by D. J Richter
It soon became necessary to vary the type of injury caused to Neubane so that he would not get words confused with each other. In a few cases, if he really wanted to drive a lesson home, Ovid would actually sever Neubane’s tail, wing, or talon.
Even after two months of this, Ovid always cringed at the constant sound of the beast’s tormented wails. It was a shame it had to be done this way, but this was only temporary; the payoff would be eternal. Neubane was gold being purified through fire. He was rough, dirty, and crude, but when he came through he would be a new and glorious creation!
True strength always comes at a price.
But was Neubane learning to think, or was he just imitating? Was this merely an advanced case of “monkey see; monkey do”?
It was all made clear the night he taught Neubane the word “beautiful”. It was the first adjective he ever attempted. It took hours of showing Neubane various beautiful things. He took him to the dazzling city of Shaust (tall and sharp, like Menst, but more cheerful), flew him through the vast ice-cavern of Nell-hod, and even explored the mysterious, crater-laden plains of Moohun. On their way to the next spectacular sight, out of no where Neubane spoke, “Beautiful”. Ovid was ready to chastise the dragon for making an erroneous observation, but then he saw it: a flock of Carielle silhouetted against the bright crescent moon, their formation in constant transition, yet maintaining perfect symmetry. He saw them nearly every day. They were common, ordinary, but looked at through eyes freshly trained to spot wonders, they were beautiful indeed. He had shown the dragon so many eye-catching sights, yet it had decided that even something as common as a flock of Carielle belonged in the same category.
Neubane was going to be alright after all.
Ovid waited at the usual spot: in the shadow of the Sendorf Mountains, where he gave the dragon his name six months ago. When Neubane returned to the realm of reality, he headed towards Ovid initially, but then turned and made several confused circles. At length, the dragon touched down in front of him as always.
“I was perplexed,” came the dragon’s frosty voice, “When I awoke, I did not feel the usual compulsion to return here.”
“Not for the same reasons, anyway,” said Ovid, smiling, “You still came.”
“I was curious,” said Neubane, his head tilted further sideways than a human could manage without looking extremely awkward, “What is the meaning of this newfound freedom?”
“You have learned well, Neubane. I am pleased. You have done far better than I could ever have imagined. It is time for a well-earned reward.” Ovid extended both his arms toward the village. “Tonight, Enesta is yours! Do with it what you will.”
Neubane released a grunt that shook the air. He drew back and glared at Ovid with disbelieving eyes. “You do realize...”
“You will subsist on sheep no longer. From tonight onward, you will truly hunt, just as your beastly soul longs to.”
The dragon turned its face to the village, then back to Ovid. For a while it just stared. “Why?” it asked, finally.
“Because you are a dragon, Neubane, and because you are ready. Avoid the armored one, like we discussed, and keep your wits about you. I know you’ll make me proud.”
Neubane circled the sky above the village, scanning the houses below. Today, for the first time ever, he would be choosing a victim.
Why could it not be like before? What difference did it make? They all tasted the same.
Perhaps he doubted Ovid’s motives. Why should he allow this? Did not humans value human life? Was this some sort of test?
Still it seemed as though it was real. There was no difficulty in plotting his attack, something that had been nigh on impossible when Ovid’s will still barred his way.
More likely he wished to choose a deserving victim. Ludicrous! Ovid’s inane human thoughts had penetrated him too deeply. How did one become worthy of death? How did one become worthy of anything?
Presently he spotted a young girl with long red curls playing in the dirt just without the village.
When all others hid behind the thin, fragile walls of their homes, this small girl dared to venture outside while a nightmare hovered overhead? Was she brave, or merely stupid?
That didn’t matter; she was vulnerable. If there was any good reason to pick a mark, that was it.
Neubane dove downward, splitting the air with a screech. He plucked the girl from the ground with his giant, four-clawed talon. He found it difficult to avoid crushing her with his grip, as he flew her, kicking and screaming, about a mile away from the village. He set her down and planted himself in front of her.
He looked into her innocent, azure eyes as she looked back. He bared his knife-like teeth and growled, drool already pooling on the ground at his feet.
This was it, the moment of choice: fight or flight. Either option had its benefits. Fight was effortless; she would practically be throwing herself into his mouth. Flight was more fun, he would toy with her, let her run a while, tire herself out, before pursuing. False hope was always so delicious.
Tears began to run down the girl’s soft cheeks. She got down on her knees and interlocked her fingers. “Please don’t eat me, Mr. Blot. Please.”
What was this? Begging? This was new. In all the centuries he had hunted humans, none had ever begged. They had spoken to him, sure, but they spoke as one speaks to a monster, not as one speaks to a compassionate being.
She looked as though she saw something in his eyes, his purple, inhuman eyes. Something that had never been there before. Not intelligence. Intelligence could be cold, and ruthless.
A heart. What she saw in him was a heart. She had looked beyond the darkness of his scales and saw a heart of light.
