The Chough in the Tree

Ugh, Augar gasped as he started awake. He heard the rustle of leaves and a flock of startled birds take wing.

“Phykos!” Augar yelled. “Are you all right?”

Augar heard a rumble from beneath his saddle, as his great green beast groaned assent. They fled Summerton at nightfall, and since then Phykos had flown all through the night. If Augar himself had dozed off half a dozen times, it was little wonder his dragon’s strength was waning. Phykos, flying above Great Northern Forest, was starting to strike the tops of trees. Augar knew they could not fly much further. Phykos needed rest.

Augar scanned the horizon, desperately searching for an end to the unrelenting green mass. To the southeast he saw a section of the forest’s canopy drop off like a cliff. Beyond the green cliff was a lake a mile long and half a mile wide. The dawning sun’s rosy fingers incarnadined across its surface, and a number of small streams flowed into it like ribbons.

“Water,” Augar exhaled in relief. “There, Phykos. I think we could both do with a drink.”

At Augar’s urging, Phykos circled the lake once, before dropping onto its far shore with an exhausted thud. Phykos immediately moved to the water’s edge, and began swallowing great gulps of water. Augar grabbed his waterskin from his saddlebag and clambered down from his dragon’s saddle. He crunched his way across the pebbled shore and knelt before the lake, submerging his waterskin until the bubbles ceased. He lifted it to his lips and drank deeply, raising it higher and higher until the flow of water stopped. Augar bent down to submerge his waterskin a second time. Once it was full, he corked it and set it down on a mossy stone beside him. He leaned forward, peering over the sodden edge of the vast liquid mirror that lay before him. He plunged his dry, blistered hands into the lake, banishing his watery opposite in a splash of colour, before splashing water onto his long, narrow face.

Feeling refreshed, Augar rose and walked to Phykos’s side, stroking his forequarters in an effort to get his dragon’s attention. It was then that Augar noticed the dragon’s neck stretched out towards something lying on the shore. From afar it looked like a log, or a rock. Augar moved towards it. As he approached the object, he saw that Phykos was nuzzling a body. A boy, no older than a toddler, with hair as dark as ink. The boy’s body was still. Augar felt his stomach sink.

“Phykos,” he hissed. “Away from there. Come away.”

The dragon turned his head and looked at Augar, then pulled away. Augar approached the boy and knelt beside him. He saw the boy’s chest gently rise and fall, and sighed with relief. The boy had a heart-shaped face, his eyes were wide set, and his lips were full. Augar hovered his hand above the boy’s face. “Awake,” he muttered, imbuing his voice with Power. A surge of warmth coursed through his whole body, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood tall. The boy slowly opened his eyes, revealing pupils like a pair of pale blue suns. The blue sun on the left was ringed with a sliver of crimson, as if it had almost completely eclipsed a moon as red as blood.

Augar bent down beside the child. “Where do you come from?” he asked him. “What are you doing out here?”

“Mela” the child said. “Mela.”

Augar looked across the lake, searching for a sign of the boy’s home. His village must be by one of those streams, he thought. But which one? Augar did not have time to follow them all.

Augar suddenly heard a shriek coming from the trees. He looked up, and spotted a large, sable bird with bright red eyes gazing down at him. A chough, he thought to himself. Yet he had never seen one with eyes like that before. The bird unnerved him. “Begone!” Augar commanded. The bird fluttered its feathers, feeling the Power in Augar’s voice, and took off. He watched the bird as it flew overhead and out across the lake, catching a glimpse of the hitherto hidden patches of white beneath its wings. This is a bird of secrets, he thought. Augar had heard stories of men and women with the power to change into beasts and back again. He wondered whether this was one such creature. Augar kept his eyes fixed on the chough, marking the point where it disappeared into the trees.

“Phykos,” Augar called to his dragon. “Time to ride.” Phykos approached Augar and the boy obediently. Augar knelt before the boy. “Come with me,” Augar told him. “I will take you to Mela.” He held out his hand. The boy hesitated for a few moments, then placed his hand in Augar’s. Augar grasped the boy’s hand and led him over to Phykos. Using one arm to hold the child against him, Augar climbed into Phykos’s saddle.

“Phykos, take us to the other side,” Augar commanded. “Easy does it.”

Phykos leapt into the air and flapped his wings, and within a minute they found themselves on the other side of the lake, at the mouth of one of the larger inflowing streams. Augar and the boy dismounted from the dragon, then went to stand in front of Phykos. “Stay here for now, Phykos. I will call you if I need you.” Phykos moved his head in what Augar took to be a nod, then he turned and ran a short distance before launching himself back into the air. Augar and the boy watched Phykos go, then turned to face the trees. Augar recognised the break in the trees the chough had flown through, a chink in the forest’s emerald armour a short distance from the stream. Augar strode towards it, with the boy following closely behind.

