Dawn of the Dragon

by Shawn E. Crapo

  Any guards that she could see, that is.

  Despite its apparent emptiness, Igraina could sense a dark presence somewhere nearby, growing stronger as she went. She had first felt the dark energy from the floor above, when she wandered into an unused bedchamber. The darkness seemed to emanate from somewhere below, directly underneath the room some distance, and she had searched the endless hallways for a way to descend to the lower level.

  Now, as the feeling grew, so did her curiosity—and her fear. There was a familiarity to the darkness, it seemed, as if she had been in its presence before. It was the same feeling she got when she was in the presence of T'kar's Fomorians, only to a much stronger degree.

  She became nearly breathless as a large door became visible at the end of the hallway. It was a solid construction, made of stone and carved with the likeness of a horned helmet, empty but bearing two dimly glowing green gems that swirled with a life of their own.

  On the other side of this door, she knew, was someone or something that would either destroy her, or reveal to her the questions that had haunted her since she first gained consciousness.

  Who was she? Where did she come from? Who were her creators?

  Ach-Ia-gra…

  Igraina froze. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest when she heard the words. Who had spoken them? What did they mean? She was unsure of anything, yet somehow the phrase seemed familiar to her, even more familiar than the presence that was evidently behind the door.

  Hesitantly, she placed her hands upon the stone surface. She traced the symbol with her fingers, searching her memories for some sign of its meaning. She felt a sudden smothering sensation, as if this symbol had cut off her breath. She backed away, frightened, bring her hands, with fingers curled, to her face.

  What did it all mean?

  Ach-Ia-gra…

  She drew a sharp breath as the words were spoken again, holding it until it became uncomfortable. Her heart was racing faster than it ever had before, and it seemed to be on the verge of bursting out of her chest.

  Ach-Ia-gra, come to me, my child.

  "Who are you?" she spoke aloud.

  Do not fear. You are welcome here.

  Igraina dropped her hands to her sides, taking one terrified step forward. As she was preparing to continue forward, with bated breath, the door suddenly began to slide to the side, scraping against the stone floor. Dust fell from the top frame, with small chunks of rock that clicked against the rock as it bounced away.

  Come.

  The chamber inside was dim. Only a strange shimmering on the ceiling provided any illumination. It was strangely reminiscent of light reflecting off of a pool of water, yet there was no water, nor any discernable source of light. It was simply there, illuminating what appeared to be a twisted figure directly below it. A statue; a likeness of something horrifying yet familiar.

  At last, you have returned.

  "Returned?" Igraina asked. "Returned from where?"

  Returned from what has not yet occurred.

  "I don't understand," she replied, still standing outside.

  Come to me. Let me look upon my heir.

  Igraina took a step forward, unsure of what the voice meant. Heir to what? Returned from what has not yet occurred? What did the figure mean?

  You are more beautiful than I had ever imagined, yet more vile and repulsive than anything I have yet to dream.

  "You speak in riddles," Igraina said, entering the chamber and approaching the strange figure.

  She could now see that it was a statue of some odd stone; something from deep within the Earth that had never seen the light of day. It was something ancient and foreign, as if it had fallen from the sky, from a time before the sky itself had even existed. Its shape was reptilian, anthropomorphic with arms and legs, and with a horned head.

  "Who or what are you?" she asked.

  You know me. I am Kathorgo, lord of the Underworld.

  "You are unknown to me," Igraina insisted. "Yet… strangely familiar."

  Familiarity travels in circles, much like time itself. My perception is not linear as is that of mortals. What was, what is, and what will be are all the same to me.

  Igraina cocked her head. "So," she said. "I will know you, but sometime in the future?"

  Correct. You will serve me, as you have served and will serve darkness eternal. I will be your downfall and your salvation at the same time. And you, my child, will bring darkness to this world, time and time again. My darkness, your darkness, and the darkness of chaos and creation.

