by Nathan Roden
“You needn’t address me as ‘My Lady’,” the girl said. “I am only a handmaid. Handmaid to the Queen. My uncle was a sea merchant. I traveled with him once. What village are you from?”
Boone swallowed hard. He looked to Simon.
“Privea,” Simon said.
Boone covered his laugh with a cough.
“We have only just arrived,” Simon said. “We mean no disrespect. Who…did you know these men?”
“Do you swear that you are not spies?” the young maid whispered. “Sent by the King?”
“No,” Simon said softly. “Please believe me. We bend the knee to no King.”
The girl smiled.
“My uncle always said that his only King had a wooden deck and sailed the high seas.”
“He is a wise man,” Boone said. “I would like to meet him.”
The girl’s smile faded.
She pointed up.
“My two uncles. And my father.”
“I’m sorry,” Simon said.
“They were men of peace—even to the end, when peace became useless,” the young lady spoke as if in a trance. “Lord Sterling has convinced the King that every surrounding province is a threat to his sovereignty. One by one, the villages are overrun by the King’s armies. So many innocent have been slaughtered or enslaved—the men are killed—and the old women. The young women and children are forced into labor. Or worse.”
“You are quite free with your stories—told to complete strangers,” Boone said.
“They have taken everything from me,” the girl said. “The only thing left to use against me is the fear of death. So, I try not to fear it.”
Simon could not take his eyes off of the beautiful young girl. The sun illuminated the side of her face and he saw the bruise under her eye.
“Who struck you?” he asked.
The young maid looked around in all directions.
“Helena! Come, child!” An old woman yelled and waved at the young maid.
The girl looked frightened. She turned to Simon and Boone.
“You must not ask such things!” she screamed in a whisper. “His spies are everywhere!”
She turned and ran through the gates. Three apples toppled from her basket.
Simon and Boone watched after her, and then Simon stooped and picked up the apples. He handed one to Boone.
“Two for you and one for me,” Boone said. “I see how it is.”
Simon closed one eye and peered into the sky.
“In a few hours I will put on about two thousand pounds.”
“I forgot about that. You do eat like a pig.”
“Ah, a pig,” Simon sighed. “Two pigs would be even better!”
“Making demands for your dinner, now, are you?” Boone said. “I’d be tempted to call you a spoiled bastard, except when you take the throne you’ll have my head on one of your spikes!”
Simon laughed for a moment, but then a small piece of rotted flesh hit the ground in front of him, and his face became like stone. He squinted up into the empty eye sockets of the three men that he would never know.
They were more than likely guilty of nothing, Simon thought. Those men should be laughing and bouncing grandchildren upon their laps. And they would be—
If King Simon ruled these lands.
“I’ll have no heads up there,” Simon said. “I may plant flowers, instead.”
Simon clapped Boone on the shoulder.
“If I become King, you will be at my side. You will be required to call me at least one insulting name per day—lest I forget my place.”
Boone looked toward the castle.
“That was a lovely girl.”
“Yes,” Simon said. “Almost the loveliest I have ever seen.”
“Oh? What young lady have you seen who is lovelier than that? I would like to look upon her, myself.”
“We have more important things to do this day than ogle young ladies,” Simon said.
“Hopefully, this lovely girl did not pay so much attention to us,” Boone said.
“You heard her story, the same as I,” Simon said. “She may try not to fear death, but she is surrounded by it. Who in the village would she confide in?”
Nine
Lord Sterling stood at the second-story balcony. He squinted and shaded his eyes from the bright sunshine. When he saw the Queen’s maid approaching, he walked down to meet her.
“You. Girl,” he said.
The girl bowed her head.
“Yes, Lord Sterling.”
“Those two men—at the gate,” he purred. “You spoke to them. Who are they? What was said?”
“They were looking for the market,” she said.
“The market,” Lord Sterling scowled. “They are strangers?”
“Yes, My Lord. Sea merchants.”
“What are you called, again?”
The girl dipped her knees in a slight curtsy.
“Helena, My Lord.”
“Helena,” Lord Sterling repeated. He drew back his right hand.
“You would not dare to lie to the King’s Regent, would you?”
Helena began to cry.
“No, my Lord.”
Sterling reached toward Helena. She flinched and turned her head aside.
Sterling grabbed the locket that lay against her chest.
“Why does a servant girl have a trinket about her neck?”
“Please, My Lord. It was given to me by my mother. The Queen says that I may keep it.”
A shadow appeared by Sterling’s side. He looked up. The King stood above him on the balcony.
Sterling let the locket fall.
“I will speak to the King about this,” Sterling snapped. “Allowing servants to wear jewelry? What is next? Servants dining at our tables?”
“No, My Lord,” Helena said. “It is just…it is all I have to remind me of my family.”
“Ha!” Sterling barked. “I will see that you are brought the skulls—when the crows are finished with them!”
