The Dragon

The wind was steady under the bright blue sky; the air fresh and stark; it was a sickly-sweet scent only ocean could provide. Zahara flapped boastful wings and sucked wagon loads of breath through flaring nostrils as she barreled to the sea, her wings contracting into a spiral dive as she speared the crisp waters of the Arasolak.

From the plunge she arose, herrings flopping mercilessly in her gullet. She chewed and gained altitude. She was reveling in it. Her land. The land her magic had given life to for millennia. From the craggy mountains, to the meandering streams life grew; and where there was life, there was her magic coaxing it along its delicate journey.

Zahara climbed and climbed, stretching her wings in full glory above the coast. She felt pride in those wings; felt the ocean spray on her face; the yellow sun on her silvery scales.

“Fire!” yelled Jamora at the tactical battlement below. One bulleting, rocketing, reflecting-in-the-sun, obsidian tipped spear zinged through the air piercing her iron scales.

It lodged itself in her breast.

She fell.

***

Baker’s bread, the farmer’s cheese, and fruits galore lined the oak table in The Kings grand hall. A feast, the likes of which, had not been seen in a century; and jesters and peddlers and firemen alike played their tunes and juggled their sticks and sang their songs. How Korathean the Great had finally slain the Beast of the Sky.

Balor Korathean sat, full bellied, chicken thigh in hand at the high table lining the front of the Great Hall.

“More wine for the celebration!” He yelled, his belly bouncing as he laughed; servants zoomed around filling the glasses of noblemen and villagers the same. A large boar was brought out on a silvered platter so large long handles were fashioned to carry it, like a palanquin's, and it was placed on the table.

Gregor, Balor Korathean’s son, sat next to him. His hearthstone necklace sitting delicately on the table in front of him.

“Daddy. What happen to the dragon?”

The little boy coughed.

Balor Korathean, in all his mightiest size, turned one large bearded cheek to look down at the boy.

“Gregor!” He said in full excitement” We slayed the beast. Shot it right from the sky. And she came zooming down.” Balor made a bird of his hands and plunged it to the table sending silverware flying in all directions.

He let out a guttural laugh, and his nobleman did the same.

“The dragon...” The boy coughed bringing a tiny fisted hand to his mouth. “The dragon....” He coughed again, more fiercely. Balor saw the blue hearthstone on the table and his eyes widened.

“You must keep this on.” He said, fashioning the necklace around his tiny son’s neck. “Your mother made this for you when you were very little. It keeps you strong Gregor.”

“When’s mommy coming back?” asked the boy, his coughing having ceased.

Balor frowned.

“We’ve talked about this laddy. Mommy’s not coming back.”

The feast, and dancing, and reveling went on into the long hours of the night. Firecrackers, and zingers, sparklers alike danced through the great hall in mock celebration of the events. They erupted with little coruscating dragons which zoomed through the air and left black soot on the stones of the castle wall. A night, the villagers would not soon forget.

***

“Your grace. The crops are dying. The rivers have dried up. There’s not any food for the villagers to eat.”

The sallow-faced messenger motioned to the Grand Hall window, through which skeletal trees, void of green, writhed in the dead unforgiving and cold air.

“The land is dying, my lord.”

Four months had passed since the dragon was slain and misfortune and dread had only followed in its wake. The Sun glazed and lost all color, and the foliage which once decorated an expansive and beautiful land died and dried up. The rivers ran empty, their glistened waters losing all charm; and on the fields, even an inkling of wheat refused to sprout.

“Pull from the granary and warehouses! This desolate cold cannot last forever!”

“My lord, there is not enough in the granaries. We are on our last legs.”

The King grumbled something unheard underneath his breath.

“My grace.” said a Terrance Colth sitting across the table. “If I might be of service. There are rumors that the dragon still lives. That it’s magic was tied to the fertility of the land. Perhaps it might be best if we sent out a search team to look for the beast, and aid it.”

“Still lives!? The dragon still lives!?” The kings face turned sour. “It’s cursing us. We need to kill it. Kill the dragon and all will be set right once again. We will send out our finest troops and track the beast!”

***

Hounds sniffed and pummeled the ground in swift pursuit; their scent given by one fallen scale landed on the beach. Gregor curled his hands around the brown tunic of sister Shyar, her holding him close, as his father led the men through the twisted forest.

“This way!” yelled a scout, leash in hand. “They’ve locked onto the scent now.”

Through the meandering woods, and down the glen, they tracked the river. It’s barren waters tumbling lifelessly over the sterile rocks.

“We go to find the dragon.” said Gregor. Sister Shyar looked down at his curious eyes; his hearthstone giving the only color in the desolate landscape.

“Yes.” she smiled. “We go to find the dragon.”

The hounds picked up speed and veered from the glen, through the mountain pass and into the thickness of the forest. Baron Karatheon’s head pounded with the delight of the hunt; his face red and his eyes bold.

Soon they emerged to a clearing. Much to the surprise of the horsemen, and trackers with the dogs; they saw life. A faint green it was, but a green nonetheless in the landscape of grey.

“My lord. This is the first sproutings we’ve seen in months.”

“Aye.” the king bit. “We must be close to the beast.”

Around a corner they traveled, and up one more hill, they came across a large mound with kaleidoscopic silver scales which sparkled in the sun. It was curved into a ball, its tail tucked beneath a massive head.

The men approached in the still air. The breath of the dragon wafting over them like the heat from a baker’s oven.

The king stood back as the men stalked. A snap of a branch and the scarlet slits quivered into wakefulness. It screeched and thrashed its tail. The men jumped back instinctively.

