The Tale of August Hayling

by Kim Fielding

  Then Sarkany smiled, and his human form was beautiful too. “What is your name?” he asked.

  “August Hayling.” He glanced at George—passed out cold or close to it—and stood to stretch his cramped haunches. “And I don’t normally shoot folks.” He looked down at his hands. “I’d wash up if I could.”

  “There is a stream near here. I can bring you some water.”

  “Point me there and I’ll get it myself. If you promise not to broil him.” He pointed at George.

  “Agreed.”

  August decided to believe him. If you couldn’t trust a dragon, who could you trust? And the stream was close enough that he’d likely hear any ruckus.

  The water was dreadful cold, but still he scrubbed his bloodstained hands, arms, and chest. And then, for good measure, he lowered his trousers and splashed water on his lower half as well. Not quite a bath, but next best.

  Shivering slightly, he returned to the area in front of the cave, where George had begun to snore slightly and Sarkany leaned, still naked, against the rock. “Most men would not approach this situation with such calm,” Sarkany said. “What makes you different?”

  “Dunno. I’m not the excitable type. I seen plenty of wondrous things already. The world’s a splendid place, ain’t it? Also, I’ve come this close to going belly-up”—he held his thumb and finger a smidge apart—“six times. Not from dragons. Just ordinary stuff like fevers and fights. Been shot worse than George. And after a time or two coming out the other end alive, I reckoned myself a lucky man. Everything I see and do? That’s a gift I’m gonna appreciate.”

  “Extraordinary.” Sarkany looked down at himself. “I am not well accustomed to wearing clothing. Would you prefer if I dressed?”

  August grinned at him. “Needn’t on my account.”

  And then Sarkany surprised August again—this time with a delicate blush before looking away. “You have saved my life today. I can repay you with gold.”

  “You really do have a store of it?”

  “I am skilled at finding it and I… I enjoy collecting it.”

  August stroked his beard. “Why?”

  “I am a dragon.”

  “You don’t spend it on fancy duds,” August said with a chuckle.

  “I spend a little on food and a few supplies. But no, mostly I just keep it.”

  August once knew a fellow who kept so many glass bottles he could have built a castle from them. The fellow didn’t do anything with them, though, except look at them and watch the light shine through them. Maybe that was how Sarkany felt about gold. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of gold weighing down my pockets. But I’d rather hear your tale.”

  “My tail?” Sarkany asked, turning his head to look at his bare—and tailless—bottom. But he smiled a bit to let August know he was joking.

  “Mister, I’m guessing all your tails are interesting.”

  That made Sarkany blush again, but he laughed as well. “In most stories, the hero saves a damsel from the dragon.”

  “Damsels are mighty rare in these parts, so I reckon if I want to be a hero, I have to save the dragon instead.” August realized with a slight start that he was flirting. He’d never done that before—not with men or women, and certainly not with a mythical creature.

  “I should like to prepare a meal for you, if you allow it,” Sarkany said. “And then I shall tell you anything you want.”

  “If you can cook something better than hardtack and beans, that’ll suit me better than gold.”

  “I can. Wait here, please.”

  August certainly didn’t have anything better to do. He settled himself comfortably on the ground with a boulder as backrest and George snoring near his feet. Then he watched with fascination while Sarkany shifted forms again, flapped his wings a few times, and soared heavily into the air. It was a sight!

  Watching George sleep wasn’t much of a diversion. August was tempted to peek into the cave—not because of the gold but out of curiosity over what a dragon’s home looked like. But even an unschooled oaf like him knew that snooping was rude, and he instead took a slow amble around the flat space, peering at pretty rocks and interesting plants.

  It didn’t take long before he heard the sound of wingbeats. Sarkany carried something in his talons. He swooped down low, dropped the object, and rose up to circle a few times before landing and switching back into his man-shape. August walked closer to peer at what he’d brought. “Rabbit?”

  “Do you care for rabbit?”

  “Better than hardtack,” replied August, who might have felt slightly guilty over it but reckoned the world had plenty of rabbits.

