“What odd timing,” said Lathrion, before feasting on the squirming animal beneath his foot.
JESSICA HOWLED OUT in pain before weakly falling back. “What is it?”
“It’s a boy,” said Igneel as he quickly wrapped the silent newborn in a black blanket.
“Hand him to me, quickly,” she said, as she felt her strength draining away.
“Of course,” he said before carefully handing her the black bundle.
Jessica smiled as her boy’s bright golden eyes looked into her own. “Oh, you are so beautiful. I will name you Raeon, for the family I lost and the one I hope you will someday have.”
Raeon grinned, exposing two rows of fully developed teeth, before wiggling his arms free of the blanket and hugging her.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she barely managed the strength to kiss her son. “You are going to be so special. Don’t let anyone ever use . . . you.”
“Jessica?” asked Igneel as her limp hands fell onto the bed.
Raeon angrily slapped away his hand when he attempted to take him away. They stared at each other silently for a moment, before he sighed. “Very well. I’ll see what I can do.”
DARKNESS CONSUMED ALL her senses, but one thing demanded her attention. The dark purple birthmark in the crease of her right leg. Never in her life had she been so aware of a singular thing about herself. Then she heard a cold but calm voice, “This is she, correct?”
“Yes,” answered another, and although the voice sounded different, she recognised it.
“Why am I doing this again?” asked the first voice.
“Because I am asking you to,” replied the second voice in a tone that would have made her smile if she still had any sensation other than that of the birthmark left.
“Can I at least choose what she looks like?”
“No.”
The first voice sighed dramatically. “Then let us get this over with.”
Jessica did not know how, but she felt herself being reshaped, as if she were clay in the hands of an artisan. Then the second voice said, “Soon, we shall be together again, my love. I have so much to show you.”
IGNEEL ENTERED THE chamber with Raeon in his arms and saw that Lathrion lay next to the carcass of the last cow, picking at it like a crow.
“Master.”
He looked up, fresh blood dripping from his mouth. “That was fast.”
Igneel nodded. “It was as if he helped in the birth,” he said motioning to the boy in his arms. “This child is unnaturally developed and self-aware for a newborn of his species.”
Lathrion laughed. “My dear servant, he is the first of his species. What of Jessica?”
“Despite my efforts, she died soon after childbirth.”
“Efforts?”
“Raeon would not let me take him away until I tried,” he said as the boy observed them as if trying to decipher their speech.
“Raeon? I suppose it matters not what he is called,” answered the black dragon before grinning. “Not only have I repaid my life boon, but I have also gained a strong new son. Fortune smiles on me, Igneel.”
“Son?! Master, you mean you’ll—”
“Yes, I shall raise this child as my own. Not that my kind does that sort of thing, but I have never been one for tradition.”
“But what of-” started Igneel when Raeon jumped from his arms, landing hard on the stone floor. He rushed to pick up the boy when Lathrion roared.
“No! He shall not be pampered!”
Raeon stared at the purple flesh of his legs in disgust before dragging himself towards nourishment, the large symbol on his back eerily matching the discolouration of his broken limbs. His audience watched silently as he slowly crawled through the blood of the dead animals to the half-eaten carcase. He grabbed at the exposed ribs and pulled himself closer, sinking his teeth into the juicy red flesh.
Lathrion’s face split into a grin as he watched the infant’s legs heal and muscles define. “I think I am going to like this boy.”
About the Author
Armand Viljoen was born in 1989 and grew up on stories. When other children were playing tag, he was seeking out tales of fantastical lands and creatures. He graduated from North-West University with a B.A. in language and literature with an emphasis on English and creative writing. He lives abroad as an English teacher and writes whenever he can.
https://www.facebook.com/ArmandViljoenCortast
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http://armandonfiction.blogspot.com
Birth of a Mortal God Page 27
