by R W Foster
When Angriz returned, he gave a gentle laugh as he pulled them out for me. “Thank you for your efforts, but you should have waited. The splinters would not penetrate my scales.”
I growled in response. Within moments, he had a warm bonfire going. I listened as he prepared his kills. Soon after, the tantalizing aroma of dinner roasting made my mouth water.
I felt him wrap my fingers around something rough and rounded.
“What's this?”
“A sword. I will begin teaching you how to use and care for your new blade tomorrow.”
“A blind swordsman?”
“Have faith, my friend. You will not be sightless for too much longer.”
Angriz handed me a cold metal cup filled with icy water from the brook.
“What were you like as a kid, Angriz?” I sipped from the chalice.
The log I’d been leaning against shifted when he sat. Angriz took a deep breath. I wondered what expression crossed his face.
“My earliest memories,” he began, “are of laughter and happiness. My parents loved each other and me a lot. Father was a ranger. His job was to track and capture deadly animals and villains, to keep our village safe. Mother was the community teacher. She taught all children how to read, write and do numbers.
“Though both were important to the community, our home had been built near the outskirts. We had a sheltered area nearby which allowed Father to transform to his true shape, hidden from prying eyes. One of my fondest childhood memories was flying through the air on his broad back.
“The first time I witnessed his transformation, I was only eight summers. Rumors of a red dragon lairing nearby had my father away almost all the time. I was playing with friends when I noticed it was near dusk. I bade them farewell, and trudged toward home.”
Angriz hesitated a moment. I heard his breathing change as he visualized whatever he was about to tell me. “Not far from our abode, I knew something wasn’t right. Smoke should have curled from the chimney as Mother cooked dinner. On that day, none rose to the sky. I sprang into a run. I quickened my pace as I spotted the door dangling from a hinge. Blood traced a delicate path along the grain of the portico down the front. I flew into our home and… saw…”
Pain and sorrow hung in his voice which had dropped to a thick, husky whisper. I had goose bumps both from anticipation of what I imagined would be a hideous sight, and from sympathy for his distress. After several moments, Angriz took a deep breath, and resumed.
5
“Mother was unconscious, cradled in Father’s arms. Her dress was flung up above her waist, torn and caked in drying blood. Rage and grief churned within me, erupting in an anguished howl that I later learned echoed throughout the countryside and brought the villagers at a run.
“The roar startled my father back to reality. ‘Go for the healers!’ He cried.
I turned without question and raced back out. I never sprinted so fast before. Before I even got to the main road, I beheld the Elder running beside Healer Smythwick, followed by the rest of the villagers. For the first time, I ignored our Elder and spoke only to Smythwick. ‘Come fast,’ I shouted. ‘My mother is hurt!’ Without hesitation, I whirled back to the house. I stopped running as I reentered. Father had by this time covered my mother’s nakedness, restoring some semblance of her dignity. I heard footsteps behind me and knew by his scent the Healer had arrived. I was ushered outside with my father while he began examining Mother.
“After what seemed like hours, he emerged from our cottage and reported my magnificent, beautiful mother had been raped and clawed with viciousness. Bites ran down her neck and arms. My father stiffened and bade me wait. He went in to her. I began to search the areas near the door for clues. Most would not have used ‘methodical’ to describe me any other time, but I was then. I found a red scale as Father came outside once more. I showed it to him and received a curt nod. He looked at the Elder with glowing golden eyes and spoke. ‘Watch over Aurora for me until we return,’ he ordered.
‘Of course, Rhynskald.’
“Father beckoned for me to follow him, and set a brisk pace headed east. He set an incredible pace. About three hundred yards into the woods, he began to transform. First, scales spread over his skin in a spiral pattern. His body lengthened; his limbs bulged as his back grew broader. He dropped so his hands touched the ground. His clothing was ripped to shreds and fell to the earth. Father’s fingers and toes sprouted long, sharp claws. His face stretched and broadened, growing a magnificent ridge of horn as his nose and mouth lengthened becoming a maw with huge fangs. The whiskers on his face also grew longer. Tremendous wings burst from his backbone as his neck stretched until it was as long as his body. A tail swept out behind him, thick and sinuous. This wonderful transformation happened in a matter of seconds. I was astonished to behold him as a splendid gold dragon.