Beneath the forest canopy, the air was damp and cool. Great trees of half a hundred kinds arched over the path, bathing it in speckled sunlight. She-oaks and silky oaks, cedars and yews, brown pines and grey milkwoods with white, five-pointed flowers at their base, like little stars fallen to earth. Fallen leaves as large as Augar’s face were strewn across the forest floor, along with large fruits the size of mangoes, but as purple as the night sky. Through the trees he saw tall, two-legged birds with bony crests atop their heads, and blue and red wattles dangling from their long necks, while brown, furry, cat-like creatures with long, thick tails clambered across the treetops. And all the while the tinkling, rushing music of the stream washed over them.

After about a mile of walking, Augar and the boy came into a wide clearing. He saw a cluster of buildings a short distance away, and walked slowly towards them. The buildings were in the form of harsh, geometric shapes, and were adorned with design motifs that had not been seen for hundreds of years. This must be one of the last vestiges of the Old Kingdom of High Summer, he thought to himself.

“Halt, dragon rider!” a male voice commanded.

They already know I ride a dragon, he thought. He made sure not to let his surprise show.

Augar turned and saw a cluster of a dozen men standing before him. One was a short, portly man who wore a red linen tunic fastened with a gold belt. His head was topped with tight blonde ringlets, and on his face he wore a patchy beard the color of straw. The man standing immediately to his left was tall and thin. He was bald and clean-shaven, and wore a simple black homespun robe fastened with a leather belt. The rest of the men were soldiers. Like the portly man, they wore red tunics, as well as dark leather cuirasses and metal helms topped with crests of bone. The soldiers wielded a mixture of swords, spears and bows.

“Dada,” the boy said, as he tried to rush over to them. Augar grabbed the boy’s arm and pulled him back. He scanned the faces of each of the men before him, but where he might have expected to see relief, Augar saw only fear.

“We did not expect to find a stranger in our midst,” the portly man declared. “I am Rhampos, Master of the Village. Who are you?”

“A messenger,” Augar replied.

“A messenger who rides a dragon? How preposterous.”

“Not at all. What faster way to carry a message than on dragonback?”

“Indeed. And the contents of this message?”

“None of your concern.”

“And yet you find yourself in our midst. If it wasn’t our concern before, it certainly is now. Is yours a written message?”

“Yes,” Augar replied.

“Soldier!” he cried, gesturing to the man beside him. “Bring me the message.”

The soldier approached Augar slowly. When he stood before him, Augar reached for his belt. The soldier, startled, reached for the hilt of his sword. “Peace, brother. I am only after the message.” He removed a green lacquered cylinder from his belt, and handed it to the soldier. “Truly, it makes no difference to me whether your masters read it or not.”

The soldier grabbed the cylinder and marched back towards Rhampos, before handing it to him. Rhampos held up the cylinder, as if to admire its craftsmanship. Then he gently removed its cap to retrieve the roll of parchment wedged inside it. Rhampos took some time to read the message, before handing it to the man in black beside him.

“Who are you?” Rhampos asked again.

“A dragon knight in the service of Lord Fervynthor, he announced. “Though that’s no longer what he styles himself.”

“The King of High Summer, aye. Seems to me that would make us enemies. We are the subjects of the Kingdom of High Summer, after all.”

“That Kingdom no longer exists,” Augar snapped. “This King of High Summer is false. A pretender who has crowned himself with fool’s gold. He has no connection to the Heliarchs of old, the rulers to whom your ancestors once swore fealty.”

“A knight in the service of the very lord whose very name you now condemn,” the man in black chided. “Doesn’t that make you a traitor?”

“I was sworn to Lord Fervynthor,” Augar declared. “But that title is no longer in use. Leaving that aside, I am a dragon knight. I had pledged to serve Lord Fervynthor, ‘tis true. But my paramount duty is to Eoras. My order is sworn to uphold peace and justice across the Land of Four Seasons. To arbitrate disputes according to law, and even to go to war, should it come to that. We are not above working with the lords of the land in pursuit of common goal. But where our counsel goes unheeded, and our paths diverge beyond all hope of reconciliation, the oaths I swore to the lord I served must give way to my paramount duty. This is the way of the dragon knight.”

“So, there is to be a war, then?” Rhampos asked.

“The new king has his mind firmly set on conquest. His realm has fallen in behind him. The House of Harvestor has rallied to his cause. Now he has a large portion of the land’s grain under his control. Carpidor remains his implacable foe, but they cannot hope to withstand the might of the other two realms for long. There is much to be done, and not enough time to do it. But enough of that. I found this boy lost on the far side of the lake. He is from this village, I take it?”

