The Spell of Madness

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. We used to live simple lives without such disturbances until our village was put under a spell of madness. Long ago, it was decided that the behavior of individuals, good or bad, should be known and atoned for. When someone commits a crime or behaves unfavorably, the individual suddenly is cursed and sees the dragons who also live here. They are forced to live in constant terror at the sight of them. I have heard there are hundreds who fly around our village and over the valley, often times provoking those who can see them and causing them to spiral into a trance of fear. If someone leads an innocent life free of such insolence, then they are not plagued by the dragons; in fact, they cannot see them at all. This has caused devastating paranoia in our once peaceful village.

Everyone is so aware of onlookers and those who can see the dragons pretend desperately that they cannot so they can maintain an image of purity; however, sometimes it can be obvious if someone is trying to conceal their fear which causes people to talk and to question how they ought to be living their life. Whispers among the villagers start to buzz: “Did you just notice how she looked skyward, flinched, and immediately looked down? I wonder what she did to deserve the madness” “Maybe it started when her shop burned down?” “Or maybe when her children started to get into trouble?”.

What started as relatively harmless chatter evolved into something much greater which caused a legal system to emerge. Anyone who shows any signs of seeing dragons clearly has done something wrong in the eyes of our law; therefore, that person must be guilty of something and should atone. Brash, aggressive individuals began appointing themselves as village officers and began arresting those who appear suspicious to bring them in for questioning. One could argue the spell of madness is punishment enough for wrongdoings, but the village officers would surely disagree.

I have heard rumors about what people have done to earn the spell of madness and I find it subjective. An old man on the streets confessed to me years ago that he has seen the dragons ever since he stole food from the markets. He had just lost his son to a terrible sickness and was struggling to provide for himself. Yet seconds after committing the crime of stealing he saw an enormous dragon perched strategically on the roof of one of the shops, cocking his head at him predatorily. Another young child couldn’t contain her terror and blurted out that she had only thrown rocks at another boy’s head so he would stop beating her sister. She cried and screamed with such anguish and horror that she passed out minutes later.

The spell of madness has infected our village for a very long time and no one knows exactly how or why it began. I have mulled over the spell of madness and why it plagues us so but cannot come up with any way to possibly stop it. I cannot see the dragons, which ironically is a hindrance in discovering the root cause of it all. I am often curious about what it must be like to see dragons everywhere guarding our village but not curious enough to commit to behavior that would invoke the spell of madness on myself. They are terrifying, I’m sure, but from what I’ve noticed in the village they are not dangerous; at least, there have been no known attacks on humans by dragons.

“Good morning, Aran” says Serge, the village blacksmith.

“Morning… how are you holding up?” I reply gravely. Today is the day of the blacksmith’s daughter’s public trial. She was taken in weeks ago after allegedly catching the madness and her sentencing will take place within the hour. He sighs and avoids my sympathetic gaze.

“I’m alright. I know she’s a survivor and I’m sure she’s holding up well”

Serge scratches his head distractedly and continues his walking pace towards the town square where the trials are typically held. This wasn’t always the way of course. When the dragons first appeared in the valley many people drove themselves insane, thinking that the dragons were simply in their heads, and something was fundamentally wrong with them. Some fled the village as my mother did while others took their own lives just like my father. Mom left shortly after I had reached manhood, and it was challenging to face the world feeling truly alone since dad had already been gone for a few years prior. I often wonder where she went, and if she still can see them. I wonder what the dragons do to people who act unfavorably once more? People rarely flee anymore. Running away takes consideration and a thought-out plan, which requires time. The village officers typically accuse anyone they damn well please, innocent or not, long before most who would consider leaving would have the time to prepare.

Despite such hardship, I have fond memories in this village. I was born here shortly after the curse and grew up listening to stories from my parents about those who suffered from it’s wrath. But this village is my home. I learned how to walk and run and ride in this village. I learned how to hunt and forage and take care of myself in this village. There are certainly others in the village who see things the way I do regarding the confusion and unfairness that the spell of madness inflicts; this can be comforting to know that I am not alone in possessing a desire for change and liberation. I walk towards the town square and admire the little things that still bring me joy: the sunshine that blankets the rooftops of the local shops and cobblestone paths, the smell of blooming flowers that is being carried on the light morning breeze. The village is old but certainly not shabby. Everyone does their part in taking care of the village, especially the main shopping areas and the town square, as well as one another. I look upon the solemn faces of the townspeople who I have come to know and cherish over my lifetime. Marigold, who goes by Mari, has been a baker for as long as I can remember. She carries her skirts as she walks quickly towards the town square, face down of course. It doesn’t take much to provoke the village officers, even on a public trial day. Jork walks brisky past me looking down at his shoes. He is the village barber and has been cutting everyone in town’s hair since I had hair to cut. He works quietly but is a remarkably generous man and has always done great work. He notices my gaze and returns it with a subtle head nod and continues his pace.

