that supposedly grants immortality.” Pausing until the laughter subsided, “King” Smith said with a smile “I know, I know. In New York City, of all places! Well, the fact remains that an archivist at the Metropolitan Museum of Art did uncover a letter written almost a hundred years ago by the philanthropist who funded the creation of the Met Cloisters Museum. And that letter does mention an almost egg-shaped sculpture supposedly made by Nicholas Flamel in the 14th century.”

Jeff was starting to lose interest again, focusing instead on the pigeons waddling among the crowd. After all, he rarely got to be this close to them or any other wildlife, and they were hard to ignore since they were almost as tall as his shoulders. His father, by contrast, had been staring at Smith with an unusual intensity in his green eyes. An intensity that seemed to increase when Smith mentioned the words “egg-shaped.” That was the point when Jeff’s mother had started gazing at her husband in concern. It was also, as they’d later decide after an irate debate on the subject, the point at which both had stopped holding Jeff’s hands and unintentionally left him to his own devices.

Unnoticed by anyone, on the edge of the crowd a short man in a brown friar’s robe pulled back his cowl before turning unblinking blue eyes toward the tall knight next him. “Egg or stone, it will be mine, Flint.” he said with grim determination. Covered as he was from head to toe in full armor, Flint’s tinny-sounding reply was muffled by his helmet, “Yes sir, Mr. Gâté-Riche.”

Speaking louder in order to be heard over the chuckles from the crowd, Smith continued “In order to add to the Festival’s, well, festivities, the organizers some three decades ago decided to create a scavenger hunt for families to go on together. Ever since then, a $50 gift card goes to whomever finds the,” Smith paused to look around at the crowd with a knowing grin, raising his hands as he did so make air quotes, “philosopher’s stone.”

At the latest mention of the stone, Jeff’s mother put an arm around her husband’s shoulder. He didn’t react. She didn’t move, even when the wind blew scarlet strands of her husband’s unkempt long locks of hair into her brown eyes. Jeff started waddling after the nearby pigeons.

Still grinning and looking around the crowd, Smith caught sight of Jeff’s parents and then resumed speaking. “To be clear, the goal is to find the philosopher’s stone, not other objects.” His grin grew wider, “Such as a dragon egg.”

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Jeff’s father screamed.

Almost in unison, the crowd stopped looking at Smith and began staring at Jeff’s parents.

Jeff stopped waddling, started walking. Fast. Usually when they yelled it was back home in the apartment. This time he had the freedom to escape it, and he meant to use it.

“George! Please, calm down!” Jeff’s mother urged, struggling to hold her husband back as he tried to run at Smith. Restricted by his wife’s grip, George could only take a few steps, dragging her with him as he went.

“No, Linda!” George shouted, before noticing the crowd staring at them. Giving up on his attempt to rush Smith, he continued in something approaching an indoor voice, “That sonofabitch knows full well that I was just three when that happened. I ran back to the festival square screaming that I’d found a dragon egg that hatched a monster because I didn’t know better! And that asshole never let me forget that it happened, not in thirty years!”

“I know, I know, honey, but reacting like this every time he or anyone else makes a joke about it only encourages them.” Linda said soothingly, tilting her head in the direction of Smith. The jovial grin replaced by a cruel smirk, Smith just stood there, shaking with silent laughter. “Don’t give them the satisfaction. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

“You’re right. You’re right.” George said, far quieter than he’d been seconds earlier. Breathing heavily but visibly less agitated, he crossed his arms and looked expectantly at Smith. A relieved look on her face, Linda let go of George’s shoulder.

Both hands raised in the air, Smith finally spoke, “Well, assuming there are no more interruptions…. Let the hunt begin!” he announced, dropping his hands in a slashing movement.

With a sigh, George shook his head. He glanced from side to side. “Where’s Jeff?”

By the time his parents noticed his absence, Jeff had walked far from the main park path where Smith had announced the start of the scavenger hunt. He’d randomly chosen a side route, followed it to its end, and found himself facing the Henry Hudson Parkway and scary looking lines of cars rushing in either direction. Backtracking, and unable to fully read let alone understand the sign stating Danger! Path Under Construction! Do Not Enter! Jeff had then entered an inadequately blocked dirt path leading up into a heavily forested section of the park. After walking up the steep path for a while he sat down on a leaf-covered rock to rest a minute. At least, he thought it was a rock, right until the moment it started to tremble violently.

