Dawn of the Dragon

by Shawn E. Crapo

  "This is the symbol of Daegoth's house," she said. "But it is also the symbol of the Dragon. Curious. Though Daegoth ruled under the banner of the Dragon, he was a mere human; not a god or demigod, just a human."

  "And?"

  "Please explain," Svana said. "Is this the king's descendant?"

  "Oh indeed he is," the Völva said. "But so much more, I think."

  She placed her hand over the child's heart, closing her eyes as she let the spirits within her examine him. She cocked her head, raising her brow, and then smiled again as she pulled her hand away.

  "He is not entirely human" she said finally. "The blood of the Dragon flows through him somehow."

  "I don't understand," Olav said. "What does that mean?"

  The Völva stood, retrieving a scroll from her pile of random objects. She sat back down on her furs and unrolled the scroll, moving her finger along it as she read to herself.

  "Here," she said. "The Firstborn who watch over all of us can take human form if they wish. Though Kronos is always in human form, along with Imbra, the Dragon always appears in the form of… well, a dragon. But, it is written, that in times of need, the Firstborn may choose to share their blood with mortals."

  "Share their blood?" Svana repeated.

  "Their seed," the Völva said, making a strange gesture over her lower abdomen. "Their… essence."

  "They bugger women," a voice said from behind them.

  Olav and Svana turned in surprise. There by the matted rug that served as the Völva's door, was the chieftain, Svengaar. He stood massive in the doorway, his form all but blocking the moonlight. The Völva grinned as he entered and squatted down beside the gathering. He looked over the child that lay upon the furs, his face echoing the Völva's curiosity.

  "Where did you find him?" Svengaar asked, placing a gentle hand on the child's forehead.

  "In the river," Olav said. "He was floating in a basket of sorts. I thought it was odd, since it should have sunk. But, there he was, unharmed."

  "Interesting," Svengaar said. "That is unusual for sure. Something must have been guarding him."

  "Selkies, likely," the Völva said. "The water spirits are closely linked with the Firstborn. They may have brought him to us."

  "And trusted us to raise him," Svengaar finished. "What do you think, Mada?"

  "I think this boy is the son of the Dragon," the Völva answered. "He has brought him to us for a reason."

  Svengaar nodded. "Then we shall honor his decision, despite him not being our god. For to serve one Firstborn is to serve them all."

  "You are very wise, Jarl," the Völva said, smiling. "One day we will know why he was brought to us. He will be a mystery until then."

  "What shall we call him?" Svana asked.

  Mada cocked her head and smiled, evidently leaving it up to the child's new parents. Olav thought hard, trying to pick a suitable name from his own ancestors. It would have to be something that reflected his nature; something that was befitting of the son of a Firstborn.

  He was at a loss.

  "Olav," Mada said. "In the language of Eirenoch, Dearg is the word for son of the dragon. He should be named thusly lest we forget his origins."

  Olav thought for a moment, realizing it was not only fitting, but a good reminder of his heritage—whatever, exactly, it was. He nodded, looking to Svana for approval. She smiled warmly, staring lovingly at the child.

  "Dearg," she said. "That is a good name."

  "Very well, then," Svengaar said, rising. "He shall be Dearg, son of Olav, and he shall be a man of our tribe." He nodded at Mada before finishing. "And a mystery until then."

  As Svengaar exited, Mada looked at Olav with a stern expression. "If he truly is the son of the Dragon," she began. "Then the Dragon will call to him someday. You must encourage him to answer that call."

  Olav nodded. "I will," he said. "And I will ensure he fulfills whatever destiny has been laid upon him."

  "Let us not be hasty," Mada warned. "There is no such thing as destiny, only need. He was born because he is needed. Whether he succeeds, for whatever purpose he was intended, remains to be seen. But, with the love and guidance of a strong man like you and a nurturing mother like Svana, his chances of greatness will be that much more likely."

  "Thank you, wise one," Svana said. "Your words are kind and encouraging."

