Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1)

by Roberto Vecchi

  The man was of medium build and had a fading set of black hair, more speckled with strands of grey, indicating he was progressing in age beyond the youthful expression of his face. He wore several gold rings on each hand and had a very ornate golden necklace hanging midway down his chest. The necklace ended in a large circular image of a golden dragon, with its wings spread wide, apparently depicting it in flight.

  "If you see a man who is quite capable with the sword, capable enough to handle himself against multiple opponents, then yes, I do believe we see the same," said the man's escort.

  "Yes, My Lady, but I was referring to the young woman standing next to him," the man responded as his and his escort's scrutinizing gaze shifted from Eriboth to Athlorial.

  "I do not know, My Lord. Is she beautiful? Yes. However, I am not sure she is able to cast a spell with her voice," she said with an edge to hers.

  After the silence between them caused Athlorial to avert her gaze from the man and woman, Eriboth gripped her hand slightly more firmly offering reassurance. "My Lord and Lady Cuetori of De’Grath, it is always a pleasure seeing both of you, and on this joyous occasion making it even more of an advantageous reunion. Days like these should be allowed to stand as an unblemished account for all things good in life. Do you not agree My Lord and Lady?"

  "I have heard that the morrow will bring even a greater example of justice and righteousness," answered Lord Cuetori.

  Meeting his eyes, Eriboth replied in a cool and steady voice, "Then I will look toward the morrow with expectation." There was a pause between them and a silent acknowledgement. "Now, with your permission My Lord and Lady, the Lady Athlorial and I have not yet had the opportunity to sample the finery of our host's food and drink; therefore, I would ask your leave to enjoy in the delights of the evening's grand celebration."

  "Certainly, Lord Eriboth," returned the Lady Cuetori.

  "You have my appreciation," he said as he and Athlorial excused themselves with a retreating bow. As they began walking away, Eriboth whispered in her ear to wait for just a moment. He then turned and addressed the Lord and Lady Cuetori whose eyes had not departed from him, "Oh, My Lord Cuetori, please extend my pleasantries to your son upon his return. I am much disheartened at his absence." He then gracefully led Athlorial to their table where they sat and spoke.

  Although she could feel the tension between their recent exchange, she decided not to press him with questions, rather she allowed him to take the lead in the conversation. And much the same as the first time they dinned together, she was soon swept away in his easy and unconditional focus upon her and only her. This evening was just as fluid as their previous evenings together, and in spite of their initial confrontation with Lord and Lady Cuetori, it was the better part of perfect. They ate, they drank, they danced, they laughed, and they grew in their appreciation and affection for each other. He never failed to introduce her when he was approached by any number of Lords and Lady's, including their hosts. He always made it a conscious point to include her singing as a focus of the conversations with all who approached them.

  In their increasing familiarity, their hands became freer in their search for a shared physical connection to complement their already deep emotional bond. She found herself enjoying the way he would place his hand on the small of her back while they danced. Using it to direct her to mirror his steps, he would occasionally pull her closer; close enough to draw upon his scent. And how she loved the smell of him. Unique, strong but subtle, with hints of musk and confidence, he smelled of a fresh, yet warm summer breeze carrying with it the familiarity of home. During one song in particular, as the musicians played a beautifully enchanting melody, and the hired bard bellowed in a deep and resonating baritone, Eriboth pulled her close and whispered the words to her ear. She felt his warm breath cascade into her hopes, bypassing any and all of her predetermined structure of how the night should progress. Though the music was magnificent, and the bard's voice nearly perfect for this song, she hung upon the faintness of his whisper as that which gave her life and love. Each heated syllable spoke directly to her and managed to fade her thoughts of past pain into the future of promised sight. She blended with his words, for she knew, in that moment, he had written them just for her.

  "I hear you cry and my heart sinks

  Despite the time, so many links

  Together our hearts beat as one

  Hearing you scream, I am undone

  Crying alone, I long to take

  Your pain away with love to make

  To hold your hand under this tree

  Allow your pain to melt in me

  You face so much and strain to feel

  Compounds the hurt with soul to seal

  Beside of you with tender eyes

  I have no answer for all your "whys"

  So as you sit deep vision burned

  In my soul this truth I’ve learned

  I would walk miles at your behest

  And undertake the longest quest

  Too see your eyes and tears wiped clean

  Upon my soul your heart can lean

  So as you walk in lonely place

  I will always be your saving grace."

  She did not want his words to end, nor desire his warm breath to find a destination apart from her longing and now empty skin. As she was held close to him, leaning upon and drawing strength from the warmth of his muscled chest against hers, he pulled his hand from the small of her back and found its new destination as he lightly cupped the side of her face. With his fingers gently resting on the back of her neck, he guided her lips to meet the tender and warmth they sought.

