by Bryan Davis
Clapping dirt off his hands, Windor nodded at Dikaios. “Tight. No run away.”
Dikaios blinked at the boy. With a welt growing on his dark cheek and a sad smile emerging on his dry lips, he seemed so pitiful. What would Flint do to the poor kid when a certain “fine stallion” escaped? This was a delicate matter, indeed.
“Good horse.” Windor patted Dikaios on the neck. “Get food.”
As soon as the boy left, Dikaios turned to the stall and let out a short whinny, a friendly greeting in horse language, or at least he thought so. It had been so long since he had used it.
The other horse’s head rose above the stall door, its ears perked. Chewing a mouthful of hay, it stared at Dikaios, its nostrils flaring.
Dikaios stared back. Could this be a mare? The look in her eyes would say so. He dipped his head in a polite sort of way and pawed the hardened mud beneath him. This also communicated friendliness … he hoped.
She just kept staring, neither frightened, nor amused.
Windor set an oaken bucket on the ground, half filled with some kind of grain. “River oats,” he said as he patted Dikaios again. “Back soon.”
Just as he turned, Dikaios grabbed his shirt with his teeth. Windor spun back around, laughing. “No go?” he asked, pulling away.
“I prefer that you stay for a moment,” Dikaios said.
Windor’s eyes grew wide, and his mouth fell open. The mare dropped her hay and kept her stare fixed on Dikaios.
“Close your mouth, Windor,” Dikaios said, keeping his voice low. “Such a gaping expression is unbecoming in a human.”
Windor’s mouth snapped shut.
“Good. I am sure you are aware of the prisoners Flint is holding. Is that correct?”
The boy nodded, his eyes still wide.
“And am I right in assuming that you are not fond of Flint?”
Again, he nodded.
“Excellent. Then if you will help me set those prisoners free, I will take you to Abraham’s village where you will be properly cared for.”
Windor swallowed hard. “Mother? Father?”
“I see,” Dikaios said. “Familial relations.” He looked at the various huts surrounding the garden, the closest of which lay about three horse leaps beyond the pigpen. “Where is your home?”
Windor pointed. “Chimney house.”
With a quick scan, Dikaios spotted the only house with a chimney. A thin curl of smoke rose from within. “If your parents are willing, we will carry everyone to safety.”
“We?” Windor asked.
“The mare looks strong enough to carry two. I will take whomever else I must. Do you think your parents will want to join us?”
He nodded. “But they at wedding.”
“Ah! The wedding. Where is it to take place?”
“Flint’s house.” Windor pointed that way. “In back.”
“Will the entire village attend?”
Windor shook his head. “Feast after.”
Dikaios scanned the area once again. “I have a warrior friend hiding in the marsh,” he explained, nodding in that direction. “But if I summon him too soon, I fear that our opportunity to spirit our friends and relations away by stealth will be gone. If not for the giant, I think the two of us could manage, but I have no idea yet how to avoid him.”
Windor pointed at himself. “I do.”
“Really? What is your idea?”
“You see.” Without another word, the boy dashed away toward his house.
Dikaios flattened his ears. The boy had left a bit too quickly. He could have loosened the knot and saved a lot of trouble. Still, what boy could be strong enough to tie a knot so tightly that a warrior horse couldn’t pry it loose?
As he reached toward the rope with his teeth, the mare blew through her lips. He raised his head and eyed her. Her expression seemed softer now as she continued staring at him over the stall door.
Dipping his head again, Dikaios spoke with a gentle tone. “Good lady, although I doubt that you can speak, your noble brow and sparkling eyes suggest that you possess a great deal of intelligence. Therefore, I am assuming that you understand spoken words. Am I correct?”
When she bobbed her head, her lower jaw hit the top of the door. She shook her mane and snorted, obviously annoyed at herself.
Dikaios suppressed a laugh and continued. “Will you assist us in the escape plan I outlined for the boy?”
Again she bobbed her head, this time backing away enough to protect her jaw.
“Very good.” Dikaios bit the knot at the fencepost and pulled. It was tight, indeed, far tighter than expected. No matter. He set his neck against the post and pushed the loop up over his head. Then, after sliding the stall latch open with his teeth, he bowed. “You are now free, my lady.”
The mare nudged the door with her head and trotted out. After circling back to Dikaios, she let out a little whinny.
Dikaios butted her gently. “Quiet, please, or you will alert your owners.”
