FEARS TO SLAY

There weren't always dragons in the valley. They only come when there is great need and humans don't always know what they need or want what they need. And dragons, though from a distance can be quite enchanting, up close are absolutely terrifying. They were too beautiful to destroy but too dangerous to live with.

Sir Gideon killed Hard Red before he understood his purpose. It was years later that he came to understand why dragons intervene. Hard Red had burned villages that were overcome with plague. Blue Blazes sank the vast whaling fleets of Iberia. The Dragon's Bane couldn't fight her because she never came on land. After the ships were gone she disappeared. After a lifetime of study he realized the corelation of a dragons appearance was always in response to an imballance that needed correcting. With this understanding came regret.

Gehenna plodded on, head down. The huge black war horse finding his own way while Darian dosed in the saddle. Blinking in and out of sleep, with his father's voice riding the edge between memory and dream.

“Faith in yourself is faith in God,” Sir Gideon often said.

“Yes Father,” Darian thought or mumbled. Yes Father, was always the right response.

“If a man has faith in the strength of his gifts and does with them that which is most worthy, then he can be sure of doing God's work,” his father's words echoed in his mind.

“Yes, Father.” Yes I hear, yes I remember, and yes I understand. He sat up straighter and turned in his saddle to make sure his valuables were safely stowed in the saddle bag. Most of his memories of his father were associated with dragons and being prepared to face them himself one day. His awareness of time pressing in before the moon was full cleared his mind of sleep, at least a little. Soon enough he would find out how well he had learned his lessons.

Beneath the black lattice of bare oak trees the fog lay motionless. Glowing where spears of cold blue light from the waxing moon slipped between the fingers of outspread branches. The fog was not thick, just pallid hip deep wisps that worked together with scabrous roots and soggy drifts of dead leaves to tangle the feet. Only the sleepy sound of dew dripping from trees could be heard in the heavy stillness of the night.

When Darian started on this journey Gehenna could hardly be reined in. He snorted and pranced, eager to run. Looking like some manifestation of the Hell from which he was named. Darian chose the name the day he was born knowing the grandson of the King's own war horse, Fury, was destined for greatness. He was trained using pots of smoldering sulfur and the skin, tail, and feet of the dragons his father had slain to familiarize him with the scent.

“With the truth, your fears to slay. Souls aren't lost, they're given away.” Darian heard his father's words in his dream as the vertigo of falling from the saddle snapped him awake again. He grabbed a handful of the ebony mane to stop his fall and looked around. The black warhorse had stopped at the edge of a meadow in the hills above Hollin Crag and was waiting for Darian to choose their new path. It was the sudden stop that woke him. He looked up at the nearly full moon and guessed it was about midnight. Tomorrow it would be full.

He rubbed his gloved hand over his face to wipe the sleep from his eyes, but couldn’t wipe out the whirling information his father had drilled into him. He thought it was strange that it was the rhymes his father recited when he was very young that kept repeating, whispering into his dreams tonight.

With a start, he sat up straight and took a closer look around. What he had taken for an open meadow was in fact too barren to be anything but the Poison Glen, the place his father had killed Hard Red. His spilled blood poisoning the land even after nearly twenty years. Now that he knew where he was, he realized he could be at Hollin Crag in another hour if he hurried. Gehenna refused to cross the glen, tossing his head and fighting the reins. When he turned him to the left to circle around, Ghenna leaped into a full run.

Just outside of Hollin Crag was a small stream with moonlight flashing on the ripples. Darian dismounted and allowed Gehenna to drink. He took a deep breath as he slowly opened the laces on his saddlebag, then removed the cotton wrapped package he carries with pride, his father's death mask. He unwraps it and takes a moment to stare into his father's face. Then before kneeling at the water's edge, he gives it a quick polish and lays the mask just under the surface. The dancing moonlight makes it seem as if the face is moving, the eyes open and the mouth smiles as it did when he was a boy. "Father," says Darian, "I'll be in Hollin Crag soon. Tomorrow is the full moon, if the villagers have been successful at keeping it at bay I may still make it in time."

Gehenna had moved off to crop some grass and his ears didn't even twitch when Darian heard his father's voice. "Remember your training, note the color of the dragon before you strike. If it's many colors, like a rainbow, it's young and unlikely to pose a threat. So, protect it from harm and keep the villagers from disturbing it until it has fulfilled its purpose.