“He is.” Rhampos responded. “Though he was not lost. He was left on the shore of the lake to die”.

“Why?” asked Augar.

“Because he is cursed. He was swooped by a chough, and so his presence means doom. Not only for himself, but for the entire village. Corax has decreed it, and Corax speaks for the gods.”

“I see.”

“This was not an easy decision for any of us to make. Least of all Corax. The boy is his son.”

Augar’s eyes widened. “You abandoned your own son to die alone in the forest?”

“I would not have done,” the tall man in black called Corax responded. “Were it up to me. The boy and his mother are the only family I have. Yet still I must enact the will of the gods. The child cannot stay here.”

“Where is the boy’s mother?” Augar asked.

“She has not left home since the boy’s exile, and has spoken to no one. Not even me. She will never forgive me for taking her son from her. To allow her to see the boy, only for us to take him away again, would be too much for her to bear. You must understand.”

“In that case, I will take the boy with me. My order always wants for fresh recruits. We will find a place for him at our stronghold of Tyleakros.”

“Then take him. And may the gods have mercy on your soul. His presence will mean your doom.”

“So be it. I do not wish to tarry here much longer, and yet I have travelled a long way. If I could but request some fresh supplies for the journey. The road ahead is long, even on dragonback.”

“We will see to it that you are well-provisioned,” Rhampos interjected.

“Thank you. In that case, I had best retrieve my dragon. I will return shortly.”

Rhampos gently slid the parchment back into its cylinder and resealed it. Then he, Corax and his retinue walked towards Augar. Rhampos handed Augar the cylinder, then led the group into the village. Augar watched Corax and Rhampos separate from the rest of the group and make their way towards a tall stone tower perched atop a rocky outcrop. Augar looked down at the boy beside him. “Come with me,” he said. “We are going to see your mother.”

Augar led the boy back towards the forest. Once they were beneath the trees, Augar followed the path for a short distance, then turned right. Augar and the boy walked until they were a quarter of the way around the clearing. They were far enough into the forest to be hidden, but not so far that they could not see the village through the trees.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded. The boy did as he was bid. Augar brandished a knife and nicked the child on the arm. The child gasped with a mixture of pain and fear. His eyes began to fill with tears, and a small rivulet of blood trickled down his forearm.

“Shhh,” Augar hissed. “I am going to help you find your mother.”

Augar grabbed the boy’s forearm and brushed his thumb against the cut he had made. He rubbed the redness on his thumb against his forefinger while gazing out across the village. After a few moments, Augar beheld a red mist beginning to gather above the village. The mist descended and began to change, coagulating into half a dozen threads that radiated outwards like a spider’s web. Augar noticed that none of the tendrils reached out towards the tower where Corax and Rhampos were sequestered. Five of the six threads extended across the village and out of sight. The sixth, and brightest, of the threads stretched out towards a large, stone dwelling on the village’s outskirts.

Augar reached into his pouch and pulled out a piece of cloth. “Give me your arm,” he said. The boy held out his arm meekly. He wrapped a cloth around the boy’s forearm to staunch the bleeding. “Now come with me,” Augar commanded. The boy followed.

It took only a few minutes for the pair to reach the house. Augar knocked on the door. “Open the door,” he said. “I have found your son.” His demand was met with silence. He recalled the first word the boy had uttered by the lake. “Mela, I have found your son. Please let us in.” A few moments later, the door flung open. Standing in the doorway was a woman. “Mama!” the boy cried, as he rushed into her waiting arms.

Augar watched the woman as she spun the boy in her arms, before lowering him to his feet and clutching him tightly. “Oh, Gelath,” she sighed, and wept.

The woman was short, barely reaching Augar’s chest, but just as wide. She was dressed in a plain, grey tunic. Her body was that of an older woman, but the skin on her face was plump and youthful. Her hair was as dark as his own, and circles as dark as storm clouds swelled below her pale blue eyes.

The woman noticed the cut on the boy’s arm, and grasped it suddenly. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“We had to pass through the forest in order to reach you,” Augar said. “I’m afraid that, in his haste, your son cut his arm on a branch. I have tried to patch it up as best I can.”

The woman poked her head and looked around.

“You had better come inside,” she said. “Our house is being watched.”