Sterling lowered his hand and took Helena by the arm.
“I do not believe your story,” he whispered in Helena’s ear. “As I believed none of your people’s claims of loyalty to the throne. But I’ll not strike you again.”
Sterling smiled wickedly.
“I do believe that our young King fancies a certain young maid. I believe that you will make splendid sport.”
Sterling walked with Helena until they were out of the King’s view. He slung her to the ground. The basket of fruit spilled in every direction.
“Do not dare to bring bruised fruit to our table. Go and fill the basket again.”
Sterling walked away.
Ten
Boone looked up to the sun, which was directly overhead.
“Have you seen enough?” Boone asked. “We should not be seen lurking here in the light of day. No one knows our faces—and that will forever be our best defense. We certainly cannot risk being seen by the witch.”
“The ‘Witch’ saved your life, Boone,” Simon said.
Boone placed a hand on his side without thinking.
“Aye. But without her damned curse, I would be rocking on the porch and puffing my pipe under the light of the moon, instead of thrashing bareback down a mountainside.”
“Let’s be off, then,” Simon said. He took the silver coin from his pocket.
“Only one task remaining, and then we can leave the village.”
Boone shook his head slowly.
“I can’t believe that you dare to risk having more villagers see us,” Boone said. “We’ll have to cross through half the town to get to the market. There could be dozens of people there at midday.”
“As you said, Boone, our faces are unknown. And look around you—the people keep their eyes cast upon the ground. It was the same in my father’s day.”
“True, those in the streets hope to bring themselves no attention, and cast no shadow. But you’ve heard of the bounties. No doubt there are
eyes around every corner—waiting to gain the King’s favor by making up tales about suspicious-looking strangers. The rule of the day is to torture and execute first and ask questions later. I would wager that Sterling asked few questions of those men on the wall.”
Boone leaned close to Simon’s ear.
“The man who could capture you in human flesh would never toil another day in his life.”
Simon ignored Boone and continued to walk. At a street corner, they walked by an old man who was drunk and passed out—even at midday. His battered old hat had fallen off of his head and lay beside him in the dirt. Simon plucked it from the ground without stopping. He put the hat on his head and pulled it low over his eyes.
“There. Now, I am in deep disguise.”
Boone chuckled.
“Oh, sure. You won’t take a few coins from the Witch, but you take an old fool’s hat.”
“I’ll bring it back before we leave,” Simon said.
Boone pushed Simon along.
“Like hell, you will.”
They avoided the most crowded streets, taking a circuitous route to the market. When they left the shops, the sun was quickly fading toward the forest.
“In which direction is your home?” Simon asked.
“To the west,” Boone pointed.
“We should leave the village the opposite way,” Simon said. “I can take you close to your home tonight—after we’ve rested.”
Boone grimaced and clutched at his side. Simon grabbed Boone’s arm.
“What’s wrong?” Simon asked. He raised Boone’s shirt, fearing the worst.
The wound remained closed, marked only by a tinge of red skin.
“There’s still healing to be done,” Boone said. “It feels as if there are tiny men at work in there—using tiny spades and hammers to patch my insides back together.”
“We’ll be safe, and clear of the city in just a little while, mate,” Simon said. “We don’t have to push on—it wouldn’t do for your wound to open up. We have no more help left.”
They walked away from the village for two hours, looking frequently over their shoulders. Three times Simon asked Boone if they should stop. Boone shook his head each time. They pushed through dense brush to a cave that remained one of Simon’s safe havens.
“There is a stream not far from here,” Simon said.
“Let’s push on, then,” Boone said.
They came to the stream, and fell to their knees and drank their fill. Simon fell back on the ground. Boone took off his shirt and rinsed off the dirt and sweat. Simon sat up.
He could see the welts on Boone’s back in the very last rays of sunlight.
“Your father—he still beats you?”
“Only when he’s drunk,” Boone said, as he wrung out his shirt. He pulled it on quickly.
“Every day, then, is what you mean.”
“It used to be twice a day,” Boone attempted a smile. “But he grows old, and tired.”
“But, still—”
“Look, Simon. When he hits me, he’s not hitting Mother—and she’s not doing so well anymore. She’s not much help in the fields, as it is.”
“You’re a good man, Boone. You should not have to live this way.”
Boone laughed.
“Look who’s talking about the right way to live—my Dragon-King!”
They shared a laugh and a handshake.
They walked back to the cave. Simon pointed to the nest he had built some months ago.
“There you are, my friend. Nothing but the finest accommodations.”
“I don’t need to take your bed,” Boone said. “At this moment I could sleep hanging upside down in a tree.”
“You should rest,” Simon said. “It will be safer if we travel after midnight. I require no sleep.” Simon looked into the twilight outside the mouth of the cave.
“It is almost time.”
