A prelude to a war

The throbbing forest was cleared in a heartbeat as he slowly approached the source of the wailing that had been screeching in his ears for too long. He had not resorted to breathe. Rain has been absent for a while and the forest was dry as bone. Fire is tempting but fire is chaos. His throat swelled up and he could feel his blood boil and the path beneath his feet light up in bright orange, but he kept his mouth sealed tight. Tendrils of smoke spat out from his nostrils and fed smoke to the canopies of trees that weren’t lucky enough to evade his approach. His claws dug deep into the ground as he walked as gently as he could.

The forest was so aptly named for the giant thorns that grew at every inch in most of the trees. He worked his way through the forest in a slithering motion, but he could not save himself from all the thorns. Some have buried themselves considerably deep into his abdomen and some have cut through the wings. Blood oozed out in rivulets, but they were shining a bright crimson under the moonlight. The pain was unbearable, and it was always fire that quenched it. At least that was the nature of their lives, and yet he restrained himself.

Suddenly the boiling pit in his throat diminished and his nostrils no longer produced smoke when his eyes caught the glimpse of a tiny thing writhing before him and producing the high pitch cries his ears had picked up. In an instant the human stopped and stared back at him and lay motionless, but he can sense his agony somehow.

A youngling.

He slowly extended his neck while not moving his body to get a closer look and the human was quick to respond by kicking his feet on the earth and attempting to move himself away from him. The human only used one of his legs and then it was revealed to him that the other had a tiny gash.

A thorn…

He then lowered his neck ever so gently and rested it on the ground all the while staring at the youngling. He hadn’t realized that the pain from his own wounds had subsided. Cold, crisp air brushed past his wounds, giving a sharp chill to his body. The moon was now moving to hide behind the clouds and darkness swept through the forest and yet there were no shadows on the ground.

The youngling has slowly let go of fear it seems. He was now staring at him with amusement. He reached out with his tiny hands and touched him just below the nostrils and in an instant hot air blasted from the nostrils and warmed the youngling. His large pupils noted a sense of relief and excitement in the youngling but his body felt a hint of terror from his shaking hands. The bleeding has stopped from the tiny gash in his leg and the healing had begun. The clouds started to diminish, revealing the moon once again and under the its’ light, there was a strange balance of cold and warmth they both shared. For a moment, he felt a distant stream rushing towards the sea, the pleasant aroma of ten thousand flowers in their struggle to survive before they wither and the sharp melancholy calls of a beast with heart heavy with sorrow. In that moment he recalled a string of words he learnt from his father.

There is beauty to be revealed in spaces where we least expect to find any. And it is in that moment of revelation that we find hope in the darkest of times.

As a youngling himself, he found it amusing that his kind understood much more than simple direction in words. To that, his father simply replied,

“We have led other beings to believe that our minds lack intelligence and we have maintained that for centuries. Therefore, you must remember to preserve that secret, my son. We are flesh with bone and born of fire, but we are slaves to our minds just like any other being”.

His mind had slipped into dream space while he lay resting on the ground with the youngling but he never shut his eye and his senses were sharp. The moonlight couldn’t stop the darkness that now approached them. It was the sound of hooves stepping on dry leaves he picked up first and in the darkness from within the forest, hooded figures approached on horseback. They hissed from behind their gaunt masks and their clawed hands drenched in black blood. One of them held a scythe from their back and the shape of the blade was a revelation itself. The forest thorns were too big to make a sharp and tiny gash on the youngling’s leg.

A chase and now an ambush.

The youngling had his back pressed against his nose and was shouting or perhaps cursing in his tongue in a hopeless attempt to scare the hooded figures away. Fire boiled within his throat and the ground lit up in bright orange and in a split second, he shot out a torrent of scorching hot flame and directed in a circular fashion hoping to burn the shrouded darkness. After the fire dimmed down, the horses lay on the ground burnt and lifeless, but the darkness had disappeared. It didn’t take too long for black smoke to start rising again and forming the shapes of the shrouded figures once more.

Fire couldn’t quench the darkest of spirits.

