One Cannot Deny a Blood Oath with a Dragon

by T P Sheehan

  Not wanting to appear rude and satisfied the man meant him no immediate harm, Magnus decided to reply. “Yes, to Guame.”

  “Ah,” the old man shuffled over to his pot of food and stirred it with a wooden spoon. “I’m also guessing you’re not walking the whole way?”

  “No.”

  “Well,” he said, tasting the food from the pot and nodding in approval, “No need to abandon your steed to the darkness. You are both welcome to share the fire with Mr Overstreet and myself.”

  Mr Overstreet? Magnus could see no sign of another person about. Nevertheless he called to Breona with his mind. He felt a faint response and so he closed his eyes, concentrating his mind to tell her he was safe and she should come to him. She acknowledged him and said she would do so. Opening his eyes again, Magnus saw the old man was staring at him.

  “Words with thought,” he observed. “This should be no ordinary steed.” The old man turned to his donkey. “What do you say, Mr Overstreet? Are you happy to share your supper with another?” The donkey was happy to ignore him and continue eating his scraps.

  “Mr Overstreet?” Magnus queried.

  “Aye. There’s hardly a street in Allumbreve he’s not walked over in his long life and I with him for the most part. Sometimes I wonder whom is older—he or I. That’s in donkey years, of course.”

  “Of course,” agreed Magnus, a little confused at the comparison.

  “Well now, there’s an impressive sight if ever there was one,” the old man said as Breona walked through the trees, over to Magnus, her white coat shining in the light of the fire. Magnus waited to be questioned further about her. He realised he was conspicuous riding an Astermeer across Allumbreve.

  The old man looked Breona over. He picked up a piece of cabbage that Mr Overstreet was most likely intending to eat and walked over to Breona, offering it to her. Breona stood tall and stared the man in the face, refusing the food. “Fair enough,” he said, leaving the cabbage at Breona’s feet. “Well then… introductions. You’ve met Mr Overstreet. My name is Eamon.”

  “I am Magnus.” He shook Eamon’s hand. “This is Breona.”

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Come, rest and keep warm by the fire.”

  Magnus shared thoughts with Breona—“Do your feelings tell you we are safe here?”

  “We must rest. Where we do, I leave to you.”

  “It will be nice to do so in the warmth of a fire,” said Magnus.

  Eamon took a bowl and filled it with hot food from the cooking pot. He handed it to Magnus. In turn, Magnus took his travel pack out and opened it, splitting what remained of his bread and cheese and offering it to Eamon. Together they shared a meal. Magnus looked about at the campsite, taking in further the neatly stacked books and well organised cooking provisions. It seemed strange to go to so much effort to make the surroundings homely when he was likely only going to be there for the night. Curious about many things, Magnus asked Eamon the most pressing question—“How did you know I was in the forest over there?”

  Busy eating his meal, Eamon pointed to various locations among the trees. “Mirrors,” he finally said, swallowing his mouthful. Magnus looked around at the trees and saw many mirrors of various shapes and sizes balanced between branches in the trees and hanging from nails high in the trees themselves. “They’re all placed for good reason. That one there,” Eamon pointed at a triangular-shaped mirror high in a tree behind where Magnus sat. “That is where I saw you.”

  Magnus nodded, appreciating the effort he had gone to. “I guess you can never be too careful.”

  Eamon gave a slow nod. “Having your wits about you is not enough in the dark parts of Allumbreve.”

  Magnus agreed and thought of the creature in the ash tree that seduced his mind and nearly took his life. The two of them sat and ate in silence. After a while, Magnus began to relax for the first time since his ordeal had started three days before.

  “Where does your journey take you?” Magnus asked Eamon.

  “I’m also travelling to Guame. I travel with the seasons and go where my interests serve me best. What with it being the end of the harvest season and winter now upon us, we will find cashed-up merchants who’ve come to make trade in the Capitol.” Eamon reached for his pipe. “Many times I have passed through Froughton Forest. What of you, Magnus? I’ve not seen you travel in this mystical realm before.”