If it's just two colors, its motivation is not likely one that concerns mankind but could be. Use caution in dealing with it, keep everyone away, giving it time to reveal its reason for being here. It is unlikely you'll need to strike but stay on guard.

Of course, it is the dragons that are one color that are the oldest, largest, and only crossover when mankind has become a danger to Gaia and thus are the most dangerous to humans. Send everyone into hiding immediately. You know the colors and what they mean, only strike if it's a threat to the Kingdom. It's not your duty to protect the rest of the world. Whatever happens, make sure word gets to the King so that he may take steps to restore whatever imbalance drew the dragon here. He understands that if he doesn't act the dragon will return. You can't really kill a dragon, only the flesh they weave when they come to our world."

"I know father, I remember. What of the village?" asked Darian.

"They know their duty and its limits. They're granted leniency on taxes to the King in exchange for vigilance. They're tasked with guarding the gate between worlds and breaking webs until you arrive, but don't expect help beyond that" said Sir Gideon's shade. "They'll most likely retreat to the caves as soon as you arrive. Hurry now."

At twenty seven Darian was eleven years younger than his father when he faced Hard Red. He presented the head to the King, after sewing the eyes shut himself since he was immune to their effect. Gideon was kept waiting at court for eight months for his rewards, playing the role of Dancing Bear, by telling and retelling the story at feasts hosted by the nobility to honor him. Until finally a bard was paid to greatly embellish the story and put it to music. After that people preferred the bard's version to his and he stopped being invited to tell it. Try as he might he couldn’t feel at ease amidst the gaudy splendor of his royal peers. These people who used a barbed compliment, and veiled innuendo as if it were an art form to be wielded and glorified for its own sake.

Sir Gideon was at heart a country gentleman and spent most of his time in court with the priest who had elected to stay when Rome withdrew support from Briton. That is until he spied Meredith sitting in the gallery of some over fed and perfumed Earl, with several pretty young men hovering about as she sat gossiping with the priest. He was enchanted by the hint of warmth in her easy laughter, and the way she tossed her hair back as she shared some nonsense with the priest. Father Lonero caught Gideon looking and called him over. As he introduced them, lingering embarrassingly over the title “Sir Gideon. Dragon Slayer, and Savior of the Empire,” it was with a sinking heart that Gideon learned Meredith was the youngest niece of the King. He knew that not only was she above his station, she was twenty four years old. Fourteen years younger than he.

With a mischievous smile and a sparkle in her eye, she said, “So you're the Dragons Bane? Your not half as tall as I expected.”

“Shorter and older too, I expect. I’ve never been as great as that bloody bard has made me out to be,” he answered.

"Sir," Meredith said, "you seem to have in abundance that which should accompany age. Honor, love, obedience, and troops of friends. I hope you'll count me among them."

Darian's mother didn't see his father as an old man, and he didn't see her as an old maid.

All over town, and all through the groves people with torches and lanterns moved about. They had been up all night every night for the last week. It was at the new moon that they first spotted the dragon silk forming, it looks like spiderwebs but finer and glows with moonlight. The elders sent a messenger to warn the King, then waited while the King sent for Darian. At first, the moon was rising in the daylight hours and setting before midnight so it was mostly children who searched and climbed the trees after dark to break the webs that were forming. It couldn't be done with a tool, only human hands could break them, a stick would pass through like they weren't there. As the days passed the moon rose later, became more full, stayed up longer, and required everyone in the village to keep them from building up. The only advantage they had was that the dragon silk dissolved in daylight, so every night the dragon had to start over.

It was several hours before dawn when Darian looked down into the village. As he rode toward the largest group of people he could hear someone in the center of the crowd giving orders, keeping people moving. "We need more people in the groves," said an old man. "We've only got one more night before the moon is full, one way or another it ends tomorrow. Everyone now, back to the grind."

A voice in the crowd asked, "Should we send the children away?"

The old man answered, "If the Dragon's Bane isn't here by morning we'll all leave. Tomorrow night there'll be enough light there'll be no stopping the dragon coming."