“Enjoy yourself?” said Ovid, at the sight of the dragon’s blood-stained smile.
“Indeed,” spoke Neubane, licking his chops.
“Now I m...” started Ovid, but paused. He leaned in towards Neubane, sighed out the nose, and crossed his arms. “I might have believed you,” he said, and pointed at a small staple of wool that clung to Neubane’s lip.
Neubane turned his gaze upon the ground, in shame.
“So what?” said Ovid, and gave a mirthless laugh, “You don’t hurt people anymore? Have I raised you to be some kind of weak, sentimental coward?”
Neubane closed his eyes as a glistening golden tear formed inside them. “I know what I am now,” he said, “I know what I have been.
“All of my life, all of my actions have been driven by one thing: pain. The pain of hunger, burned inside me, so I learned to eat. The pain of the old magic, burned my flesh, so I learned to fight it. The pain of your fire, scalded my soul, so I learned a new name. The pain of your sword, stung my flesh, so I learned to speak.
“I was pain. I was all that pain made me.
“But now that I can see meaning in my experiences beyond a string of disjointed feelings, I cannot look upon my past without feeling a deeper kind of pain. It is a searing pain that cuts straight to the heart. Tell me, what is this pain that comes from seeing the things you’ve done and wishing it hadn’t been so? What is this pain that does not hurt on the outside, and yet hurts worse than anything, and is like a great weight upon one’s soul?”
“I don’t know,” said Ovid, shrugging emphatically, “... sorrow?”
“I am sorrow.”
At that, every muscle in Ovid’s body tensed. What had Arupaia told him about the Nagella all those days ago? As long as it answers to the name you have provided, it will be unable to contradict your will... As long as it answers to the name you have provided. Did Neubane mean this only rhetorically, or was it a statement of identity?
“But though I now know myself, I must say I still do not understand you,” the sorrowful dragon continued, “You have shown me the answers to so many mysteries, yet the biggest one of all has been before me all the time. Where do
es your loyalty lie?
“Not with your country, for you abandon it in favor of a country you hate. Not with your self, for you deny yourself fulfillment, except in the most trying of feats. Not with me, for you torment me in pursuit of your own ends. Not with your own kind, for you offer them up helpless before me.
“To what goals do you submit yourself?”
“You dare question me, dragon?” spoke Ovid, his hand gripping his sword hilt, “Let’s not forget who knows your name.
“Like a true Elsati, I protect the Natural Order,” answered Ovid, “I serve all and none. Sentreya is turning the world upside-down. I came here to set right what I can.
“Don’t you see it, Neubane? This country has sought out peace (as though that’s something worth seeking) and found it! It is a place where safety is to be seen as an end in itself. Their lives are so dull, so bland and pointless. They are so blind! They have everything, and they don’t even know it because there is nothing threatening to take it away. If there is nothing left to conquer then there is nothing left to fear, and fear is what makes us truly alive.
“I have strengthened you, nay, remade you, because this country is in desperate need of something to fear, and because a dragon ought to be feared.”
“...Ovid, I do not know if you are right,” Suddenly, the dragon opened its eyes wide. It glanced about itself as though the world were suddenly a strange and unfamiliar place. “But I have discovered something else.”
“Oh what now?” said Ovid, rubbing his forehead, “You’re a vegetarian?”
The dragon breathed deeply, in and out. It sounded like a gust moving through a mountain pass. “I am free of you.” he said, “And now that I am, I must admit, back when you first started teaching me, I realized what I was starting to become, so I saved away a part of myself. I locked it in a hidden corner of my mind, to keep it safe. Safe from becoming tame.” He bent down and locked eyes with Ovid. “I kept it just for you.”
Like a true Elsati, Ovid was still in the face of death. He merely frowned and said, “You know you’ll only regret it.”
“I may,” said Sorrow, “But the part of me that will regret it is not the part of me that made the decision long ago. I no longer have a choice.”
The dragon blew, and Ovid spread out his arms to welcome the swishing sea of color that engulfed him. He felt his head slowly drain of all thought and his spirit drift away. His body was no longer part of him.
For another month Sorrow continued his pursuit of knowledge, but found that none was offered. Not for a dragon. He found that even though no one knew him, everyone feared him. Mankind would never be cured of its hatred for dragons. He would always be seen as nothing but a monster.
Though Ovid might have been wrong about Sentreya’s need for fear, there seemed to be no other option. There was no other role for him to play.
So Sorrow sought out the young girl with long red curls, upon whom he had shown mercy, and begged her to be afraid. Knowing in her heart that he had changed, the girl refused. So he asked that at the very least she keep it a secret, and tell the other humans to fear him once again. She agreed, and afterward he felt better about it.
At least now there was one who saw him for what he truly was.
If you enjoy D.J. Richter’s I Am Sorrow, look for the other books in the
Silver-Eyed Lion Collection
I Am Pain
Elsati’s Reward
The Vampire Tree