  “This is my first time,” Magnus said. Eamon remained quiet, as though waiting for more of an explanation. Magnus was not sure how much to tell Eamon so decided to keep it simple. “I’m travelling as a messenger. To give word before the Authoritarium.”

  “Is that so?” Eamon was studying Magnus, looking him up and down then peering into his eyes. “Well then, it is imperative you get there in one piece. Come sunrise, the both of you are welcome to travel with Mr Overstreet and myself.”

  “Thank you,” Magnus tried to sound appreciative. “But we must get there as fast as possible.” Come sunrise he planned to ride Breona as quickly as he could.

  “Of course. Urgency most certainly warrants haste. For now though, rest by the fire. Save your haste for the morrow.” Eamon stood and refilled his bowl from the cooking pot, gesturing for Magnus to also have more. Once they had eaten all the food, Eamon rummaged through his belongings and pulled out a bottle of mead and two small cups. He poured one for each of them.

  Eamon stoked the fire as he drank. “That should keep burning until morning. If you should rise before me, I bid you fair travels. If I should be gone before you rise, I bid you the same, and if we rise together, then we may bid each other as we see fit at the time. Good night, Magnus.” Eamon pulled a blanket off the makeshift clothesline, then pushed aside the books that sat upon another blanket on the ground. He lay down, making himself comfortable.

  Magnus still had the tune in his mind that Eamon was humming earlier. “Eamon…”

  “Hmm,” Eamon mumbled.

  “That song you were humming before. Do you know its name?”

  Eamon turned over, tucking his hands behind his head. “I was humming, wasn’t I?” he chuckled. “It is an old Paragon song, sung in the Old-Words from the first age of Allumbreve, before the days of the realms. Before the days of dragons.”

  Magnus remembered then how he knew of it. Sarah often sang the old songs and quoted the ancient poetry of the Paragon era. “Gypsy songs,” Ganister would say. “It is a gypsy song—‘Flo Ena’, meaning ‘Move On’.” Magnus said.

  Eamon sat up on his elbows. “Gypsy song?” his eyebrows raised. “Fair enough. It is only the gypsies who sing the old songs. Wise words nevertheless. And apt for a young man on the road as you are. “Flo ena unna gwatter flemabee”—move on and let the past be as it be.”

  Magnus looked at Eamon and smiled. He wondered where he was from and what he had seen in his many years. “Goodnight Eamon. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Eamon said, falling back into his blankets.

  Magnus stared into the fire and let the dancing flames keep his thoughts away from pressing issues—issues he could do nothing about in the dark depths of Froughton Forest. Instead, he hummed Flo Ena quietly to himself as the fire burned bright.

  CLEANSING

  Catanya was sure she would pass out at any moment. Her legs could not carry her much longer and her throat screamed with pain from thirst. She licked her dry lips only to feel the abrasive texture of blisters and cracks scrape across her tongue. She had long since lost track of time. Days had passed—perhaps nights. No rest had come to her. All Catanya knew was the path she trod. She stumbled on and on around the training compound, following the yellow-green glow of the small lanterns around the field’s perimeter. Her path was marked with her own blood, spilled from the welts upon her bare feet.

  It all started her first morning at the Romghold. Catanya was woken by Joffren long before sunrise and taken to the large green field without explanation. Once there, he placed a small lamp in the c
entre of the field and ignited a glowing amber light within it.

  “From this moment forth, as I said before, you will address me as Semsdi. It is the formal address of one’s teacher. And you will be Semsarian—student.”

  “Semsdi… Semsarian,” Catanya confirmed. She looked across the field, as much to hide her derisive expression as anything else.

  “Today your cleansing truly begins,” Joffren continued. “You are to run around the perimeter of this training field. Be ever mindful of the verity light. Under no circumstances are you to stop as long as the light still burns.”

  No, I won’t do it. I’m going home. Catanya repeated the words over and over again in her mind, trying to muster the courage to say them to Joffren. Instead, she started around the training field, cursing under her breath.