Augar passed through a dark hallway, into a room made of stone. A large hearth was carved into one stone wall, but the rest of the walls were plain. A simple wooden chair faced the hearth. Torn tapestries and pieces of wooden idols were strewn across the floor. The room was illuminated by a score of candles ensconced in the hearth and placed on ledges around the room. The woman quickly closed the door, causing the flames of the candles to flicker.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“Your husband told me this was his house. He also told me that you refused to leave it. So here were are,” Augar lied.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Augar,” he replied.

“A noble name,” she said. “In our culture we say that you cannot truly thank someone unless you thank them by name. Thank you, Augar.” She paused. “My name is Melanora.”

“It was nothing, truly. I thought the lad had lost his way. Bringing him home was the least I could do. Unfortunately, the situation is a lot more complicated than I had imagined. Your son is the harbinger of some terrible doom, and his own father was the one to exile him.”

Melanora spat into the open hearth. Then she sat down and stared into it. The light from the candles flickered across her face. “Corax is not the boy’s father. Gods know we tried. I have wanted a child ever since I was old enough to have one. But to no avail. He told he the fault was mine. That I was barren. But I knew the fault lay with him. My husband portrays himself as the very image of piety – why else would my parents have arranged for us to wed? - but he is rotten on the inside. It is any wonder his seed was unable to bear fruit?”

Augar feigned surprise. “But if Corax is not the father, then who is?”

“The blacksmith’s eldest son. He was everything my rotten husband is not. Handsome, generous and kind. We struck up a friendship, which soon became…something more. Before I knew it I was with child. Corax was immediately suspicious. Priest or not, Corax is a man, and his pride had been stung. The boy was a daily reminder of his humiliation. So he searched for a way to get rid of him the first chance he got. The chough that swooped him was reason enough. It was a sign from the gods, he said.”

“You said the blacksmith’s son was everything your husband is not? What happened to him?” Augar asked.

By the light of the fire, Augar saw Melanora’s eyes fill with water. “He’s dead. One evening, he told me he was going to the inn with some of the other villagers. The next morning he was found with his head caved it. Folk said he had slipped and fallen after a night of drinking. But I know that he was murdered. And I know Corax had something to do with it.”

“There’s nothing we can do for him now. But it’s not too late for us to save your son. Gelath will not be allowed to remain in the village. But that does not mean he has to die. Corax and Rhampos have agreed to let me take him. At least he can have a life.”

“And what of my life? I cannot live without my son. There is nothing else for me here. Please take me with you.”

Augar sighed. “I can try. But convincing Corax to part with you will not be easy, I fear.”

Melanora spat into the open hearth once more. “Then may the Darkness take him.”

Augar kept watch by the window while Melanora changed into travelling clothes and gathered as many of her belongings as she could carry. When she was finished, Melanora, Augar and Gelath left the house and headed for the safety of the trees.

“I shall leave you and Gelath to wait by the lake while my dragon and I get supplies from the village,” Augar said. “Then we will come back for you.”

“You try to steal my wife, and yet you still expect us to give you supplies?” a voice asked. Augar froze. He looked back and saw Corax, Rhampos and their soldiers. Only this time, their swords were drawn.

“Where do you think you are going with my family?” Corax asked.

“The boy is coming with me,” Augar responded. “You already said that he could.”

“And my wife. Where is she going?”

“She is coming with me as well.”

“I told you not to see her.”

“You did. But I don’t take orders from you.”

“All of us must answer to the gods. And the gods demand the boy must die.”

“What demands are those? The ones you conjured out of thin air?”

“Do you think this situation brings me joy? For the gods to demand I exile my own son is…”

“Only he’s not your son, is he? Your wife lay with the blacksmith’s son. That’s why you had him killed!”

The color drained from Corax’s face for a moment, then it grew bright red. “The man defiled my wife! He disrespected me, and he disrespected the gods. How could I let him live?”

“His child has committed no crime. Yet you injured his eye, to give you a reason to send him away.”

“I did not. It was the chough. You dare to condemn me, yet you have no evidence to support your claim. Dragon knights are supposed to arbitrate disputes according to the laws of men, not the gossip of their wives.”

“I have all the evidence I need,” Augar said, smiling. “Reveal yourself,” he demanded, drawing his sword. The air around Corax began to shimmer like a mirage, obscuring him from view. Out of the shimmering space flew a black and white chough, screeching towards Augar. Augar swung his sword, and the chough fell to the ground in two parts. The smaller part was its headless body, the whiteness of its wings caked with dirt and blood. The larger part looked like Corax’s head, only it was no longer bald, but covered in sable feathers. The whites of his wide open eyes were now bright red, and his nose had grown into a long, black beak. Augar looked at Rhampos with defiance in his eyes.

“Now you have seen Corax for what he was,” Augar declared. “A child-maiming charlatan who claimed to speak for the gods to suit his own ends.”

