The thought rises, like a behemoth from the dark deep places, huge and impossible to ignore

A monster, having slept its fill in a dark and distant lair, now surfacing,

the force of it’s movement casting waves upon the troubled beeches of my mind.

It fills the tranquil bay of my solitude like a mountain, this Leviathan,

suddenly thrust up from the bottom of the sea. The great eye, black and cold stare unrelenting

as it pierces through the sunny day and drives a blade of ice deep within my cheerful heart.

I shiver in the sudden gloom, all the good that has happened before slipping from my grasp

fading into a distant and happy memory, a story told to children before bedtime

Just before the nightmare comes. One from which there is no awakening.

At the sea’s edge the ripples gently end their lives, tumbling the tiny grains of sand

before flowing back silently into the black water. They deceive, those ripples

For the current just beyond the wading depth is violent and strong. It is calling my name.

My hands cover my ears but I can not shut out the sound. Even the after echoes of such power

can not be silenced by the means available to mere mortals. Like a tuning fork my soul hums.

The vibration reverberates and sings a song of dark dreams – a chorus of lament.

What is squandered, youth and aspiration lies broken and shattered upon the floor

Years have drained away like the water through the sand and they ever return

to the relentless sea, always waiting in the dark. The cold current always calling.

Time and biology conspire to end the hopes of the eternal soul that lives within

the frail and broken bodies we wear on this earth – Each flawed and failing in its own time

We all must face our turn at the well of the spirit, looking deep within at the icy water.

We must drink of it to live, but each sip further quenches the flame of our youth and steals

another day from the storehouse we so carefully have guarded. All too soon the shelves are bare.

Wire racks standing in an empty room under the harsh artificial light. The glare burns our eyes

Yes, we are mortal and though we rise up like the tender shoot in the morning,

our slender root does not find the way through the hostile stony soil. The flesh is weak.

And the ground is hard. The living water lies far too deep below.

So the morning dew does fail us in the end, insufficient moisture to sustain the hopes and dreams

our our immortal thoughts and, so, must eventually disappoint the soul with no expiration date.

And we must at last, face the end of ourselves and hope that somehow we can let go

without screaming.

Candasar had lived alone, hunted her prey by only wit, jaw and claw and conserved every scrap of magical energy she could consciously control and diverting it into her ovaries. Her own self loathing of the fate of her kind bolstered by the strange tale of lost glory passed down to her by her grandfather. He was the one that had told her that their kind had once ruled the skies. Only she, of all the foolish impressionable young, had been gullible enough to believe him when he told her wild tales of their people many generations ago that had been able to fly.

Her grandfather Mo-rung had been born with what most of her people would have considered a severe birth defect. Instead of broad flat flippers to propel himself through the waters his feet ended in segmented pointed joints, bone like, but hard enough to scratch the very rocks over which he scrambled. His “defect” caused him to be almost useless to the other males as they swam swiftly and hunted their prey and he was forced to perform the work of the females in caring for the young while his mate did her meager diminished part in his stead.

Worse than the disfigured feet, were the torn imperfectly formed flaps of skin, that hung boneless and limp sticking out of his back near his shoulder blades Though he could rudimentary still swim, he was slow and likely to be spotted by the men that inhabited the shores at the far end of the loch. Even though he did not attempt travel on the lake often, he had been spotted a time or two. Because of this, the region had developed a mythical reputation for sea monsters and the tribe had been forced into deeper hiding, leaving behind many of their favorite more bountiful fishing areas.

He and Candasar’s family had suffered greatly for that while she was young. Though attractive enough, as a female of her kind she was ever deeply contemplative, and found few of her own age group of social interest. When he finally had died he had not been mourned, except by his strange and reclusive grand daughter. His death had severed something deep within her and she had grew more distant and distracted, spurning the advances of several of the larger, more powerful males, even if not magically provoked. Their humiliation and damaged pride caused several of them to begin telling lies about their conquests of her, lies she did not find credible enough to bother to deny.

Somehow these stories took hold and she often found herself the recipient of haughty looks from the females or worse yet, leering or suggestive physical contact from one of them if she happened to cross paths with them as she hunted her own food. Her once smooth flanks were scarred by gouges and teeth marks, souvenirs of her fending off their unwanted advances. Eventually as the prime age for the pairing of her kind was past, the unwanted attention faded to an angry sullen apathy toward her from all others, including her previously sympathetic and tolerant family. She swam and hunted the icy waters of the lake alone, biding her time dreaming at night of the star filled skies and silently stoking the magical fire burning deep within her body that defied everything she had been taught about her place in this world.

Then at last came the day that changed everything. While passing through a deep narrow underwater passageway, hidden from the eyes of men that her people used to remain unseen as they navigated the deep loch she caught the end of a conversation that she had waited far too long to hear. Two females, engaged in quick and furtive glances at her, spoke the words:

“His parents are so discouraged. The poor boy looks like that wretched creature that was Candasar’s grandfather”

After doing some careful investigation of her own, she learned that a distant relative had been found to have a defective child. They had hidden him from the elders for many years, and had been successful until the other child, a female, hatched at the same time had begun to speak. The news of her brother’s existence was soon forthcoming and the tribe had been called to meeting.

Far less tolerant of the weak was this council than those presiding over the generation of her grandfather, for because of their fear of discovery by man due to his inability to swim, the young male was banished to die, taken to the deepest part of the lake and left behind. As she watched from far out of sight in deepest shadow Candasar could hear the futile desperate splashing, his pointed claws unable to paddle and billowing leathery side flaps hissing and bubbling,with pockets of trapped air as he struggled to hold his head above the icy water, surely and swiftly sapping his strength and pulling him down towards the bottom.

She almost waited too long. The weak willed mother, although resigned to the fate of her offspring kept circling and swimming back toward him, as if to relent and save, but the stern voice of her husband and the elders kept her in line, until it was almost too late. At last, unable to watch, she turned and fled leaving Candasar to race toward the dying drowning male.

It was probably best that she reached him at the end of his strength, for the sharp talons of his strange feet cut deeply into her as he thrashed briefly at her approach. He sought in his desperation to climb upon her and out of the water but taking his slender neck in her jaws she bit down hard enough to temporarily choke him into unconsciousness. Then holding his head carefully out of the water she began the arduous task of towing his limp and lifeless looking body back to her cavern. Struggling to pull him, and herself across the lake she was grateful, in some respects for the hard and physical life of hunting and swiming she had endured. Her flipper ended feet thrashed deeply in the water and her long serpentine neck, unaccustomed to the added weight and discomfort of having to swim twisted to the rear shot silvery bolts of pain arcing through her brainstem.

