“Zavier!” Zora hollered from the doorway. “The water’s on, and the fuel’s low, hurry!”
I threw down the stack of wood in frustration, prepared to scream a retort but at the last instant thought better of it and bent to pick up the scattered pieces of roughly chopped willow wood. I was glad Father was away at the Market with Earl today or I would have been yelled at for the willow chips now littering the walkway.
“I was coming!” I growled, pushing past Zora who stood blocking the doorway, her stained dress billowing in the chilly wind that whipped in from outside.
“Can’t you hurry?” she grumbled, “The fire’s going out and I don’t want to have to go over to the Bakers and ask for some of their coal,” she hissed, glaring at me in passing. I ignored her, knowing how much she would have loved to go over there and flirt with Iram, their oldest son. I heard the heavy wooden door close behind her as she left into the family room and on into Mother’s bedroom. I passed through the short hall and entered the warm and sweaty kitchen on my right.
Daldiana was at the black potbellied stove stirring the despised tubers around in the hot spring water and sparse grains. Not an unusual sight seeing that Dal spent most of her day in the kitchen baking bread or preparing our sparse meals. She flashed me a smile and I returned it. It seemed we were the only two in the entire household that actually got along with one another these days.
“How’s dinner coming, Dal?”
She shrugged as I chucked a piece of the wet wood in the stove and it sizzled as the small fire attacked it, spitting sparks everywhere. I let the rest of the wood fall into a wooden bin along the wall causing a loud noise as Zora came stomping into the tiny kitchen.
“Quiet!” she hissed and shot a glance toward the bedroom. I sighed, knowing that I should try harder to keep quiet. Mother wasn’t well and the noise was hard on her.
Pulling a stack of old wooden bowls from a shelf, Zora snatched them from me in irritation and headed off to set the table. I left the kitchen carrying the two large wooden buckets we used to haul water to the house and cringed as I left the warmth of the house, the bitter fall air penetrating my threadbare clothes easily.
I knew in my heart that I didn’t belong here; working the fields and keeping the livestock cared for day in and day out, hauling cold spring water to the house, spending days at a time hunting in the despairingly empty swampland. I should be at the market with Father; seeing as I was the eldest. Yet he’d chosen- as he always did- to take the spoiled seven year old Earl with him.
Life had been hard this past season, the crops had done poorly and I knew we would suffer because of it during the fast approaching winter. My sisters spent their time caring for mother, cooking, mending, and occasionally one would leave for a few days to work in town to help make ends meet. Our Father and Earl though, they did little-if nothing- to help our struggling family to survive.
“Sups ready,” Dal spoke cheerily as I entered the house, careful to not slosh any water on the floor.
“Thanks, Dal!” I tried my best to return the cheerful attitude but failed miserably. After setting down the buckets, I turned and hugged her in passing, startled as she pressed something hard into my hand. I glanced down and stifled a surprised gasp as I bit my lip. She’d slipped me a piece of hard jerky.
“Where?” I mouthed. How had she gotten her hands on meat?
“The butcher’s son gave it to me . . . I wanted you to have it. You work so hard,” she whispered, her head hanging.
Placing my hands on her small shoulders, I shook her gently. “Thanks, but I don’t work any harder than you do, put it in the soup. We’ll all enjoy it that way.” I sighed, seeing her face grow red.
“I don’t want to explain where I got it from though . . .” She again lowered her head and I lifted her chin.
“Father’s not here so there’s no one to yell at you. Anyhow, I’ll just say I found it when I cleaned the dry room this afternoon. It was in the corner or something.” I winked at her and passed the meat back causing her to smile worriedly.
“Alright… I guess,” she spoke softly before returning to her preparations.
I hurriedly headed to the bathroom and started scrubbing the willow sap off my hands using tree oil that caused my eyes to water from its sharp scent.
Farah was helping mother to the small table by the time I entered the room so I hurried over to help lower her small frame into the soft unicorn-down chair. She sighed from the effort of the small journey as she released her weak grasp on the arms of the chair, her pale hands a pasty white at the knuckles.
“Thank you, Zavier. I don’t know what I’d do without you children.” She patted my cheek and I smiled gently as I unfolded the green cloth, placing it in her lap.
“We have something special tonight, Mother.” I pulled my chair in, folding my arms tightly before I spoke the prayer, giving thanks for the food that we at least had and asking for Mothers health and Father and Earl’s safe return home.
I stood and began ladling the stew into bowls. I tried to sneak two ladle-fulls into Mothers bowl but she shook her head and pulled the bowl away from me.