They started their approach and his only option was to take flight with the youngling but the wings were in bad shape, and the youngling was not able to walk properly. He tried to contain his anger as he is not able to save the youngling from the grips of the evil that closed in very fast. He resorted to snapping but to no avail. The hooded figures were nothing but a floating mass of smoke. Even their gaunt masks were transparent. The youngling was staring at him and his eyes were pleading. He had given him hope but it had been fruitless. He cursed his father and spat out another stream of fire while being careful to avoid the youngling, but once the fire cleared, he only saw the youngling walking towards the darkness of the forest. He wasn’t limping as if his wound healed days earlier. He stared in bemusement and started to follow him but the wounds in his body ached badly. The wounds split open once more and blood gushed out in rivulets. At the edge of the clearing, the youngling turned towards the dragon and stared. The youngling looked perfectly normal except for his eyes. The pupils were no longer black and took a deep purple of an amethyst. The wound in his leg was sealed shut and from every orifice of his body, tendrils of smoke sprouted out and danced in satisfaction.

A possession had taken place. The youngling had now become a dark one.

Where the shadow lingers, wild deformed beasts congregate. Not long after the youngling disappeared into the trees, the earth slowly rumbled and long twisted roots creeped outwards. They drank the moonlight and started branching off aggressively, creating a meshwork on the forest floor. A root snaked its way upon his scaled body and found an insertion point. The wound had started to heal when the root wriggled its way through. He felt an itching sensation from his abdomen and then a sharp throb and it was clear that he was losing his organs.

He instantly yanked out the root with his teeth and hissed smoke at another that was crawling towards him and it withered into burnt coal. He tried to keep the roots from reaching his wings while slowly crushing the meshwork. The walk caused him immeasurable pain, but it was minuscule compared to the pain of losing the youngling. He hadn’t given much thought as to the oddity of bonding with a stranger, but he understood duty and in the spur of the moment it was duty that compelled him to make the call.

The servants of the Vega were gathered in a circle in an abandoned mausoleum. Time had done away with its roof and only a few pillars remain standing with pride. The servants wore the silver garb and the reverend stood out with a black cloak engraved with red lettering. He had started a chant which was followed by the rest. One of the servants sensed a presence and he felt his hands tremble. He had a sudden itch to turn around and investigate or rather flee to safety, but he tried to maintain the chant. It didn’t take long for the reverend to notice a change in the pitch, and he stopped. His eyes turned to the troubled servant and all eyes were now on him.

The reverend pointed a finger at him. Explain yourself.

The servant felt his heart pounding against his chest. The prospect of something sinister lurking in the background was frightening but the act of interrupting a lengthy unbroken chant is an invitation to hell. His lips parted to speak.

“I…I…sincerely a..apologize for-“

His tongue froze, unable to speak. Time was unkindly to him as a jet of green light emitted from the Reverend’s fingertip and consumed the servant’s body as it decayed into flesh and finally bone when it collapsed on the ground. The reverend now staired at the hollow pits of a skull now lay on the ground atop the servant’s robes.

“An inconvenience,” The Reverend hissed.

“Time was not dear to him,” another servant muttered, and everyone else agreed.

“No. Time was a friend to him till his last breadth. It was his heart that betrayed him,” The Reverend corrected. “But his senses didn’t lie”.

The Reverend pressed his fingertips together and changed his pitch. Reveal yourself.

The other servants were bemused by the fact that there indeed was someone lurking in the background. They felt the embarrassment of not being able to sense the presence. The Reverend took note of this as he stared into the darkness beyond. A single figure approached holding a candlelight. He walked slowly trying to find his footing. The light revealed the features of an aging man. His grey beard was blackened at the tip and his smile was crooked.

An emissary. The Reverend noticed.

“You burned your servant for speaking the truth,” the old man muttered under his breath.

“I burned him for disobeying the rules and it does not concern you”, The Reverend replied. There was a change in his pitch as he spoke.

“Oh? But it does”, the man spoke maintaining that crooked smile. “A possession has taken place. The power of the gaunt knights now resides in a singular body, and it walks in this forest. Best be prepared for the coming darkness”.

The servants were now preoccupied with the news that has now been delivered to them, and they spoke to each other in hushed voices. The Reverend remained motionless. The old man took note of the Reverend’s point and continued.