“I stared, mouth agape. Father swiveled his huge head around and peered down at me. One melon-size eye blinked closed. He gestured for me to come to him. 'Come, we have a red dragon to hunt.’
“I stepped forward, filled with trepidation. A colossal paw, tipped with massive claws, grasped me. With a swift few steps, my father launched himself into the air.”
***
When Angriz paused, I took a moment to divert him from the anguish he must have relived, “Why did your father call you Swenlyn?”
“That was my name at the time,” he answered. “We dragons go through different naming processes than others do. We are given one name after hatching, or birth. We receive another at puberty, and one more upon reaching adulthood. Some are named for their deeds, and some by their enemies. Mine was the latter.”
I cocked a surprised eyebrow at him. “Why would you carry a name given by an enemy?”
“Because it turned out to be my True Name.”
I thought for a second: I’d heard of the significance of them before. I just couldn’t remember where. Mental forehead slap: BattleHammer.
“I may be wrong,” I began, “But if someone knows your True Name, they have power over you, right?”
“Yes, but only if secret. However, in the open, as mine is, then any True Name spells would backfire against the caster.” His smile was clear in his voice.
“Ah, right. Sorry for my interruption. Please continue.”
***
“My father flew through the night. His massive paw shielded me from the cold air. As we traveled, I asked about our family. ‘Father, does you being a dragon mean that I am one as well?’
“‘No, Swenlyn, you are half-dragon. Your mother is human,’ he said.
“This provided my next question, ‘Why do I look like the other children?’
“‘Half-dragons resemble the offspring of their non-draconic parent until adolescence,’ he answered. ‘That is when your body begins to change. Nothing looks different at first. Then, your scales begin to develop with what appears like a full-body rash which itches like hell.’
“‘I won’t be able to continue playing with the others, will I?’ I asked.
“He sighed, ‘As long as they allow it. I’m afraid they will be much like other children I have seen in my travels, and ostracize you. Odds are you will be very lonely, son. However, as you grow, your strength, agility and intelligence will, too. They grow at a much faster rate than anyone’s except a pure dragon.' With that he fell silent.
“At last, close to dawn, we came to the Saffron Mountains. We landed on a broad ledge near the summit of Mount Killimin, the highest peak in the range. He released me from his grip and transformed back to the man I knew. Several feet away, a black cave led into the mountain. Father held my eyes for a moment, seeming to find something. He nodded, more to himself than to me.
“‘Wait here,’ he commanded as he strode into the cave. Hours passed as the sun rose higher into the sky. Too long, he had been gone. The silence, the not-knowing was toying with my imagination and I was considering following him. He would not have tolerated my disobeying him. And yet,
if he were in need of me...how could I just stay?
“Much to my relief and horror, the silence was destroyed by a terrific roaring. Inside the mountain, a titanic battle was being waged. Pebbles bounced and tumbled down from above the cavern entrance. Dust thickened the air as the ground shook.
“I dove to one side as a searing wall of flame shot from the opening. My right shoulder took a beating from a sharp rock half buried in the debris. I rubbed the bruised and singed muscle as I rose. Moments later, Father strode out. He was tired, dirty, sweaty and covered in blood. I wondered how much of was his and what amount belonged to the red dragon still inside. His battle-weary eyes locked on mine. For a moment I thought I discerned more than just the father, the warrior I knew him to be: all strength, integrity and discipline. Something else stood looking at me which I did not recognize. He seemed as if he were a king. No, a king of kings. His appearance was at once majestic, yet menacing.