“No, Zavier. You children need your strength more than I do. I just lie in bed all day for goodness sake.” She let out a soft frail laugh and my temper rose.
“Mother! Do you ever want to get well? Eat!” I scooped at the sparse shreds of meat floating around and placed it in her bowl before shoving it back towards her. I’d given most of my share to her but I didn’t care, she was too stubborn for her own good. She gave me that look saying she was about to argue but luckily she decided against it and quietly sipped the stew.
I finally picked up my own bowl, preparing for the taste of meat I’d only dreamed of. We hadn’t had much meat since last winter and whatever I caught in the forest was traded at the market for money or tools and such. As the stew trickled into my mouth, I recognized the sharp flavor as dragon meat and gagged.
“This is dragon meat!” I growled angrily as I rose to my feet, dumping my stew into Farah’s bowl. She grinned devilishly, digging in before I could take back my offer and eat my share.
“D-don’t be ridiculous, Zavier,” Dal stuttered nervously, her gaze darting about the small room. “We’ve never had dragon meat in our dry room before.” I could hear the plea in Dal’s voice as she looked at me. Obviously the butcher’s son had tried to impress her with such expensive meat.
I slammed my fist on the table in anger, rattling the bowls. Most people thought of dragons as pests, nothing better than being used for as food. I had found an old wounded dragon once when I was eleven. She’d been the wisest creature I’d ever met. She’d left me when she’d finally recovered and I had never had the desire to try the delicacy of dragon meat again. My fist ached as memories of the dragon I had befriended rushed though my head.
“Right… I must be mistaken,” I lied. I’d had dragon meat once before and it wasn’t a flavor one easily forgot. “I’m sorry. I’m not hungry tonight.” I felt bad for hurting Dal but I turned and quickly fled the quiet table.
In the barn, Charlott, our black unicorn filly, let out a greeting nicker. I patted her soft nose then forked in some tender indigo hay. Father had taken Sorrel, our red unicorn to town and Charlott was missing her.
“It’s all right, Char. She’ll be back,” I spoke reassuringly as I watched her, my thoughts a million miles away. She took a nibble of hay, blowing into my face. My empty stomach churned at the sugar-sweet breath and I turned away.
I gave her one last pat but she was content with her hay and was not bothered by my departure.
The sun had set by the time I finished feeding the Mini Dragons and gathering their eggs. Mini Dragons were dumb and nothing like their larger counterpart. They looked like miniature dragons but that was all. Their only purpose on this small farm was for their nectar-sweet eggs. I juggled the four eggs expertly and felt as free as I ever had since last market day. Father was literally just a burden to this household. He made me do all the outdoor work and took the spare time that gained him to teach Earl swordsmanship.
Dal was at the door waiting for me and she caught an egg messing up my throwing pattern. I grabbed the next egg though and managed to catch the rest without a crack to show for it. She let out a small laugh.
“Father will be back in the morning,” she spoke sadly, glancing out at the darkening autumn sky. I sighed as she brought me back down to reality.
“I know.” I passed her the eggs which she carefully sat in an apron pocket. Father was expecting me to leave for the Hunt any day now. I could tell Dal wished to talk about it so I reluctantly sat down on the moldering porch steps to hear her out.
“Dal, what am I going to do? I’m fifteen. I should have slain a dragon or troll by now, brought honor to my family and graduated school-” I ran my fingers through my greasy hair and frowned in disgust. I needed to take a bath yet the icy river was none too inviting.
“I . . . I know how you feel about dragons, Zavier. I thought you might be so happy getting to eat the meat you wouldn’t notice. It was wrong of me to do that. I’m sorry.” I could hear the sorrow in her voice and I shook my head.
“Don’t blame yourself, Dal. Everything you do is for the benefit of those around you. Think nothing more about it. All right?”
She nodded slowly.
“Anyway, about the Hunt, you should really just pick a troll and go off and get it over with. You’re the best swordsman for miles around. It would be so easy.” Dal looked at me and I knew she could never understand.
To them it was just honor and graduation. Even though Father despised me, he was too prideful to claim me as a son without having me educated. There was only a single school in the moorlands, and besides a few classes of basic learning, it was a dueling academy. To graduate the school one was required to slay either a troll or a dragon for honor. To me it was merciless murder for no good reason and I wasn’t about to commit to it.
Besides, the sword I longed for was expensive. I knew Father would never buy me a sword of any real value and I’d been saving for it since the day I’d first entered our school house and seen her in a case at the top of the room. She was an ancient jeweled sword, seemingly light as a feather in the bearers hands even though she weighed a full five dragon scales which was extremely heavy for a sword and could prove dangerous to the bearer. Valsephony.
