Child of Death

In a storm of snow and cloud, wind roaring around her, Olhendetha took to the air on icy wings. With each flap, trees shook in a frenzy of shattered branches and creaking bark, and she rose higher. She became a shadow against the growing dusk, soaring above the tired landscape. Looking down on it.

It was a world she could barely recognize anymore. Little lights dotted the valleys beneath her, from hunting lodges and camp fires. Felled trees and frozen fields encroached on the forest, feeding the ever growing population. A distant glow on the horizon, not of the retreating sun but a small city, rising up on the plains.

She could hear them on the wind, the humans, their numbers exploding like rats. So many of them that they were bleeding the land dry. Perhaps that was why she’d found the child discarded in the forest: some brutal new method of curbing the population.

She looked down at the crying baby, cradled in her talons. So small. So fragile.

The rolling valleys became jagged mountains, snow capped peaks and grey rock. She glided on the violent air, in familiar territory. When she landed it was with a graceful slide, not the violence of takeoff. She was careful not to crush the child in the process.

She was home, though it didn't really feel that way anymore. It hadn't for some time. Her children waited for her inside. They would be anxious to see her, they always were since their father had died, but she couldn't bring herself to go to them. Not yet.

She set the child she had found down in the snow, wrapped in the blankets and furs he’d been left in. She was not finding claws and teeth to be very suitable in the handling of human children, so she chose a new form. She shrank into the human body she chose within moments, long silver hair cascading down her pale flesh. The body was awkward. Small and delicate, just like the baby, but suitable.

She picked it up and held it to her breast. Its face was red, snot was running from its nose. It was crying but seemed not to have the strength to do so loudly. She held it closer to her, remembering that it must be cold for the baby on the windy, snowy mountaintop.

She’d had an idea, when she found the babe in the woods that evening. Now that she was here, about to bring it into her home, it seemed insane. She should abandon the plan, leave the child out on the mountainside. Human lives were so short anyway, what would it matter if she ended this one a little early. It would certainly be simpler.

She thought about her own children. About wild Abalon and impulsive Arcanoth, both so much like their father had been. She thought about Astrath, about the kind of life she wanted for her daughter.

She stood there, oblivious to the storm and the cold raging against her skin, the child squirming uselessly in her arms. She looked down at it, at its plain features and chubby cheeks. What was one human life worth against the lives of her own children.

It was decided then.

The humans would pay for what they had done to her, what they had done to her family.

****

“Yldreth!” Olhendetha ran through the massive halls of her home, her short legs taking a frustratingly long time getting her to where she needed to be. She could hear the cries of the child echoing through the hall.

The sound was coming from her hoard room, so she made her way through the stacks of artwork, the fine furniture heaped into rows, the mounds of coins accumulated haphazardly. When she came upon Yldreth, he was wailing. Eyes shut, mouth gaping. In this little arms he was clutching an ancient longsword, perhaps the finest weapon in her extensive collection. It was larger than him, and too heavy besides, but he clung to it like it would save his life.

Two wyrmlings many times the child's size stood stalked around him, sticking out their forked tongues through their razor sharp teeth, hissing.

“Abalon! Arcanoth! Leave him.” She rushed into the room and pulled the child into her arms. She gotten more used to her human form after years of taking care of Yldreth. Such things were second nature now. Her sons hissed their laughter and scampered away without a word, disappearing into the winding paths of treasures.

“Stop crying little Yldreth.” She said. He went on crying, like he had when she’d brought him to the mountain, so much so that he couldn't speak a word.

“The strong will always prey on the weak in this world.” She said, rubbing his back.“Right now you are showing them that you are weak, that you’re prey-” she took him by the shoulders and looked at him as his sobbing subsided. “But you’re not prey, and you’re not weak. Are you?” The child shook his head no. Little uncertain shakes while he looked down at his feet. Olhendetha sighed. She would have to curb that behaviour.

“No one in this world will pity you. No one will protect you. But that’s ok, because I’m going to teach you to be strong.” She touched the sword Yldreth was still clinging to his chest. “And one day you will take up this sword, and you will never be afraid again.”

****

The clash of steel rang through the cavern, sparks flying in the torchlight as the blades scraped together. Olhendetha backpedaled, her blade whirling to her defence against Yldreth’s onslaught. He never let up, his sword constantly probing, pressing and attacking, giving her no chance to counter.

His breathing was laboured, he was sweating from the exertion, but he kept going. He was trying to maneuver her into a corner, get her into a position in which he could disarm her. Anything to end the fight. She had to imagine he was getting close to exhaustion.

His persistence paid off, as a brilliant sequence of slashes left Olhendetha off balance and blocking rather than parrying. It allowed her to bring his strength to bear. She knocked Olhendetha off balance. She could see it coming, but could do nothing without bringing to bear her unnatural strength. With a flourish, her blade was ripped from her grasp and sent flying, spinning through the air.