Darian was about to announce himself when a band of children ran into the light shouting. "Master Hrafnkell! Master Hrafnkell! The old Breathnach barn is filled with webs!"

The old man, Master Hrafnkell, was choosing half a dozen people and ordering them to the barn when Darian picked his way through the crowd on Gehenna.

"Stop," shouted Darian. "You can't stop the dragon from coming but we can choose the place of its arrival."

While Hrafnkell told his people to rouse everyone and redouble their efforts around the village a young woman approached Darian with a bucket of water. He climbed down and used the dipper for a drink then took the bucket and held if for Gehenna and said, "Thank you, what's your name?'

"Hrefnia," she said and handed him some bread. She offered to take Gehenna to the stables.

"Thank you Hrefnia but he still has work to do and I'm the only one who can tend to him. He's... dangerous. Hrefnia means Crow, doesn't it? Are you any relation to Master Hrafnkell, Crow-Helmet?"

"She's my granddaughter," said Hrafnkell. "I'll show you to the barn. What's your plan when we get there?"

Darian said, "I'll have you bar the doors when I get inside." Hrefnia gave him a skeptical glance as she stroked Gehenna's nose, something he didn't allow from most people.

As they walked Darian asked over a mouthful of bread, "Have there been other dragon signs?"

"Other than the moon silk? Like what?" said Hrafnkell.

"Dragon webs pull open the veil between the dragon's world and ours. Even a little can allow small things through, like a fly through a crack in a door. Has anyone reported anything strange?" Darian didn't want to offer examples and influence the response.

"Well, people are frightened and haven't had much sleep. Their imaginings are fevered, I haven't given much credence to rumors'." Said Hrafnkell. "People have talked of seeing lights in the groves and hearing strange sounds at night and there has been a lot of talk of ghosts as well."

"Once the dragon is dealt with we'll have to hunt down everything that comes through. There'll be more when the dragon rips the veil, it'll stay open for as long as the dragon is here and there are worse things than Will-o'-the-wisps that'll come through when the openings are bigger, " said Darian. Then added, "the ghosts are always here but openings in the veil illuminate them. It gives them more substance. Once the dragon arrives they'll become solid and could be more troublesome, particularly to their relatives."

"Once the dragon is dealt with? You sound very confident" said Hrafnkell. "Have you killed a lot of dragons then?"

Darian didn't want to admit he hadn't, so he answered "I've trained for this all my life. My father was the dragon's bane before me and prepared me well."

"I know who your father was, I was a young man when he killed the red dragon in the glen. He was a brave man, smart too. He didn't prance in like he was going to a joust. He stalked it for days, learned its habits, and killed it when it was asleep in the glen."

"So," said Darian, "you haven't head the bard's version?"

"Oh yes, we've heard it. Utter nonsense," said Hrefnkell. Then added, "are you sure you want to be locked in with the thing?"

Darian thought about it a bit, then said "I'm hoping it'll be disoriented when it comes through and, if I must, I can strike while it gets its bearings. In the open, it'll be much more dangerous. It could fly away. I'd have a devil of a time tracking it then."

"Where do dragons come from?" asked Hrefnia.

"My father believed they weren't from another place. They're from here, invisible, yet all around us. They are the power of a storm or an earthquake. They are the pull of the tides and life coming back in spring," Darian answered as they arrived at the barn. "They are the foundation our world stands on. Everyone thought it was just bad luck that Hard Red arrived during the worst plague we've ever known. He burnt villages all over the kingdom and the plague started to abate. It wasn't a coincidence that when father killed him the plague came back worse than ever."

"But why here, why in our village?" she asked.

"I don't know, the veil must be thin here. It's where dragons always come through. Other lands have similar places," said Darian. "It's either good luck or bad that your village is here depending on how you look at it. Your warning and efforts to keep the dragon at bay may make all the difference."

The three of them stood facing the barn's open doors. "Father spent his life gathering information from historians and from other lands. He killed three more dragons in his time and found stories of a half dozen more throughout history. Each of the dragons he killed had come with a purpose but he didn't understand until years afterward. There was the story of Amber Glory, the dragon that came to Amaravati to purify the river. Which involved burning the east side of the city where the garment district dyed their cloth. It was the economic center of the nation, they produced such huge quantities of dyed fabric that their waste poisoned the river. After the garment district had been burnt the city's economy never recovered, but the river did. Amber Glory disappeared after its attack, its purpose was served. Father found many stories like it and chronicled each dragon, its color and aspect, in hopes of understanding the purpose of future dragon incursions."