I consider Aven’s trial and sentencing today. We grew up together and are only a few years apart. Her mother left much earlier than mine from the madness and rather than cry or get angry or fall apart, she flourished and learned how to forge quickly and exceptionally to help her father. I always admired her bravery as children, and especially so after my own parents were gone. I wonder what she is being accused of. Did she confess? Did they torture her to the point of a false confession? Trials can be brutal; depending on the severity of the perceived crime, the punishment can be as minor as a public lashing or as severe as death or banishment. To be banished from our village is as comparable to a death sentence, but significantly prolonged. There is nothing for at least a hundred miles outside of our village, which is why leaving takes considerable planning. When someone is sentenced to banishment they only have until nightfall to get their affairs in order.

I gaze up at the church as I walk toward the square. The morning sun always seems to creep over the roof and steeple last somehow. It’s mesmerizing to me how lovely the radiant colors of the stained-glass windows appear in the sunshine. I used to visit the church with my mother but I’ve long since lost any faith in a higher power. Many in the village still attend regularly to pray the madness away from their loved ones and from the town itself, but as I walk to Aven’s trial it’s hard to see the point in prayer.

I look quickly away from the church shaking off the thought of those once fond memories and reorient myself towards the town square that is neighboring. A stage has been fashioned in the center of the square with a noose already prepared off to the right side. A chair with shackles ensnaring the arms and backing serves as the display’s centerpiece with a podium for the village officer overseeing the sentencing to bellow out his findings and commands. There is already a swarm of people gathered around below the stage awaiting the start of the trial. Some people come to defend the accused and periodically “boo” and shout in support while others come to cheer on the village officer and applaud them for catching the wretched, unforgivable people in the village. I stand nervously and look around at the mob as it starts to break in the center to make room for the three officers who escort Aven towards the stage. Was it really necessary to have three officers, all of which double her size, to shepherd her in? I notice there are not many people protesting against her which is a good sign. I have seen this entrance before where someone is brought up to the stage accompanied by deafening roars and screaming from the onlooking crowd. Aven is well-liked in town which will hopefully work in her favor.

Aven thuds down in the chair and the three officers immediately start shackling her down. She smirks to herself and rolls her eyes as they fumble nervously with the chain links. I guarantee you she crafted them herself and she recognizes the irony of it. Two of the village officers hurry away as if she has a contagious disease while the remaining officer saunters over to the podium.

“You have been accused of possessing the madness. Will you confess willingly to the crime or crimes you have committed to deserve such a curse in full view of the holy church?” the village officer says as he draws out each hostile word like “accused” and “committed”.

“Nope” Aven says plainly.

“After questioning the accused extensively, we have determined that she is likely of committing the crime of… conspiracy… against the village!” booms the officer, once again lengthening choice words.

There is a subtle gasp among the crowd and murmurs flood the space. I look over the crowd and see Serge in the outskirts of the mob looking down at his ruddy shoes with hopeless in his misty eyes. Aven’s foot begins to bounce up and down, the only sign of worry as they rest of her body language communicates contempt.

“The accused admitted to making weapons for those who have been tried and found guilty of madness. She means to arm these people and encourage them towards mass rebellion!” the officer shouted over the crowd.

The officers always seem to gravitate towards this accusation. I would be paranoid about mass rebellion too if I continuously humiliated, tortured, killed, and banished the masses. But this accusation strikes fear into many of the villagers, especially those who are supportive of the village officers.

“She’s a blacksmith for God’s sake!” cries out someone in the crowd. This is met with supportive comments from others who voice their agreement.

“Not guilty!” another crowd member screamed.

“The accused has also openly downplayed the curse of madness which causes us to question her sanity and ability to live amongst the faithful townsfolk,” says the village officer loudly and coolly.