As Candasar, near the last of her strength pulled the unconsciousness male up onto the muddy banks that formed the edge of her cavern lair, she saw for the first time the extent of his disfigurement. Though very young, the structures protruding from his shoulders were far larger than she expected and riddled through with veins and a cartilage structure far more extensive than that of his grandfather. As he groaned and rolled over, his eyes blinking groggily from his ordeal, a faint wisp of smoke trickled from one of his nostrils and she began to believe, for perhaps the first time, that her children would fly.

The algae on the cavern walls above the waterline glowed a steady green, throwing multifaceted reflections of softly shimmering light off the gentle swells in the water left over from Candasar’s vigorous efforts in towing the young male to safety. They provided the only light in the dank and dreary chamber that Candasar called her home. She had been lucky to find it, and luckier still to keep it hidden. Not that she normally had much social interaction with the rest of her kind. Now that she had broken tribal mandate and rescued the outcast, if they were found it would mean certain death for both of them. Because there was only room for one on the narrow ledge above water, she paddled slowly, treading water on her large flippers and waited again for his eyes to flutter open. She wasn’t that surprised when after they did, they began to cry.

“Mama, mama!” he called, loudly thrashing around so to as almost slide off the slippery edge, obviously mistaking her watery form for the mother that had eventually been the last to abandon him.

“Hush child!” she whispered urgently, “Lie still or you will fall in again! But I am not your mother.”

This stopped him suddenly and he swung his long neck toward her to get a better look in the dim light.

“Who..?”

She cut him off quickly

“I am Candasar” she said quietly. “an outcast such as yourself, but for different reasons”

Seeming to at last remember the ordeal and events that led up to his near drowning, his stubby wings fluttered reflexively and he cowered back as far as possible onto the shoreline ledge.

“Don’t look at me.” he groaned in anguish, seeming to cower even further. “I am ugly”

“What is your name?” she asked quietly, trying to sound soothing.

“Fundor” he replied at last after a lengthy pause.

“Well Fundor,” she began slowly, “Let me tell you a story about our ancestors of long ago. It is a story that was told to me by my Grandfather. Strangely enough, he looked a little little bit like you.”

Long ago our people were plentiful and strong and they filled the skies and lived in their mountaintop lairs without fear. Game was plentiful and they hunted, not cold slippery fish but fell like lightning from above on the great beasts of the forest, killing and eating warm red meat. Their claws, segmented and sharp, such as yours, tore flesh as they wished until once again their mighty wings lifted them again from the earth to hunt in lazy spirals of green, gold, red and blue. But in their power and arrogance they awoke an ancient enemy.

The elves of the land far to the North of our ancestors had made contact with the great dragons of the south infrequently through the years, using their own telepathic abilities to learn the dragon’s language by listening in on their unguarded mental conversations. And, as their territories grew more proximate in time, even shared in cordial conversations as elven scouts and far ranging fliers made more frequent contact with one another.

The elves, who used a deep magic, stemming from the true names of every rock, twig and physical force were fascinated with the dragons who seemed to possess huge untold amounts of this magical energy but lacked the vocabulary to harness it. The dragons seemed content to live out their lives in the realm of the unmatched physical prowess they possessed, little knowing, or even believing this short sightedness would lead to their undoing. For in their belief that one must only be strong enough to take what one wished the dragons seriously underestimated the power of Elven magic roused from its peaceful slumber in response to a serious mistake made by the dragons. For some of them had fallen from the sky to feed upon the southern settlements of the Elven folk and developed a twisted fondness for their flesh.

The elves, finding some of their homesteads missing, and sorting the grisly evidence, sent emissaries to the dragon rulers appealing for a cessation of the atrocity but met only arrogance, for the dragons were unused to having anything but their own way. Only one clan of the dragons stood against the rest of the race, appealing to the rest to consider the elves as peers and comrades, not to be fodder, but they were silenced.

The war that ensued was terrible and swift. The very magic that flooded the bloodstreams of the great dragons was turned against them and they were burned alive in the very fires of their own bellies as the glands that secreted the flames they could exhale were stoked from within to burn them from the inside out. The ones that survived were those that had less developed flame glands and took refuge in the water to quench their own internal fires. They were very few in number indeed.

The elves at last took pity on them and some were sorrowful for having had to slay thousands of the magnificent creatures, using a deep magic of change upon the dragons sheltering in the lake, changing the very nature of their shape, fusing their feet into flippers and stripping them of their great wings so that they no longer would be able to bring death upon the elves from above.

“Except, that being creatures of deep magic ourselves,” Candasar at last finished “The changes wrought by the elven magic have left a few gaps that look back towards that which we once were. “

Fundor had remained silent through the telling of her tale, but now his eyes widened in realization.

“I am a throwback to our ancestors!” he said, another curl of vapor hissing and steaming from the tip of his soggy wet nose”

“I believe with all my heart” Candasar said slowly, ” That you are not an abnormality, “The rest of us are!”

—

Fundor woke the next morning alone. He lay on the muddy narrow shelf that made up the only relatively dry place the cavern provided. The events of the night before and the brutal treatment he had suffered at the whim of the clan elders was confusing to the young pseudo dragon. He felt betrayed and alone. He supposed Candasar was out hunting or something. He had never been able to swim but waded down the edge of the shore that sloped off into the subterranean pool. It was steep and slippery. He thrashed as he slipped in deeper than he intended, sputtering and spitting as he clawed his way back out of the water. He shivered miserably as he realized he was trapped in this cave, at least until Candasar came back for him.

When she at last did, she had fed and also brought a large fish for him. He devoured it quickly, looking about futility for more. Candasar, remembering the overpowering need for food brought on by growing at that age looked apologetically at him and said

“I’m sorry Fundor, that’s all I could get. I really am exhausted and haven’t slept at all since dragging you here”

Puzzled, he looked at her still treading water in the cavern and asked stupidly

“Why not?”

She seemed to smile slightly before answering quietly

“Because you are in my bed Idiot!”