“I’ve been watching you for quite some time and yes, your methods concern me deeply. A possession opens the doorway to a war, and in that case, I need to trust the allies I make.”

“What makes you think we are allies? Am I to form an allegiance with every passing stranger I meet?”, The Reverend felt compelled to answer instantly. Before the old man could answer, a sharp roar split the air and broke the silence of the night. It echoed and boomed throughout the forest. The Reverend remained motionless and observed while the rest of the servants crouched and covered their ears. One servant collapsed to the ground and blood sprouted out of his ear. Nocturnal creatures that lay hidden in the barks of the trees now revealed themselves as they dropped dead on the forest floor. The Reverend was still observing but his undivided attention was on the old man. He was laughing maniacally as the roar came in.

Emissaries are known to handle deafening sounds well.

When the roar finally died, the Reverend spoke first.

“You failed to mention the dragon”.

“A matter that can be disregarded. That was death cry.”

The Reverend considered it for a moment and made a hand gesture. His servants then hurried down a path into the forest in single file. The Reverend waited till all his servants have disappeared into the night and then addressed the man.

“Very well. Let us gather more forces and meet in a fortnight.”

“Agreed”, the old man replied and was about to turn around when the Reverend pointed a finger at him. At its tip, a green spark ignited. “Deceive me, and you will serve alongside my former servant in hell.”

The old man nodded in agreement and started walking into the darkness. His crooked smile never faded.

The wind has suddenly ceased to blow, and the trees cast gaunt lifeless shadows upon the earth. The Reverend walked gently and sniffed the surroundings. Foul smells of decaying flesh and bone seeped into his sensory organs, and he followed the trail of death into a clearing in the forest and there it lay before his eyes.

The dragon slept the eternal sleep. Its body pockmarked with holes and the blood that had oozed out, had now frozen in place. There were giant chasms on the earth and some of the roots that creeped out of them, lay dead. The only presence of life was a weeping child kneeling by the dragon.

The child looked up at the Reverend and unsheathed a dagger, taking a defensive pose. An inconvenience.

The Reverend lifted a finger and took no time to activate the green spark in it but was not fast enough. They were not alone. This time the presence took him from behind. The Reverend burned fiercely in his own green flame as a frail hand came through his body and it twisted. The child watched in disbelief at the odd turn of events. He took few steps backward as the cloak of the hooded figure that had approached him, collapsed to the ground. Soon followed the skeletal body and finally the skull rolled over the earth and stared at him lopsided. The boy noticed a green spark that ignited within the pits in the skull and then it disappeared as a foot came down on it. The last of the Reverend’s face lay in pieces beneath the foot of a frail man. He smiled crookedly.

There was no time to think. A moment’s hesitation was a mistake. The boy picked up his pace and ran into the forest. Tears welled up in his eyes. The frail man gave a single command and dark clouds emerged in the sky. The clouds took form and followed the child. The forms were unmistakable. They were dark, hooded and on horseback. The gaunt knights had stolen his body once and they have now returned to claim it once again, but the child had no intention of offering himself again.

The trees suddenly disappeared, giving way to a steep cliff. A leap of faith. He tried to hide the fear and kept running towards the edge. The knights landed and assembled in a semi-circle. They know the lay of the land and were aware of what lay beneath the cliff.

Doooooom!

One knight spoke with a coarse voice that echoed, pointing his sword towards the child. The child jumped and managed to cling himself to a piece of rock that jutted out on the steep side below. The knights moved closer to inspect, but in an instant, the air was pierced by the sharpest shrill they have ever heard. It cut through the knights, and they struggled to maintain form but to no avail. The source of the sound landed in front of them.

Another dragon. Much smaller with a russet-coloured body, fixated its eyes on the vanishing knights. It had its mouth wide open, but the absence of fire intrigued the frail man who was watching the spectacle from behind the trees. The knights have all but disappeared into thin air. Dead. Their spirits cannot be summoned once more and yet the man smiled the crooked smile. Every new turn of events stirred his curiosity. He watched as the dragon lifted the young one onto its back and took off.

The first dragon had not just given the death cry but had summoned another to help the child.

Very intriguing indeed.

Then I shall go open the gates to hell.

The war had just begun.