The Dragon of Time: Gods and Dragons

by Aaron Dennis

  Scar shook his head. He had no intention of serving any Goddess or Dragon, and definitely heard no voice in his head other than his own, and it was growing restless with the sight of the beauty, Ylithia.

  “So what of these tapestries?” Lortho snarled. “Everyone knows their history. The Dragons did exist, and God helped to exterminate them. Kulshedra bless us.”

  “Let us see this evidence then we will make our minds,” N’Giwah suggested as he stared down the shieldman.

  “I for one would be glad to see something notable,” Marlayne breathed.

  “You have suddenly abandoned Fafnir?” Borta asked her.

  “I believe in whatever logic dictates,” Marlayne rebutted. “And that has served Fafnirians well for a long time.”

  A hush washed over them. Flickering, orange torchlight bathed them. Fear and anticipation pushed them. It was time to see what Alduheim was really hiding, and whether they liked it or not, Ylithia was leading the way.

  Chapter Eighteen- Gods and Dragons

  “If this doesn’t turn out the way I want it, there’s going to be some real trouble,” Lortho announced.

  “I’ll have your back,” Delton added.

  “People,” Marlayne cautioned.

  Borta suddenly realized he was going to have to pick sides in the event a calamity occurred. During their trip down the hallway, he kept his black lips shut, letting the other’s words help sway his mind.

  “We might make a stand here and now,” Jayna sniped.

  “Jayna,” Bosen sighed.

  “Shut it,” she barked. “You’re Kulshedran!”

  “People,” Marlayne cautioned again, the strain in her tone rising.

  “You people are too quick to judge,” N’Giwah argued. “Have patience, and if you feel a need to fight when we have seen this evidence, make it so, but without our aid.”

  “I don’t even know what to make of you anymore,” Hija barked at him.

  “Peace, everyone, we are none of us in danger at the moment,” Shamara advised. “Lest we fall prey to our own hatred,” she added with a sad intonation.

  Ylithia started to turn to address the bickering group, but Scar whispered into her ear it would be unwise to stoke the fire.

  “Conspiring?” Pater accosted.

  “No,” Scar said. “Keeping the peace, boy.”

  “I’m not your boy,” he spewed.

  Bosen shook his head and scrutinized Marlayne and Borta. The Fafnirian was nervous, but Borta didn’t show any sign of distress. He just kept his eyes to the ground.

  “Ezlo?” Bosen asked.

  “I don’t wish to see any more death for the day, but I am Kulshedran and will not turn on my brethren,” he replied.

  Ylithia came to a halt at the end of the corridor where a room lay beyond statues. Ezlo’s illumination revealed an entrance guarded by twin stone warriors, long haired barbarians in skirts brandishing double-headed axes.

  “What you see inside will change your life,” Ylithia whispered.

  “Pray it does not end yours,” Lortho retorted.

  A smile flickered across her countenance. Then she vanished behind the pool of darkness beyond the statues. Ezlo spat at the ground, pushed past everyone, and shined his dying torch inside. Scar followed in.

  The stadium was an inordinately large expanse. A perfect dome ceiling reflected torchlight like an overabundance of twinkling, orange stars. Spaced evenly in a circle were eight statues- each a representation of a God. Mekosh, the Severe stood at one end, a knight in plate mail. Next to him, and about fifty feet away, stood Silwen, the Hater, an aged, ugly hag with a hooked nose. Opposite her was Mekosh, the Tolerant, a friar in a robe with the cowl pulled up, and next to him, another fifty feet away, was Silwen, the Lover, a voluptuous nude beauty.

  N’Giwah and Scar glanced at each other then glossed over each statue. With tight lips, and fast beating hearts, it seemed both men felt what the other was thinking; those statues represented the real Gods, but stone by itself was easily disputable. They needed something more to galvanize their crew, and furthermore, rally the people of Tiamhaal.

  “Look at these,” N’Giwah whispered. “And of all places, they are in Alduheim where the Dragons were destroyed.”

  “This doesn’t mean a thing,” Jayna grumbled. “They, they could just be statues.”