  As pain met pain, a rising of passion resulting from the complete trust in the other, began to build. She could not say how long they kissed, or even if they had actually stopped, because all moments, seconds, minutes and hours blended into a singular dream, surreal in its experience. Lost, hopelessly lost was she in this dream of promised hope and answered fate. And she would have had it no other way. Though their lips did physically part while they were yet on the dance floor, after the music had stopped and the ale and wine ceased to pour, not once did her heart leave the space of his soul it now called home. He had saved her once from a nightmare several days past. He had saved her from landing upon the floor in her room the day they had first met. And now he had been able to save her yet a third time; but this time, he did so not by preventing, rather by allowing her to fall freely and desperately into a complete understanding of love and hope; a hope that became real during the night they spent together seamlessly interwoven together as a single expression of a solidified union of souls.

  They loved, they kissed, they gripped, they laughed, they sweated, and they breathed. Their night's passion had been fueled not by the smoothness of their skin, or by the touch of their bodies, but by the bonfires of the moment when their walls came melting down to reveal a nakedness of soul so deep that their individual wills sought only to exist with other's. So intimately entwined had they become, that the summation of their pain, previously held as separate entities, was now given openly to the other. For on this eve, they became one motion, one body, one heart, one soul, and one will seeking nothing more than completion; a completion they had found in each other.

  As she now stood, lifetimes removed from that night, she saw in his eyes the same hope she had seen, the same hope she had wanted to see. Yet it only fueled the remembrance of the cascading events of her life as a direct result from that fateful night. She had released the battered past she suffered at the hands of her parents long ago. She had let go of the crippling pain of her sister's death years ago as well. But what she believed to be equally resolved had come rushing back, flooding everything in her mind. There he hung, on the tip of her sharpened anger. He was now hers to either grant mercy, or justice. Yet, none had been there to grant her mercy from the depth of hell she was forced to live through. None had been there to pull her out of the desperation she was i
n. And none, least of all him, had been there to release her from the awful decision she was forced to face. She would not be there for him. As his body fell to the ground and his blood pooled underneath him, she spoke a single phrase, "You never came back."

  Atuun (Journey).

  Returning home from the festival had proven to be a much shorter walk than I had remembered previously. However, it was entirely possible that the complete consumption of my thoughts upon the many aspects of yesterday and last night, and my desire to remain within them, had created the illusion of speed and brevity. I knew when my walk was complete, I would have no time to indulge in my memory's consuming effect. However short my journey home was, the air was warm, the sun was rising, and the clouds were absent from view. This was indeed going to be a good day.

  During my walk, the main portion of my thoughts was devoted to trying to reconstruct my evening from the point where I could not concretely remember a coherent progression of my actions. I vaguely remembered laughing at many things, then getting very tired, being led somewhere, and then waking up next to Lady Inshanduil. I remembered more emotions and sensations than I did actions and facts. When I was within sight of my family’s farm, I began to feel a pit forming in my stomach, but not from the return of the consequences of imbibing more than my share of ale. It had finally reached my consciousness that I had missed all of my morning chores, and that was something we did not do. Seeking to have a balm applied prior to suffering through my father’s deafening silence, I went right into the house to seek the comforting words of my mother before tending to my remaining duties.

  In a slightly alarmed, but mostly tender voice, she greeted me, “There you are my, Eklirin! Your sisters and I have been worried about you!”

  “Good morning, Drashin. I apologize for not coming home last night. The feast was more than I thought it was going to be. How was the rest of your day at the festival?” I responded and asked seeking to change the subject.

  “Much the same as it is every year. Well, after we were honored to watch the first match with Lord Henchat that is. Your father got into a rather spirited discussion with one of the booths this year that was touting the promises of magically enhanced food. In this case, seeds specifically. Tell me about the feast, Drin. I am anxious to hear what kept you out all night to miss your morning duties. Keep in mind, your father is upset. You know he values duty above all else.”

  “Yes, Mother, I know. I think I will go out to meet him and prevent his anger from smoldering any longer,” I said as I employed yet another tactic to avoid retelling the details of the plentiful ale and Lady Inshanduil. As I turned to walk out of the house, I grabbed an apple and took a bite to hopefully present the veil of innocence in regards to the evening in question. I could feel my mother standing and watching me as I increased my pace. She was not fooled at all by my act. Nor did I possess any delusions suggesting otherwise.

  I saw my father walking in the fields toward the cattle shed, clearly behind in the days progression from where he normally would be had I been present to assist. Because of his slightly declined head and the purposefully extended strides beyond his usual gait, I was quite sure his anger had not yet cooled. Either that or he had developed a fondness for cleaning out the cattle stalls while they grazed. Since this was normally my task, and I normally began it just after the sun rose above the tree line created by the Breckenwood, it was reasonable to conclude he was two full hours behind his normally well-kept schedule. This was, indeed, not going to be a good day.

