Clipped Wings

Arkham had painted the leaves with his blood for a lifetime. He crawled from place to place for it was too dangerous to fly. It's impossible to know who has seen you when you are slithering against the sun. It could have been worse, it was easier to appreciate the beauty of the world when it took time to pass over it. When you can see the end, patience is an instinct that makes everything beautiful. The trees are taller when you walk between them, individual flowers rival the beauty of entire fields from the clouds, and in places the grass is as comforting as the wind.

The secret of a dragon's existence amid the crusade demands the life of anyone who discovers them, so Arkham hid as often as possible. He'd even pretend to be something else entirely, imitating growls and screams that he himself was too afraid to investigate in his time.

This remarkably clear evening was strange and uneventful in the most contradicting way. The ground beneath Arkham's feet was soaked with his blood, he hadn't moved since the sun slid beneath the sky. It took him longer than it should have to notice the mass grave, though it was admittedly difficult to see through the flood of wildflowers. They threatened to swallow his entire body and filled his nose with an almost overwhelming blend of fragrances that he could only describe with colors that did not exist.

He used to fly over these woods as he journeyed to the ivory tower of an old friend. Under any other circumstances he would have never known this grave existed. He stood on the edge of a giant pit and at its very center was a small black pyramid, sinking beneath a mountain of bones. Though what truly enthralled him was the infant that rested at its peak. He had been staring at it for hours as it slept in relative peace, stretching contentedly under what appeared to be a bone white cape.

The night was growing cold and Arkham was shocked the child was left in this condition, that is until he noticed the bones of this mysterious shrine belonged to children of the same age and species. As Arkham began to understand, he was startled by the panicked crying of the infant. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to cope with the sudden obligation to do something. He searched the tree line for the child's parents, hoping with complete naivety that there was some explanation for their careless neglect and the haunting implications of the painting in front of him.

As Arkham nearly buckled under the weight of his instinct he noticed a man beyond the trees. He only took a few steps at a time before crouching behind a trunk or a large rock, cautiously peeking around them with venomous curiosity. As he drew closer, the child became steadily more upset, as if his presence alone was enough to make it's skin sting.

As the man reached for the black steps and climbed them on all fours, Arkham noticed his retainers writhing through the undergrowth. An earth of red foxes cackling and whispering to one another. They paused whenever they could restrain their elation, to stare at the child and dream of the promises they could keep.

There was a light in the woodsman's eyes as he searched the dark for witnesses. Arkham sank into his wilderness of flowers as quickly and quietly as he was able to, but he could hardly believe he wasn't discovered. Eventually he peeked over the edge once again, like a crocodile rising from the depths of a lake as vivid as the stars and with a second glance, he finally got a decent look at the man.

He wore a fox hood, its yellow teeth and black gums stretched over his face as if he were being swallowed whole. Its ears twitched and turned and its eyes twisted and blinked as if the fox were somehow still alive. It kept watch as the man stared at the child in his grimy hands. He was cleanshaven and had scars across his mouth and the better part of his left cheek, as if he had been scolded by a lion or something worse. He wore a partial cuirass of darkwood armor, or at least it was made to appear that way. It didn't look like he could afford to own such protection but he certainly looked heartless enough to take it.

As Arkham studied the man, he could feel himself abandoning everything he had learned in the last few centuries. The man had pulled a knife, the child cried as the cold steel touched its skin and the foxes howled with laughter and excitement. His hood locked eyes with Arkham as he slid into the grave, ripping hundreds of flowers from the ground as his claws sank into the floor of the great hollow. Arkham's dry bellow shook the leaves and sent every fox running for their lives, the green fire in his lungs made his throat glow like the furnace that forged the sun, his eyes like its bed of embers.

The man threw the child down as carefully as he could before diving from the pyramid and swimming through its bones. As Arkham folded his wings over the altar he met the gaze of his enemy. Like a universe exploding into existence the man's eyes flashed with a light so blinding it bled the color from every living thing it touched. Arkham's skin turned white and as great as he was, he disappeared against the pale forest like a shadow in the Black Sea.

In an instant Arkham was left with nothing but memory, he was completely blind. He could hear the child crying beneath his wings, with such assurance it was easy to act impulsively. The ground whispered with the footsteps of the man and his band of devils before Arkham spit a hurricane of green fire and white lightning in almost every direction.

