“Come on dragon! Try and kill me! Waste your energy on me as the arrows pierce your flesh!”
Arrows forced Dragus downward. The dragon smashed to the ground losing his grip on Aydan who went tumbling. Dragus cried out as he reeled across the ground striking trees with his tattered wings. He collapsed against a tall oak. Smoke rose from his nostrils. After a few moments, Aydan approached the wounded dragon, his sword drawn. Dragus opened his eyes and pushed himself off the ground.
“I need you Dragon-Slayer,” Dragus said in a weak voice.
“Why would I help you?” Aydan said, “you do nothing but destroy our lands. You’re a menace I must eradicate.”
Dragus collapsed on the ground unable to fly. Dark thick blood oozed from his pierced skin, smoking as it struck the surrounding ground.
“I need your help Slayer. I will die if you do nothing.”
“Precisely! That’s the point. You will die. I’m the last true Dragon-Slayer. You’ll go to the hell that spawned you knowing mighty Aydan slew you.”
Dragus turned his head. “Aydan, you must save me. You cannot kill me.” The dragon coughed. Small balls of flame shot from his mouth and dissipated quickly.
“You’re mad dragon! I kill beasts like you. I don’t save them.
Dragus struggled to push himself up and fell to the ground. Smoke puffed from his nostrils
“Aydan!” he said, his voice louder, “You must save me! It’s in your best interest. When I die,” Dragus said. He coughed and wheezed, life clinging like a stubborn tick.
“My best interest?” Aydan laughed. “Dragon, that’s not the craftiest line I’ve ever heard from your kind. What do I care? Our lands are safe with your demise.”
“My life spares you from damnation Aydan. As long as I live, you will not taste the sting of a sinner’s death.” His eyes closed and his chest heaved. The energy of speaking exhausted him.
“Die already dragon! I tire of your chatter,” Aydan said.
Dragus opened his eyes and turned his head, the effort straining him. “Insolent fool. You know it’s true. Your dreams of death. The wailing and torture. That’s no dream, it’s your future if I die.” The dragon closed his eyes inhaling deeply. “The black pit, the never ending suffering awaits. Your actions against my kind have condemned you.” He inhaled again and lay motionless. For a moment Aydan thought he was dead. Then the dragon let out a long breath, groaning in pain. “Search yourself Aydan. The truth is as I speak. And if I die, nothing prevents you from it.”
Aydan wrinkled his brow. The dreams the dragon spoke of haunted him for months. Most nights he wished for rest. Horrific images cursed his sleep. He’d been considering the last one when the dragon attacked.
“How do you know this dragon?”
Dragus inhaled before speaking. “I am the gate. Through me you enter obliteration or paradise. If I die your choice can never be undone.” The dragon wheezed. “But if I live, if you share just a drop of your blood with me, I can escort you to paradise. But hurry Slayer, my life flickers.” The dragon lay motionless on the ground, his blood boiling under him, smoke rising all around.
Ayden hesitated. “What if your words are false? How do I know you’re true?” Dragus coughed.
“The dreams Slayer. Search yourself,” Dragus said, his voice now a low rumble.
Aydan drew his dagger and sliced his arm drawing blood. He thrust the bloody dagger towards the dragon’s mouth and dropped the precious blood on his tongue. A bright flash consumed the dragon, blinding Aydan. When the flash winked out, the dragon sat before Aydan healed and alive.
“Thank you Slayer,” Dragus said. His deep voice showed no hint of his weakened state. Aydan held his sword in front of him.
“I saved you. I expect you’ll keep your word dragon! We have a bargain.”
Dragus sniffed the air. The archers scent no longer present. He and Aydan were alone. He exhaled dark gray smoke from his nostrils. “Aydan, a dragon keeps its word. Always.”
Large heavy wings unfolded behind Dragus. Rising in the air, he snorted a blast of fire.