  "Go now," Mada said. "Make this child your own. I will always be here to guide you if you need me."

  Members of the tribe gathered around to see Olav hold his son high. The pride he showed on his face was inspiring to all, and they welcomed their new member with smiles, cheers and warm embraces. Everyone saw that Svana was happy once more, and they all gave her encouraging words.

  Olav showed his cheer as well, and the men of the tribe congratulated him on finding the abandoned child and rescuing him from certain death. Even Fleek seemed cheerful, as he twirled his curly brown locks excitedly as he usually did when he was overly happy.

  "This day we welcome the son of Olav and Svana to our tribe," Svengaar announced. "Seeing their grief at the loss of their own son, the gods have chosen to make them whole again."

  There were hoots and howls from the men of the tribe, and Olav grinned widely as he accepted them. There was also some good-natured jeering.

  "If he grows to be a fisherman," one man said, "I hope he finds another teacher 'sides Olav."

  There was a roar of laughter from the men. Olav's face grew red, and he grinned, shaking his head and his fist.

  "Come now," Svengaar said. "Let us break out the ale and begin our feast. Dearg, Son of Olav, deserves our welcome. Let us drink to him!"

  The tribe cheered as they piled into the alehouse. Svengaar and a few other men began pouring the ale, and Olav and Svana brought their new child to the head table, patiently allowing the tribe members to see him up close.

  Mada grinned as she watched the festivities from her hut, knowing in her heart that the appearance of the child would bring prosperity to the tribe, and all of its members. The strength of the Dragon was within him, she knew, and in this land the Dragon was the source of life. Soon, he would grow into a strong young man, bearing the blood of both the people of Eirenoch, and the Dragon himself. But in his heart, he would be a Northman, until the day came when the Dragon called to him.

  Chapter Four

  For over two decades Igraina had tolerated the wiles and advances of the Beast King, distracting him with young girls of the surrounding villages to keep his focus off of her. Though promising to do so, she could not bear to be implanted with his seed. Such a thought brought a lump to her throat every time it entered her mind.

  She would not defile herself with his offspring.

  One day, she knew, she would bear a child of the Dragon's blood. With her own mysterious nature coursing through its veins, this child would be all powerful; a force to be reckoned with. Her son, whomever he should be, could rule the world, and she would rule him. It was only a matter of time.

  Time was on her side, though. For centuries she had walked the Earth, waiting for her chance to seize whatever throne had presented itself. She had wandered alone, unsure of her own origins; unsure of what ancient and dark blood had spawned her.

  Ever since she was a child of the Steppes, she knew that there was something unusual about her. Not needing sleep, she had found that she could rejuvenate her body by taking the energy of others. It was a simple process that she had learned to do without the victim even knowing. She could steal from them and regain her own energy without ever lying down to gain it back naturally.

  It was truly a blessing that made her long life even longer.

  It was in her sixtieth year that she realized something was truly strange about her. Though she aged somewhat normally for most of her life, she realized that others around her passed her by in years while she remained relatively unchanged. There were far fewer wrinkles on her face, and far fewer breaths needed to move about. The others would die as well, leaving
her to wonder why she did not.

  It wasn't until her years became a century that she discovered a power beyond her wildest dreams; that she could actually steal the youth from those around her. She had done it passively without her own knowledge, leading to her slow aging. But now, it was a ritual of hers, taking the life essence of young girls by her force of will. She could regenerate her own body by taking the life force of others. It was a blessing that kept her alive, and darkened her heart all the more.

  Now, as she absorbed the last of the life-giving energy from her latest acquisition, she felt the darkness finally overtake her. She breathed in the energy, feeling it course through her veins like the fires of the sun. She could only laugh and relish the sound of her victim's whimpers as the life was slowly drained from her young, supple flesh.

  The thump of the shriveled body hitting the floor awoke her from her trance, and she gazed down at it as she licked her lips.

  "Poor child," she said, amused. "Thank you for your life. I shall cherish it until I need more."