The trees cracked and shattered, some of them were blown in half by the slow drum of Arkham's breath, but he could not see its light. He counted as he felt them crash against the ground, desperate to finish the story before it was written. The thunder from his lungs cut the air without rhythm, like the beating of a poisoned heart or the stride of a headless giant.

Eventually Arkham's gamble sputtered to an end. With his ears opened wide, he waited and hoped to hear nothing but the thunder of falling trees and the hiss of his breath eating the forest. But there were voices. They were shouting words he couldn't understand and when they laughed he knew he had missed. He could feel the warmth of his fire on the air, it roared in his ears, and yet he doubted its existence. How could I have missed? I have nurtured entire forests with the ashes of other dragons, I have flayed mountains and men for 20,000 years. How are they still breathing? How can they laugh?

Before Arkham could contemplate the answers, he noticed something strange. He could see the child, as clearly as the moons above the clouds. A girl, floating on the abyss like a swan on the Obsidian Lake. He peeked beneath his wings in disbelief, forgetting everything that had happened in an instant. The child stared into his eyes with equal reverence and they both remained silent, utterly mesmerized and trapped in a memory that would never fade for as long as time was allowed to exist.

As reality bled back into Arkham's mind, he remembered why he was here in the first place.

"I must speak with Oedek, he will know what to do. He is sure to notice the tower of smoke behind us and prepare for our arrival in one way or another," Arkham couldn't explain why he spoke his mind to the girl, as she could only stare back at him with an untroubled curiosity. It would be unsettling if she understood what I said entirely but perhaps the sound of my voice will help her, after all, she stopped crying. Arkham nudged the girl's covers with his nose until he could bite the corners and lift her away from the altar. He blew the hair from her face with every breath he took, as the girl and her stalkers both laughed for very different reasons.

Arkham could smell his blood amidst the smoke and crushed flowers, if he didn't reach Oedek's tower soon, he'd die only moments before the child. His body was getting heavier, it took no small amount of effort to bolt through the only trees that weren't on fire. He stomped clumsily, hopelessly unsure of the ground beneath his feet. He reached as far as he could with each hand, probing his surroundings with the tips of his wings.

He could only hope he was running in a straight line, as careful as he intended to be, he still managed to crash into trees and stumble off of cliffs he recognized too late. Anyone with eyes could track them through these woods. If the woodsman was demented enough to try, he would find them eventually.

Arkham began to panic in the unfamiliarity of the world. Everything was new in the worst way imaginable and he felt as though he'd never know where he was again, for it is easy to feel lost when you can not see where you are going. Arkham grew incautious as his desperation peaked, but when he fell into a lake his shame and concern simplified everything.

He resurfaced as quickly as possible and tried to apologize but the child had already began to cry. When Arkham reached the other side, he looked after the girl before he bothered to pull himself out of the water. He placed the bundle in his mouth against the shore as gently as he could, and with her own arms and legs she pushed the covers aside. She continued to cry but only in a way that proved she was truly alright. With a great sigh of relief, her hair was blown back once again and she even managed to laugh as the last of her tears dried against her blushed face.

"Look at all that blood in the water," hissed a voice.

"Who's there?" Arkham demanded, as he pretended to look around.

""Who's there?"" He says," four distinct laughs echoed in the dark.

"He can't see us."

"Who could, after a display like that. Cain almost blinded us too."

"I'd wager he can't smell us either, look at him stare off in the wrong direction."

They laughed again as Arkham finally discerned the murmuring gait of four foxes.

"Does all of that blood belong to him? He didn't eat the girl did he?"

"No no, I can see her. She looks fine."

"Can you grab her?"

"I won't be the first to try," their sly voices never came from the same place twice. The dark leaves shivered beneath their ravening dance as Arkham closed his eyes and tried to see. The forest in his mind changed with their patient footsteps and terrible laughter.

"Aren't you tired, Arkham?"

"Are you sure you want to run? I can tell you now, there won't be much for the world to find. Rest now, my Lord of grass and lightning. Let tomorrow cease to be of any consequence to you, it is better that you die today," The strongest of the four called out with a voice as tempting and sweet as a siren's song, followed closely by the sneering whispers of the others.

