Swords of the Six (The Sword of the Dragon)

by Scott Appleton

  He stood, raced around the tree, and reached out to her. Her eyes widened as the roots grabbed at her skirt. He offered his arm, she eagerly grabbed it, and he pulled her clear. They stood a little distance away, his arm around her small waist.

  Her arms found their way around his chest and held tight.

  Warmth surged unbidden through his body. He put his other hand over her arm. He would not let go.

  With marvel they watched the tree growing from the seed. It planted itself in the earth. The branches reached the limit of their size. A single apple, small and red, appeared several feet above their heads. It swung from between several large green leaves. Crimson drops, like blood, fell from the apple’s skin to the ground.

  A shadow covered the field and the tree. The butterflies that had flitted from flower to flower burst apart. Their wings turned into a million small clouds of dust that drifted to the ground. Darkness rolled from the horizon.

  Crimson roots spiked out of the ground where the apple’s blood fell. Impaled upon them were the miniature forms of men and dragons. The men struggled and the dragons screamed, but in the end their bodies surrendered to death.

  During the silence that followed, the temperature dropped a dozen degrees.

  The voice of the shepherd spoke, and he appeared before them. “Do not fear.” He waved his arm. “There will be light in the darkness; a hope in the time of evil.”

  Having thus said, the shepherd touched them both lightly on their shoulders. Immediately the field and the tree faded around them.

  Ilfedo had never felt as strange in all his life as he did the moment he opened his eyes to find the weight of the young woman lying across his chest. The smell of her hair draped over him was as fragrant as flowers. For the moment her eyes were closed, the arc of her dark brows sloped above them as twin arches.

  With a twist of his finger, Ilfedo tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Though he needn’t have, he felt almost guilty for marveling at how smooth her skin was. But he couldn’t help noticing; it was like touching warm silk, like that sample he’d once examined in the coastal towns.

  He felt his own face. Not at all the same. It seemed the wilderness had left him with little more than ruts and ditches where it had left hers without a flaw.

  She was coming around now. Her eyelids blinked open, her dark eyes returning his stare. He felt like melting into those eyes, losing himself in their depths. Had she not saved his life? Had she not been there, also, at the threshold of death? By the will of the Creator they’d returned alive.

  In the few moments that it took for him to contemplate these things, the young woman suddenly realized their awkward situation. She rose, a bit of color painting her cheeks like twin cherries. Standing, she clasped her hands before her until he propped himself on his elbows.

  Surprisingly, he felt no queasiness or dizziness when he sat up. Beside him Hasselpatch stirred as if from sleep. Her beak gaped open in a yawn that allowed him a clear view into her pink throat.

  Ilfedo stood and dusted off his pants. He gave the young woman a gentle smile. He still felt uncomfortable about the strange interest that fate seemed to have taken in his life, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him from getting to know this forest maiden better.

  “What happened?” He cleared his throat in as unobtrusive a manner as possible. Only moments ago he had held her in his arms; only moments before that she had attacked him.

  “A prophecy, I think.” She hesitated for a few moments, something else on the tip of her tongue. “I really am sorry about your hand, Ilfedo.”

  “It feels fine now,” he said, clenching and unclenching his fist, then spreading his fingers. “Whatever you did—it worked.”

  “I’m glad.” A smile lit her face.

  “Wait!” He shook his head, confused. “My name … how do you know my name?”

  “But surely you know.” Her eyes seemed to dance. “When I came to you in the field … the prophet called you by name.”

  That had not occurred to him. He chuckled at the simplicity of it.

  “You find that amusing?” she asked.

  “No. Just too easy.” He scratched his chin. It needed a good shaving. “That explains how you know, but it fails to explain how the old man did.”

  “Have you met a prophet before?”

  He smiled again. “No, I suppose not.”

  “Then there you are!” She poked him suddenly in the ribs and laughed. “A true prophet would know your name. And he wouldn’t have to ask you because he receives revelation from the Creator.”