Fundor almost lept from the ledge and waded into the water a few yards, despite his dislike of it

“Sorry,” he mumbled apologetically

He was horrified to see the deep bloody scratches that still oozed a red deep on her sides and upper legs as she groaned slightly and crawled out of the water

“Did I do that?” he gasped

“Yes, but don’t worry about it” she replied. “You didn’t mean to do it. You were just trying to save yourself from drowning by using me as an island.”

He looked away embarrassed and dismayed that he had done so much damage to the one that was trying to save him.

“It’s just that I swim like a rock” he said sadly, forcing himself to meet her eyes, hoping his expression showed at least some gratitude.

“I’m a little puzzled by that actually” she said with her eye lids already drooping. “My grandfather could swim enough to keep his head out of the water, but he had more time to practice. I seem to remember him moving the entire length of his body through the water instead of trying to paddle with those very sharp feet. Maybe you could give it a try while I try to sleep a little.”

Fundor nodded.

“I’ll try not to make too much noise.” he said softly but her eyes were already closed in sleep.

Intrigued by the possibility that he he might have been going about the swimming with a faulty plan, he waded deeper into the water of the cavern, raised his feet off the stony bottom and tried thrashing his body from side to side in the water. He sank immediately and came up coughing and sputtering. The water dragon on the shore stirred a little in her sleep but did not waken. Fundor looked again at the horrible red slashes and deep tears she bore on her body and wondered to himself why this stranger had bothered to save him. He tried again.

Eventually he found he could keep his head out of the water by holding his arms and legs straight back against his sides and violently thrashing his whole body like it was one great tail. It took a lot of energy but it would work in a pinch. Cold, tired and hungry he returned to the shallows and forced himself to sit quietly in the neck deep water until Candasar awoke. It was a long time. Eventually he saw one of her large green eyes quietly staring at him.

“Thank you” he said to her softly

“Did you learn to swim at all? Did my information help?” she asked hopefuly

“Yes it did, somewhat” he replied cautiously, “But I was thanking you for saving my life”

She only smiled at him, then pushing off the muddy shelf with her flippers she slid gracefully into the water.

“I will again hunt, but it is now midday and the big fish will be deep. I can make a good meal for myself out of many smaller ones, but to bring something back of any consequence I will need to catch a large one”

Funor nodded. He had been eating fish caught by others for his entire life. It was never enough.

Candasar looked at him thoughtfully and continued

“I bet the relative small size of our kind would be different if we ate the way our ancestors did. I wonder how big you could grow. We may soon have to find a way to supplement your diet”

Funor looked confused but nodded appreciatively. Food was good, the more the better. He climbed up onto the still warm shelf on which she had just lain to wait for her return, licking his lips in expectation. All that afternoon she hunted and each and every time, she returned with as much for him as she could carry. Each time, he finished every scrap.

“Didn’t your family feed you?” she asked at one point, trying not to laugh as the fish she had just arrived with disappeared as fast as she tossed it to him

“Mom tried, but my sister got jealous as soon as she was told to catch her own fish. She didn’t understand why she had to work for her own meals and I didn’t.”

“I suppose this sort of thing is hard to explain to a child” Candasar thought, but did not say aloud. “How am I going to teach him to hunt for bigger food? She said to herself.

That night they tried to share the small shelf. Funor pressed himself tightly against the rock wall, and Candasar laid as close as possible as she could to him while still leaving some space in between. Even so, most of her was in the water. There was an awkwardness in his eyes as she approached him that let her know it was far too soon to bring up the reason she had taken such an interest in the first place. She lay awake for a long time listening to his breathing as he dozed She almost thought she could feel the heat from his sleeping fire running down her body as she lay awake beside him. She turned her thoughts inward and guided the deep magic to work changes inside her, forming and repairing the deep places in her body that she dreamed would produce again creatures to rule the sky.

There is a moment, not measurable by the instruments of men, yet one of instantaneous indisputable change. Into this place in time are thrust all the hopes and aspirations of a changing day.

If we, by the power of our will alone, could hold back the savage sweep of the second hand,

catch it at its azimuth and hold it there pregnant with power and purpose and step into that place.

Harnessing the perfection and newness of life, claiming it as our birthright and our own

Leaving forever behind the attitudes and burdens of lives lived with regret and unbelief

Where all of the shortcomings and disappointments of yesterday are done and gone

replaced with the infinite power of unfulfilled potential and a day that has never known failure.

And should we by some wild and crazy whim believe by chance that it would be possible

to allow time to start again its steady march, second by second allowing the new day to unfold

All the while holding in our hearts that sacred place of hope that knows no sin or failure

Then, at last, we would know the life lived all day, everyday by the Christ and truly be born again.

Challenge yourself, then, you who know this instantaneous moment of pure rightness to stretch it

into two, then four. Someday, with serious effort, you might make a minute, or even an hour

Before a stray selfish thought or action of indulgence takes you from the impossible path

you try to walk in the strength of flesh alone, doing all and everything, simply because it is right.

Or choose another way, a different solution. Bathe in the blood that takes all the failings

great and small and makes them disappear forever.

As far as the West is from the East so are the broken ways of our hearts

far from the man that walks the earth and has received the Grace of God.

For every time he falls short, the clock is instantly restarted, though sometimes he does not

receive this truth, and does not always correct his course, but it is always available to him.

Receive the gift of the new day, and use it often as the imperfect seconds and hours make you feel

as if you have already failed and wasted this chance, for it is ever renewable and always yours.

The magelight glowed soft and blue on the walls of the tunnel casting dancing shadows and creating multiple after images. It reflected dazzlingly off the shiny facets of the mulch-colored stones that occasionally protruded from the walls of the narrow passageway. But even the vagrancy and unpredictability of such light could not find a way to reveal the face of the hooded figure, carefully and silently making its way in the otherwise total darkness. The staff that bore at it’s upper tip, the source of the glow seemed ever carefully placed, just behind and to the right of the unseen walker so as to insure no stray beam would reveal the features beneath the cloak. The air was damp and cool with the smell and stillness of long disuse. It seemed to silently complain as it was swept into unfamiliar places by the movement of the robe and dark wooden staff which strangely made no noise upon the cold stone floor in its passing. Only when the figure at last stopped before a massive stone door, did it pull back the hood, revealing the face of a beautiful raven haired young woman. Her face took on a strange look of concentration as she studied the runes and markings on the door, pausing to carefully run her fingers over the symbols as well as her eyes. She had walked without hesitation past an untold wealth in diamonds and precious gems without even seeming to notice them to reach this door. What lay on the other side must be valuable indeed. Looking only once backwards up the tunnel she again faced the door and a strange word formed on her lips. Though not spoken loudly, it seemed to explode from her throat with a silent crackling of power.