Aydan howled when the flames engulfed him. Scorched flesh sizzled in the intense heat. Dragus roared victory, the sound echoing throughout the forest. Aydan fell to the ground in a blackened lifeless heap.
Dragus shot upwards, circling around the charred body. “The only trophy we need! The arrogant Slayer no longer a threat. An eternity of wailing awaits. With the Slayers blood running through my veins, never can man slay dragon again. Never!” Dragus snatched the smoking body and flew fast across the forest, free and alive. The rest of the horde would soon share the victory and dragon-kind once again would rule the land.
The Arc Device
Connor stood facing the large stones. They were more imposing than he imagined. The wind blew in off the plain smelling of grass and history. He held the Arc in his hand poised to uncover hidden truth lost for thousands of years. Director Edwards nudged him. “I’m excited. Is it ready? Can we do this now?” His high-pitched whiny voice irritated Connor. He considered leaving. Edwards didn’t deserve to know the truth. Weasely men like him were the reason most history was lost. Connor turned towards Edwards with his eye squinting then pointed the Arc at the stones. A bright bluish light radiated from the Arc. Stonehenge’s secrets were about to reveal themselves.
***
Five years before standing on the chalky plain pointing the Arc at Stonehenge, Connor discovered a secret that changed the course of history. If only people listened.
As a junior research scientist at Dreamland in the Nevada desert, Connor’s restricted access to top-secret technology kept him from important discoveries. The more exotic items, the things movies were made of and conspiracy theories created about were reserved for higher lever staff. His access remained limited to space “junk” such as meteorites with foreign metals and unidentifiable scraps of vehicles long thought to be from the space program or Russian spy planes.
But one day as he cataloged odd-looking metal sheets, something his boss deemed “Russian junk,” he stumbled across what looked like a phaser or stun gun from a sci-fi movie. The device had no buttons only a trigger that made it hum and emit a bright blue light when squeezed. When he pulled the trigger for the first time, his world changed forever.
The blue light shone on a piece of metal he was cataloging and in his mind he saw motion as if flying in space then a series of images flashed in front of him. It was like watching an old silent movie or one of those home movie reels from the 50’s. The grainy images showed a ship speed across the sky that looked nothing like any ship he’d ever seen. Strange metallic swirls decorated the flat egg-shaped ship. Something about it made Connor think “organic.” It glowed a faint green color. Stopping above a settlement of what looked like Native Americans, it hovered in the air when a hatch opened on the underside and tall purple creatures with four arms and two legs dropped towards the people.
The natives tossed spears towards the purple creatures. The spears stopped short of them as if caught in an invisible hand and dropped out of the sky. When the creatures landed on the ground they raised their four hands and in a flash the natives vaporized. Smoke rose from their cook fire but the people weren’t there to tend them. Animals walked around the settlement. But the people had vanished.
Connor released the trigger and the visions stopped. The piece of metal he aimed the device at looked like it could’ve come from the ship he saw in the vision. He inspected the piece and noticed swirls in the handle similar to the ship. Squinting his eyes trying to piece it together, he backed away from the metal clutching the device to his chest.
He looked around the lab. No one seemed to notice the blue light. To his knowledge, the device didn’t appear on any inventory list. He stowed it in his briefcase and walked out of the facility as if nothing happened.
He never went back to work.
Conner used the Arc device daily. His knowledge of the world grew exponentially. He blogged about his “the
ories” on world history though he knew deep inside it was all true. The Arc device and its window to the past altered his understanding of the world in powerful ways. No longer did he picture history as a linear path from creatures that evolved out of the ocean to modern man as though destiny determined long ago that man was the pinnacle of creation. The Arc device opened his mind to the real path humanity faced to becoming what it was today. And that path was not an isolated one.
Conner realized humanity had a long and twisted relationship with beings from beyond our planet. Each time he used the Arc device he discovered an ancient connection to extraterrestrial beings. The Arc device was the key to truth.
