by James Somers
I had grudgingly finished my morning meal simply for the fact that another would not be served for hours. I needed all the strength I could get for what lay ahead. No one, not even my close friends seated with me, spoke another word during my time in the cafeteria. Some might suppose that such an honor—speaking with a god—would promote joy and happiness in excess amounts. I was terrified.
Zora, perceptive as always, had seen it on my face the moment I appeared in the infirmary. She had, for the briefest moment, been wearing an unrestrained smile full of pride for the achievements of her daughter in the faith. Upon seeing my reaction, her joy turned to bewilderment.
“Gwen, what’s wrong?” Zora asked as she attempted to sit up in the bed.
I couldn’t hold it back any longer. Sitting on the edge of Zora’s bed, I began to weep into my hands; a poor attempt to hide my emotions from everyone else in the infirmary. Zora sat up as best she could, cradling my shoulders in her arms.
“Oh, Zora, it’s awful,” I whispered through my sobs.
“Hush, child,” she said. “How can the fulfillment of your deepest desires be so bad as to warrant all of this? You’re just nervous about your appointment to the High Guard. Certainly, it’s a great responsibility, but crying—?”
I pulled away. She hadn’t understood what the problem really was. “It’s not that, Zora!” I thrust the ragged parchment into her hands.
Bewildered, she straightened it so it could be read. Her eyes scanned the message with interest before a knowing smile lit on her face. She looked up at me. “Silly girl. Is this what all the fuss is about?”
I nodded, feeling a little foolish at her apparent lack of concern for something that had me torn all to pieces.
“You’ve been given a great honor,” Zora continued. “To be summoned before the High Serpent King himself. Did you suppose he is angry with you for saving the lives of his High Priest and other ministers?”
I shook my head a little.
“Perhaps, Belial wishes to punish the wraith dancer who saved his image from destruction, killing the terrorists responsible in the process…or maybe he simply wants to praise one of his most loyal subjects; someone who has proven her exceptional skill and dedication in the face of real peril to herself and others.”
Despite myself, I began to feel better. A smile crept onto my lips. Zora made perfect sense. I had been branded a hero and given a position among the elite servants of the High Serpent King. It may have been unprecedented, but still stood to reason that Belial might be interested enough to actually speak to the young women who had done him so fine a service.
I smiled, feeling much better about the situation now. Deep down I had known Zora would see the silver lining in the ponderous cloud hanging over me all morning. And, as she always had, she made me see it as the only logical possibility. I hugged her neck, whispering my thanks gently in her ear. She patted me on the back and let me go.
“Now,” she said, smiling, “tell me all about your new appointment with the High Guard. And don’t leave out any details. Soon, you’ll think yourself too good to talk to a lowly servant like myself. Tomorrow you’ll speak to a god…and he will answer you back.”
VAREN
The glow from his campfire cast a hellish hue across Varen’s face as he stood looking out into the night. Beyond the valley floor, Thorn Mountain towered high above him; its snowcap enlightened by the full moon staring down passively at the world. Brief glimpses of firelight near the castle could be seen between windswept snows encircling the higher elevations.
He exhaled heavily, his breath vaporizing before the cool breeze stole it away. One of his men called him back to their company. “Varen, it’s no using sulking,” the old man said. He was as close as anyone came to a father to Varen—his own dying many years before when he was just a small child.
Varen turned, regarding him sitting in furs, a pipe smoldering between his clenched teeth. His white beard trailed onto his chest. “I’m not sulking, Nordin,” he said. “I simply long to have this meeting done with. The sooner we have what we’ve come for and are done with Ezekiah the better.”
Nordin puffed on his pipe, staring into the fire. The rest of their group was bedding down a few yards away. Already they had finished their meal of rabbit stew and were shoveling embers beneath a few feet of soil in order to lay their bedding down over it for warmth through the night. “Do not underestimate Ezekiah,” Nordin warned. “He might be somewhat of a pacifist, but the man is still dangerous. I’ve seen him in battle. He’s a fierce warrior when pushed to it.”