Shaken off the “rock” along with the leaves, Jeff stumbled back a few steps before falling on his rear. That position gave him a great view of the former rock now rising before him. He saw now that it was a dark red, brown in some spots, matching the leaves that had covered it. Jeff didn’t know the word “scales,” but he saw that it was covered with them. Most of all, he noticed that it was a head. He knew this not just because of the sharp fangs, nor due to the two short horns sticking out of its forehead, but because of its eyes; great red orbs with black slashes at the center. Those eyes looked nothing like the ones on most people or animals Jeff had ever seen before. The closest he could think of was a ‘gator or croc’ from the time his mom had taken him to the B’rocks Zoo, but their eyes were green, not red.

The head, which he’d been sitting on seconds earlier, hissed. Now raised to its full height, around the size of a few horses put together, Jeff saw it was at the end of a long neck, attached to a large body with wings tucked behind its back, and short, clawed, arms and legs. Its body was covered entirely in the same scales he’d noticed on its head, though as he looked closer he saw them slowly change color from the red and brown of the leaves that had covered it to match the yellow, green and brown of the forest surrounding it.

The dragon, for it was unmistakably a dragon like the one or two Jeff had heard about in books his mother sometimes read to him before bedtime (whenever his father wasn’t home), seemed to glare down at Jeff with its unblinking red reptilian eyes. A wicked-looking forked tongue flicked in and out of its mouth.

Slowly, the head approached Jeff’s own, snout first. Jeff closed his eyes, kept them squeezed shut in terror….

And felt the dragon’s nose gently bumped into his forehead.

Jeff blinked in surprise. It had been gentler than he’d expected, but what had really surprised him was that while both the dragon’s nose was touching his forehead and his eyes had been shut, the image of an old man had appeared before his eyes.

The dragon, Jeff now saw, was looking at him almost expectantly, extending its snout toward him again. Obligingly, squeezing his eyes closed as he did so, Jeff leaned forward. This time he didn’t open his eyes to blink, didn’t lean back from the dragon, made no attempt to escape.

Once again, the image of an old man appeared before him. The man was pale skinned, wearing a hat, tunic, breeches, and a jacket that would not have looked out of place among those attending the Medieval Festival as a scribe. From Jeff’s point of view, the man stepped back, into the old-looking home they were both in, and seemed to pocket something, then turned toward Jeff and began speaking with an accent Jeff hadn’t heard before.

“Bonjour! If I’ve done my work properly, you will be able to understand me regardless of what language you speak. My name is Nicholas Flamel, resident of Paris, born in the year of our lord 1330. As you are probably hearing this long after I have passed, I should explain how it is I am speaking to you. In addition to the secrets I had to uncover for creating le guivre, the worm you have just encountered, I discovered that he is supposed to be capable of passing along any of his memories to those he wishes to communicate with, if specific runes are painted on his egg. I call memories such as the one you see before you antecessor memoriae.”

“Why, you might ask, would a lowly scribe such as myself want to create le guivre? Well,” Flamel said, his tone turning bitter, “some residents of Paris, such as the Baron Gâté-Riche, have become convinced that I am immortal. Immortal!” he repeated with a snort. “What nonsense. Not only that, but they attribute my so-called immortality to some kind of elixir of life derived from a philosophical stone or some such that I supposedly created through magical alchemy.”

“Magic! Bah!” Flamel rolled his eyes. “Simpletons. I was merely using my knowledge of the alchemical sciences to live a healthier life than even the baron himself. I tried telling the baron that, and he called me mad! He’d rather believe in magic than basic advice on hygiene and health. He wasn’t satisfied with just insulting me though. He demanded that I hand over my ‘philosopher’s stone’ by the end of the year 1417 or face execution.”

His voice turning grim, Flamel continued. “The search for immortality of the self is a quest for fools alone. Like a raging inferno, it consumes the soul along with everyone and everything in its way. That is its enduring legacy, from the search for the Holy Grail to the Baron’s violent desire for my so-called philosopher’s stone.” Flamel smiled, though Jeff noticed his eyes seemed to swell with tears. “There is however one path to immortality that anyone can achieve, though my wife Perenelle and I were unable to do so.” It seemed to Jeff as though Flamel stared straight into his eyes. “That’s where you come in. What the baron thinks I’m making for him, I am instead making to secure immortality for Perenelle and myself. Not the impossible philosopher’s stone or elixir of life, but instead le guivre. Even though it will cost me my life, he will stay in his egg as long as the baron lives. The baron won’t be able to do anything with him, and will eventually dismiss him as a sculpture due to the stone I will encase the egg in. Le guivre will hatch in a new world long after the baron’s death, when he senses you – a child whose desire to be free from ignorance and strife matches my own. He will guide, teach, and protect you with my own skills and knowledge, passed on to him and you through the antecessor memoriae. If anyone tries to harm you or to take him as part of some foolish quest for my ‘immortality’ they will receive only the inferno that they deserve.”