“I . . . I’ll think on it.” I muttered. “Why couldn’t he have apprenticed me as a blacksmith or a butcher?” I growled and rose to my feet.
“You were born to wield a sword, Zavier and you know it, it’s in your blood. The way you wield them, it’s like you’re partners in some deadly yet fascinating dance,” Dal laughed. “You would have been miserable anywhere else.”
“I guess.” I patted Dal’s shoulder as she turned to leave back to the kitchen and I left, slowly walking across the darkened wheat fields that should have been harvested days ago. I knew Father would probably have me harvest the entire field tomorrow when he returned.
The sky was black and starless as I approached the small cavern at the back of the field. It held so many good memories for me. Ducking into the dark entrance I sat down heavily.
Kimberlina, a wild dragon, had lived here while she’d recuperated. When I’d first found her, she had been wary of me and had tried to smolder me alive. It had taken weeks until she allowed me to bring her a jackal I’d caught. She had eaten it and later spoken to me.
Kimberlina’s scales had been a glistening green, lightening out to a light yellow at the tips of them in an enchanting pattern. When she shed any of her scales, she had allowed me to take them and sell them for money for the sword.
At first I had been hesitant, my family was all but starving and I knew the money should go to feed them. Kimberlina had warned me against trying to ease my families suffering but I’d ignored her. When I had snuck off to the market and returned with provisions, father had beat me, blaming me for being a thief. When he’d found out I had a small amount of money saved he had confiscated it, though I knew none of it had gone to feed our family.
After that I’d hidden my money in a leather pouch I’d had Dal sew on my pants, saving for the sword of my dreams. I promised Kimberlina I would never slay a dragon using that sword. I fingered the last heavy scale in my pocket. I always carried it with me to remember her by.
It was late now and Dal had started to worry. I could see her silhouette in the lit door frame.
I would never forget Kimberlina. She had taught me that the presence I had felt inside me for as long as I could remember was the soul of a kindred dragon. I had never fully understood if she meant I was her kin or if there was an actual dragon involved somehow.
“Zavier!” Dal was calling for me now. I rose and bumped myself on the low cavern wall, causing me to smile fondly; Kimberlina had always come in through the back entrance.
“Coming, Dal!” I rushed through the narrow rows of wheat and vaulted the short fence, walking the rest of the way towards her. She was smiling and yawning at the same time.
“Shouldn’t you be getting to bed?” she questioned. I smiled.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” I scolded in mock sternness, knowing that Dal was always the last of us to call it a night. She returned the smile and moved aside allowing me to pass by her into the short and dusty hallway. I headed toward the end, where a small dark room lay.
It seemed empty without his hearty snores and I smiled, relieved at the peace that remained at the lack of his presence. Earl loved rubbing it in that he was the adored son and I was just a worker here in my Master’s house.
I undressed and slipped into my old night clothes before jumping into bed, pulling the thin cover over me. It was freezing outside and I could tell there would be an early fall frost in the morning damaging the wheat. My thoughts returned to my little brother once more.
Earl was a very learned child for seven years. Father had tutored the boy himself, teaching him to read the hefty volumes he brought back from the library. They were spell books, sword books, forging books, potion books, and even sewing books. I had stayed up late at night when Earl had left the books in our room instead of the locked chest in Father and Mothers room. It was hard work for me since I wasn’t too great at reading, but by doing it I became more learned than most at school and a great reader. It was one of the few things I had my father to thank for.
Earl was a horrible swordsman. He held the sword wrong and didn’t follow any of the dueling rules, making him an unworthy fighter. He had asked to duel me once a few seasons ago and father had forbidden it, so he’d challenged me to a night duel. We only had our wooden swords to use in the duel, but nevertheless it had been fun. Earl had been easy to defeat and had been a sore loser. He had gone crying to Father who punished us both, but me much more severely. I drifted off to a restless sleep; bitter thoughts of what tomorrow would bring drifting around in my head.
Just as I slipped into the subconscious my body seemed to fill with liquid fire as an inhuman scream, terrified and pain filled, shattered the peaceful night.
A cart passes in the autumn wind carrying a weary driver and his young son. He calls to Her and She looks up, Her ugly face a question. He flinches as they all do and asks how much She will sell the lame brown unicorn for. She shakes Her disgracing head as She always does and the cart passes onward. I am drawn to something the boy has. Knows. Is. I do not know what, but there is something about him. My sad grey eyes stare painfully into his and he looks away. That is when I see the shimmering dragon curled up in the back of the wagon. Dead. He is now one of Them, a murderer. No, it is not Him. It is never Him. Will it ever be Him?
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