  Across from the likenesses of Silwen and Mekosh were, Ihnogupta, the Perseverant, who stood with his arms bent behind his neck. It was a lean, bald figure in a toga- the skin etched with patterns covering its stone form; patterns some of the tribesmen such as the Dracos bore. Next to him stood Garnabus, the Mad, bearing a lunatic’s eyes and grin. Across from Garnabus, the Mad, was Ihnogupta, the Sloth, a fat, sweaty heathen with a stump for a right leg. The Last figure gazed upon was Garnabus, the Sober, a man with a steely face and long braids trailing his muscular back and shoulders.

  Ylithia had come to stand at the epicenter of the statues, the room’s true center where the all the figures’ eyes converged. Scar and Ezlo followed together, a glance passed between them. Marlayne, Shamara, N’Giwah and Bosen joined them, followed by Borta. The rest of the Kulshedrans stood away in disbelief.

  “Let us just see what this is,” Scar suggested.

  “See what what is?” Lortho demanded. “Magic and trickery?”

  “Please, be quick,” Ylithia pleaded. “You will see it regardless of where you stand, but this is by far the best spot for unbiased observations.”

  Her tone betrayed a bit of mirth. She looked at Scar and smiled. He returned her smile with his own and took a deep breath. By the time the others finished grumbling and joined in at the center, the show had already started.

  It began with a windy whorl like a contained blizzard. Then a shimmering light from beneath their feet intensified into a soft blue before erupting in nearly blinding, white brilliance. The contrast proved too much for some, and groans escaped their lips. As the fear mounted, and eyes adjusted, an unearthly rumble growled at them from every which way, a rumble that quickly turned into the sounds of shouting men and women.

  Some of the Kulshedrans looked on in incredulity. Scar skimmed their faces. They were in awe of the magical room, but then he was awestricken as well when fleeting, ghostly figures passed before his eyes. The figures coalesced into men and women clad in gleaming armor. The figures spoke to each other and pointed. Everyone in the room was baffled by their unfamiliar language except Scar. He understood they were speaking of the approaching Dragons. He wracked his brain trying to place the language, but more bright lights flashed, and when Scar and the warriors recovered from the radiance, they witnessed the entire stadium had morphed into Alduheim’s exterior.

  Everyone, the ephemeral soldiers included, was standing on what used to be the roof above the castle’s donjon, a work of white bricks trimmed by a tall railing where dozens of archers in leathers let loose volleys of arrows. Other soldiers with swords, spears, and axes ran by screaming and pointing at the sky. A shadow washed over Scar’s group, momentarily blocking out the sun. Some of them gasped or reached out to touch the phantoms of Alduheim, others raised their weapons or shields ready for a fight, but it was all just a memory of that ancient keep.

  Scar gaped at the cloudy, blue sky above his head, a fire breathing beast with enormous bat like wings beat a gale down around them. Orange scales burning with unbridled flames covered the creature, and its pointed tail whipped in the wind as it cut circles in the sky, dodging arrows and boulders from catapults. After an arc that covered nearly a mile, the fire breather aimed its beaked maw and twin curled horns at the soldiers of Alduheim, let out a terrifying burst of fire that forced shrieks from Scar’s crew and cries of pain from the phantoms, and then landed on the stone work just in front of Ylithia’s face. The Dragon was at least ten men tall while standing on all four legs.

  One of the soldiers yelled in his foreign tongue and though only the name Drac resonated with the living, Scar understood what the phantom had sh
outed: The Gods have taught us how to bring you down, Drac!

  As that man produced a red diamond shaped gem the size of a fist, a dozen more soldiers ran to beat weapons against fiery scales. Their attacks did little; the dragon stepped on them, ate them whole, and knocked archers over the edge with a swipe of his tail, but by then, the man had worked the stone into a diamond hole in his lance, and he charged Drac, sinking a then fiery weapon deep between two scales at the base of the Dragon’s throat. The mighty Drac cried out in pain and fury, yelling something unfathomable with a voice like a hundred choirs caught singing in a lightning storm. Scar understood him, too. Drac had said: Damn you and your Gods. Men can never kill Dragons!

  The beast writhed and fell back. A gout of flames erupted from the dying Dragon, and as it clawed at the air, Drac became all he ever was, sputtering fires. The man with the lance pointed to his soldiers, shouting some orders: Steel yourselves, this is far from over. Mireu and Naga have been spotted to the north!