"Green Star."

"Witch Eater."

"Thunder of the Desert in the West."

Each fox was more proud than the last with every title they could collect from their memory. They had heard and told a great count of Arkham's stories, they almost considered it a delight to recognize his fire. To see the truth of each myth in the scarred folds of his wings and the cavernous fog of his three remaining eyes.

Arkham was hardly the dragon they imagined, not entirely, not anymore. In truth, they were afraid of him before today, but now he could be compared to a horse that had lived for far too long. It seemed a proper mercy to let the legend die in relative peace, but he had taken the girl, and what the dragon deserved meant very little to them.

"A good poke will put him to sleep quickly enough, and Cain can manage that."

Arkham could feel the warmth of his own blood swirling in the water like the dwindling rays of a drowning sun. As he stared at the girl and listened, he noticed that the voices were much closer than they should have been. They hissed a song back and forth with a recklessness he could learn to appreciate.

She's perfect , just perfect

Imagine those condemned

What things we'll taste , what paths we'll take

That lead us back to them

She's perfect , just perfect

Her hair, her skin, her eyes

The oaths he'll keep, of the years we seek

So long as the child dies

The foxes tiptoed nearer with each malignant verse, they were close enough to smell through the blood in his nose, but Arkham did not move. He could hear them breathing now, the grass bending beneath their paws, and still he did nothing but breathe steadily and listen closely.

"I distinctly recall being told to observe and report, get away from him before he kills you," the voice that was farthest away belonged to the wisest of them, and Arkham found it most unsettling. Not only the words she chose but the venom with which they were spoken. She was clearly the leader of this scouting party, and with good reason.

She commanded the respect of her companions on an instinctive level at the very least, and the foxes she chastised fell back at once with quiet smiles. The intense silence that followed was crushed by the ivory of Arkham's teeth snapping together, as if there were nothing between them. He stretched from the water and closed the gap between himself and the three remaining foxes with a violent grace that threatened to open his wounds to a ghastly degree.

The shock of Arkham's sudden vitality killed another fox, as he turned to run only after his fate was sealed. When Arkham spit out the second and missed the third, he dug his claws into the earth as if he were trying to strangle its core. With a great turn of his back, his tail smashed through the arms of a dozen trees. His claws tore through the dirt like the anchors of a giant ship as he fought to control himself. The horrible groan of twisted wood shivered in his ears as he dove for the child and the evergreens sank to the ground like falling stars.

In the dark, what he had done was terribly loud, and he had never paid much attention to the way things felt until he couldn't see them. When the rumbling of felled trees finally passed, only the cry of a single fox could be heard in the distance, somewhere beneath a small mountain of broken wood and doomed leaves.

As Arkham soothed the child's muddled distress and shed his blanket of twisted debris, he heard a sharp whimper that marked the fox's final departure. He recognized the following silence of such mercy and as Arkham wondered what was responsible, he caught the echo of a familiar voice.

"Run along now, Arkham. The longer this takes, the more interesting the story will be. I hope you know where you're going, for this is your last adventure."

Of course she lived. Arkham could feel the truth of her words. He was exhausted and it was becoming difficult to imagine his own survival, to picture this story with a different ending. He had never felt so close to the boundary between, but he couldn't sleep until he believed the girl would live. He was astounded to find that he knew precisely what he wanted to say with remarkable clarity, and furthermore that he had the strength to utter the words.

"The only stories you've heard, the only tales you've told, are the ones I've allowed to exist. Go, and tell Cain he can disappear if he wants to. Keep following me and there won't be a storyteller on this earth that could piece together what happened to you. You will be nothing more than a secret kept safe in the recesses of my mind. One of many."

With that the fox darted away, coursing through the woods with a dreadful and delighted urgency. She didn't bother laughing but her elation was just as conspicuous without it. Arkham was left to wonder how this would end in brittle silence, as the bite of his words passed with the vigor it took to speak them into existence.

In the stillness that followed, the birds began to sing and explore once again, as if he had turned to stone. He searched the girl's face and his head drifted as he spoke to her with effortless care and enduring gentleness.

"I have crossed the Steel River, which means we'd be less than a day from Oedek's tower if I were flying. I don't know how long it will take me to walk there, but we are close and that is what matters. If it weren't for the trees he could see us even now through one of his telescopes, but I trust he has seen the black clouds we left behind, they stretch for an age above the earth."

