The Dragon of Darkness
The Dragon of Darkness
Nearly silent footfalls carried the helper lower into the silent tunnels. Thoughtful wandering had taken them far beyond the comforting tapping of the pipes, and even further beyond the normal reaches of the daily lives of the Tunnel Folk. The roar of the laughter in the Great Hall had become a deafening peal of sound, and the anxiety that normally rested as a sleeping dragon in the far reaches of their mind was awakening, slowly uncurling its scaly neck and opening blinking, golden eyes to the world around its lair. The hint of its arising had sent the helper quickly away from the cheerful foray searching desperately for the solitude of the darkness that would put the monster to sleep again.
The blood rushing through the ear canal on its way to the brain where the dragon slept carried its own terrifying ring. Perhaps it would lull the beast to dreamland before it were awake enough to cause chaos.
Stepping carefully, drawing their jacket tighter against the cooler wind found in the lower passages, the helper reached out a hand to more easily follow the disappearing side of the walkway. Fingers lightly touched the stone, merely keeping a point of contact to reference their location, rather than provide any type of actual support. The dragon was still, lethargically blinking, and there was no need to seek the protection of solid earth just yet.
“You’ll get lost down there,” a gentle voice spoke from behind, causing the helper to come to a brief halt, jolting the dragon in the middle of a yawn.
“Don’t – don’t try and stop me,” the nervous figure muttered, a quiet plea that sounded monstrously loud in the narrow passage.
“I’m not,” the quiet voice spoke again, a kind tone in the words. “I have simply come to walk with you.”
The helper shook their head frantically, trying not to jostle to creature too much, blinking back tears of frustration that were invisible in the darkness. “No, no. No, I – I want to be alone.”
“What you need and want are two different things.”
“No, no they are not. I- I need to be alone. I want to.”
The gentle voice spoke again, nearer by a step or two. “You do not want or need to, but you feel you must.”
“What is the difference?” The anxious figure moved a step away, squeezing their eyes shut, although not to block out the light. Merely to close in the dragon, and maybe keep it from hearing the second voice too clearly. The creature stretched, indicating it was considering rising, and the helper desperately moved away, down the tunnel, determined to leave the kind voice behind.
“You feel it,” the kind voice replied, following close behind. “It is something inside you that is driving this intentional decision. It is not an actual thing that you need, for what good can it serve you? It is not something you want, because you truly seek peace and freedom, or you would not seek to silence the voice in your head. It is a feeling, merely that and nothing stronger. You can bid it flee, if you will.”
The dragon has sensed the rising emotions in its cave, and it untangled long, scaly claws and rose to it’s full height. The helper took a stumbling step, then froze, unsure how to quickly still the creature again. It was wide awake, staring with gleaming eyes, claws shining in the glow from its face.
“I can’t stop it,” they whispered, reaching and stumbling backwards, grasping for the security of the stone wall. Instead of dusty limestone and granite, their hand met soft cloth, and the figure behind them wrapped strong arms around their helper, the strength of the stone wall replaced by the knowledge that they were not alone.
“Yes, yes you can.” The gentle voice whispered, a whisper of breath touching the helper’s ear. “You can speak to the dragon and bid him go.”
“No, no I can’t!” The helper replied, a lone tear flowing down a clenched jaw, and falling onto the surface of the hand that grasped their own. “No, no one can. He is awake.”
“Yes, you can. I believe in you. Close your eyes and look at him. Look right at the monster.”
The helper clenched their eyes shut tightly, trembling as the dragon returned the stare with golden eyes. They both blinked.
The darkness fell away, and a green field grew around where they stood. The sound of a distant river flowed beyond what could be seen by the eyes. The clang of metal reached the pair’s ears, and the helper gazed around at the spectacular sight.
Blue and red ribbons streamed daintily in the breeze atop tall white poles, and soldiers in armor milled about, intricate and proud crests upon their shields. Stepping backward, the helper realized that they too were clad in silver metal.
“Where - where are we?” they asked faintly, not daring to believe that this was all real.
“It appears to be medieval times, “ Vincent spoke softly, also examining the situation they found themselves in. “I think this is a jousting field. But there are no horses.”
“No horses?” A clanking knight passing by halted and turned to frown up at the pair. At least they thought he was frowning. It was hard to tell beneath the helmet. His voice tone left a lot to be assumed as well.
“There are no horses because this is a dragon fighting contest.”
The helper leaned back against Vincent in despair, rubbing a shaking hand across their forehead. “Of course it would be, of course.”
“It would be what?” the knight questioned, his helmet glancing
from one to the other. “This is a normal occurrence here in Braegen.”
The helper shook their head again and glanced up at Vincent for help. He simply tilted his head in understanding at the knight. “Thank you for your instructions, noble knight. We will be ready.”
The knight nodded once, and hefted the shield in his left hand. His metal shoes made no sound as he marched away through the ankle high grass.
“I can’t fight the dragon!” the helper pleaded with Vincent, who began walking toward a blue tent in the distance, a few moment’s stride across the battle field.
“Yes, you can.” Vincent spoke simply. “The dragon is simply imagination. You can fight him.”
“Well, that knight sure wasn’t imagination, and neither is this sunlight. The dragon awakens in the day. Vincent?”
Hearing his name spoken with such intensity brought the cloaked man to a halt. He half turned to look at his companion who had been following a half stride behind. “What is it?”
“My head hurts something awful, and my throat – I think I can’t breathe.”
He was at the helper’s side in a moment, a gentle guiding hand upon their shoulder. “Keep moving, keep walking. The dragon is merely rising. He can do nothing to you right now.”