  She bent down to retrieve her robe, pulling it over her newly-rejuvenated body. It was then that she realized T'kar was watching her from the heavy, oaken door that she thought she had locked. She turned to him, amused at the crooked smile that was plastered on his grotesque face.

  "And they call me the Beast," he said, chuckling. "You are an enigma to me, Igraina."

  "Oh?" she said, pulling her belt tightly around her waist.

  "Oh yes," he said. "You are like a mother to these young girls. You call yourself their mother, and they worship the ground you walk upon. Yet you do this, taking their very life for your own."

  "And you find that disturbing?"

  T'kar laughed, clapping his hands together as his rotting teeth ground together. "Amusing, to say the least. You are no more a mother than a whore who squats in the forest to root out her womb with a twig. And you are just as indifferent to the suffering of these maidens."

  "We are two of a kind, my king, you and I."

  "No," T'kar said. "You are in a class all by yourself. But I will share your games. For every young girl you bleed dry, I want her first. Surely you don't mind if they are defiled before you take what's left?"

  "Whatever amuses you, my king," Igraina said. "I care not. But I trust that you will not defile my own girls, my handmaidens; your seers."

  "Very well," T'kar said. "For now, come with me. There is something I want you to see."

  Igraina was led to a walkway overlooking a small, stone-floored courtyard. There, chained to posts of dried and stained wood were several women; seven in all. They had been stripped, beaten with whips, and seemed on the verge of death. Guards dressed in studded leather skirts walked among them, cracking their whips as they awaited their king's orders.

  "What is this?" Igraina asked, amused and curious.

  "We found these women in a makeshift temple to the east," T'kar said. "They are worshipers of Gaia, the false Mother spirit that lays claim to all lands."

  "Mother spirit," Igraina scoffed.

  She knew, however, that Gaia was real, and that her priestesses were scattered all over the world. How T'kar had managed to capture these was a mystery. Though outwardly appearing as nothing more than nuns, they were all trained in battle, and just as skilled as any warrior she had ever met.

  "I'm impressed," she said. "Who captured them?"

  "I did," T'kar said. "I felt their presence when I passed by the crags. I redirected my force to the east and we found them there at a shrine; newly-built, and in the process of consecration."

  "And you fought them alone?"

  "They were unarmed and as naked as you see them now," T'kar said. "Their ritual requires it."

  "Interesting," Igraina replied. "What do you plan to do with them?"

  T'kar's face took on a grisly smile, telling Igraina he had already done what he had wished to do. No doubt he had defiled them and shared them with his best soldiers; probably even the subhuman scum who licked their lips as they walked among them.

  "They are yours now," he said. "I am curious to see how loyal you are. I want them dead. But you can choose to let them live if you wish. The choice is yours."

  Igraina had no desire to do anything with them. But, as she studied the king's grotesque face, it was clear that this was a test. She hated T'kar, and everything he stood for, but she had to ensure that she was able to remain in his service.

  For her own good, of course.

  "I would like to see them eaten alive," she said. "Set your wargs upon them to rip them limb from limb."

  T'kar's smile grew until it nearly reached both ears. His crooked teeth seemed to sink into his head as he did, and his eyes darkened as they always did when his thoughts turned dark.

  "Yessssss," he said. "That would be amusing."

  T’kar turned to look down, signaling a guard to look up. He made a few hand gestures and the guard disappeared into a gated door to the side. A few seconds later, a whistle was heard, and the other guards departed.

  “They are my favorite pets,” T’kar said. “They are savagery at its finest; pure and unspoiled by guilt or morality. Much like myself.”

  Though Igraina grinned at him, in her heart she felt the urge to push him over the railing. It would be amusing to watch him scramble in terror as his own pets ripped him to pieces; even more so than the spectacle that was about to unfold before her eyes.

  “Come and watch, my pet,” T’kar said.