“Stenr risa!”

Nothing seemed to happen for several seconds as the first words spoken in this place in a thousand years hung like a promise in of spring in the chill winter’s air. Then came an almost inaudible crack and a grinding vibration that was felt more than heard as the great door slid upward into the cieling. Those that had made it would be pleased that it had worked so well after so much time, she thought as she stepped gracefully through the opening and began descending the ornately carved steps that spiraled down into a greater darkness. It would be useless to try and hold the door behind her open with a spell, as well as a waste of magical power. It would close again in just three hours, not to open for another thousand years. She picked up her pace. If the legends were true, the stone would not be far. The test ahead was not of speed but of wit. For it is not easy to out riddle a dragon, even a sleeping one.

Up ahead the glow of her staff revealed the end of the great staircase and the beam began losing the walls as the cavern below opened up into a vast chamber. She dialed the light up to maximum, and though she held it somewhat behind her, her own eyes recoiled from the reflection of the sudden brilliance as the piercing white light that flew from the top of her staff. There at the bottom of the enormous circular room wrapped in the descending stair case on which she stood, lay the sleeping dragon, the guardian of the stone. She swallowed her fear as she had been trained to do as a child. Her feet and swirling robe made no discernible noise as she fairly flew down the wide steps of the staircase. She felt as if she was holding her breath, but of course she was not. The staircase was far too long and her pace too swift for that. The steady silent rise and fall of her chest, however, betrayed no unnecessary sound and had been calculated to meet the requirements of a hasty decent. Nonetheless, she arrived at the bottom of the stairs with a pounding in her chest and a feeling of lightheartedness she had not expected. Her nerves were shaken even more as she stepped over a pile of badly burned and clothing covering the dried and blackened bones of one of her predecessors. She wondered which one it was. She had learned all of their names, and studied all the techniques they intended to try to circumvent the dragon. Obviously their strategies had been flawed and they had failed. Coming back to herself she cleared her mind and tried to focus. She would only have one chance to get this right, or she too would end up yet another sad story and a permanent fixture of the floor of this cavern. She wondered if her clothing would be recognizable in a thousand years.

Finishing her silent journey across the floor and standing at last, directly in front of the dragons enormous snout, her feet seemed the last part of her to get the message and she almost stumbled as she came to a halt. She felt the hem of her robe swish softly against the floor and her heart almost stopped.

“It just won’t due to fall over your own feet now, Terenia” she thought to herself. “You’ve come to far!”

The beast did move, and slowly again, she began to breathe. The time had come.

“Slytha un Draum” she said as softly as she could, but loudly enough to ensure the spell would function. “Sleep and Dream please!” she though to herself, “Or I’m dead already”

Only a momentary twitch of the three foot wide eyelids conveyed the message that she would breathe yet a little longer as the simple spell took hold. She felt her knees buckle just a bit at the realization that her ridiculous fool-hardy plan had actually worked. Such a simple spell, often used on over tired children by desperate mothers with almost no craft of magic in them at all. Yet the utterance of any other words spoken aloud in this place would certainly have woken Maazmurn and his flame. She had been right! She dared not, however waste time, and she cursed herself silently for this indulgence. She turned her attention to the dragons outstretched front claws, fully twenty yards away. They were pressed together tighter than any vise and she knew that no force of magic could move them apart except the dragon himself. Between the dragon’s claws was her prize. This next bit would be the hard part.

She moved to stand in a new place, positioning herself on the far side of the prize, just inches from the glistening front black talons and looked back down the forearms at the sleeping head of the dragon. Maazmurn looked, she thought, strangely like a cat that had fallen asleep while playing with a recent catch. Head down and paws reflexively still together holding fast to some poor mouse that might still lay alive between them. Knowing full well, that should the cat wake hungry, his remaining minutes would end. She felt the heavy ticking of the passing of the seconds left to her before the great door up and behind her irrevocably closed and opened her mind to the dreamer.

She had practiced on lizards and alligators, as well as other animals, putting them to sleep with the simple spell then delving into their dreaming minds. Simple creatures with monochromatic dreams. A reptilian way of thought was what she had thought to prepare herself for, but nothing she had seen in their minds prepared her for the explosion of turbulent color and cacophony of sound in Maazmurn’s mind.

The wind howled ferociously and it took her many seconds to figure out why the scenery was moving past so quickly. He was flying! She could feel his glee and was almost caught up in the thrill of the moment as together as his mental stow-away they dipped and twirled. Suddenly they fell like a stone and she felt his claws tear into the flesh of a huge deer that desperately tried to dodge away from the outstretched talons and death from above. She forced herself to stay fully attentive as his jaws snapped through the beast’s backbone and blood coursed over his fangs and out of his jaws spilling onto the warm spring earth. She could not afford miss anything that would give her the chance to motivate him to unclench his real claws back in the cave.

Maazmurn devoured both halves of the buck in two large gulps then surprised her by saying,

“I really should thank you, unseen magician. I enjoyed that very much!”

Stunned at how quickly she had been discovered, she knew it was useless to remain silent.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it Maazmurn.” she said trying to convey a tone of confidence rather than the terrified mental scream she found building inside her telepathic projection. Calmly she asked,

“What would you like to do next?”

“I don’t know” he replied. “ How much time do I have before I wake up, do you think?”

She was somewhat surprised at the question. She had thought that once the dragon became aware that he was dreaming, he would be able to wake up at will, but it seemed the sleep spell still held him. Not willing to give away too much, she cautiously answered.
“I really don’t know, I’ve never used this spell on anyone so magnificent and magical as you. It could be years!”

“Years, perhaps.” he replied. “However, I believe you must be working with a much shorter time-frame. That door at the top of this vault was made and set with a magic older and more powerful than mine. I would guess we only have slightly over a couple of hours at best” he finished, taking to the air again with an incredible lunging jump that gave the dragon the several seconds he needed to unfurl his wings, before crashing back to earth. The giant leathery flaps beat the air briskly as they gained altitude. Her mental image kept pace and she found herself flying alongside. They soon leveled off.