“He beckoned for me and forgetting all else, I ran to congratulate him. He was safe! He'd won. But before I could celebrate, he spoke, wary and tired, 'It's not yet over.' I slid to a stop a foot or two from him. In his hand was an enormous silver greatsword with an intricate filigreed pommel. He offered the hilt to me. Not yet understanding his purpose, I grasped the sword and followed.
“We returned to the cave and walked for a long distance. This was not a single grotto, but a series of immense caverns. The last hollow we entered was breath-taking. The ceiling soared far above our heads. Tiny eyes measured our progress. At any other time, this would have been beautiful; flowstones, rising stalagmites, beautiful curves, nooks, a small stream that was no doubt a tributary to some deep underground lake.
“As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I espied the red dragon lying not far from us. He was huge, but not as big as Father in his draconic form. He lay in a pool of his own green lifeblood. Gore also sprayed over the nearest rocks. Chunks of flesh and scales littered the floor. The red’s breathing was quick, shallow and ragged. Father and I drew closer. I detected the crimson dragon’s lava-like eye roll to watch us. He tried to get to his feet, but was unable. His tongue rolled out of his mouth and dragged on the cavern floor. Dust clung to it.
‘His fate lays in your hands, my son. If you do not choose to finish him, there is a good chance he will survive.’ With that, my father turned, and headed outside. I lowered the sword point to the ground at my left side, and I gazed at the Red for some time.
‘What is your name?’ I asked.
‘S-Skor-Skoroth,’ he panted.
‘Did you rape and torture my mother?’
“He nodded in affirmation.
‘Why?’
‘For pleasure,’ he gasped. ‘And because I was paid a sizable sum to torment your family.’
“Furious, I shouted, ‘Who? Who funded you?’
Skoroth wheezed out laughter. I did not flinch as a fine spray of blood flew from his mouth, coating my face and chest. ‘I’ll never tell you, Whelp.’
‘What’ll you do if I allow you to live?’ I demanded through clenched teeth.
“Something he descried in my eyes made him answer thus, ‘I will hunt your kinfolk and kill them, my dear... Angriz.’
‘Fair enough.’
“He struggled to raise his head and stare at me with surprise and curiosity written on his face. The angle was perfect. I swung the greatsword up and around, decapitating him. I slashed so hard, I spun around several times before I fell over, dropping the sword as I did. The cavern continued to spin and tilt, as I raised my eyes to focus on Skoroth. His head lay under the stump of his neck. A river of blood coated the floor and me. Unable to stop myself, I brought my hand and placed blood-covered fingers into my mouth one at a time until I licked them clean. Spent and weary, I rose to my feet and left Skoroth’s lair.
“Father was watching a flock of geese overhead when I exited the cave. I stood beside him, trying to find way to tell him what I had done. Not about killing Skoroth, but tasting and licking his blood from my fingers. Before I opened my mouth, my father said, ‘You did the right thing, my son. I am proud of you.’
“His voice seemed to unlock the words I’d been searching for. ‘Father, I have tasted his lifeblood. Something inside me, something irresistible caused me to do it.’
‘You need not worry about that, Swenlyn,’ he reassured me.
‘I am Angriz.’
“He turned to look at me with an eyebrow raised. He searched my face, and then nodded in understanding. ‘Ah. The red?’
‘Yes.’
“He said nothing else. In silence, we stared without seeing. Our eyes focused somewhere other than the surrounding mountains. I imagine that deep within himself my father wrestled with the injuries of Mother, and possibly the wisdom of me embracing the name of Angriz. I was numb. I don't remember thinking of much at all. My outer surroundings and inner thoughts blurred, leaving me unable to focus on anything.
“A little before sunset in the warmth of dusk, Father transformed once again into a gigantic golden dragon. I straddled his back and we flew home. I never did press him for an explanation about tasting Skoroth's blood, thinking we'd discuss it soon enough. But weeks passed into years and my father died before I thought to ask him again.”