“But - I can’t breath. I – can't...”
A long finger was laid to their lips, and the helper looked up through eyes narrowed with the effort of controlling the dragon as it shook it’s wings loose and stretched its scaly, horrible neck.
“Do not think of it, not for a moment. Here, lets get you suited up.”
He put an encouraging hand upon the helper’s back, nudging them into the welcome shadows of the tent interior. The dragon, momentarily blinded by the loss of light, blinked unsteadily and yawned.
“What is all this?” the helper questioned, watching their guide sorting through various items.
“Your armor. Come here and let me put it on you.”
“Vincent, you don’t understand.” the helper sighed and stepped closer, knowing that Vincent wouldn’t take no for an answer at this point. “I can’t fight a dragon!”
Vincent raised tawny eyebrows in an expression that clearly said “Hush and stop complaining.”
“You can solve nothing by complaining. Here, put on this tunic.”
The helper nervously reached out and grasped the burgundy cloth in unsteady hands, noting that there was a black lion emblazoned upon the cloth, and beneath his feet, purple thistles trailed across the surface.
“Vincent, what do these mean?”
The man looked up from his rummaging in the piles of cloth and studied the emblems.
“Those are the coat of arms symbols that have been chosen for you. The lion stands for undying courage, and valiance of a warrior. The thistles are ancient symbols of pain and suffering. With the courage of the warrior, you can tread upon pain and suffering and be the victor over whatever thistle chances to grow beneath your feet. Come, here is your shield and sword.”
The helper hefted the heavy shield in one hand, glancing up at Vincent with worried eyes. “Will you be with me?”
“One can only fight their battles for themselves,” Vincent replied kindly, drawing the helper close for a reassuring hug. “But I will not be far away.”
A high-pitched trumpet sounded in the distance, followed by the clanging of shields and the shouts of the warriors gathering in the field. “What do I do?” the helper whispered, panic taking over as the dragon rose to its full height, roaring flaming fires of fear from red lips.
“Go,” Vincent spoke quickly. “Do not listen to the dragon. You are the lion. Go take down your enemy.”
The urgency in his voice sent the terrified helper rushing from the safety of the darkened tent out into the blinding light of the battlefield. The dragon roared again, the earth beneath its feet shuddering with the violence of the attack.
The helper was amazed to find that there was only one dragon. Once monstrous dragon. His scaly tail thrashed to and fro, tossing warriors in all directions.
“They are all fighting the same dragon!” the nervous warrior shouted back in Vincent’s direction. The cloaked man strode slowly from the tent, an understanding gaze in his eyes.
“That is because we all fight the same enemy, regardless of our race or age. That dragon is the symbol of all that weighs you down in your world. Your thoughts, your fears. Remove it, evict it from your cave. It is yours only, no dragons deserve a place there.”
Courage flowed through the helper at this understanding, and their fingers grasped the handle of their shield with the last bits of trembling courage that they possessed. Joining the battle cry of the other warriors, the charge commenced.
To the right, a fellow warrior charged, shouting “Away, you starvelling, you elf-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish!”
A knight to the left nearly clashed his shield against the one the helper held, shouting to the raging creature above them "Away, you scullion! You rampallion! You fustilarian! I'll tickle your catastrophe!”
The battle was a rather excruciating thing to see. Mere mortal knights against the Hercules of a dragon didn’t make up much of a fight. Knights flew to one side then the other until eventually the dragon and the helper were left alone. It’s glittering eyes narrowed, realizing the prey it desired the most stood defenseless, a mere shield the only protection that it had.
“You will leave me,” the helper called up to the hissing creature. “My mind is not your home. You may try to come and go, but each time, I will remind you whose ground you tread on.”
Tossing aside the shield, the helper stepped away from the field, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. The sun beaming down upon the surroundings blurred the warrior’s vision and they stumbled, landing on their hands and knees in the soft grass. A sickening chuckle was heard in the stillness, and the creature lowered it’s shining head.
“Mine,” it seemed to whisper, its grimacing face wavering in the silent air. “Mine.”
“No,” the helper whispered, turning to case the enemy, the last ounces of strength draining from their muscles. “MINE.”
The last fragments of energy flowed through the nerve endings, propelling their sword into the head of the great beast. It fell with a deafening thud to the ground, followed by the clatter of armor as the helper collapsed flat on the ground.
“It’s okay, you can wake up now.”
The gentle voice crept into the still, silent air, stirring the helper. They opened their eyes to find the old, familiar stone walls surrounding the corridor. The tapping of the pipes could barely be heard in the distance, and a firm, steady hand held their own.
“What happened?” the helper asked, sitting up and looking around. Only Vincent sat beside them.
“You fought a dragon.” Vincent replied simply.
“Oh.” The helper’s brow furrowed, not quite remembering the events that had just unfolded. “Did I win?”
“Yes.” Vincent smiled, standing and offering the helper his hand. They took it, allowing him to help them up from the dusty floor.
“Will it come back?” they asked, looking up at their cloaked friend in worry.
The tall man put his strong arm around the helper’s shoulders and together they began to walk back in the direction of the windy lower tunnels where Winterfest awaited them in its shining glory.
“If it does,” he spoke softly, “then I believe you have the strength to fight it again.”
“Perhaps I do,” the helper mused, just as quietly. “Perhaps I do.”
___________________________________________
"O serpent heart hid with a flowering face!Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave?Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!" ~ William Shakespeare
_______________________________________
Author’s Note: the knight’s insults mentioned are from Shakespeare’s works, and Braegen is an old English word for brain (clever, isn’t it! The battle takes place in a place called brain!)
- by JessicaRae