She backed away, her ears pinned low, a clear sign of shame.
“I am not angry,” Dikaios said. “I am merely being cautious. I appreciate your enthusiasm, yet silence is of the utmost importance.”
Her ears perked up again, and she began prancing in place.
Dikaios chuckled inside. This young lady had a lot of spirit. “Since you seem ready to get started, may I suggest that you hide in the rushes just beyond the border channel? There you will find a human warrior named Valiant. He is very wise and will understand that I have sent you to him as a vessel to carry our escapees.”
The mare took a step closer and nuzzled him, cheek to cheek. Then, with a quick spin, she cantered toward the marsh, her tail swishing with her gait.
As he watched the muscular sorrel cross the shallow channel, Dikaios let out a low, “Hmmm.” Obviously she was smitten, but he couldn’t allow her emotions to get in the way of their mission. It was time for action.
Turning, he spotted Windor. The boy, his shoulders hunched and both hands carrying a steaming mug, disappeared around the corner of Flint’s house.
Dikaios trotted to the house, and as he circled toward the rear, he slowed. The sounds of human speech reached his ears. Halting at the back corner, he peeked around. Green grass covered the spacious backyard, hemmed in by a low wooden fence. A gate at the far end opened to the area beyond the fence, a muddy strip of land that bordered the marsh. There, a head-high pile of dried reeds lay next to a shorter pyramid of split wood. Beyond that, bulrushes and scrubby trees lined the swamp.
Flint walked toward the gate, followed by Abraham, Angel, Greevelow, and a stocky woman who seemed to have many of Greevelow’s features, a kind face, yet just as stoic. The giant stood at the house’s rear entrance, holding the spear at his side and sipping from the same mug Windor had carried.
Pointing at the ground, Flint spoke clearly and without emotion. “Then we will dismount the horse at this point.” He took Angel’s hand and guided her to his side. “And Father Abraham will stand in front of us and conduct the ceremony while Greevelow and Mantika watch as the two witnesses.”
Still dressed in her shimmering white gown, Angel held Flint’s hand loosely while the breeze flapped her hair and the flower garland, apparently woven into her locks tightly enough to keep it in place. In spite of the cold wind, she didn’t shake at all, though her garment seemed made only of multiple layers of thin silk. A slender belt of white satin encircled her waist and fastened a satin pouch at her side. She stared at the ground. Her lips moved, but if she said anything, Dikaios couldn’t hear her words.
Abraham stood at the spot Flint had indicated. “If you plan to follow the ways of the people on Earth, then do you have a ring to give her?” Although his voice seemed strong and lively, his drooping face and shoulders gave away his sadness.
“A ring?” Flint blinked at him. “Why a ring?”
Abraham drew a loop in the air with his finger. “Since a ring makes a circle, it is the symbol of
an eternal bond. On Earth, the groom gives it to the bride as part of his vow.”
Flint looked at his own hand. “The only ring I have is the one you gave me years ago.”
“That will do.” Abraham held out his palm, still marred by his earlier wound. “May I?”
While keeping his narrowed eyes on Abraham, Flint slid off the ring. “I kept this, because I thought it might have some kind of power, but I now think it’s nothing more than gold metal and red glass.”
“Whether or not it has power, I cannot say. I have never seen it display any.” As soon as Flint laid the ring in his hand, Abraham enclosed it in his fist. “Shall I use the traditional Earth vows?”
“Yes. Of course.” He turned toward Angel and let his gaze move slowly from her head to her feet. “Everything will be as it is on the Earth.”
“I see.” Abraham paused for a moment before raising a finger. “I hope you realize that a vow of eternal fidelity includes a promise not to harm Angel in any way.”
Flint’s cheeks reddened. “That is not an issue. Once we are united, I will want to keep her safe. I cannot start a new race of free people without her.”
“That is agreeable.” Abraham’s features sagged further. “I assume, then, that we should proceed.”
Dikaios turned and soft-stepped toward the front. Whatever Abraham had planned, it sounded like a last resort. Obviously Angel was being forced into this marriage. It was time to sweep the bride away and leave the groom standing at the altar.
When he reached the main door, he gave it a hefty kick with both rear hooves, then hurried toward the back again. He arrived just in time to see Flint and the giant running into the house.
Dikaios loped into view and stopped next to the fence. “Abraham!” he hissed. “Let us fly!”