“It was a good idea, simplistically brilliant in fact, except for one thing” he said with a smile, the blood still staining his fangs from the deer kill a strange visual paradox to the calmness of his voice. “I haven’t dreamed in twenty thousand years.”

One of her teachers had believed that dragons might not be able to dream at all and did not sleep as other creatures. He had speculated that the vast amounts of time they could rest between wakings seemed to indicate more of a type of suspended animation, interrupted only with short periods of violence and death. Terenia and the other members of the order had hoped he was wrong. Now it seemed that she would pay for her mistake. This dragon had been woken out of immortal hibernation and straight into a brightly lit, colorful dream. It was if she had struck a match on the surface of its subconscious. No wonder it had spotted her immediately.

“It’s a pity” replied Terenia, “You have a very vivid dream life and you are interesting company”

The dragon did not answer that but suddenly banked hard left and picked up the pace, his wings becoming almost a blur as he drove himself fiercely toward a distant mountain peak, aglow with the golden red light of the suddenly setting sun. In this dream world, it seemed, the dragon could control the rate at which time passed. It was suddenly eerily dark and as the stars began twinkling with a cold distant light. There was no moon. The dragon gouted a huge plume of flame, briefly illuminating the dark waters of a lake over which they flew.

“Where are we now?” asked Terenia, the darkness of the night sky reminding her far too much of the darkened cavern and the glistening diamonds she had passed on her way to this meeting.

“This is the place I lived before I was forced to take the oath that binds me to guard the stone” he said gruffly as they landed in a large clearing surrounded by huge and ancient trees. “Here I will visit with she who was my wife. Step back out of sight into the trees invisible magician, I do not know if she will see or smell you in this dream, but this part of my dream, I will not share with you.”

Terenia complied, taking the opportunity to ease from the mental dream link and survey the chamber. The dragon had not opened his claws, even in the slightest, from around the prize she sought. Even with the killing of the deer and the flying, his grip was secure. Though, like a dog in its sleep she could see slight twitching and movements of his facial muscles and legs. She thought about easing away and making a run for the door, but was not sure if the sleep spell would last once she left the dragon’s side. So primitive was the sleep spell that it required almost constant proximity of the spell caster with the one on who it was cast. She didn’t think she would make it across the cavern, especially if the dragon was interrupted in the middle of his date. Of course, if she could just get her hand upon the stone he guarded, everything would be different. Time was almost half gone. She decided that she was going to have to take some chances. As gently as possible she peeked back into the dragon’s dream, coming slowly out from behind the ancient trees.

The two dragons lay entwined in sleep, but all around the ground was torn and slashed by savage markings of an active night. The sun was already up and Terina thought it felt like about 10:00 a.m. Her approach, quiet as it was caused the two of them to uncoil hastily and the slightly smaller female to almost instantly take flight.

“She goes to bear my young, alone” The dragon said with a great sadness. “But, for dream of the memory of this night, you again have my thanks” he said noticing the torn up earth and broken tree limbs and looking somewhat embarrassed.

Terenia felt herself starting to blush slightly, but decided to stick to business.

“Why did you give all this up? Your family and freedom to sit in a dark hole?” she asked with a tinge of anger creeping into her voice.

“I did this FOR them! To ensure the future of the whole dragon race. For my children. My arrangement with the dark lord dictated the terms. Promises were made, assurances given”

“Did you really think he would keep up his side of the bargain, you fool? Hissed Terenia.

“He promised he would protect the race of dragons from MEN!” roared back the dragon, his friendly demeanor vanishing like a ice chip in a blazing furnace. “This stone ensures that your magic and your technology will never prevail against the dragons in our place as rightful rulers of this world”

“He couldn’t do it!” she retorted. “It took a little longer but we developed a summoning charm several thousand years ago that pulled that stone you thought you were guarding right out between your fingers. We divided the stone into grains of sand and carried them to the far corners of the world, using its power to capture and enslave your kind. “Your children grind grain pulling the mill wheel with chains made with one grain of that stone. My own little daughter rides a young dragon as a plaything. It is unfortunate sometimes how children can be so cruel to animals. The only reason I have come into this dark pit is to show you mercy by giving you this last good dream and then killing you!”

“No!” The dragon roared, and even in the dreamworld Terenia could feel the blazing heat of its breath casting about as it tried to burn her unreachable phantom.

“When you wake, you will find everything I have said is true!” She replied calmly, severing the mental link and releasing the sleep spell in one mental yank.

The dragons yellow eyes snapped open and his head shot forward on his long serpentine neck toward the end of his claws,and that which he guarded. His eyes drawn toward the gleaming sparkling fire at the end of her staff. But just before he inhaled for the breath he would use to incinerate her on the spot, he could not resist the impulse to open his claws to see if the amulet she had boasted of as stolen was there. It was. It was also then that she struck, reaching in with her mind and drawing the stone to herself. Taking into herself the power it possessed to control all dragons. A single word exploded from her lips.

“Deyja!”

The dragon’s heart that had beat for twenty thousand years exploded in his chest. Valiantly he tried to aim his thrashing dying body so as to crush or maim the mage, who moved like a dancer under his flailing legs and tail until he finally shuddered to a complete stop. The lights of his yellow eyes went slowly dim, but the magician did not wait for them to go dark before fleeing hurriedly up the spiral steps and through the heavy stone door. Her breathing loud and ragged as she sucked in huge lungfuls of air as she climbed. Her feet banging out an accelerating crescendo as she ran loud and hard . Looking behind her only a few yards back as she sprinted up the tunnel she saw the door slam shut for the very last time. Only then did she slow and allow her tortured lungs to catch up with her fleeing body. She leaned heavily against the wall, reaching over to pull a large emerald from the wall. The dragons would never before have allowed her to keep it.

Later that day as she emerged from the cave in the side of the mountain she found many of the dragons already gathered. Their heads bowed low in service as the power of the stone she carried was felt. They, that once ruled the land and the air would be, now, the human’s slaves. Beasts of burden. Because of how they had oppressed and fed on the children of men, she told many of the larger ones to die. Others she bound with chains and magical spells. The age of the dragons ruling the earth was at an end. For the stone that was lost has been found.