  Sarkany fetched a knife from inside the cave, then worked quickly to skin and gut the animal. He laid a fire not far outside the opening of his cave and slightly disappointed August when he lit it with a match instead of by breathing on it. Soon Sarkany served the two of them tin plates heaped with meat, potatoes, and little madrone berries cooked soft and sweet. It smelled delicious; August dug right in.

  Sarkany sat cross-legged facing him, plate balanced on a knee, his nudity somewhat distracting. “I was a man,” he said quietly. “A very long time ago. Not a very good one, I am afraid. I was a thief. When I tried to steal a necklace from a witch, she cursed me and I became… what I am.”

  “Don’t seem like such a terrible thing.”

  “I have come to appreciate the positive aspects. But I lost my family and friends because of it. And two thousand years is a long time to spend by oneself.”

  August took a bite of his meal, chewed, and swallowed. “There ain’t any other dragons?”

  “There once were. They did not welcome my companionship, and now they are extinct.”

  Knowing something of what it was like to be by his lonesome, August nodded. “You couldn’t just take up with regular folks?”

  “Few of them are as complacent as you about my nature. They see my eyes and they fear me.”

  “Like fellows that hanker to fight me just because I’m big.”

  Sarkany nodded slowly. “I expect so, yes.” And he gave August a small, sweet smile.

  “And our pal George?” August jerked a thumb in the direction of the sleeping man.

  “Many heroes sought to slay dragons. To prove their bravery, I expect. And of course we had gold, so there was profit to be made in killing us. People would tell stories about us murdering innocent maidens. Perhaps some dragons did so, but… I never saw the point in it.” His cheeks colored slightly and he looked down. “And maidens have never been to my particular taste.”

  That little tickle started up again, very pleasant and warm. But Sarkany’s tale wasn’t over. “Was George one of those heroes?” August asked.

  Sarkany rubbed the scar on his chest. “Yes. We fought and he slew me. He died not long afterward, but not by my teeth. An emperor ordered him executed.”

  “But….”

  “But here we are today, alive. Yes. And I do not have an explanation. Perhaps that witch’s curse was broader than I realized, or perhaps we displeased some god. I do not know. But we… returned. And again he sought me out and killed me. We have been repeating this for hundreds of years. I hope to elude him by hiding in places such as this.” He waved his arms. “But he always finds me.”

  August frowned. “How many times have you died?”

  “Too many to count,” Sarkany answered mournfully. But then he smiled. “This is the first time I have been rescued.” The way he looked at August fanned that little tickle into a full-blown flame.

  They finished their food as Sarkany asked August questions about himself, which was nice. Nobody ever seemed to wonder about August. “I got some coffee,” August offered when they were done eating. Technically it was George’s coffee, but August reckoned the scamp owed him.

  “All right,” said Sarkany.

  But when they stood up—August to fetch his pack and Sarkany to fetch a pot—they nearly collided. August did something he’d been hankering to do for a while
: he drew Sarkany close by his hips and bent down to kiss him.

  Now, August was taller than Sarkany and packed a lot more muscle, but Sarkany was a dragon. If he didn’t want to be kissed, he shouldn’t have any problems avoiding it. But what he did was part his lips and lean in against August, moaning with contentment. Taking that as an invitation, August slid his hands to Sarkany’s pert bottom and gave a healthy squeeze. Sarkany responded with some spirited groping of his own, although he had to contend with August’s trousers.

  Matters would likely have proceeded in a satisfactory way, but George had to chime in. “You should not do that.”

  Not letting go of Sarkany, August turned to look at George, who’d managed to sit upright but wasn’t looking dreadful happy about it, pressing the heel of his good hand to his head. “That is a dragon with which you are having congress,” he said.

  “Yeah. Got that much.”

  “A monster.”

  August released Sarkany, marched over to George, and squatted to look into George’s face. “First off, I seen plenty of hundred-percent humans that would as soon gut you as talk to you. They’re more monsters than he is. And second, I reckon that any man that keeps murdering the same fellow over and over—even when the fellow’s unarmed—is as much a monster as any dragon.”