“I do not fear him,” Varen said, “nor do I underestimate him. He will not know what is done until it is too late to prevent it.”
Nordin looked at him. “And what is it that will be done? Too many secrets you keep lately…ever since that woman—”
“Do not speak so of her, Nordin,” Varen hissed. “I will not hear it from you or any other.”
Nordin turned his gaze back to the fire. “Still, I used to be in your confidence. You regarded my counsel in days gone by.”
Varen softened a little. “I still regard it. Only in this matter have I spared you that you might not fret for it. I do not wish you the burden of knowledge that could take your life. What we do here will change everything for us, but we may gain Ezekiah’s vengeance in the process.”
Nordin puffed on his pipe again, letting the smoke seep out of his nostrils. “I am fully with you, Varen,” he said. “I fight for your cause. I warn you of crossing Ezekiah, but I have not sided with the prophet. Do not fear to share your heart with me as you once did.”
Varen sighed. “Once this meeting is concluded, I promise to reveal my plans to you,” he said. “Only, trust me tonight. It is best that you do not know.”
Nordin blew a final puff of smoke out over the fire, and then shrugged his shoulders. “If you wish.” The old man took his spade and shoveled several scoops of glowing embers into the pit he had dug earlier. He covered it with earth, tamped it down, and then laid one of his large furs over it. With another he covered himself for the night. “You had better get some rest. We’ll have quite a climb tomorrow to make it to their fortress in one day.”
Varen turned away from the fire toward the mountain towering over them. He did not like to keep secrets from Nordin. If there was anyone he trusted with his life it was Nordin. After the death of his father, Varen had been trained and cared for by the old man. He had to be over five hundred years old. Not nearly old enough to know of the transition Ezekiah preached about, but old nonetheless.
He had been telling the truth when he told Nordin he didn’t underestimate Ezekiah. The prophet had always had the ability to know when someone was lying to him. If he asked Nordin, or any of his men traveling with him, they would not lie because they had no knowledge.
Varen smiled at his own ingenuity. Soon they would have what they had needed so long in their struggle against the dragons: the power to wage real war against them.
Varen stared out into the darkness around them. For the slightest moment, he caught sight of someone. A dark figure had been standing out against the backdrop of ever present snow. He blinked. The figure was gone. Varen grinned knowingly, and then turned back to the fire. Tomorrow would be a very fulfilling day.
COMES A DRAGON
I had taken Zora’s advice to heart. Despite butterflies making chaos in the pit of my stomach, I tried to be calm. A night’s sleep had made me feel better; the initial shock of the message the day before somewhat buffeted by the passing of a little time. I rose early, washed and applied sweet smelling ointment. My best silk robe had been laid out the night previous.
Observing myself in the looking glass, I supposed I had done the best I could. I had often been given compliments on my looks: golden hair and skin to be envied. But these words had been offered by doting motherly figures and close friends. Men who knew better dared not ever to look upon one of the Serpent Kings’ priestesses to lust after them. To do so me
ant death for them and their entire family. Consequently, I never received compliments from men at all.
It wasn’t something I spent much time worrying about. Still, I couldn’t help but think that it might be nice to be noticed by a man—to hear compliments—to feel that I was desirable. I pushed it out of my mind. I was going to stand before a god today. Such things were unimportant in comparison. Belial would not care what I looked like, so long as I appeared before him in the best manner I could.
I left my room early, making my way to the temple posthaste. It didn’t matter how long I had to wait. The main thing was not to be late on so important an occasion. I practically flew through the market place and into the temple. The High Priest was nowhere to be found. An attendant was expecting me, though he admitted to thinking I would be arriving closer to time. Still, he allowed me inside the vestibule to Belial’s private chamber.