The more he used it the more he wrote about it. Soon he had over a thousand visits per month on his blog. Then someone from Dreamland stumbled on his blog and black government sedans filled with black suited agents visited his home. He hid the device and after that first visit he fled, worried he might find himself in trouble with the authorities. His only means of communicating his discoveries came through his blog which he maintained regularly.
Connor traveled across the United States using the Arc device to uncover long lost mysteries of the country. In a cave in Missouri, he had visions of short red creatures that resembled cats without tails that walked on their hind legs. They emitted a ferocious roar that almost made him drop the device. The creatures dug in the ground looking for a specific mineral. They carted it away in ships until they depleted the vein they mined. Their efforts created the cave he stood in.
When he posted about it the comments turned negative. He wasn’t used to that. His loyal followers treated him like a pseudo-celebrity. But when he shared his “theory” about how the cave formed, the intense ridicule hurt.
He stopped writing about his “theories” for a while after that. It was hard enough evading the authorities and continuing his work without having to deal with the trolls that made fun of him. He told the truth and no one wanted to listen. He had a device that changed all understanding, all human knowledge, yet the only people listening were crack-pot conspiracy theorists bent on deriding him.
Connor’s big break came from a priest in New York City. He emailed Connor who followed up with the priest and soon was on his way to the city. The priest claimed to have a piece of fabric from the Shroud of Turin. The priest, Father Abernathy, approached his superiors regarding Connor’s ability to discover ancient mysteries and they refused to allow Father Abernathy to delve into the history of the cloth. At first the priest accepted their ruling but spent many sleepless nights wondering “what if” and disobeyed church authority and contacted Connor.
“Thank you for coming, please come this way,” Father Abernathy said when he met Connor. His large forehead glistened and his breathing was heavy. The tight collar of his office squeezed his neck as though ready to burst his head. He was gentle in manners though. A calm and soothing voice made Conner feel at peace with the man. Connor followed the priest through a door to the side of the pulpit into a cluttered office.
On the desk lay a small gold box decorated in ornate Christian symbols of the cross. It was six inches long by three inches wide and two inches deep. It had two small hinges on the back and locked by an engraved combination lock with symbols Connor didn’t recognize.
“This is what I contacted you about,” the priest said. “It’s been here much longer than I have. A most interesting donor blessed the church with this relic almost one hundred and fifty years ago. It’s a gift for our service to the city of New York. It is a fragment of the Shroud from Turin, the cloth that covered our dear savior Jesus’ body as it lay in the tomb. Can you help me discover if it truly is such a thing?”
Connor stared at the small gold box. By itself it was a thing of beauty. It shone bright in the light of the cramped office. Sitting on stacks of sermons and notes from parishioners it looked out of place. Something like that should be in a museum not sitting atop handwritten notes asking for prayer for a lost cat or headaches.
“Well,” Connor said. He hesitated as the priest sat.
“I know, I know. How can you tell such a thing right? I thought maybe you had special means to discover truth. I’ve followed your writing for a while now and though most of your theories are fanciful, there’s something about your conviction that persuaded me to contact you. Your piece about the mine in Missouri was extraordinary though I’m not inclined to believe cats dug the cave.”
Connor crossed his arms. He should’ve known he was dealing with a lunatic. Priest or not, he was crazy and dragged him to New York only to ridicule him in person.
“Father Abernathy, if you wanted to insult me you could’ve done so online and saved me the trip here. I don’t appreciate being made fun of.”
“Sorry my son. I mean no disrespect. I took a great chance bringing you here. My superiors forbid I do this yet I am convinced you can help me. I will gladly pay your expenses if you leave. I didn’t bring you here to insult you, Can you help me?” Father Abernathy said.
Connor closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sat on the chair opposite the desk and exhaled loudly. “I can help Father, but you have to trust me. And you need to be discreet about what you see. I need your promise on this or I’m leaving now.”
“My son, people confess horrific sins daily and only God knows those stories. I can keep your secrets.”