Angriz fell silent, his tale finished.
“Why did Skoroth call you ‘Angriz’?” I asked. I struggled to hide my consternation that the one who raped his mother, the one who had torn his family asunder, the one Angriz had killed had been the one to reveal his True Name.
He shifted and replied in measured tones, “My appellation means both ‘Avenger,’ and ‘Holder of My Fate,’ in Draconic.”
“How?”
“In the language of dragons, words can have different meanings depending on the way they are used.”
“Oh.” Then, it occurred to me. “Why didn’t you suffer from the Bloodtaste when you tasted Skoroth's blood?”
“I do not know. Many times I have wondered that. Even more so today.”
Chapter 4
1
A few days later, Angriz and I arrived at the Weirdling’s glen. My guide placed my hand upon a tree. “Wait here until I’m able to introduce you. She doesn’t like strangers to be brought unannounced. I’ll bring her to you.”
“Alright.”
“One more thing: she’s not like anyone you’ve met before.”
“Alright,” I said again.
I waited until Angriz tromped off before I laughed to myself. It seemed heartless to remind him everyone here was unlike anyone I’d ever met. Still, I found myself wondering what he meant. About ten minutes later, Angriz returned with someone who had a much lighter tread.
I noted an unfamiliar odor. I recognized Angriz’s scent. He smelled like hot steel, with a faint tang of pine. This came from his preference for sleeping on pine boughs. This new scent, which, while not unpleasant, was unfamiliar; flowery, but with a faint acrid undercurrent. They stopped a few feet from me.
“Carter, this is Soo-jau. She is the Weirdling I told you of.”
“Angriz,” a soft voice said. “I wish you would stop using that common term. Please identify me the proper way.”
Leather creaked as Angriz bowed. “I’m sorry, Lady Soo-jau.” He directed his next words to me, “She is Vaush-Tauric.”
“What’s in a name?” I said.
“Well said,” said Soo-jau. “A flower by any other name smells the same.”
‘She misquoted William Shakespeare to me, and has no idea who he is. I find that funny as hell for some reason.’
“Thank you, my lady.” I held my left elbow in my right hand, and tapped my lips with my left index finger. “Speaking of scents, yours is interesting. What is it, pray tell?”
“Carter!” Angriz sounded shocked I would ask such a question.
Soo-jau chuckled. “You are smelling my relaxation salts.”
“Another scent is beneath. Something acrid.”
“Indeed,” she replied. “Tell
me, how does Angriz smell to you?”
“Huh?” Angriz sounded confused.
I ignored him for the moment. “Like hot metal and pine. He likes sleeping on pine needles.”
“Can you guess why hot metal?”
“Maybe because he breathes fire.”
“You are correct. What breath weapon do you think I possess?”
“I would say one of acid.”
“Yes.”
“Are you a full dragon, Soo-jau?”
“I am. Only full dragons can ever be Vaush-Tauric.”
“Angriz tells me you will be able to restore my sight.”
“We’ll get to that, but first, I wish to perform a test. Come here.”
She took me by my hand and led me further into her glen. Water gurgled into a fountain. She released my hand and moved away. I marked her movements by listening to her footsteps through the grass. I turned my head so I would be able to follow her light step easier. The sward sprung up as her feet left the ground. She levitated.
“Why are you flying?” I asked.
“You heard me rise?”
“I did.”
She nodded as if my answer was what she was expecting. “This is part of the test. I suspected you might be able to track my movements by sound. Your head movements confirmed my suspicions.”
“Hunh.”
“Carter, does magic exist in your world?”
“Not real magic. We possess tricks we call magic, or illusions, but they are really slight-of-hand and misdirection.”
“Were you always without your eyes?”
“No.”
I told her about what happened. I got chills reliving the experience. As an atheist, to have witnessed the appearance of a real angel was…startling to say the least.
“You seem to take the existence of magic rather well,” she said.