  Though the entity's words did not make any sense to her, Igraina was intrigued. If she understood correctly, her future would bring power and darkness. That was a prospect that was appealing to her. Perhaps she would indeed sit upon the throne of Eirenoch after all.

  Yes. The throne will be yours for a time, but not for many thousands of years. Your ultimate destiny lies upon the throne of the Earth. You will be a fiery star from Heaven that will lay waste upon the souls of mankind, bringing them eternal darkness, blood, and slaughter. But you will, for a time before, suffer the torment of solitude.

  "You speak of these things as if they had already happened," Igraina said. "And none of it makes any sense to me. I am but a witch, cursed with immortality. I have already lived in solitude for all of my life. Why should this prospect frighten me?"

  The solitude of your life is nothing compared to the oblivion you will experience at the hands of the Tehuti; the Lightbringer of Khem.

  Igraina furrowed her brow. "Who is this… Tehuti?"

  You will recognize him in time. He has yet to be born, but his predecessor has already put his fate into motion. This is not your concern, for the future cannot be changed. For now, your purpose has been fulfilled. But you will take solace in knowing that, in time, T'kar will fall.

  "That is my wish," Igraina said. "But if I will not sit upon the throne for thousands of years, how will his downfall benefit me?"

  It will not. Not in any way. You have already caused his downfall. Your part is done. You are now insignificant until such time as your ascent to the throne.

  "What do you mean insignificant?"

  The events of the past have set the future in motion. You did your part in ensuring the line of kings of this island, and in time, you will betroth yourself to Daegoth's descendant, bringing about the most powerful king in Eirenoch's history.

  "A history that has not yet occurred," she said.

  Correct. In the future, your children will be those of the Dragon's line. They will bear not only his blood, but the blood of your kin; my kin.

  Igraina's heart skipped a beat. She rushed forward, touching the statue with her eager hands. "Tell me," she begged. "Tell me who my people are. Tell me who I am."

  The statue was silent. Igraina pounded her fists into the stone as the tears came to her eyes. Her heart sank, and she cried out in rage, gritting her teeth as the realization came that she would never know who she really was. It was a damning fate, and a hellish prospect. She would go on forever, never knowing her origins, never knowing from whom she was spawned.

  She was nothing. She was empty, and would always be so. That was something she couldn't fathom, nor would she wish it on anyone. Not even T'kar.

  "Igraina," T'kar's voice growled behind her.

  She could not let him see her this way. She turned and rushed to the door, bypassing the Beast in a desperate attempt to return to her chambers. But when she felt his firm grip on her arm, she stopped, resigned to accepting whatever fate he wished upon her. She broke out in tears again.

  He pulled her close, grasping her head in his hands and glaring into her eyes. "I should punish you," he hissed. "I should flay you alive and rejoice in watching your blood spill upon my chamber floor."

  He paused then, and his face and his tone softened.

  "My head tells me to do this," he continued. "But my heart tells me you have already suffered enough. I will not allow this anymore. Not in my presence, at least.
"

  "What are you saying, my lord?" she asked.

  He released her, pushing her away with a glare. "Go from me," he said. "Go from me and take your witches with you lest I ravish them into the grave."

  "No," she begged, falling to her knees. "Do not send me away. Forgive me for trespassing, my lord. Please do not…"

  "Go!" he shouted. "I forgive you for trespassing. That is not my concern. I no longer wish to look upon your face. It pains me, both in heart and spirit. Go from me now."

  He stormed off then leaving her to remain kneeling on the cold stone floor. As she watched him disappear down the hallway, her heart sank lower with each step he took, until finally she collapsed. Her soul was crushed. She was in despair, and had never felt such loneliness in her life.

  She was truly alone in the world, and now the one creature upon the Earth that tolerated her presence no longer wanted her around.

  She was lost.

  For the first time in her long and tortuous life, Igraina wept.