Shit. This is the line they typically use before—

“Therefore we banish the accused from the village starting at the stroke of midnight!” bellows the officer who smiled subtly as he boomed the word “banish”.

Silence engulfed the square. Rarely has any officer banished someone over a crime that wasn’t completely proven. Aven’s face was unreadable as her foot ceased its bouncing. Her face was stony and pale as she sat deathly still on the stage. Suddenly, the crowd went completely wild and people are screaming profanities and throwing their hands around dramatically. People start pushing into each other and fighting and falling around everywhere. Other officers who were gathered around the perimeter lazily are jolted by the sudden uproar and start to veer toward the stage but people from the mob flood around them and villagers and officers alike are scrambled together. I look up at the stage and see Aven taking advantage of the chaos as she starts wriggling free of her bindings. I break out into a run in the direction of the church to get away from the rioting and fighting. I notice some of the officers are using their weapons to knock people down. Someone is being arrested, presumably for attacking an officer. Two officers are unnecessarily beating a sturdy club into the siding of one of the clothing shops and smashing the windows in. A few villagers see this and stand in front of the shop defiantly. I start sprinting back towards my house and turn sharply into an alleyway that is a well-known short cut I like to take. The buildings on either side are made of sturdy brick and the narrow pathway is not well tended. My eyes adjust to the sudden darkness as I continue my pace, darting down other alleys to get back home when an officer jumps out in front of me unexpectedly.

“I bet you thought you were gonna get away with it, huh?” chuckles the officer as he creeps towards me. He has a knife in his hand.

“What are you talking about?” I blurt out in fear and slight confusion. What is he talking about?

“You thought nobody saw you looking skywards towards the church earlier today. I bet you think you’re real clever” the officer muses with his deep voice. He starts to circle me like prey. I’m much taller than him, but he looks stronger and he has a knife. I look around for an out but come up short. If I run towards him I’ll have to fight, and if I run away he’ll likely call for backup. I wet my lips and continue to look past him for an out.

“So it’s a crime to look around? You’re joking” I say incredulously as I try to stall. I need time to think.

“It is in this village. When did the madness start, boy?” the village officer laughs humorlessly.

“Piss off” I bark back.

The officer lunges towards me with his knife hand raised and I step out of the way in time for him to stumble over his feet. He turns around and looks at me angrily and lunges again, only I was prepared for it and I jerked my thigh up into his chest. He lost his breath for a second with the impact and without much thought other than survival I took his head and slammed it into the brick wall. There was a splatter of blood and a crack. I let go of my grip and his body lifelessly fell to my feet. I stand in the alleyway motionless as Aven was on the stage and it felt as if the world had stopped spinning for a second. I needed to get this man help! I cautiously turned him over, half knowing what to expect, but nothing could have prepared me for the contortion on his face. He was dead. My knees give out and I fall to the ground trembling. I just killed a man. I should have defended myself in a way that didn’t allow this to happen. What will everyone think of me? How will I possibly explain myself? I shake my head and my hands to loosen my body. Now is not the time to panic. As calmly as I can, I run back to the path I came from towards the village main roads and people are still rioting and fighting, only now on top the church roof next to the steeple perched an enormous, green-scaled dragon with golden eyes and wings. Enormous is an understatement. My eyes widen at the shear mass of the creature that is twice the size of the church that is somehow supporting the beast’s weight. My knees threaten to buckle again but I keep my composure as I take the scene in. The dragon and I lock eyes and my breath catches. Just from a glance I could sense the intelligence and power the dragon possessed. I’m impressed yet utterly terrified at the same time.

I didn’t want to be seen looking too long skyward again so I tried to look back down at the chaotic scene. Everyone is too busy navigating through the congestion of the village to have even spared a look in my direction, right? I catch sight of Aven charging towards the alleyway I was coming out of, still carrying the loose chains she had broken out of. When she came closer to me she jerked her head towards the church.

“You see them too, huh?” she said casually as she continues to run.

“First time” I say without thinking. “Are you really leaving?”

“What choice do I have?”

“Want some company?” I reply.

She looked at me, puzzled briefly, and then smirked with mischief in her eyes.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you, Aran?”

I said nothing as we both looked skyward at the swarm of dragons peppering our village and circling overhead in the valley.