  Catanya ran clumsily at first. The crisp air at the mountain peak pierced through her and it took a while for her body to loosen up and warm to the task. She was still wearing her favourite summer dress that was not particularly suitable for running in. Her soft leather shoes worked their laces free as she ran. Afraid to stop to retie them, she soon discarded them and ran bare footed. Catanya found the soft lawn beneath gave cool relief to her feet.

  As the sun moved across the peaks of the Romgnian Mountains, fatigue settled in and Catanya wondered when she might be permitted to stop. The amber lamp still burned strong. Joffren occasionally came over to the compound and provided her with a bowl of water. She would stop and drink of it, half expecting him to say “Enough”, but he never did. She would continue running and Joffren would watch for a few moments, only to disappear into the temple once again. As the hours passed, fatigue turned to exhaustion. She began to feel dizzy and hungry, for she had not eaten since leaving the Uydferlands.

  Night came and Catanya’s running became more and more clumsy. She slowed to a shuffle and started tripping over the hem of her dress. Eventually, she tripped and fell.

  “That’s it. I am done with this.”

  She stood, rubbing her knees that ached from the fall and stormed off the training field. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Joffren silently watching from the front of the temple. Catanya ignored him and continued toward her room that she entered and slammed the door behind her. She sat in the chair and sniffed back tears before they got the best of her. Folding her arms across the table as she had the previous night, she lowered her head and fell asleep in moments.

  “Catanya.”

  Catanya woke with a start. She sat up wiping her mouth and looked around the small room. Her heart jumped—someone was standing in front of the small window to her left. She rubbed her eyes to focus. It was Austagia.

  “Are you here to take me home?” Catanya sniffed. She looked at the closed door. “Is Rubea waiting for us?”

  Catanya mirrored Austagia’s blank expression. Something had to come of her failure on the field and she was prepared to fail again and again. Sooner or later he would have to take her home.

  “Are you ready to continue?”

  These were not the words she expected him to say. “What do you mean?”

  “Drink.” Austagia handed her a cup of water. She took it and examined her uncle for a moment, then drank the water down.

  “I failed the test.” Catanya gathered he knew this.

  “It is not a test. It is a cleansing.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “You will keep going until the verity light is done.”

  “I am done. I am finished. I want to go home.” Catanya stood and her legs seemed to scream at her in protest. She winced but kept silent. Damn it!

  “There is no other way this ends.”

  “Why me? Why have I been chosen for this? Has our family not paid a great enough price losing you to the priesthood? Do you not know how much my father suffered without you there?”

  Austagia crossed his arms. “You have been chosen to become an Irucantî. What do you imagine you cannot do as an Irucantî?”

  Catanya thought for a moment. What I “cannot” do? There would not be much I cannot do… “I guess… I could do anything.” Their eyes met. For a moment it seemed as if she was looking into her father’s eyes. No one tells an Irucantî to do anything. In time then, I can do as I please.

  Austagia stepped to the door. “It is the only way. Some things you cannot run from,” he said. With that he turned from her and left the room.

  Catanya stood in the doorway as Austagia walked along a pathway to the right before veering off behind a building. She looked back at the training field where the verity light shone bright.

  Become the warrior, then do as I want, Catanya said to herself. She walked back to the field and started running again.

  The day was half worn when Joffren came to her with a ration of water and a morsel of bread. She thanked him, ate the bread in as few bites as possible, chased it with the water and kept moving. As she came around the field again, she tripped on her dress as before. Joffren was still there.

  “Remove your dress, it slows you down.”

  Catanya ignored him until she ran around the field once again and came upon him.

  “Remove your dress.” This time she realised it was an order. “Forget your vanity, this is your cleansing. Remove your dress.”

  Catanya cast Joffren a scolding look as she yanked at her dress, pulling it over her head clumsily and throwing it to the ground. She resumed her running and doubled her pace wearing nothing but a thin white slip that ended above her knees.