“Blasphemer!” Rhampos shrieked. “You have struck down the gods’ chosen! Soldiers, kill them all.”

The soldiers began to close in around them. One of the approaching soldiers rushed towards Augar, his sword raised high above his head. Before he could bring it down, Augar pierced the man’s stomach. He wheeled around, batting away another soldier’s blade, before going on the attack, driving the man back towards the forest with a furious flurry of blows. Unable to retreat fast enough, Augar’s opponent lost his balance and fell backwards, plummeting to the earth. Augar pirouetted around him gracefully and brought his sword down hard across the man’s chest, while Melanora and Gelath rushed past him.

Augar pulled his bloody sword from the man’s corpse, and rose to meet the next assault, only to catch a glimpse of an arrow whistling towards him. He felt his left eye being poked with great force. Crying out in pain, Augar dropped his sword, and felt his knees hit the ground with a thud. Through his left eye, all he could see was darkness, while a red tide began to rise across his right. Augar willed himself to his feet, his mind screaming at his body voicelessly, as if in a dream, but his body did not answer. He heard a flurry of footsteps behind him, but the closer they got, the quieter they sounded. By the time Melanora reached his side, the fire in Augar’s eyes was already extinguished.

The only protector she had left, and now he was gone as well. Her son was not cursed, Melanora thought to herself. I am. She picked up Augar’s sword and swung at the nearest soldier with all her might. The soldier lifted his blade to meet hers. The force of the blow thrummed through her entire body like a bowstring following its release, knocking her off balance. Melanora turned around to look for Gelath, and saw that another soldier had grabbed him by the arm, and was dragging him back towards her. While she was distracted, her attacker knocked the sword from her hand, and held his own blade to her throat.

“Corax was right,” Rhampos said as he sauntered towards her. “Your son is cursed. You thought your husband a monster, but he showed the boy mercy. He had him exiled rather than put to death. This time, your son will die. And so will you.”

Melanora opened her mouth to scream, and heard an ear-splitting roar coming from the direction of the forest. Melanora turned and looked towards the trees. From over the tree tops, she saw a great winged beast flying towards them. It was Augar’s dragon. The dragon was as green as new spring growth, but judging by its vast size and wingspan, Melanora knew this was a dragon grown. She watched as the dragon circled the clearing, opening its maw to breathe a long stream of green and yellow fire, and trapping Melanora, Gelath and the soldiers inside a crown of flames. The dragon touched down in the heart of the inferno and roared again, shaking the air with thunder. Suddenly, Melanora felt someone grab her from behind. It was Rhampos, she knew. He had picked up Augar’s sword, which he now held at her throat, her previous captor having fled. The dragon stalked across the grass towards them, coming closer and closer until it stood right before them, eclipsing them with its shadow. It lifted its head up high, only to stare down menacingly at Rhampos and Melanora. Melanora felt Rhampos’ eyes shift upwards from the back of her skull to meet the dragon’s gaze. Suddenly, the blade Rhampos held to Melanora's throat fell to the damp ground with a soft thud. With preternatural speed, dragon darted down to snatch Rhampos in its jaws. The dragon threw its head back triumphantly, tossing Rhampos like a ragdoll. Rhampos was dead before he hit the ground.

Melanora stood alone before the dragon. Feeling the dragon’s eyes on her, she looked down, fearing to meet its gaze. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a pair of small feet walking towards it. “Phykos,” a voice cried, young and pure. Startled, she looked up and saw that it was Gelath. She rose, ready to rush over to him. The dragon turned its gaze towards her son, and bowed his scaly head. She looked at her son, and saw that he was not afraid. A strange calm washed over her. She stared in wonder as the boy and the dragon gazed upon each other. It was as if a stream of words passed between them, unspoken. The dragon moved backwards, then turned its great weight around until its entire length stretched out before them. For the first time, Melanora noticed the dragon’s saddle and the planks of the step ladder leading up towards it. She picked up Augar’s sword and her son in one hand, and used the other to haul them atop the dragon’s back. Once they were seated, the dragon roared triumphantly, and bounded towards the edge of the forest. As they approached the tree line, Melanora heard the rush of wind, and her stomach grew heavy. The trees grew shorter and shorter until they formed a lush green carpet unfolding below them. Melanora looked side to side and saw vast wings flapping against the open air, wings that would carry them southwards towards the verdant horizon.

On the ground, the fiery crown wrought by the dragon continued to burn. Villagers scrambled to free the trapped soldiers, while in the center of the circle, Augar’s body lay motionless upon the ground. The only signs of life were the light of the flames reflected in his armour, and in the green lacquer cylinder fastened to his belt.