  Scar was in disbelief, they all were, but Scar more so due to his comprehension. He was experiencing irrefutable evidence that Dragons were real, and that they were manipulating men to this very day. Before anyone had time to gather their wits—the phantom soldiers or the real ones—two more figures appeared on the horizon; Naga and Mireu, the Dragons of water and wind had arrived. Naga was a serpentine dragon with no appendages. Her blue scales reflected the placid waters of Tiamhaal as she coiled onto herself and lashed out at the ground forces. Her eyes reflected the raging oceans, and she turned those eyes on the soldiers of Alduheim before unhinging her jaw to spew a horizontal pillar of water that reduced catapults and ballistae to splinters.

  Above her, in the blue sky, Mireu made his approach. Naga’s brother was a feathery dragon with iridescent blue, and purple, amidst silvery plumage. His great beak drew such an inordinate gust of air into his body that the clouds fluffed out of shape. He fanned a very long tail comprised of flamboyant feathers and dove into the phantoms on the roof top. There, while the men tried to pierce his invulnerable plumage, he blew out that same gale in the form of a tornado. It cleared the battlefield, and the raging war died down to a dark room lighted by a nearly extinguished torch.

  Only breaths resounded. Thoughts were driven from the mind. Scar’s men were alone with the emptiest feelings of shame, betrayal, fear, hatred, and defeat. Such a silence prevailed for moments.

  “I wet myself,” Delton finally volunteered in a faltering tone.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Marlayne heaved. “You’re not alone.”

  She took a few awkward steps before collapsing onto her seat, her head in her hands. None of them wanted to look at one another. There was little to say, and none of them really knew how to begin.

  “Ylithia,” Scar whispered. “You saw this once before?”

  “Yes,” she whispered back. “When I first arrived and chased out the others, I ventured in here to have a look. Mekosh had commanded it, not that I needed any further proof of who the Gods were and who the Dragons were, but…I thought that maybe I should let others see. Mekosh said no, that anyone else would say it was magic, and that they would destroy the only remaining memory of Alduheim just to hide themselves from the terrible truth.

  “Then he told me to wait for you, and to kill you, and that it would be the only road to salvation for humanity.” They looked upon one another by faltering torchlight. “I waited for so long. Hungry and tired, only my faith kept me going. Now that’s gone…I don’t know how much longer I can last like this.”

  Scar looked around. Borta had sat to console Marlayne. Shamara held Hija to her breast. N’Giwah just remained stoic. The rest either paced nervously or stood completely still in despondency.

  “Is there more?” Scar asked.

  “Not like this,” Ylithia replied. “Just books and pictures, but you’ve all seen that already.”

  “Listen,” Lortho started and almost immediately petered out. Scar looked at him with a sort of sad smile. He coaxed the shieldman with a motion of the eyebrows to continue. Jayna rubbed the plates over her friend’s shoulder, and he finally spoke up. “I, I know I’m probably not speaking for everyone, but all that proves, if it is real, is that Dragons existed. I mean….”

  “What are you saying?” Scar accosted. “They clearly announced their names.”

  “No, I heard it too,” Lortho said. “But we don’t know what else they were saying.”

  “They were saying that the Gods had taught them how to defeat the Dragons, and Drac claimed that men could never kill them,” Scar clarified. “Then they announced the coming of Naga, the water Dragon and Mireu, the wind Dragon.”

  “You know the Dragons’ words?” N’Giwah asked. “Who are you?”

  Scar frowned and shook his head before looking to Ylithia as if she might provide some insight. Of course she did not know any more than he himself. She tried to comfort him with a smile that never fully materialized.

  “Well…let’s get out of here and regroup on the surface. I assume we can start a full exploration after some rest,” Scar suggested.

  “Yes,” N’Giwah replied. “Besides, we will want to show this to the others…and then maybe…who knows?”

  “Hold,” Delton said. “Please.” They all gave him their attention. “If you speak the truth, if you both speak the truth, what does it mean? Gilgamesh has lied to us? Kulshedra…Kulshedra is a Dragon?”

  Scar vacillated and turned his lips inward for a second before saying, “I don’t know. This display was as much a shock to me.”

  “We should move before it starts up again,” Ylithia claimed.