Even from across the room, Actuan could tell the old man was in bad shape. He had staggered through the door of the tavern grasping and swaying at the bar room furniture with his spindly emaciated hands in an effort to keep from falling to the straw covered floor. Even from here the big warrior could smell his foul reek. A stench such as that would take some time to acquire. Body odor, the reek of cheap wine and the excrement of the horses tied outside told him that he had not always had a bar stool to keep his chin out of the muck.

“Get outta my bar you filthy drunk!” thundered Olaf, owner of The Dragon’s Flagon, at the top of his already anything but timid voice.

Snickers and guffaws followed as Olaf grabbed the old man like a twig, with one hand at his belt and the other grasping the back of his filthy shirt at the collar and marched him stiff legged toward the door.

Not fully realizing what possessed him to interfere in the affairs of a total stranger, and one that obviously had so little to interest him, Actuan was almost as surprised as the rest of the bar patrons when he found himself rising to his feet and heard his own voice saying quite clearly,

“I’d take your hands off my friend there, if you know what’s good for you.”

Olaf whirled angrily looking around the dimly lit bar. His eyes finally came to rest on Actuan and grew quite wide with surprise. Actuan had work hard to suppress a chuckle. He usually tried very to avoid unnecessary attention and had come into the bar earlier in the evening using a small but powerful charm of enchantment. The charm concealed his true size and stature from all but those that really took the trouble to look carefully. Such was the charms effect that it disoriented and blurred the vision, so that most people gave up quickly, not willing to make the mental effort to grasp the true nature of the wearer. Now that he had stood and spoken aloud, the spell was broken, and all of the Redguard’s seven foot, three hundred pound, heavily-muscled and well-armored frame could be clearly seen. Olaf dropped the old man like a bundle of straw and impressed Actuan by actually wheeling and stepping right up to him, meeting his eye, though the large Nord had to look upward a good six or seven inches. In spite of his normal self confidence, Actuan felt his hand drifting toward his huge two handed broadsword.

“You know this sewer rat?” Olaf inquired, but not too gruffly.

“Sure do,” smiled Actuan, lying, “Came all the way from Anvil to meet him here tonight, in fact.”

“Look,” Olaf said lowering his voice, so just the two of them could hear. “I don’t generally mind out of town guests, or judge people by the company they keep, but would you two mind taking a booth in the back? Your friend’s odor is ruining business.”

“I think we can accommodate” Actuan replied, still grinning maliciously. He wasn’t sure that he could stand the old man’s foul stench himself, but decided that he had better see through this strange hunch that had made him break his own rule of anonymity. It wouldn’t do for the King’s own personal bounty hunter to get well known enough to allow certain elements of society an opportunity to give out a good description. That’s how the last guy to hold the job ended up with a crossbow bolt through the back.

Seeming to finally focus his bleary eyes on his benefactor, the old man got up from the floor and wobbled to his unsteady feet. A strange grin spread across his wrinkled and line furrowed face as he took in Actuan’s size before he was hastily grabbed by Olaf and shoved unceremoniously toward his darkest booth in the least inhabited corner of the bar. The bounty hunter followed and squeezed his bulky frame onto the bench across the scratched and slightly sticky oaken table and looked intently at the place Olaf deposited the wheezing old man in a smelly heap. The stench was even worse up close. It made his eyes water. A mixture of excrement, rotten booze and a tinge of sulfur that Actuan could only surmise was the smell of the old man’s liver rotting. He looked into Actuan’s face with wild but curious eyes. Eyes that, strangely, Actuan found very hard to meet.

“Hee hee” the old man cackled, slapping his knee. “I aint’ seen Olaf stared down to in a while! Yer a big feller isn’t ye.” he grinned again.

Trying hard to keep his voice low, Actuan replied

“Listen old timer, I’ve barely got the stomach for your smell myself, It just irritates me when I see people disrespecting the elderly” he managed to get out without taking a breath. Turning his head to the side he reloaded a lung full of air. “We’ll sit here until things quiet down and people stop staring at us, or as long as I can stand it, then I’m leaving.

“Ain’t ye even goin’ to ‘low me buy you a drink?” the old man asked with a mischievous wink.

The big bounty hunter was surprised at the question and thought it had come out backwards.

“Sorry, I don’t think you need another one and I’m not planning on sitting here long enough to buy you a drink old man.” he said as kindly as he could, but it still came out gruffly.

“You misunderstood me” the old man said with a strange look. “I’m buying.” With that he reached under his foul smelling cloak and pulled out a large heavy coin. It hit the table with an impressive thud. Actuan knew what it was immediately, although the old man quickly covered it. His veiny hand barely large enough to hide the large golden disc. It was an Old Imperial Sovereign. Actuan looked quickly toward the bar. Although the clunk of metal on wood had turned some heads their direction, the bar’s usual patrons had quickly looked away, shaking their heads and laughing quietly between themselves. The sound of normal bar room talk resumed.

Imperial Sovereigns were things of legend. It was every treasure hunters dream to find one. Left over coinage from an Empire long extinct and once powerful, they were pure gold. The “gold” coins now minted and used by the king that he served were an alloy of gold and other far less precious metals, the largest denomination of which would take over a hundred to equal the value of one Sovereign.

“Where in Hells Gates did you find that?” Actuan hissed, looking at the place occupied by the old man’s face again, with great effort. “You know you can’t spend that here, unless you want to buy the whole bar, and maybe most of the town” he said in a hushed whisper.

“Found it in the cave of a dragon” the old man said mater of factually. “Don’t worry, it’s dead,. I crawled up to it and poked it with a stick and here I am still a kick’in.” he giggled strangely. “”I was real drunk a couple of nights ago and fell down a hole outside of town. When I woke up I was laying right near him. His carcass is laying on a couple a hundred of these and a bunch of other fancy lookin stuff too big and heavy for me to carry out by myself. “Been lookin’ fer a feller like you, all big and strong.” the old man wheezed. “Thought I might try to get Olaf ta help me but yer better!

“Old man, I think I am going to let you buy me that drink” Actuan said through clenched teeth. “Ya got anything smaller. The old man did.