  Prudence kept Ilfedo from poking her back. Instead he made a slight bow and fastened her eyes with his gaze. “Now that you know my name … may I know yours?”

  “Dantress,” she said. She looked down at her sword stuck in the ground. Pulling aside the fold in her outer skirt, she revealed the concealed sheath. Grasping the hilt of her weapon she forced its rusted blade into the scabbard.

  “Dantress.” Ilfedo picked up his sword as well and buckled it around his waist. “Walk with me?” His words came out soft, hopeful.

  Closing the purple fabric of her outer skirt over the sword, Dantress looked back up at him. “I’d love to.”

  Ilfedo reached down to the ground, scooped up Hasselpatch. “Master, oh Master!” A silver tear rolled from the bird’s eye. “It is good to see you alive and well.” Her talons clasped his arm as he raised her level with his shoulder. With short strokes he massaged her feathered chest.

  The bird snapped its silver beak at Dantress. “He’ll not fall for your charms, Witch!”

  “Hasselpatch!” Ilfedo frowned. “This was all a misunderstanding. Don’t speak to her that way. This is Dantress—”

  “A name?! You asked her for her name?” The bird screeched. Her talons bit into his arm, and he cringed.

  But the bird’s demeanor changed. Her grip relaxed on his arm, and she cocked her pure white head to look at Dantress. Ilfedo was puzzled. The bird and the young woman seemed to communicate in silence for the better part of five minutes.

  Fluffing her feathers, Hasselpatch seemed to end the conversation. Dantress reached out with one hand and smiled up at Ilfedo. Her fingers stroked the bird’s chest, and Hasselpatch cooed approval.

  “Hasselpatch.” Ilfedo stirred the bird from its trance. “I’m going to be staying here for a while. I need you to return to the others and let them know I’m all right.” The bird spread its wings to their full span. He threw her into the air and called after her. “Tell no one where I am and tell them nothing of what has transpired here.”

  Flapping her wings and tucking her silver talons into her feathered underbelly, Hasselpatch circled. “As Yimshi shines upon us all, it will be as you say, Master.” She flew east over the trees.

  Ilfedo turned to Dantress. “I don’t know what you did, but it seems to have worked.”

  “I have the ability to communicate with creatures, my mind to theirs.” She said it with such nonchalance that he marveled. It sounded like an incredible lie, but her eyes were sober and honest.

  He shrugged it off, reminding himself that, crazy as it would have sounded to his friends, he had been led to this encounter by a series of visions and dreams. There was something different about Dantress. She looked human enough and the legends of his ancestors included people who were endowed with special powers by the Creator. If it was true that she possessed powers, then the Creator must have given them to her for a reason.

  Who was he to question the will of God?

  “Are you all right?” Dantress stepped even closer. He could smell her hair.

  “Sorry, I was just distracted for a moment.” Gesturing toward the sky he swallowed. “It’s a beautiful day.”

  She laughed and something inside his heart loosened as if ensnared by an invisible rope. It felt good. He laughed with her at his own clumsy start to their conversation. “There is a trail in the forest here, to the north, and a field beyond,” she said, starting to walk. “H
ave you eaten, Ilfedo?”

  Eat? What did hunger matter? “Maybe later.”

  As they walked through the woods, Ilfedo took Dantress’s hand. Using his free arm, he held aside branches in her path.

  What remained of that day, passed in what felt like a moment. They explored the wildlife-rich territory, startling birds and deer as they wandered. On a few occasions Dantress held out her hands toward the treetops. Songbirds of wide variety flocked to her, landing on her arms and shoulders.

  Ilfedo tried to gain the creatures’ trust, but he succeeded in befriending just one blue jay and a chickadee. All the other birds scattered at his approach.

  As he watched Dantress move about and observed her interaction with the birds, he could not take his eyes off her. She was so beautiful, not only in body. There was a peace about her face, a confidence in her walk. Dignified yet humble, she had stolen his heart before the day waxed old.