  Igraina heard the muffled growls of the wargs being released deep within the fortress. The thundering of their heavy paws nearly shook the very structure, and the priestesses began to scream in terror as the hellish sounds grew. T'kar took in a deep breath as if enjoying the scent of their fear, showing his crooked teeth as he smiled.

  The gates were opened, and the giant wargs burst into the courtyard, their claws scraping against the stone floor. They tore into the priestesses instantly, drowning out the horrified screams with their growls. Blood splattered everywhere as the women were ripped apart, and the canine beasts fought over their flesh. T'kar burst into laughter as they watched, and Igraina could only feel revulsion; not for the scene below, but the fact that T'kar enjoyed it so much.

  "Do you see how the wargs care not for each other?" he said. "They would kill one another for a scrap of bone or a puddle of blood. Watch how they devour the entrails and tear them away from each other. How utterly primal and beautiful."

  "They are filthy beasts," Igraina said, her stomach turning. "They smell horrible."

  T'kar chuckled, turning away and focusing his gaze on her. He crossed his arms, raising one brow as he stared. Igraina felt uncomfortable, but held her demeanor as she stared into those beastly, bloodshot eyes.

  "There is a reason I wanted you to see this," T'kar said.

  "Oh?"

  T'kar's brow pressed down hard over his deep-set eyes, nearly hiding them in its thickness. "I know what you did," he said. "All those years ago."

  Igraina's heart began to race, but she did not know why. She could easily destroy T'kar with a single spell, but her curiosity was piqued. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked.

  "Cohlein escaped," he began, "and you let her."

  "Cohlein was of no importance," Igraina explained. "She was a child. Her fear of you was too great. She would have been of no use to your court."

  T'kar grabbed Igraina's neck roughly and pulled her close. Her rage began to grow at such insolence, but she didn't react. Not yet.

  "There was a reason she fled," T'kar said. "That is why I sent my soldiers after her. But they never returned. You helped her escape, and I want to know why. Why did she leave?"

  Igraina narrowed her gaze. "Because I didn't want her spoiled by your seed, nor your stench."

  T'kar held his glare for several seconds. Igraina's heart pounded wildly. For some reason, she began to feel an unusual sense of terror. But then, T'kar began to laugh. He released her and stepped back, turning his head to look down at the
scene below. The wargs were cleaning up the remnants of the sisters, licking up the blood and small chunks of flesh that remained.

  "This is what will happen to anyone that defies me," he said. "Don't let yourself be their next meal."

  With that, T'kar stormed off, leaving Igraina furious. She watched him disappear through the double doors and down the darkened hallway, imagining slicing his head off. She growled, looking down once more at the vile beasts below.

  One day, she thought, she would throw him to his own dogs and watch them devour him like the carrion he was.

  T'kar descended to the fortress's lower chambers and approached the shrine he had assembled on the far wall. There, under the light of two torches arranged on either side of the obsidian altar, he kneeled. The statue upon the altar shimmered in the flames, reflecting the light off of its glassy black surface. Before it, staring up with lifeless eyes, was the severed head of a young boy he had offered up in sacrifice.

  He felt the growing presence of his benefactor as the energy within the black stone built up and gave off a dark aura. He looked up at its reptilian face, its four outstretched arms, and the clawed hands that were upturned and bearing small crystal orbs. The orbs began to glow a dim orange, telling him that Kathorgo was there and listening.

  "Great ancient one," T'kar whispered. "The priestesses are no more. Gaia's power is weakened."

  There was a whispering echo that came from the statue. T'kar narrowed his eyes, preparing for the intense glare of the ancient demon as it manifested in the edifice. The statue's eyes opened, and the dark lips curled into a sneer, showing the many fangs that it bore.

  "T'kar," Kathorgo groaned. "You have done well. Long have I hunted the Sisters of Gaia, and long have they eluded my wrath. I have longed to smell their blood, and hear their cries. Now, I can bathe in the warmth of their souls."

  "Their spirits are yours, my lord," T'kar said, grinning.

  "I thank you, my servant. But be warned, your work is not finished."