  There was ice, she remembered. The landscape was nothing but ice, with small patches of bare rock where the people lived--her people; her tribe. She couldn't remember their faces, nor their names. There was only the strange feeling that they weren't truly real, or a part of her, for that matter.

  She had been found.

  Her only memory before meeting the people of the steppe for the first time was looking up into the eyes of a strangely non-human entity. It was something horrifying yet familiar and loving at the same time.

  Theia…

  There was no sky in this memory. There was only the blackness of the heavens, and a multitude of stars that dotted the void. The only other thing that stood out was the vortex of brightly-colored clouds that swirled so slowly as if to appear to stand still. The faceless ones had come from there, and they had left her here in a small pocket of bare rock, where the people of the steppe had found her.

  She had stumbled along, just a child, freezing cold and lonely. She had been unsure of where she had come from, and was even more uncertain of her fate. The faceless ones, which her tribe had called the Ancient Ones, had abandoned her for some reason. Had they truly been real, or were simply a figment of her childhood imagination?

  In her visions, she saw her mother, vaguely, as she battled with another entity. They collided on the strangely dark battlefield, bursting with flame and brimstone as their bodies were entwined together in a fight to the death. Her mother had lost the battle, and the victor had devoured her soul, throwing her body into the void, damning her to an eternal hell of solitude…

  Much like herself.

  Then, as the vision continued, she saw the likeness of Kathorgo looking down at her as she floated formless upon the surface of a pool of life-energy. She felt that she was not meant to be; that her true mother had forbade her existence. She could not fathom why. She also could not fathom why the entity that looked down upon her consciousness had ripped her out of her mother's womb, only to throw her upon the Earth to wander in torment for all time.

  Why had he done this?

  What reason did Kathorgo, or whatever his true name was, have for spawning her only to leave her alone upon a mostly lifeless world?

  Who was this Kathorgo? Who were the Ancient Ones?

  She could see them. She could feel them. They lived in the darkness, underground in the fathomless depths of stone and fire. They were twisted, misshapen both inside and out. They were perversions of the true life of the victorious mother. They were her brethren, she felt; her brothers in creation.

  But not of this world…

  How could this be? Gaia did not spawn them. They were ripped from another womb, much like Igraina herself. How were they, and she, allowed to be spawned on a world that was not their own. Who was her own mother, really?

  Theia…

  The vision of Kathorgo, stone-faced and bearing those curved horns, spoke the name. What did it mean? Was this her true mother's name? Why was she born when her birth had been forbidden? Why had Kathorgo disobeyed and spawned his own children?

  Kingu…

  The crowd of faceless ones chanted the word loudly, all of them on their knees before a giant construct of stone, carved into the likeness of this Kathorgo. There were thousands of them, appearing made of translucent stone themselves. Twisted, faceless, vile and evil. They had taken humans from the surface somehow, bringing them to their world to devour them and toss their bones upon giant piles of remains.

  She could smell the vile scent of their decay.

  Ach-Ia-gra!

  She was held high, proudly displayed before the creatures. They hissed at her, clawing the air as the acolyte of darkness lifted his stone blade to cut out her heart. They called for her blood. They called for her heart to be ripped from her chest in sacrifice. She was to be theirs.

  But her mother had stopped them.

  The cavern, this underworld, had shook violently. Stones fell from the ceiling, crushing the vile creatures beneath them. She could hear the howls of rage coming from the nearby chamber. The sacrifice had been spoiled, and there was no stopping the underworld from collapsing.

  The faceless ones, the Ancient Ones, had to be rid of her lest their world be destroyed. They had to take her to the surface, to abandon her to the ice and cold. To be sure that she survived…

  Mother…

  The stone father had ripped open a portal; a glowing vortex of energy through which the Ancient Ones had gone, leaving her upon the surface to fend for herself. Though freezing, starving and alone, she grew for those first few years, unable to die. It was only in her third year that the people of the steppe had found her huddled in a cave.