Connor looked around the room, wary of revealing the Arc device. Father Abernathy was kind and appeared trustworthy. Reaching in his briefcase, he pulled out the small device. Father Abernathy’s eyes grew wide. He inhaled and held his breath rubbing his hands together.
“It’s ok Father, you can breathe,” Connor said.
“What is it?” the priest said. Connor didn’t reply. He looked at the golden box and nodded. Father Abernathy spun the dials until the box unlatched. Red velvet plush lining contrasted with a small one inch square piece of graying fabric sitting inside.
“Father, this may change the entire course of history. I’ve stayed away from religious items out of fear I might be hunted down by those not wanting the truth. Everything I’ve uncovered so far has rewritten history. Are you prepared for that? Once I use this device everything changes.
The priest closed his eyes and silently moved his lips. When he opened them he looked at Connor. The gentleness went missing from his eyes. “You are going to use a phaser from Star Trek to tell me the truth? Is this a joke?” He stood slamming his hands on the table. Connor clenched the Arc device close.
“Father, it’s no joke. This device reveals truth. It tells me things about the item. I should’ve realized you weren’t ready for the truth. If this is how you treat me, forget it, I’m leaving.” He stuffed the device in his briefcase while Father Abernathy stood with his arms crossed and his brows furrowed. He remained silent while Connor packed his things.
“I’ll expect payment for my trouble,” Connor said. Father Abernathy snorted.
“You’ll get no satisfaction from me or the Church. Swindlers are not paid for trying to pull a fast one on God. Get out before I call the authorities.”
That was the last time Connor answered an unsolicited email from someone wanting him to “uncover” the truth about something.
Until he heard from Director Edwards.
Four months after his trip to New York, Director George Edwards of English Heritage contacted Connor. At first Connor deleted the email. With the experience in New York still raw, he wanted nothing to do with government officials and discoveries that altered history in ways worse than what he’d already uncovered. He’d do so with smaller projects but the high profile artifacts were intimidating. What he’d discovered already changed humanity’s understanding of itself. Why tick off more people than he already had? No one wanted truth, they wanted their past to remain as it was.
The promise of full expenses plus a bonus for just showing up changed his mind. Hiding from the authorities had taken its toll on him. Connor altered his appearance and drifte
d all across the country. What little money he scraped up went to food and gas for his old Nissan Sentra. And that money disappeared faster than he secured it. He sold his car and everything he had and caught a flight to London. Director Edwards didn’t hesitate when Connor requested a package be sent to the Director with the express directive to not open it until Connor arrived. Edwards had a British government courier collect the package and hand deliver it to him. Connor also requested help leaving the country since being flagged by the authorities. Whatever Edwards did worked because Connor had no problems boarding the flight to London.
When Connor met Edwards, there was instant distrust for the man. He was wiry with a terrible comb-over and thick glasses. He reminded Connor of a rat dressed in tweed. Nervous ticks caused his head to twitch. There was an air of disgust around Edwards like he was infected with a disease. His underlings sneered at him and barely recognized his authority.
“I need this Connor,” he said once they were in his office behind closed doors. “I need to know the truth. We can give the public truth and I will be known worldwide for the discovery. You sure you can deliver?”
“Where’s my money? I’m not doing a thing until I’m paid,” Connor said.
“Of course, of course. The money is no object. Here,” Edwards said. He pulled an envelope out of a drawer on his desk and handed it to Connor. “In American currency like you asked.” Connor opened the envelope and counted the money. It appeared to be there, all $50,000. He shook his head. Selling an ancient secret for fifty grand and a flight seemed a low price. When Edwards readily agreed to it, Connor regretted not asking for more but the deal was made.
“So what did you have shipped here? Is it a spectrometer? Is it nuclear? What is it?” Edwards said. He twisted his hands together like an old film villain.
“It’s the tool I need to answer all your questions. I cannot perform my duties without it. Do you have it here?”
Moments of Darkness Page 6