  George shook his head. “But my destiny—”

  “To blazes with your destiny! Find something to do in this world besides killing. Seems to me you’ve spent a peskily long time being miserable. Maybe if you find something else to drive you, you’ll finally be happy.” He was shouting, which he didn’t do often, but he truly wanted George to hear.

  And George must have, because he bowed his head and slumped. “I do not know what else to do.”

  “Well, that makes you right about the same as half the world, then, ducky—everyone trying to find their place in it. But you’ve got a hand up on most, seeing as you’ve got lifetimes of knowledge in your skull. And a hefty gold nugget in your pocket.” August glanced at Sarkany, who had kiss-bruised lips and a rampant dick. Then he turned back to George. “And if you ain’t chasing dragons no more, I suggest you can start your new life figuring out what it’s like not to be chaste.”

  George spent a long time looking at them both. Then—very slowly and a bit unsteadily—he rose to his feet. “I would like to return to town now.”

  August let out a relieved sigh, and Sarkany walked close to lean against him. “If you are willing to remain here, August, I would be very happy.”

  August thought about his little bark hut, his pans, his shotgun, and the few other possessions he owned. None of them were worth a fraction of Sarkany’s value, and he could pull every last particle of dust from that river and not be as joyful as when Sarkany kissed him. “I’ll trade my claim for a dragon any old day,” he said, smiling.

  Sarkany beamed.

  Then August looked at George again. He was swaying slightly, likely still a mite slewed off Sarkany’s good whiskey. “Can you make it back to town on your own?” August asked. He wasn’t eager to spend more time with the fellow, but felt responsible, seeing as he was the one who’d winged him.

  George nodded slightly. “I expect so.” Moving slowly, he retrieved his coat and put it on. He had a vexsome time with the buttons due to his mauled hand, but finally managed. Then he shouldered the pack that August had carried. “I owned a fine white horse once,” he said. Quiet, as if to himself. “Perhaps I might like to own another.”

  He approached August and Sarkany, who stood with arms around each other’s waists. “I am not at all certain a man and a dragon can find a life together. But perhaps you’re more than simply a man after all, August. I will no longer hunt you, Sarkany, in this life at least. I can make no promises if we meet again in another.”

  Sarkany gave August a squeeze. “I wish for no life after this one. If I can live a few decades in happiness—and not alone—that shall be more than sufficient for me.”

  George nodded a few times, turned, and wandered back toward the path. He didn’t take his sword.

  After George was well gone, August turned to Sarkany. “I reckon we should take up where we left off. Or maybe I ought to dress to your standards first.” He grinned and began to unbutton his trousers.

  Sarkany was smiling too, but he grabbed August’s wrists. “I believe we shall have a very long time to continue what we began. But first, may I offer you one additional wonder today?”

  August grinned at him, delighted, and nodded.

  “August Hayling, I believe you are a man who needs to fly.” Sarkany stepped back, shimmered, and changed. Then he flapped his great wings and, like an impatient horse, stamped a foot. His golden eyes no longer held sorrow but instead glowed with joy and maybe a bit of mischief.

  With a whoop and a holler, August climbed aboard his dragon’s back.

  KIM FIELDING is the bestselling author of numerous m/m romance novels, novellas, and short stories. Like Kim herself, her work is eclectic, spanning genres such as contemporary, fantasy, paranormal, and historical. Her stories are set in alternate worlds, in 15th century Bosnia, in modern-day Oregon. Her heroes are hipster architect werewolves, housekeepers, maimed giants, and conflicted graduate students. They’re usually flawed, they often encounter terrible obstacles, but they always find love.

  After having migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States, Kim calls the boring part of California home. She lives there with her husband, her two daughters, and her day job as a university professor, but escapes as often as possible via car, train, plane, or boat. This may explain why her characters often seem to be in transit as well. She dreams of traveling and writing full-time.

  KIM FIELDING can be found at:

  Website:http://www.kfieldingwrites.com/

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