  I finally caught up to him as he was already cleaning the second stall. I decided my best tactic was to grab one of the flat headed shovels still hanging in the corner and start in the stall opposite him. I was not yet ready for the inevitable confrontation, though if I could show him how hard I was willing to work to right the wrong and regain the fleeting sun, perhaps, by chance upon all chances, his anger would be tempered against the waters of my sorrow and I would not be consumed.

  When there was but one stall left to clean, and neither of us had a choice but to clean it together, it was then he spoke, “Was she worth it?” he asked with utter confidence in the reason I was late.

  Completely dislodged from my perfectly rehearsed response because I never expected him to conclude the truth, I stammered for words, “Wha…I…What do you mean?”

  “I mean, was she worth leaving your Drashin and Ekliris wondering to your fate,” my father retorted as he left himself out of his question.

  “Of course not, Drahin!” And there it was. He had exacted an admission from me when I had not intended to by employing, not his anger, but the grief of those closest to me. I was so focused upon my mother’s and twin sister’s worry for me that I was not able to respond with anything but the truth. But clarification was needed for she, Mylanas Inshanduil, was the embodiment of perfect femininity and contained beauty. “Father, before you look at me, please know that my intention was to complete the feast, return home and assist you in the morning as I have done for more years of my life than not.”

  “Oh I believe your initial intention, Drin, but I also believe that you became distracted and lost what that was,” he shot back in a quick yet soft voice. “I am not upset because I have more work to do. The Fates have seen me complete more in shorter time without complaint. What I am upset with is how your behavior last night could be an indication of your life once selected.”

  “How does last night have anything to do with something that has not even happened yet?” I believed my question had validity so I pressed for an answer I did not believe he had, “Drahin, how can one night determine my path in life when I do not even know what that is yet?”

  My father let out a long and slow sigh, and with it, all of his frustrations with the current situation, “Because Drin, what you do when there is no one to keep you on the path is what defines a man’s true heart. It is one thing to do the right thing when people are watching, or when you are told what and when the right thing is. But it is altogether different to be able to know the right thing in your heart without the utterances of anyone else; and yet again different, to be able to do it.”

  I was beginning to get frustrated myself because I could not comprehend how I was supposed to know what the right thing to do was when no one was going to tell me. Who was I supposed to listen to? And at what point was I supposed to disregard the advice of others and listen to what I believed to be right? And who says I was not right about what the right thing was to do? Apparently I was saying all this out loud because my father started looking at me with a soft grin and said, “Easy Eklirin. Slow down your mind before it goes spinning away or you will never find the answers you seek,” he concluded as he chuckled. “But you have still not answered my question. Was she worth it?”

  Now it was my turn to sigh. And I did just that with a deep exhalation in part because I was relieved to have expelled what I was keeping inside, and also because my father knew me well, “I do not know, Drashin. But I know that in all my years yet to live, I shall never see the beauty I did yesterday.”

  A broad and full smile pierced his stoic face as he said, “I can see that by the way your eyes seek the stars even in the full daylight! Come, My Son, let us focus upon that which is in front of us,” he said as he put his arm around my shoulder and directed me to look in the direction of the stalls he had cleaned. “Let us focus on why all of my stalls have been cleaned appropriately,” now turning me toward the stalls I had cleaned, “and why all of your stalls need to be cleaned again.”

  As I turned under his direction, I could clearly see that he was correct. While his stalls were completed and clean for the cattle to return at night, mine looked as though a distracted young man, spending much too much time between reminiscing upon the endeavors of last night, and upon the consequences of those endeavors, had rushed through them in order to face one of those consequences. As a result, I bowed my head in final resignation that no matter whose company I had gained or what food
and drink I had consumed, I was yet still Drin Martos the farm boy, and I had more stalls to clean.

  The rest of the remaining week progressed into the natural rhythm of living and working on a farm as if the events of the first day of the festival had not happened. My father and I still woke well before dawn, as did my mother. My sisters still woke after we did and still played their adventure games in the Breckenwood with the normal protests by Jinola, who was still the one to gather the supplies. Nothing in life was changed by the significance of the events we participated in at the Festival of the Moons. Nothing that is, until the evening before my father and I were set to depart for the three day journey to Twin Oaks.

  Each of the several hundred previous evenings our family spent from dinner to bed progressed in a predictable sequence. We would dine, my father and I would prepare for our evening tasks, and my mother and my sisters would clear our dinner table and tend to the dishes and the laundry. My mother preferred to do the laundry as the sun was setting because she said it was the best way to keep my sisters out of the inevitable, Hithelyn induced evening trouble. From the age of understanding they each possessed a separate will from my mother’s, and while Jinola quietly asserted hers incrementally, Hithelyn was bent upon exercising her individual will to its fullest. A few years ago they had been prone to asserting their will resulting in games that would end with one of them getting lost or injured. After only a few times, my mother recognized a distinct and unstoppable pattern when leaving them to their own schemes on full bellies. Ever since obtaining this revelation, she always included both my sisters in her evening chores. This evening, however, saw a deviation to that routine.