“Gregor save dragon.” The little boy had escaped the sister’s arms and, in the quickness only a toddler could summon, he stood before the towering beast.

“Gregor!” yelled Balor. “Come back!”

The injured dragon, in what must have been its remaining strength, grabbed the child in delicate talons and swooped off into the mountains.

***

The King stood, looking out over the Arasolak waves plunging into the rocks on the coast. The wind was cool, pushing back his graying hair.

“No luck with the troops.” said the footman.

Balor Karatheon did not answer, only looked sorrowfully at the waves. His wife was lost; given herself up to create the Hearthstone which protected the boy from his sickness, and now his son. His only heir. Alone and scared, probably eaten by the foul beast which took him.

How stupid could he be, humoring the child to bring him on such a dangerous mission. The King sighed; his sadness turning to dread.

“Your grace.” said a priest. “There are stories told of the old times. Times before men’s battles and pesky squabbles... of dragons roaming the earth. The stories tell that their presence brought warmth and life to the land. It may not be wise to hunt the dragon – even now – if we leave it, perhaps it will heal, and in time so too will our land.”

The King turned, bristling with anger.

“I will not have my only son devoured by that monstrous beast.” He turned to the footman. “Find the dragon and kill it!”

***

The air on the rocky ledge of the snow-capped mountain was cold and dry as the toddler sat across from the silvery-scaled monster. The wind grew up from the west and pushed the child’s tunic open. He trembled.

Zahara moved from the cave's opening, shifting her mass to create a clearing for the boy, then slid him across the black stone to where he was sheltered from the wind. She craned her neck and grabbed a bundle of branches, stored there, and placed them in the center of the ledge. Drawing air, she breathed a mild stream of fire at the dry wood and the area was alight with warmth.

Then she craned her neck again, placing a fresh rabbit on the fire this time. After a time when it was cooked, she ripped a small piece off with a delicate bite and laid it at the child’s feet. Gregor gnawed, and when he lost interest in the food he stood up and waddled to the dragon.

“Hurt.” He said, placing a fat hand on Zahara’s chest.

She winced with flared nostrils then lowered her head in response.

“Gregor help.”

***

The King’s soldier lowered a brass scope from his eye.

“My King. He is up there, in the Karus Mountain, in the dragon’s nest. We will move now up the path and get a better angle for a clean shot.” said the solider looking side-glance at the mobile harpoon.

The King nodded, and the parade of soldiers began the hasty ascent to the rocky ledges above, careful not to make sound enough to alert the dragon of their pursuit.

Soon they came within view of the silver scales, and his young son sleeping. Gregor was using its tail as a pillow. The fire still blazed and tendrils of smoke leaked out over the roof of the cave.

The lead soldier looked to the King.

“We can get one clean shot. One clean shot that will kill the beast. It's our only chance of getting the prince back undisturbed.”

The King stood in deliberation, scratching his chin, and shot worried glances to his son just yards away.

“Do it.”

The soldiers prepared the contraption, slinging a spear behind the massive string, and slowly turning the crank to draw the heavy bow. Click, click, click, click, click.

The dragon shuffled, placing a large paw over its snout.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

“Sir. At your command.” whispered the solider.

“Fire!” the soldier yelled, and in one snap of the bow the projectile cut through the air.

Eyes whipped open, and the dragon saw its approaching demise; it flung its spike-ended tail and deflected the spear, sending it ricocheting into the rock wall.

Gregor had awoken and waddled into the middle of the battle zone, placing himself between the dragon and the men.

“No hurt.” The little boy said to the men who watched in horror as he approached the aggravated beast, its chest heaving labored breaths. “Gregor help.”

The little boy placed a hand over the dragon's bloodied wound, where the one scale was missing from its hard exterior. Gregor began to glow a sapphire blue. He fumbled the necklace hearthstone off his neck with the other little hand and pressed it also to Zahara’s chest.

The blue glow moved from the little boy and was absorbed into Zahara. As quickly as it had begun, it stopped, and the boy fell lifeless to the ground.

“Gregor!” screamed King Balor launching himself towards the array; it took four of his men to hold him back.

The dragon screeched fiercely, seeming to have regained its full strength; it spread its wings and looked down at the little boy then darted off into the skies, circling over the desolate land.

“Turn!” yelled the solider, and the men followed directives, trailing the dragon with the harpoon.

As the dragon soared high and low; emerald green buds emerged on the trees. With each flap of its enormous wings the grass turned green, the flowers blossomed, the air warmed.

“No!” yelled Baylor.

But it was too late. The harpoon flung.

This time.

Zahara evaded it.

***

It took four months for their food to run out, and the land to die, and the same amount of time it took for all things to return to their proper state. The streams teemed with life again, and the meadows bustled with critters; and the ocean had its spark once more. Salmon flopped up the whitened streams that led to the Arasolak and all was as it was.

Except Gregor. Gregor was gone.

“A tremendous sacrifice, my lord.” said the high priest. “He will be remembered always. Your son Gregor saved us all.”

Over the parapet, and beyond the beaches soared the glorious beast; the missing scale now replaced by Gregor's hearthstone.

“I think he’s still saving us.” said Baylor, smiling faintly in the wind.

“We will celebrate tonight! From this day forward, dragons will never be hunted again! They will be revered, and respected. Their value is immeasurable.”

And that night new sparklers were fashioned that flew proudly and strong, kites and banners were flown and the dragon was remembered always, as was prince Gregor.