  When evening came they were loath to part. He looked down at her. Bits of dirt speckled the hem of her purple skirt and strands of her hair hung out of order. “Do you have family hereabouts?” he asked.

  “Yes, I live with my sisters but I’m afraid they are rather reclusive.”

  He squeezed her hand. “What about your father and your mother?”

  “The old man”—she gazed into the forest—“the prophet … he looks out for us. If it is approval you seek, then don’t worry. You have his.”

  He guided her back toward the place he’d found her. “Then, will you meet me at the waterfall tomorrow?”

  She nodded. A smile lit her countenance and her dark eyes glanced up at him before looking at the ground before her.

  Not only did she keep her word, returning to him the next day. Dantress came to the pool by the waterfall the next day and the next as well. In this manner a week sped by.

  They learned about each other. She asked him of his family, how he’d been raised. He told her of his parents and the struggles he’d gone through to move on after their deaths.

  “What about you?” he asked when he’d finished.

  She hesitated a moment, her brow knit in concentration. Some kind of struggle waged within. “My family,” she began slowly, “is bound by secrets that keep me from telling you everything. Nothing bad,” she added, grabbing his arm and looking into his eyes for reassurance. “Far from it, in fact. My father is a great … one … who raised me with more love than I could have hoped for.”

  Then, choosing her words with care, she told him that she’d come from a distant land over which her father ruled. The details of the palace and of her father she carefully avoided. She chose to tell him mostly of Helen, Gwen and—of course—she told him at length of Elsie, who treated her as if she’d been her own daughter.

  They sat on a moss-covered log, his arm around her. “My father trained my sisters and me to fight with these.” She drew out Xavion’s sword and fingered its leather-wrapped handle. She then told him that she’d traveled to a distant land and fought a small war to rescue a fallen hero.

  “We failed. Instead of accepting pardon from my father, the traitor took my sword.” She swallowed. A tear formed in her eye. “He killed himself with it because he had killed someone he’d loved. It didn’t make sense. He should have accepted Father’s forgiveness … in fact it didn’t make sense that he ever fell at all.

  “Father would have taken him back. He’s just that way.

  “There must have been a reason that the man did what he did, but … it eludes me.”

  Ilfedo drew her into his arms, ran his fingers through her hair as she sobbed. “It sounds to me,” he said, “as though the man became depressed. Whatever happened to him must have been awful. But you can’t look back and wonder what you could have done to save him. That only leads to more heartache because you can’t change what has already happened.

  “Trust me, I know. After that bear killed my parents, I would sit up late into the night imagining different scenarios, trying to determine whether or not I could have saved their lives, if I had done something differently.

  “It took me a long time but I eventually realized that if I didn’t let the past be the past it would ruin my future.”

  “Thank you,” she said after a time. “I think I needed that.”

  “What happened then?” he asked as she looked up at him.

  “We returned home, to my father’s lands. As the traitor had requested, I gave his son to my father. And, not long after that, Father brought me and my sisters here to live in the forest.

  “It has been a wonderful change; the birds, the trees and everything else. It’s peaceful here. And then you came along.” She smiled and wiped away her tears with her sleeve.

  They sat there a long time. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and they watched the sky turn orange as evening approached.

  Ilfedo let the silence remain for as long as it took to gain his courage to say what had been on his heart ever since their first week together.

  “Do you—” He cleared his throat. It felt as if a stone had fallen in and wouldn’t come out. “I mean to say … Dantress, I think … I mean … I have fallen in love with you. Please, will you marry me?”

  Her eyes looked back into his, and she nodded slowly, smiling all the while. “That’s not exactly how I pictured you asking me … but it’ll do! Though, I must ask for my father’s approval.”

  Without hesitation he agreed. Her hand trailed along his fingers as she rose to go. “I will meet you by the waterfall.”

  “Shouldn’t I come along and speak with him, too?”