  Her filthy and half-dead body was wrapped in furs, and a female had held her close, speaking soothing words. She slept then, content and relieved. She was just a child, innocent and pure, unspoiled by the evils of the world.

  Or so she had thought…

  Igraina drew a sharp breath as the vision ended. Her head pounded with intense, throbbing pain and her heart raced. She was breathless, as if she had not been breathing while the vision lasted. She felt bewildered, unsure of what had just happened, and as her body returned to normal, the vision began to fade from her memory. All of the visions began to retreat to nothingness, dissolving faster as she attempted to retain them.

  "No," she cried. "Let me remember."

  But it was no use for her to beg. She was begging to no one, to nothing. She was alone in a dimly-lit hallway, there on the floor for a reason she could not fathom. She remembered nothing but her king demanding that she leave.

  But why was she here? Why was she upon the floor?

  What had happened?

  "Go from me now," she heard T'kar say in her mind, yet somehow out loud.

  She looked around for him, but he was not here. It was only her, the darkness, and the strange carving upon the wall at the end of the dark hallway. It was an odd carving, but even more odd was that the hallway terminated in a blank stone wall. Blank but for that carving; a horned helmet or head with gem-like eyes that stared into nothingness.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dearg awoke the next morning with Morrigan beside him. The air was chilled, warmed only by the remnants of the previous night's fire. It was barely enough to warm Morrigan's earth and peat dwelling, but it was still much better than the air outside.

  He quietly stood up and pulled on his trousers and boots, wrapping a large fur around him as he stepped outside. The sun was barely up, and the Highlanders were already beginning to gather around their central fire pit.

  Ivar stepped out of a nearby hut, shirtless and stretching. When he saw Dearg, he winked. Dearg chuckled, knowing his friend had enjoyed his night just as much as he did. Fleek too was awake, sitting at the fire with a hefty but pretty woman on his knee. He grinned and raised a steaming mug of hot ale when he looked over.

  "Looks like Fleek had a good time, too," Ivar jested, pulling on his shirt.

  Dearg smiled, b
ut kept quiet. His mind was focused on last night's events. However, it was not the love play, but the words Morrigan had spoken to him, that dominated his thoughts. She had awakened something within him; some kind of realization. She made him realize that he had indeed been missing something his whole life. That something was there, in the distance, looming above the nearby peaks.

  Dol Drakkar.

  It was a strange name, to be sure. She had said it was a temple to the Dragon. Not just a temple of worship, but the very gateway to the Dragon himself. It had called to him his whole life, he realized now, and he had ignored its call. He felt as if it wanted him to do something, but that something was unknown to him.

  Could it be to live here among the Dragon's people, his people?

  "Brother," Ivar spoke. "We should return home. The Jarl will be expecting us."

  "Of course," Dearg replied. "Back home… back home."

  Ivar wandered over, standing in front of him as his mind wandered.

  "What troubles you, brother?" Ivar asked.

  Dearg furrowed his brow, sighing in discontent. "I'm not quite sure," he said. "Everything has changed."

  Ivar's eyes went wide in jest. "By Kronos," he exclaimed. "What did that woman do to you?"

  Dearg chuckled, clapping Ivar on the shoulder. "She has awakened me, I think," he said. "But you're right. The Jarl will be expecting us. Or he'll at least worry that we're up to no good."

  "I'm fairly certain none of the three of us were up to anything good last night."

  "True. But unless we return soon, he'll get the impression that we disobeyed him."

  "Bah!" Ivar said. "Svengaar's stubbornness will be his downfall. Our tribe can't live safely behind the cover of the mountains forever. Eventually, we will have to fight to protect ourselves. I say we take the initiative and strike first."

  Dearg smiled crookedly, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Ivar. He was glad to hear that his friend had the same thoughts he did. The Jarl seemed incapable of seeing the threat that T'kar's very existence posed against the Northmen. As far as Dearg was concerned, it was either fight or go back to the Northlands. Dearg was not prepared to do that.