Although he was reluctant to let the old man out of his sight when he left the bar a few hours later, Actuan felt fairly certain the old man would meet him the next morning at first light, down by the stables. Saying only that he had a good place to sleep, Actuan watched the old man’s back as he staggered and swayed from side to side while making his way down the street. Actuan turned and re-entered the tavern asking Olaf if he had a room upstairs.

“Not staying with your friend?” Olaf smirked, but seemed willing to let it go when the ridiculous asking price in gold for the room was forthcoming.

Actuan spent an uneasy night only dozing lightly. The large metal golden disc under his head keeping him awake for multiple reasons. Not only was it hard, but it’s bright cold surface seemed to burn through the thin pillow and straight through his mind. When the furniture in the room went from pitch black to only slightly more visible, he was up. He removed the Sovereign from under his pillow and held it up in the dim light. It had not been a dream. Dressing quietly, he made his way downstairs, then quickly through the deserted streets to the stable. There he entered the stall of his horse Starfire. The black gelding nickered softly at his touch. Checking his gear, but gathering only some rope, and his two leather bags. He left on the horse blanket, and led him quietly out of the barn and into the street. There he looked up and down for the old man. He was no where in sight. Actuan hoped that he hadn’t fallen down another hole. Silently he cursed himself for letting the treasure of a lifetime walk away in a drunken stupor.

It wasn’t long, however before he saw him coming up the street. The stark early morning light causing him to cast a large shadow as it rose over the town’s main street. As he grew close, Actuan could tell that he smelled no better than the night before, but he seemed to stagger less. The old man merely nodded as he walked past, not even looking back to see when Actuan fell in behind him, leading the horse. Suddenly Starfire reared, violently, lunging backward, the big horse jerking savagely at his arm. The rope burned his hand as he let the horse take some of it before pulling him in. Talking soothingly to the animal, Actuan was finally able to lead him up the street after the old man, who had not looked back. It was a good t hing that, as the old man had promised, it was not far.

They entered the ruins of an old castle. It’s battlements covered in weeds and tall grasses. Tree limbs grew through archers turrets and all about was the smell of mildew and the sound of dripping water on the flagstones. Actuan could see the old man crouching down between two large blocks of hewn granite. The black soot of someone’s campfire marking the side of one of them. Pulling away some dried branches and a tumbleweed, the old man straightened.

“Tie your horse, we are here” he said.

“Won’t we need a torch?” Actuan asked, irritated at himself for not thinking of it sooner. He walked over to a nearby tree looking for a dried branch to snap off.

“You will not need one,” the old man replied. “The rising sun will shine down the tunnel, it is not long” Then he disappeared from sight as he crawled downward into the darkness.

Deciding to snap off a tree limb anyway, Actuan tied Starfire to the tree and followed after him. It was a tight fit, but as the old man had said, it was not far. The tunnel was steep but soon opened up into a large dimly lit cave. There, by the dim light of the tunnel exactly as the old man had described, lay the dead dragon.

It wasn’t as big as he expected, but it was big enough. Roughly four times the size of Starfire, not the giant dragons of legend, but a formidable beast none the less. Its six inch claws looked razor sharp. Approaching the body, he reached out to touch the hard dry scales. Ebony in color, but seemingly translucent. He gave it a shove. It rolled off the mound surprisingly easily, sliding oddly down the surface of the large pile and bouncing to a stop a few feet away. Beneath where it had laid the large golden sovereigns glowed in the diffused early morning light. He stared at them in wonder.

“Beautiful aren’t they!” commented the old man crouching down to touch them.

“Yes they are!” agreed Actuan, “And worth more than either of us could spend in a lifetime”

“I suppose it depends on how long one might live” the old man replied softly. “I’ve seen many more years, already, than you”

“Then my share should be greater” Actuan burst out giddily. “With the time you have left, you will need far less!” he said as he began sliding the golden saucer sized coins into his saddle bags.

The old man smiled strangely at him but did not argue.

“Don’t you wonder what happened to the dragon? He asked quietly.

“Who cares?!” his dried body is there and the treasure is mine! Actuan bellowed. The plans he was making for spending the first part of the treasure swallowing all but the last of his reason.

“Have you, I wonder” continued the old man, “ever seen a lizard shed it’s skin?”
Actuan thought of a snake he had once thought he had seen while gathering firewood as a boy. It had laid quietly even after he moved the log. When he pulled out his knife to kill it, he had found it to be a thin shell of scales and skin that looked almost exactly like a real snake. His father had explained that snakes and lizards skin did not grow but every once in a while they had to crawl out of it and leave it behind. Actuan looked again at the surprisingly light body of the dragon that he had shoved off the pile of gold. Then he looked up at the old man, who had subtly moved to block the tunnel.

“You may also be interested,” the old man said, holding up a small amulet “In this little trinket that was in the dragon’s horde. “I think you may have seen something like it before”

Actuan looked down at amulet hanging from the chain around his neck and saw its twin in the hand of the old man. Silently, the old man let it fall. In the stillness of the cave, the sound of the amulet hitting the pile of gold coins created a klaxon of noise exploding in the bounty hunter’s brain. His eyes swam and vision blurred. When it at last cleared, standing before him was something terrible and black. The reek of sulfer, flowed freely from it’s warm breath. The voice was deep and terrifying.

We dragons are the most vulnerable just after we have shed. Our scales are soft. We are weak and must feed for them to harden. I am, unfortunately now the size where most humans don’t make much of a meal, but you will do nicely. After I’ve finished you off, and my skin hardens, I will then, naturally, eat your horse. Thanks for bringing him.

The tree branch in his hand eventually proved useless.

He felt them, an itch deep between his ears, creasing his sleeping brow with a frown that ravaged his already ferocious visage into something even more menacing, if that were possible. His breath became more shallow and a slight curl of steam and smoke began curling from his nostrils. He coughed and came awake, one of his luminous liquid eyes, opening only the smallest of slits as the immense internal biological clock that was his heart began fathoming the heartbeats that had passed since he last closed his eyes. Even at the incredibly slow pace that a sleeping dragon’s heart beats, it was many. A long time then, he thought. Too long. He paused to sniff the air before moving. He hadn’t gotten this old by being hasty. Only once he was sure there was no smell of any warm blooded thing, did he raise his head, exposing the relatively soft underside of his neck and belly. Soft, if you consider a single layer of overlapping six inch by three inch bony scales defective. They had turned many a spear, but dragons, by nature are a paranoid lot.