  “No, Father would not want that. Very few people ever see him, and he prefers it that way.” She took a few steps away, leaned on a tree and looked back at him. “I love you, too!” She flitted quick as a deer into the forest and was gone.

  BENEATH THE STARS

  Dawn broke over the Western Wood. Yimshi’s first rays made the early morning mist glow where it nestled between the tree trunks. Dantress hiked through the forest, following a narrow trail until a wall of hanging foliage cut it off. She hesitated and took a deep breath before parting the vines. Stepping past them, she saw the trail was again visible as it cut through the grass to the cave entrance.

  The cave appeared lifeless and black as pitch.

  “Caritha, Rose’el, Laura, Levena …? Is anyone in there?” She could not hear her sisters moving about, and not a single flicker of firelight illuminated her way. She took a couple steps forward. A stone slipped under her foot, and she almost tripped. “My sisters, answer me.”

  Somewhere in the darkness metal rang and a spark flashed. Had someone drawn a sword? The spark caught, illuminating a small pile of dry wood. The spark grew into a flame that spread amidst the wood until it crackled pleasantly. One of the youngest sisters must be in there. If it were Caritha, Rose’el, or Laura they would have said something by now. “Levena, is that you?”

  Someone sighed quietly. “No, it’s only me.” Evela stared into the fire.

  Dantress sat beside her on the moss covered log. The sisters had added layers of natural green cushion to the makeshift seat in order to provide a little comfort. The cave wasn’t nearly as accommodating as Shizar Palace. Nothing fancy—just a floor of dirt and stone and beds of straw that Albino had provided when he’d left them here.

  “Sorry, Evela.” Dantress smiled apologetically. “I couldn’t see your face at first.” Gazing into the shadows, she searched for her other sisters.

  “No one else is here.” Evela picked up a twig, tossed it into the fire. “I think they went looking for you.”

  “I told Caritha not to expect me back before morning.” She shook her head. “What’s the matter with her lately anyways? It is my choice to associate with whomever I wish.”

  “But he is a man. Even I can see that. And he is a very good looking man. We are not blind to your desires.” Evela looked at her, not quite smiling, not quite frowning.

  Dantress pulled her hair over her shoulder and ra
n her fingers through it. Never had she felt as happy as she felt at this moment.

  Evela touched her arm. “What’s happened to you, Dantress? It’s been two weeks. We hardly see you anymore. You hardly say a word to any of us, and when you do, all we hear is Ilfedo, Ilfedo, Ilfedo and more Ilfedo.”

  Dantress squeezed her sister’s arm, then stood, her back turned to the flames. “I’m in love with him, Evela. Things are bound to change when that happens.”

  For a long time her sister was silent. Then, when she spoke, it was with hesitation. “Caritha feared you would say something like that. She says this needs to stop before you go too far and we lose you—”

  “It is already too late.” Dantress smoothed the front of her dress. Turning, she faced her youngest sister and got down on her knees, grasping Evela’s hands. “He asked me to marry him!”

  Evela paled and jumped up. “No … no … you can’t!”

  “You’re wrong, Evela. I can and I will.”

  “But how will you? I mean, you heard what Father said; we are dragon blood and—”

  From the mouth of the cave, Caritha’s voice finished the line with great authority. “And if you bear him a child then you will die.” She emerged into the firelight. Behind her, Rose’el, Laura and Levena followed.

  “If that is what must be, then so be it.” Dantress held out her hand, directing her words at the eldest sister. “Surely you don’t expect me to live out the remainder of my years trapped here in this cave? I do not believe that is what Father would have wanted for me … nor for any of you.”

  “Have a care what you say, Dantress.” Caritha’s eyes looked cold. “The great white dragon placed us here, and here we will stay. It is not our place to question his decision, only to abide by his word. Marriage does not have a place in our lives and, though I doubt not that you have fallen in love, I believe that time away from the man will make you realize your mistake.