Flamel disappeared, and Jeff opened his eyes. He knew some of the words the old man had used, enough to figure out that the dragon in front of him would help him. Everything else went above his head. There was one question he had though.

“Can you talk?” Jeff asked.

The dragon shook its head.

“How will you teach?”

The dragon moved its head forward again, wiggling its snout. Jeff nodded, closed his eyes again. A second later the image of Flamel appeared once again.

“This is how we will speak.” Flamel said, though in a deeper voice than before, and with a different look in his eyes.

“Cool!” Jeff said. “What’s your name?”

‘Flamel’ looked upwards, hand on his chin. “I’m not sure. My father called me Le guivre, but that’s more of a description than a name.” He shrugged and looked back at Jeff. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Jeff.” Jeff responded with a frown. Wasn’t it obvious? Shouldn’t this dragon thing that could talk in his head know his name?

“Well, Jeff, I haven’t met many humans. In fact, the only one I met was a young one like yourself, who ran away screaming before I could share the antecessor memoriae with him. Do you have any ideas for a name?”

Jeff scrunched up his face in concentration. He didn’t think any of the names of his playmates would fit the dragon. There weren’t any others he could think of…Wait! Yeah! That sounded right! he thought, picturing one of his mother’s books. It was a funny one, with a picture on the front of huge man lying on sand with ropes around his body, and tiny little people standing around him.

“How ‘bout Gul’ver?”

“Is that a common human name?”

Jeff shrugged.

‘Flamel’ sighed. “Well, I suppose it will have to do. Nice to meet you, Jeff, to answer your earlier question, my name is Gul’ver. Now, I think we should start with….” Gul’ver stopped speaking mid-sentence. His eyes started moving independently of each other, and he licked his lips.

Jeff shuddered. He was starting to feel creeped out, and began wondering if he should run, when Gul’ver looked back at him, eyes thankfully coordinating and moving in the same direction again. “More humans are approaching. Listen carefully, Jeff. I’m about to end our link. When you open your eyes just stay still, and cover your ears. I’ll protect you.”

Jeff nodded.

A second later Gul’ver disappeared, and Jeff opened his eyes. He saw Gul’ver already moving, standing above him and covering him completely with his wings. He covered his ears, and stayed still.

Flint Laquais was sincerely regretting coming to the festival in full metal armor. For one, he couldn’t run, and even walking long distances soon had him in a full sweat. He was just about to abandon his employer, or to at least abandon his armor and the accessories he’s hidden within it, when his employer, Preston Gâté-Riche, yelled at him from further up the path. “Hurry up, Flint! I see something up ahead.”

“Yes sir, on my way.” Flint replied, when he’d stopped gasping for breath.

Luckily, Gâté-Riche had stopped walking, so Flint was able to catch up to him. “What are you staring at, sir?” he asked as he stepped forward next to him.

Gâté-Riche mutely lifted a finger to point at something up ahead.

Flint followed the indicated direction with his eyes, noting an unusually large pile of leaves, then shrugged. “What should I be seeing, sir?”

Gâté-Riche practically growled with annoyance; he stepped behind Flint and tried to shove him in the direction of the leaf pile, though Flint barely felt it through his armor. “Look closer.”

“At what, sir? That pile of leaves?”

“Yes, you fool!”

Flint squinted, trying to see what the big deal was. After a few seconds he started noticing things… two knobs like small horns, the general shape of a tail trailing from the pile, and how strange the shape of the pile itself was. It even looked like some of the color wasn’t being supplied by leaves but by something underneath…

Flint gasped. Gâté-Riche snorted at his reaction, clapping him on the back of his armor. “That’s why I’m in charge. Come along, let’s go see if it has anything to do with the Philosopher’s stone my ancestor’s journal talked about. Better get ready though, in case we run into trouble.”

Flint nodded, removing his armor to reveal a hidden rifle, ammo, and other assorted weapons.

They then stepped forward to investigate whatever was hiding under the leaves.

When they got within a few yards of the ‘leaf pile’ it started shaking, and moments later, with leaves still fluttering through the air, a dragon with scales the color of the leaves it had hidden under had revealed itself before them, growling quietly under its breath. It seemed as though it were kneeling on its haunches, though it was hard to tell as its wings covered most of its body.

Heart racing, Flint still managed to hold his rifle at the ready, aimed steadily at one of the thing’s weird red eyes. Gâté-Riche slowly reached out to push the rifle down towards the ground. “Calm down, Flint. We don’t want to antagonize it. Both my ancestor and that museum archivist did describe the Stone as being egg-like. I suppose it was actually an egg after all, though I’ve no idea how it ended up here. Now, let’s see if it’ll give me what my family are owed.”