Neither of them noticed when his speech began to slur and the words he chose ceased to bear any meaning. When he fell asleep, waking up was of no concern to him. His wits had leaked from his mind like the blood from his wounds, and when his eyes finally opened the sun was falling from the sky.

"Arkham? Lift your head slowly and carefully, you will find that moving is too easy, and it will be difficult to control yourself for some time," a canyon's voice echoed in his ears, a chasmal and familiar voice that belonged to a most trusted friend.

"Oedek, I've come to speak with you," Arkham choked, "it feels as though I've swallowed an entire desert, what is it that you've done to me precisely?"

"I've replaced what was lost with something that doesn't belong to you, let's keep it at that until I can properly explain."

As Arkham regained his focus he could imagine his friend with stunning detail. Oedek, a man who has insisted upon remaining faceless for as long as Arkham could remember. His exposed skull was as clean as those buried in perfect tombs. His golden hair was as faultless as the sun itself and stretched over the better half of his back. Every other part of his body was inconsistent at best. Skin was an inconvenience more often than not, and easy enough for him to regenerate should the need ever arise.

"Someone is following you, Arkham. Their howling laughter stopped only moments before you woke up. They are close enough now to warrant caution and silence, and I fear they can see us. The shadows are squirming and there are two stars behind them, watching and waiting for the winds to change," Oedek drew close to Arkham's ear with a harsh whisper.

Arkham turned to see that the child had been lifted from the ground, cradled in Oedek's arms as she reached for handfuls of his hair. He didn't seem to mind and Arkham wasn't surprised. Oedek had always done well with children, his upbringing fathered a profound spring of empathy for those without parents, and a deep and desolate hatred for his own.

"There are dozens of foxes and they can speak, they are quite sharp and irredeemably cruel. Each is larger than they should be but I still couldn't count them, and there is one among them that is worse than the others.

"There is a man leading them, and the light in his eyes is what blinded me so," Arkham paused and stared at the child with a reverence that Oedek was shocked to recognize. "I can still see her, the girl, she is all that is left in my sight. I don't need to know or understand why, she simply must live. He has killed hundreds before her, and he will not stop until she's dead, for I fear that she is worth it."

Oedek took what time he could to accept and understand what Arkham had said, whispering to himself with a voice as physically and logically independent as a god's.

"We must leave for my tower immediately. We won't be able to stay there because of the questions that are now waiting to be answered, but it is the perfect place to deal with the immediate threat. You should be able to walk, even run for a time, but we must go now if we are to slip through their fingers," Oedek peeked over Arkham's head as his voice strained under the weight of his urgency. "The woodsman, he has reached the bank across the water and he is staring at us now. The undergrowth shivers around him and there are a great number of his acolytes on the beach already."

Arkham's wings stretched over the earth like tattered sails. His body creaked as his skin stretched over his bones and his legs were brought up beneath him with contrived strength.

"There is a great arrow between my shoulders, hang onto it with all of your strength and look after the child," Arkham turned his head as he spoke, making the steps to his back as clear as they could be.

Oedek stumbled along his spine with all the grace and focus he could gather as the river erupted with the desperate panic of their pursuers. The moment he wrapped his fingers around the arrow's shaft, Arkham lurched forward with a strength he had almost forgotten. The wind passed over his scales like the burning veil of a meteor, tearing the sky in half. Oedek yelled as loudly as he could, directing Arkham through the woods and maintaining their course. The trees twisted and turned in the eye of the storm, bending and breaking beneath the hurricane of Arkham's wings as he began to fly. The sickening groan of his great tail was impossible to forget, rising and falling behind them like a warship coursing through the torrent of violent waters. Leaves fell through the air like the feathers of ten thousand crows, and Oedek stared at everything without focus and with utter amazement as they flew beneath the forest.

There was a pillar of moonlight in the distance and Oedek was able to explain just in time as they passed beneath it. With tremendous effort Arkham tore into the sky, swallowed instantly by the silence of open air. He leveled his wings and breathed more deeply than he had in an age crawling over the earth.