He was getting good, she had to admit. She dodged and weaved her way back, running in earnest now. He continued to come at her, a wide grin plastered to his face as he sensed victory.

He was enjoying himself. Having fun.

Olhendetha couldn’t permit that. She slapped away his blade with enough force to rip it from his grasp, and his smile was gone.

“This is not a game!” She roared, pushing him one handed with enough force to send him flying back into the cavern wall. She heard bones crack, and for a long moment worried that she’d killed him.

But then Yldreth was rolling back to his feet, oblivious to whatever pain he was in, and settled into a low fighting stance, teeth bared. His eyes darted to his blade, calculating if he could reach it before she could.

“Good.” Olhendetha held up her hands in a gesture of calm. “Be easy, we’re done.” Yldreth’s blood was up and still looked around in desperation. It took a moment before she saw the killer instinct leave his eyes. Finally sure he wouldn’t lash our at her, she walked up to him to inspect his wounds.

“Youre not even breathing hard.” Yldreth chuckled, though he had to suck in his breath in pain. She had broken his ribs.

“I’m sorry.” Olhendetha said with none of his mirth, placing her hands delicately on his chest, probing his injuries.

“I needed the lesson.” Yldreth shrugged, but then looked up at her. “I wont let that happen again.”

High up on the cavern wall, three wyrmlings watched on, silent as ghosts.

****

Olhendetha watched Yldreth pack his bag with deliberate focus. A bow, a long knife, a waterskin, clothes for the cold, gear for the hike out of the mountains. He was fully grown already; tall, lean and strong. Ready for the world. He’d come a long way from the baby she’d found in the woods.

The time had come and gone in the blink of an eye. Her own children had barely changed at all in the years since she had found him. They were still wyrmlings, still learning what it meant to live as one of their kind. Yet here was Yldreth, about to set off on the mission she had long planned for him.

“Dont forget this.” She said. He looked up at her in surprise, like he’d forgotten she was there. In her hands she held a longsword in a scabbard of ebony and crimson. The hilt was white bone, wrapped in black leather, with a small ruby set in the silver pommel.

He got up from his packing and took the sword from her. With care, he drew the blade out from the scabbard to inspect the steel of the weapon he had first picked up when he was but a child.

“Are you sure?” He looked at her.

“Take it. I want you to have it.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, returning his gaze. “You have a great task ahead of you. Great challenges.”

“Thank you. For the trust you’ve placed in me.” She saw the determined set of his jaw, of his eyes. “I wont let you down, mother.”

“I know you wont.” She said. Yldreth smiled at her, turned around and finished packing.

They walked out of the caverns together in silence. There was nothing left to say, or perhaps too much. But as they approached the exit it became clear that something was on his mind, something he didn't know how to express.

They were at the cave exit now, the one that offered the easiest descent through the mountains. Yldreth had to squint as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. He looked at her for a long time before he finally spoke.

“I will make King Torsan beg your forgiveness before I kill him.” Before she could respond, Yldreth was walking away. Long, confident strides taking him down the mountain slope to the world beyond.

He’d said what he thought she wanted to hear, and that broke her heart. She’d made his whole life about death.

But that was the price she had decided to pay.

“I wonder if you’ll be happy now.” Olhendetha looked at Astrath in surprise. She had slithered out of the cave behind her, and sat perched with her head resting on a stone, watching Yldreth go.

“I’ve done what I had to, to protect you. To protect your brothers.” Olhendetha said. “None of this makes me happy.”

“Mother, you may have convinced him.” Astrath gestured towards the receding Yldreth. “but you cannot fool me.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“You’ve spent two decades consumed by your grief. Consumed with raising your child of death. Did you ever tell him that was the meaning of his name? Please do not pretend it was for anyone but yourself.” Astrath snarled at her, and Olhendetha flinched. She had to make her daughter understand the reality of the world, it was too important to let this moment go by.

“Torsan would have come after us, sooner or later. He would have come to kill us, just like he killed your father. The humans cannot help it. We are beasts to them.”

“King Torsan would protect his people from the likes of my father, who was a beast.” Olhendetha floundered to find her words in the face of her daughters vehemence.

“Why would you say such a thing?”

“Please.” Astrath rolled her eyes. “My brothers idolize him, they need to. But I don't. I remember the Dawn Drake.” She snorted. “I wonder who gave him that name. Who survived as my father swooped out of the morning light to raise their village to the ground.”

“He was still your father.” Olhendetha whispered.

“And I’ve dealt with my loss alone.” Astrath looked at her, deadpan, and for the first time she saw in her daughter the pain she felt. A pain that Olhendetha shared.

“Astrath-”

“I hope your revenge will be worth it.” Astrath stood and walked away into the darkness of the cave. She would come to forgive her, Olhendetha was sure. She would come to understand.

She turned to see if she could get one last glimpse of Yldreth, of the man she had raised. But she couldn't. He was gone.

Olhendetha turned and walked back into the cave.