With three hours to go before noon, I settled in on one of the marble benches and waited. The attendant, an elderly man who may have served in this position his entire life, offered me a cup of water and some fruit. I had admitted to forgetting to eat anything before coming, and so he had urged me to take something. After all, it wouldn’t do to faint before a god. I feared I might do exactly that, despite eating, but I took the food anyway.
After an hour of sitting on the cold hard marble, I began to feel less anxious but more sleepy. I shook myself, but still there was nothing to do but look around the vestibule for the hundredth time to occupy myself.
I started awake to find the elderly attendant smiling at me. “Oh, no!” I cried, realizing I had fallen asleep.
He started to laugh. “Don’t worry, my dear, you’ve not overslept. In fact, I only came to fetch you.”
“Is it time already?” My nervousness had suddenly returned.
“Not quite,” he said. “I just thought you might like to walk up to the observatory. There, you will be able to see Belial the Glorious as he descends from his mountain.”
“Oh,” I said. “That would be wonderful.”
He led me out of the vestibule, up several flights of stairs to a little tower enclosed by a circular balustrade and a little domed roof with a spire reaching toward the sky. There was a light breeze blowing, but the air was beginning to warm as the morning gave way to afternoon. The sun would soon find its zenith and it would be time for me to stand before Belial.
“He will soon come from there,” the attendant said, pointing toward the mountain called Doom in the distance.
It was one of the few that did not have snow on it. Volcanic activity kept it smoldering. It was said that the dragons liked the heat. They had always dwelt apart from society—the ways of a god, I supposed.
I had the opportunity to take in a marvelous view of Babale. The city spread into the distance on every side. The smells of food cooking in the market drifted up here without the foul odors sometimes found in the streets. It was pleasant, and I began to feel a little better despite the approaching moment.
The attendant was suddenly pointing. “Behold!” he said. “Belial the Glorious has come.”
I turned toward the volcanic mountain and did not see anything at first. But soon a shape began to be distinguishable from the mountain. As the form grew in size, I could make out Belial’s bright red scales, the color of new blood when it first rises in a wound, hot from the artery. He glided down toward us, riding the wind with massive wings that may have stretched hundreds of yards from tip to tip. My breath caught in my chest. It was hard to imagine how something so large could possibly remain suspended in the air.
I vaguely heard the attendant speaking to me. “Are you all right, my child? You’re not going to faint are you?”
I made sure I had a firm hold on the balustrade. “No, I’m fine, really. He’s just so beautiful.”
“Yes,” the attendant agreed. “Glorious is a fitting name.”
All at once, Belial was upon us, sweeping down over Babale like an eagle after a rabbit. He roared, shaking the ground beneath our feet. I wondered if the tower might collapse under the sheer power of it. As he passed over, very close, the displacement of air around his sinuous crimson form washed through the tower observatory nearly knocking us off our feet. I screamed excitedly, but it was lost in the rushing wind.
The great red dragon flew miles in seconds, sweeping around in a massive turn that brought him back to the temple. Beating his huge wings, Belial slowed his descent rapidly. He hovered for a moment over a courtyard overlooked by the observatory. His wing-beats scoured the ground, sweeping away any dust and debris that had managed to elude those entrusted with its cleaning. The ground trembled as he touched down; hind legs first, then forelegs.
His talons gouged the stone, etching new lines in the granite over older trenches that time and weather had already smoothed. His long neck craned to find an entourage rushing to greet him and lead him inside his private chamber.
I found myself trembling all over just looking at him. How could I possibly stand before such a creature? I was tempted to run, but the attendant was there trying to reassure me with words I could no longer discern. My mind had turned to mush.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” he said. “You’ve been given a great honor. It is rare that one so young is summoned before Belial.”
“Must I go now?” I asked, not entirely in control of myself.
“We will go back to the vestibule,” he said. “There, you will wait a moment until Belial has received our sacrifices.”
The dragon was going to feed before I stood before him. Somehow that was a little comforting. I had never heard of the dragons eating a human. Still, it couldn’t hurt that he ate before I arrived.