“You still wish for me to stay away?” Boone asked.
“I understand that you find it fascinating,” Simon said. “But the thought of you watching frightens me.”
Boone laughed.
“You? Frightened? You took down a King’s Guard! You commanded the services of the most powerful sorceress in the land—at the point of a sword!”
Simon looked sad.
“You are my only friend. In my eyes, your bravery knows no equal. You helped me when I could not help myself. But the transformation is a curse—at the full moon, and the night after. I have no desire for you to regard me differently.”
“You are my only friend, as well,” Boone said. “There is nothing that can change that.”
“Please, Boone,” Simon said.
Boone walked to the edge of the makeshift bed.
“As you wish, my King.”
Boone lay down on the bed and was asleep within seconds.
Simon leaned against the cave wall. He closed his eyes and dozed.
The beginning twinges in his hands woke him.
Simon scrambled to his feet and ran outside. He breathed in deeply and waited.
The transformation from man to dragon was the opposite experience from the transformation from dragon to man.
Transforming to human was the ultimate in pain. Transforming from human to dragon—
Was pure ecstasy.
In those moments, every stress in Simon’s body and mind dissolved into the purest bliss. His mind flooded with colorful visions of green fields, a limitless bounty of mouth-watering meat, and an endless sky. Energy and adrenaline rushed through every ounce of his renewed body. He yearned to fly—He lived to fly. He feared nothing, and he wanted for nothing.
When his transformation was complete, he looked into the night sky. He breathed in deeply and exhaled. He was still startled by his first breath of flame after he returned to the body where he spent twenty-nine days out of thirty.
He would fly now. He knew that it would be wiser to wait, but the drive to spread his wings and eat up the sky was too powerful to resist. This had been a constant since the time of his first transformation—when he had watched his father and mother die by his mother’s hand.
He had flown. And flown.
And on every thirtieth day, after twenty-four hours as a man, the dragon had flown. The experience was euphoric, for most of an hour. But when the feelings of freedom subsided, Simon relived the fear and horror of his very first flight as a frightened and cursed Beast.
Eleven
When Simon flew back to the cave two hours later, the feelings of euphoria were gone. He looked in on Boone, who was snoring and sleeping deeply.
Simon waited outside. He would let Boone sleep a while longer. Simon heard a rustle in the brush. He looked down and saw a mother rabbit, with three of her young, hop past his talons. He sighed.
Not only was the euphoria of his transformation over, but the feeling that he dreaded the most made its presence known.
He was hungry.
Hunger was not new to Simon. He had spent most of his life hungry. By his choice.
There was nothing under the sun that Simon could not capture or kill and feast upon.
Perhaps, he thought, almost every day of his life—perhaps, if I had never been a boy or a man, I would be a natural killer. If I had been born a dragon, killing might not bother me in the least.
But it did bother him.
“Good evening,” Boone said from behind Simon. “Ah, ah, ah! Don’t turn around. I’m coming.”
Boone walked carefully in front of Simon the dragon.
“Well, here we are again,” he sighed.
Simon turned his head and sighed as well. A small burst of flame lit the sky, followed by a trail of black smoke.
Boone laughed.
“I may be your only friend, yet I’ll never be able to surprise you. I would be burned to a pile of ash.”
“I’m able to control it, for the most part,” Simon said, sadly. “I’m still working on it.”
Boone held his arm in front of him and pin
ched his flesh between his thumb and finger.
“It can take a lot to kill a man. But not when it comes to fire. We can take precious little of that.”
“And that is why the dragon has been the most feared creature on earth,” Simon said. “The wings and scales, the tail and the jaws, are only decorations compared to the flame.”
Simon sat down heavily, shaking the trunks of the trees.
“And that is why it makes the most excellent curse. It is also why the dragons have all but disappeared from the land.”
“I remember the last dragon—the one they kept alive,” Boone said. “Papa took us to see it. He was drunk. I’ll not say how he behaved that day. It was embarrassing.”
Simon shook his head and snorted.
“Kept it alive? I was too young to see it, but I heard the tales from the servants. They left the poor creature bound in chains. The people tormented him. They threw stones at him. The children spit upon him. They starved him to the point that he could make no fire. Do you know what happens to the dragon at that point, Boone?”
“No. I only saw it that once, from a distance. I was only a child, but I knew that it was not well.”
“A dragon with an empty belly is no threat to anyone. Without food, the dragon’s belly becomes his greatest enemy. His fire stays within him. The dragon burns—from the inside.”
“That is truly awful,” Boone said. His face showed pain.
“How did you learn these things?”
“Some of it, I heard from my father’s soldiers. And some, I’m learning for myself.”
“I heard that the dragon’s teeth fell out,” Boone said.
Simon nodded.
“It’s another sign of the empty belly. The dragon dies slowly, and his greatest strength becomes his greatest enemy.”