Gâté-Riche pulled back the cowl of his robe, and started walking slowly towards the dragon, hands extended to the sides to show he was unarmed and peaceful. The dragon shook its head, growling a little louder than before. Gâté-Riche continued though, until he was standing right in front of it.

Slowly, with visible reluctance, the dragon extended its snout toward Gâté-Riche, who reflexively closed his eyes as it did. Suddenly, he found himself staring at a ghost from history.

“Just as I anticipated that the baron or his descendants would sell the Stone, so too did I know that at some point after that another one would want to take it back.” the image of Nicholas Flamel said matter-of-factly. “You will not find what you seek here, Gâté-Riche. My creation that stands before you has nothing to offer you, certainly not the immortality you desire.”

Preston Gâté-Riche was almost too shocked to respond. Almost. His greed helped him recover. “Old fool. Why lie? Give me what you owed my ancestor.”

Flamel laughed. “I’m just a memory, unable to talk to you, but I know what you’re saying because I know how the baron thinks. You’ll say that I owe you, that I’m lying, that there has to be some way for you to get the immortality you think you deserve. Well, I’ll tell you what I told your ancestor before he killed me: the kind of immortality you want doesn’t exist. Creating the only dragon in the whole world is child’s play compared to messing with the forces of life and death. Now, listen, and listen well, for this will be your only warning. Flee. Flee at once, and never bother my creation again, or you will experience firsthand the legacy of all those who embark on the impossible quest for immortality.”

Flamel disappeared. Gâté-Riche opened his eyes. The dragon had already retracted its head, and now sat there glaring at him.

Flint called out from several yards back, “Sir, what happened?! Did you get what you were after?”

“No, Flint. This…thing, and its creator are still trying to hoard it for themselves, even after all these centuries.”

“What now?”

Gâté-Riche backed away from the dragon until he was standing next to Flint, at which point he just stood there, a contemplative look in eyes. He tilted his head to one side, still staring at the dragon, then he smiled. “That thing is protecting something.”

“Sir?”

“It isn’t standing up at its full height Flint. It’s kneeling down, with wings across most of its body. What does that tell you?”

Flint frowned. “Well, could be it’s giving birth, or it’s feeling the call of nature, or…” he grinned. “It’s hiding the Stone.”

“Exactly,” Gâté-Riche smiled. “Why don’t you try and scare it away from whatever it’s got under its wings?”

“With pleasure, sir.” Flint replied with a grin, glad he hadn’t lugged his gear around all day for nothing. Raising his rifle, he pointed it to the side of the dragon and fired a single shot. BANG.

A few birds nearby chirped in alarm and flew away. The dragon didn’t even blink, though its breathing did seem to slow down.

Flint shrugged, and at a nod from Gâté-Riche he shifted aim to target the center of the mass that its wings were covering. The dragon growled, almost as if in warning.

Flint’s finger started to tighten on the trigger…when dragon reared its head back and started breathing in their direction. No. Not breathing Flint thought with horror. Not growling either. It was a burning inferno of flames that came out of the dragon’s mouth, consuming the bullet he belatedly fired, and in the next second both him and his employer.

Gul’ver eyed his handiwork from where he still sat. A well-aimed stream, with great distance too he thought to himself. The humans had taken the brunt of it; anything that slipped by them had dissipated before catching on the nearby plant and animal life.

He unfurled his wings, careful to position himself in such a way that Jeff wouldn’t see the still smoking corpses. Jeff let his hands drop from his ears and stood up, then looked expectantly up at Gul’ver and closed his eyes. Gul’ver bent down to initiate the link.

“What happened?” Jeff asked.

“Oh, a couple of mean humans stopped by. I scared them away before they could hurt us though.” Gul’ver said. “Now, I think we ought to move to a more secluded spot before we begin going over my father’s lessons.”

“Inwood Park?” Jeff suggested.

“Where’s that?”

Jeff started to point, then realized he was still in the aunty sesser mem thing resembling Flamel’s home. “Uptown?”

“What’s that mean?”

“Uhhh….”

Gul’ver shrugged. “Anyway, I keep some skin and scales I’ve shed over the years nearby. I’ll show you how to put it together into a cloak you can wear when you’re with me; it’ll allow you to blend in when I match background scenery to hide, even when you’re flying with me.”

“Norf!” Jeff said at last, a triumphant grin on his face.

Gul’ver sighed; this was going to take a while. Still, he didn’t regret choosing the boy over the two men. He could sense that together they’d be free in a way the boy wasn’t with his fellow humans and that he, Gul’ver, wouldn’t be if he ended up with humans like the two he’d reduced to ashes. They’d do great things, there was no doubt about that.