"Does it matter their purpose? If it's a menace it has to be killed," said Hrafnkell.

"Maybe," said Darian. "Father believed they came to restore the balance that humans disrupted. In nature, everything acts according to its nature, except man. Man is a creature capable of rising above his nature or descending far below it. His best nature is kind, generous, and intelligent. His worst nature is cruel, greedy, and... well, you know the seven deadly sins. A wolf isn't being cruel when it eats a rabbit, it's doing what wolves do, but a human can be cruel and kill when he's not hungry. Take more than he needs. Allow his pride to oppress multitudes to raise himself above others and destroy the environment around him."

Darian turned to the old man, "We may have to kill a dragon, Hard Red was burning villages full of people, but once father realized that burning halted the plague the King sent troops to evacuate villages and burn the buildings. It was a harsh lesson, if we had known perhaps the dragon wouldn't have come."

"What sin were the people in those towns committing that called the dragon?" asked Hrafnkell.

"Sloth? Maybe? Filth breeds disease. At the King's decree measures were taken, mandated in every village to enforce cleanliness. No more dumping chamber pots out the window into the street for people to track home. No more dumping waste into rivers that people drink from. Garbage is buried or burnt outside of town," said Darian.

"I remember those laws," said Hrafnkell. "Everyone thought it was a peculiarity of the new King."

"It'll be dawn in a few hours, I'd best get inside," said Darian.

"Will you need help killing it?" asked Hrafnkell. "We're not soldiers but we'll fight to protect our homes."

"If I can't kill it with the poison spear there'll be no stopping it. Hard Red killed hundreds of the King's best. All you can do is hide, get everyone to the caves and bar the gates."

"Some of us are staying," said Hrafnkell.

"Good," said Darian. "There needs to be a witness to what happens here. If I'm not able, tell the King what color the dragon is. Its color may reveal its purpose.

"I'm staying," said Hrafnia with a fierce look at her grandfather as if ending a conversation before it starts.

"If it gets past me, if it breaks out of the barn, you mustn't look it in the eye," Darian told Hrafnkell and his granddaughter. "Tell everyone. Men have gone mad looking a dragon in the eyes."

"Mad? Why?" asked Hrafnkell.

"Maybe they didn't like what they saw?" said Darian.

"What happens if you look in its eyes?" asked Hrefnia.

"It looks back and it sees too well. A dragon can see your soul and you'll see your own soul reflected in its eyes. If the dragon doesn't like what it sees it'll crush you, or burn you, or eat you." Darian said. "My father could look a dragon in the eyes, it's why he survived."

"How is that possible? Is he the only one who could do it? I heard that he sewed the eyes shut before presenting the head to the King" said Hrafnkell.

"No, he wasn't the only one," said Darian. "There were a number of people kidnapped by dragons who could look into their eyes. It's why they were kidnapped. In them, the dragon saw something precious like gold to a miser. He would carry them away and keep them captive in caves or high mountains. They usually died, dragons aren't good at caring for their pets."

"What did the dragon see?" asked Hrefnia.

"Purity?" asked Darian. "Honesty, nobility? I don't know. When I asked father what he saw in the dragon's eyes he just said, 'Myself."

Darian sat on a sack of grain, leaned against a post, and rested his spear against his right shoulder. The spear tip was treated with an unction of trinitaria, a plant whose leaves, flowers, stems, branches, and seeds are highly poisonous. The clunk of the spear against his armor sounded like wood. His armor wasn't metal, Merlin made it for him using the sap of a tree from Seres. He learned the art of it while traveling as a young man following the silk road from Persia. The armor was made of hundreds of scales, made of some woven fiber then coated with the resin from the tree. It was black and glossy, with larger scales over areas that didn't bend like his forearms and smaller ones where full range of movement was needed. It was light and made an odd crystalline clinking sound when he moved. It would turn a sword blade but wasn't intended for fighting men. Each scale was sewn to a quilted cotton that had been soaked in a type of salt that formed a glassy layer over the cloth. It had never been tested against a dragon's fire, but it did well when Darian wore it walking through a bonfire. He stood in the flames for several minutes before it became too warm, then dissipated the heat quickly. Metal would have transferred the heat directly to him.