A great sorrow ached in his chest as he was left with only memories of the world from just beneath the clouds. He was beginning to understand he'd never see it again for as long as he had left to live. Before he could contemplate that emptiness any further, he was distracted by the gentle hum of Oedek's voice. He was saying something to the girl as he held her against his chest, Arkham couldn't recognize the words but he appreciated the music of his voice almost as much as she did.

Oedek's tower rose from the horizon much too soon. Arkham wished they could fly for an eternity but he knew he couldn't outrun the world forever. Greater dragons had tried and the fortresses they burned to the ground in their conquest to exist have all been rebuilt. Even Oedek's tower was younger than its foundation. It was an eye in the ages past, plucked out by Omrun himself when its master tried to kill him.

The ivory colored stone reached high above the surrounding trees, which were held back in a large perfect circle. The courtyard was ever illuminated by the sun or the moons, whether there were clouds in the sky or not. Beyond the light was the remarkable shadow of the Darkwood, where nothing is seen clearly. The trees on the fringes of this forest weren't nearly as tall as those in the interior, but they were just as strong.

Arkham hadn't landed here in more than 800 years, but he remembered how. With Oedek's guidance he drifted into the tower and latched onto it like a giant bat, though it took more than one try. As he slid down its walls, he carved a network of veins into the stone that hadn't changed in the centuries he had been away.

There was a great sense of relief in the air as Oedek climbed down from his back. This tower was very old and it had learned much from the people it sheltered and more from those it suffered. But before they could breathe, the child began to cry.

"There are two stars behind you Arkham, and they are much closer than they should be," Oedek was frozen with dread and disbelief. "How can they have followed us so closely, who could catch a dragon by themselves?"

"Oedek, do you know what a child deserves?" Arkham spoke softly as he turned.

"I-I think so, I know what I should've wanted," Oedek replied with little understanding as he stared into Cain's beastly eyes.

"Good, because they don't. Like a bird, they will sing with clipped wings, completely unaware of the way things should be, of what they deserve as a living, breathing, thinking creature. Promise me she will know," Arkham stared at her as he spoke.

"I swear to you," Oedek answered with great solemnity as he threw light into each of Arkham's ears. "You will only hear what you need to hear, he's straight ahead of you and he isn't alone."

As Arkham focused, he recognized the panting of desperate predators as they stormed through the woods. He couldn't hear the thunder of his own feet or the splitting wood of the trees he broke as he charged forward with tremendous fury, but he could hear his enemies as though they were singing directly into his ears.

A dragon that flies, always dies

for they can not live, if they do not hide

Brothers of Clouds, Sisters of Suns

Children of Dirt, for they can not run

A chorus of laughter echoed in Arkham's head as he drifted towards the closest voice, a chorus abruptly interrupted by the most savage violence. He split several in his teeth and crushed others beneath his back as he threw himself in every direction. His perception was beyond sight or smell as their laughter fell to panicked silence. Arkham could feel the drum of utterly noiseless and unseen trees crashing against the earth.

Most of the blood was his own and Oedek's medicine was beginning to wear off, but there was one more pair of lungs still drawn with fear. Arkham lifted his head back and forth as he pieced together what was left of his composure. Cain had fallen silent, creeping somewhere in the decimation that stretched between Arkham and the tower.

Oedek had raced to the very top of his spire, locking every door behind him and collecting all sorts of tools, books, and tokens as he prepared to leave his home forever. Arkham could see the girl darting from room to room and understood that she was cradled in Oedek's arms. He could hear her crying faintly on the wind, and as he dragged himself back to her, he felt the deep sting of Cain's sword scratching his bones.

Arkham knew that word would spread of the wound he had tended to for the better part of three years. A lesson tucked behind his left ear that would have healed in another decade if it had been left alone. He hoped that at least one of the foxes at the Steel River lived to swear that the stories were true.

As quick as a viper, Arkham twisted his neck and crushed most of Cain between his teeth. With the woodsman hanging from his mouth, he stumbled for as long as he could before it became too difficult to move. Be quiet, Arkham could only think the words to himself but he was glad when Cain ultimately conceded.

In the great shadow of the Darkwood, Arkham rested his head. He was so tired and it was finally time to sleep, but there was only one star left in the sky to count. His mind raced as her crying faded before everything else. She will live... she will live... who will she choose to be?