In the olden days, there had been a few fools brazen enough to make a claim to the immense pile of gold and jewels on which he slept. Their crisped bones and rusted armor, lying about on the lower slopes of the mountain was probably no longer recognizable for what it had once been. He would have to make some sort of more permanent display., he thought. It was a pity human bone and iron swords didn’t hold up in the weather. Angry now, that he had been woken, he employed the psychic senses that had first triggered his response, turning it to finding the source of his aggravation. He could feel them. A party of four men dared to climb the slope of his mountain! His metallic blood could feel the magnetic wavering of their wood and steel weapons. Only four! Hardly a snack. He was hungry after his long sleep. But perhaps the town they had come from would not be far. Then there would be a feast!

He uncoiled and creaked. His first movements after the eternity of his sleep surprisingly uncomfortable. They will pay! He was even more furious when he realized that a rock slide had completely closed off his main entrance and he had to dig out the back door. It had always been tight and this made him even angrier. It was good that his claws had grown so long, he thought as he cut through the hard rock like butter. It was dusty work though, and it made him sneeze. The heat of his flame scorched even him in this enclosed space and his anger reached new heights. His eyes were filled with blood.

So it was that when the dragon burst from the backside of the mountain, gouting and spraying the morning sky with fire, he was a fair distance from the main entrance near where the men had stopped to make a pot of gourmet coffee on their little gas camping stove. He was far enough away for the guide to grab his high power hunting rifle and draw an accurate bead. He put six high velocity Winchester slugs through the bony chest plate armor dropping the flaming dragon like a screaming stone.

“Holy Crap Earl! you wasn’t kidding about the rumors. “ one of them said “Nice shooting!”

“Thanks, Jim, now bring them sacks. We’ve got a lot of Gold to carry out of that cave over there. Hope your cell phone battery isn’t dead so we can call the chopper” It’s our lucky day!”

In the wind a song came soaring.

 Over the hill and through the rustling branches.

At first light and tinkling and whispering

 little kisses on the ears before slipping away.

Then tumbling back with a hint of bass and a crescendo

 that hinted at its power

It made the heart ache and thirst for more,

 and my feet moved toward it with no power

to stop the inexorable tide that pulled at my soul.

My head cocking and turning to tune

the mighty and mysterious chords more carefully

 to my starving spirit.

I crashed through some brush and down a slope

 before stomping through a small brook,

almost oblivious to the new sogginess of my socks and boots.

Insignificant details to the driving search.

 The song was closer now and far from being able

to sort out the patterns into recognizable or familiar musical styles,

 my mind raced deeper

into the chaotic rapture of the completely new and stunningly beautiful.

 Music had always

held a power over me, in a limited way at least,

to evoke emotion, but this was something

far greater and deeply moving.

For it was as if a lifetime of waiting had dulled my edge

but now I was keen and sharp and filled with purpose.

Scampering up a small rise covered in strange gray pebbles,

 I met the full glory of the sound, unhindered by turn of hill or standing tree.

It’s force washed over me like amighty wind,

strangely pushing me back while pulling my ever onward. It was only

then that I saw the dragon.

 His jeweled eyes seemed to blink once as I crested the mound

and suddenly the music stopped.

 I lurched forward, almost falling flat on my face, as if

I had been walking into a very strong wind that instantly stopped blowing.

 I caught myself

late and pulled up just a foot or two from the tip of his enormous snout.

 Instead of brimstone

the warm breath smelled faintly of oranges.

 The agony of his beginning to eat me was only

slightly less severe than the heartache I felt that

 he couldn’t sing while chewing.

What exultant trill sounds forth at break of day to stir my shallow sleep

from downy head and pointed beak the cries of mysteries deep

And feathered breast dost rise and fall propelling powerful song

his joyful call belies his tiny size, ’tis sounded loud and long.

What thought employs the mind of birds in gathered chorus line

as from their throats pour sounds as sweet as summer’s finest wine

Hear they the glory and the call of sacred unknown muse

or does this beauty cast so wide exist to spread the news

Fresh worms, a cat, three houses down the flagpole on the right

my nest is here so keep away or you’ll expect a fight.

My lady friend and I have stayed and made this place our home

Til winter’s chill and children’s flight at last will make us roam.

Or do they sing a deeper song of longing joy and fears

as tender beauty sounded there brings human eyes to tears

for deep inside the mind of birds may burn a glorious glow

creators fiery gift is cradled there to melt the coming snow.

As deepest dreams wrap my soul in slumber

and gentle swells have rocked my boat upon the tide

The calling voices sweetly sing their dulcet number

as I upon night’s rising fiery glowing embers ride

My soul is stretched in quiet communion

and much to learn is there for me

As cares of days now fade in union

and on the breeze I now fly free

The softest breath, the petal rose

a scent as clean and fresh and sweet

Clean earth, and grass beneath my toes

as effortless I run with tireless feet.

No millstone worn, no beat of time

the heart knows its well its hidden dreams

and sorrow’s chord will fail to chime

‘neath hallowed halls with golden beams

There is a place of childhood

that the blessed remember

Where life was simple and good

and all the tears that fell were innocent

Before the hurtful voices found a way

to enter in and tear from us

the simple faith that we were loved

because of only our position

But even those that care for such

as subject to a harsh noon day

where heat and sweat and chaos rule

and suffered blows may find a way

to pass right through a father

and land, though softer, upon a child

as the wicked world sifts families like sand

for some cope better than others.

But he does his best to teach his son

to be a man, yet he does not know the truth of what that is

for fists and fighting are the way

of the wounded animal as it defends its life

and an ability to reason and understand takes more time

and as the son feels pain

the man hides his eyes for it hurts him all the more

and his cup is already overfull

But the son finds a faith that makes a difference

in the way he sees himself and others

and the pain of the world, though still very real

has lost its fatal edge in faith and hope

and though he bears the scars of a father

that knew no other way but anger and violence

he has tried to learn to forgive instead of hate

though the world is still as unfair and uncaring

And now the father’s path has taken him

in full circle and back to its beginnings

where all he needs and all he wants

is for the hurtful voices to go away

so that life can be simple and good

and he can be loved because of only his position

and know that all the remaining tears that fall

will be innocent