Through the gable window, he could see the moon. Only a day away from being full it lit the barn bright enough to read by. Everything was covered in dragon webs, glittering in the light like frost. He never saw webs form, he would look away and when he looked back there were more. They were getting longer. When he first walked in they were flat on the walls like frost, now they were starting to span the gaps between rafters and the planks of horse stalls.

Exhaustion dragged at his eyelids. His blinks became longer. He tried to stay alert, looking around at the contents of the barn. The pitchfork leaning in the corner. He blinked and there were more webs between the tines of the fork. Blinked and there were longer webs spanning the gap down the aisle of stalls. Blinked and the old bridles hanging on pegs were covered. Blinked and the ladder up to the loft was covered in webs. Blinked... and it was pitch black. The light from the moon was blocked. Darian tried to stand only to discover he was covered in web, binding him to the post he leaned against.

He looked back up toward the gable window and thought he saw the moon again, but it... blinked... then began to descend toward him. What he'd thought was the moon was the bright, crystallin white eye of a black dragon and it was looking directly into his soul.

Outside the bravest in the village stood quietly, armed with farm tools for weapons and holding torches. People with young children were hiding in the caves, but older children and young adults still searched the groves and village for dragon web. The quiet ended with a monstrous roar and the scream of the Dragon's Bane as the roof of the barn exploded outward. A dark mass rose up, spreading wider, then leaped into the air. Debris rained down as people screamed and ran for cover.

As Darian came back to consciousness he heard voices and the stamp of a horse's hoof. He opened his eyes and saw Gaheena standing over him, as he was trained to do. War horses guard their fallen riders. He heard someone say "He's awake" and Hrafnkell's voice saying "Stay away from that horse Hrefnia!"

Darian saw her skirts approach Gehenna slowly and heard her voice speaking gently. Nonsense that no one, except him, would say to Gehenna. "Aren't you a beautiful boy? You're so brave, you deserve a treat, you're doing such a good job. Let me see him now, I won't hurt him." She stood at his nose, stroking gently. His head tossed, but it was token resistance.

Darian tried to say, "Gehenna, rest" but it came out as a croak. His throat was dry. He reached up instead and patted his belly. The post he'd been fastened to was laying next to him, the webs dissolved by the morning light. As Gehenna stepped back Hrefnia knelt beside him.

Her grandfather stepped up and asked, "Is he not injured?"

Darian said, "He's not, by some miracle."

Hrafnkell knelt beside his granddaughter and asked, "The dragon, what color was it? It looked... black... darker than black, like a hole in the sky."

Darian said, "yes, it was black. He has many names, he's been here before, he came during the battle of Gaugamela. Alexander's great war with Persia. Of all man's sins against nature, war is his greatest. He has been called the Peacemaker, Reformer, Anamorfotis. In Zoroastrianism, he was one of the Amesha Spentas, the immortal holiness Vohu Mano or... Righteous Mind. Also known as Black Wrath. If he's here, we have bigger problems than dragons. Help me up."

Hrafnkell waved over several men to help. Darian's armor was lighter than most, but he wasn't a small man. Once they had him on his feet he staggered to Gehenna and climbed into the saddle.

"Won't you stay awhile, rest, and have some food? said Hrafnkell.

"No," said Darian. "If Vohu Mano is here then war is coming. I need to warn the King."

As Darian rode from the village around the Poison Glen and south toward the capital he thought about what he saw in the dragon's eye. It was as if on a distant stage, his whole life was playing itself out in numerous scenes. Every moment of perceived cowardice, and failure. His fears and resentments, his shame and humiliation that had all felt so monumental crumbled as the light of clarity shown through them. Exposing an imperfect, generous, kind soul underneath. He had spent so much time trying to emulate and not disappoint, positive he was falling short and judging himself so harshly he had never seen his soul before. He grinned and chuckled to himself, finally understanding, he sang the song from his childhood as he rode toward the palace. "With the truth your fears to slay, souls aren't lost they're given away.