  Catanya pushed on. By midday a cruel wind tore though the Romghold, whipping at Catanya’s exposed body. She pushed through ever increasing exhaustion and as the second day of uninterrupted running passed, the verity light seemed to stare at her unblinkingly. Her run had slowed to a shuffle barely faster than a walk. Alas, Joffren’s instruction ran through her mind—Under no circumstance am I to stop. Many times she considered it but knew what Austagia said was true. This is not a test—the verity light will keep shining.

  The wind finally calmed as the sun set to the west. Joffren came to the training field carrying a long item wrapped in a linen cloth. Catanya watched him as she stumbled around the field. He sat himself in the middle of the field and unwrapped the object. He placed it before the verity light and bowed before it, then picked it up again and walked to the edge of the field as Catanya shuffled toward him.

  “Carry this. It is the talon of Balgur.” He placed it upon Catanya’s shoulders. She winced. Exposure to the sun and wind had left her skin sore and reddened. She felt the weight of the heavy object course down her spine.

  “Wrap your arms around it,” Joffren instructed, helping her to lift her arms behind the heavy object and wrap her forearms over the top as though she were carrying a log upon her shoulders.

  “What is it?” Catanya murmured, trying to turn her head to the side.

  “It is a dragon talon. You bear the weight of the most powerful dragon that ever lived. His name was Balgur. He was killed by the Quag King—Delvion. Feel the weight, understand his power and know the strength the enemy mustered to destroy him. Then you will know the strength required to face such an enemy. Know your enemy intimately and you learn more of yourself.”

  Catanya was too tired to argue. She stumbled on, carrying the heavy ivory talon with her. The dark of night foreshadowed the stars of the realms and the passing night saw the moon arc its way westward. To Catanya it seemed like weeks had passed. Balgur’s talon began to weigh so heavily she struggled to breathe for the pain it caused in her back. The abrasive texture of the talon rubbed across her shoulders, cutting at her raw and blistered skin.

  The night was half spent when Catanya dropped the talon. She had all but fallen asleep while walking. Joffren was there, placing it back on her shoulders, hoisting her arms up again.

  “Keep moving, Semsarian.”

  Catanya continued to move. She had no run left in her so all she could do was trudge around the training field, glancing every once in a wh
ile at the merciless verity light that seemed set on killing her.

  Hours later Catanya fell. Joffren was there again, pulling her to her feet.

  “Get off me!” Catanya yelled, flashing a scathing look at Joffren. It did not seem to bother him.

  Joffren lifted Balgur’s talon and Catanya could see her blood smeared across its ivory surface. He placed it on her shoulders yet again. She continued her march around the training field. To cope, she tried to occupy herself with thoughts of Magnus, but her mind was spent and she felt as if she no longer had control over it. Catanya imagined she was carrying the dragon’s whole body. She pictured Balgur as a giant among dragons, proud and strong, only to be slain by a king who she respected for doing so, for she would be relieved of her burden. Then she remembered the dragon slayer was Delvion and she felt weighed down by sorrow, for she had sanctioned the murder of a beautiful dragon and brought all of Allumbreve to ruin.

  As the sun rose on her third morning in the Romghold, Catanya dropped Balgur’s talon for the third time. It landed heavily on the ground and she stood where it fell, crying with all her heart. “I’m so sorry,” Catanya called out to Balgur. She could no longer carry him. She looked herself over. Her olive skin was darkened and blistered from the sun. The slip she wore was stained with blood, sweat and dirt and hung off her like an old rag.

  Looking across the compound to the temple, Catanya saw Joffren watching her. Anger boiled inside her and she screamed at him in a long, deep screech that pained her through even more. The anger made her more determined. She wiped the tears from her face, smearing blood and dirt across her cheeks. She bent to her knees, tore a strip of fabric from the bottom of her slip and used it to wipe Balgur’s talon clean.

  Picking up the talon and hoisting it back onto her shoulders, Catanya started moving again. She looked to the amber light and saw it was gone. It no longer glowed its relentless, cruel light that led the way to death. Instead now, Catanya led the way to death herself.