  Scar nodded and helped to escort the others out. Ezlo’s torch smoldered and died, so Jayna lit one from her travel pack. The fresh light radiated over the stone figures of Gods. She glanced at the eight statues, and then they all made their way back to the corridor. Of all of them, Marlayne and Hija looked the worse for wear.

  During the hike back, while passing the storage rooms again, several questions began formulating in Scar’s head. It was certainly strange enough that he understood the language of Alduheim, and that did seem to coincide with Gilgamesh’s claim regarding his origin, but there was no discernable reason for comprehending Drac’s threat, or what it meant. You can never kill Dragons…that stone, though, I’ll bet that was a Dragon gem.

  “Everyone,” Scar asked for their attention while they strode along. “We should take a moment to talk this out. What we’ve just witnessed cannot be cast aside as a strange occurrence, though that is what it was, certainly. I mean, I’m as shaken by all of this, believe it or not. Seeing such a thing, understanding their words, the Dragon’s words, I am more confused than ever of who I am, of what this actually implies…so many new questions have come to reveal themselves.”

  The group said nothing. They had all been lost in their own ruminations. Some traded glances of awe and astonishment, others looked at their boots or the ground. N’Giwah glanced at the mercenary. Shamara approached him and took his enormous hand.

  “You carry a strange burden, King of Alduheim,” Shamara said empathizing with the warrior. “Do not let that sight overwhelm you. I have been around many, many years, and I can offer only this piece of advice; mold your own path. Listen to your heart. Do what you will.”

  Scar smiled at the wise old woman and said, “You are right. I will certainly have to make my own way in life.”

  His words, while lost on the group for the moment, sounded as though he had a clear goal in mind. In reality, Scar was wondering about other implications. If I can understand the Dragons then perhaps I have no memory because of some intimate ties to them. Marlayne stopped in the hallway to catch a little rest. Ylithia approached her and made eye contact for an uncomfortably long time.

  “Fafnirian and Tiamatish are known for their concord in times of war,” the fallen paladin said. “Our tribe is especially known for its logic. What do you make of these Dragons now?”

  Marlayne looked at Y
lithia, her mouth agape. For a second, she was unable to find the proper words. The memory of Alduheim coupled with the arduous excursion left her ready to collapse.

  Shaking the mist from her mind, Marlayne said, “I figure this means one of two things; Longinus and his father have either lied to us all, or they do not know of such things, which means Fafnir, and all the Dragons have betrayed mankind and portrayed themselves as Gods. What are we to do in such a situation?” Her tone was rhetorical. “This has been an overwhelming experience.”

  “It is your God that is real after all,” Borta scoffed. He was trying to laugh away his own foolishness, the disbelief that Dragons posed as Gods. Simultaneously, he was reasoning out a plan for the future. “All these long years, paladins have tried unsuccessfully to teach the error of our ways, and yet, what can we do? We are but a meager group. Our kin will never believe us. I can scarcely believe it.”

  Quietude prevailed for another moment. Eyes turned to the former paladin.

  “I’d certainly like to advise you all,” Ylithia sighed. “What you do with your newfound knowledge is your business. I…I.” She shut her eyes tightly. Scar knew she was holding back tears. “My fight is over.”

  The pale warrior approached her. In a placating tone he told her that in time things would turn out for the best. She feigned a smile.

  “A sound plan is sure to come, but not so long as we remain here,” N’Giwah affirmed. “We must exit this place now, and gather with the others, show them this nightmare has faces laden with scales, and gather strength. I believe some of our tribes’ leaders may be willing to suspend their beliefs until after having witnessed the memory of Alduheim…it is after all what they have sent us here to discover. Now, I think, we must consolidate under the banner of Alduheim, a new coalition of men bearing the burden of fact- that Dragons still hold power.”

  Scar raised an eyebrow acknowledging N’Giwah’s belief that some people might already be open to the truth. Gilgamesh did send them to find the hidden knowledge of Alduheim, and they did find it. Perhaps he is right to be optimistic. Gilgamesh and some of the others will certainly want to see these memories. Hopefully that will persuade more to join forces. Kings can make plans from there, but I, he looked at Ylithia, who was receiving some food and water from Marlayne. I have no desire to unite these people under my banner. I want no more to do with these damned Dragons.