Raising his hand to keep Angel from following, Abraham limped toward him and whispered, “Wait through the ceremony. You will know when it is time to escape.” He reached a finger behind his belt, withdrew a bone fragment, and showed it to Dikaios. “Pray that Flint’s distrust of me will work to our advantage.”
Just as Dikaios hid himself again around the corner, Flint walked into the backyard. “Look who was pounding on the door. The little wood chopper.” The giant followed, dragging Windor by the hair. The boy, carrying an axe, grimaced, but he didn’t cry out or even whimper.
Mantika took a step toward him, but, with a quick hand, Greevelow held her back. “Flint kill,” he said.
The giant snatched the axe away and slung Windor to the ground, sending him sprawling. Flint shook a finger at the fallen boy. “Why did you knock at the door and run? And the horse is missing. Did you let him go free?”
Cringing, Windor raised his hand, apparently to block an expected blow, but said nothing.
Flint shoved him with his foot. “Stupid boy! Just go home and wait for the feast.”
As Windor struggled to get up, Abraham stepped forward and helped him rise. “May I suggest, Flint, that the boy stay and be our third witness?”
“A third witness? Why?”
“The tradition calls for two or three witnesses.” Abraham raised a trio of fingers. “With three, no one could ever doubt the veracity of this ceremony.”
Flint maintained his doubtful glare. “I get the impression that you’re engaging in stealth.”
“Is that so? What stealth could be behind wanting the fine young man to stay here with us?”
He aimed a finger at Abraham’s face. “As usual, I know you won’t lie to me. Do you have a plan that is designed to subvert my intentions?”
“I assure you,” Abraham said, laying a hand on his chest, “that I will do everything in my power to stop this wedding, but since I have no such power, I am at the mercy of the Father of Lights.”
“If there is a Father of Lights.” Flint eyed Abraham for a few more seconds, then swatted Windor on the back of his head. “Go home until the feast.”
Windor dashed out the back gate, around the fence, and right by Dikaios without offering a glance or a word.
“Since we no longer have our stallion,” Flint said, “everyone stand in their places. We will conduct the ceremony before Father Abraham’s doubtful deity can stop us.” He took Angel’s hand and faced Abraham, while Greevelow and Mantika stood at the side.
Abraham’s eyes darted all around, pausing for a brief second in Dikaios’s direction. “Because of your hurry,” he said, “I will dispense with formality and speak only the essentials, at least as well as I can remember them.”
Flint glanced at the sky, now fidgeting. “I am in agreement.”
Dikaios looked up. What was Flint worried about? Ah! Dark clouds in the distance, coming this way.
Abraham raised a hand, his palm toward the bride and groom. “Do you take Angel to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, to love, honor, and cherish as long as you both shall live?”
After a short pause, Flint asked, “Am I supposed to say something now?”
Abraham nodded. “I do.”
Dikaios studied the great prophet’s face. He wasn’t even looking at Flint. He was staring straight at Angel. Why would that be?
“I do,” Flint repeated.
Keeping one hand closed in a fist, Abraham handed the ring to Flint with the other. “Put this on her finger. I will give you the words to say.”
Flint took the ring. “I expected her to speak vows similar to mine.”
“Her vows will follow the ring ceremony. The order is unimportant.” Abraham reached for Angel’s hand, grasped it for a moment, then drew back. Even from where Dikaios stood, he could tell that Abraham had slipped something into her grip.
Abraham nodded at Flint. “Put the ring on her finger.”
A scowl bent Flint’s brow. “What are you plotting?”
“Plotting? I merely gave Angel a symbolic token. She will know what it means.”
Flint grabbed Angel’s wrist. “Open it! Let me see what it is!”
As soon as she opened her hand, Flint snatched its contents and held it up, a small white object that glinted in the sunlight. “Is this the bone you found in the tunnel?”
“I consider it a keepsake,” Abraham said. “I wanted Angel to have it.”
Flint looked at his hands, first at the bone in one, then at the ring in the other. “There is stealth in your mind, Father Abraham. Tell me what your plan is.”
“If you ask me a question, I will tell you no lie, but I will keep all secret counsel to myself.”
“We will see about that.” Flint shoved the ring and bone into Abraham’s hands. “Hold the bone while putting the ring on. I want to see what happens.”
Abraham shrugged his shoulders. “Very well.” He slid the ring over the index finger of his right hand. When the ring slid down as far as it could go, he moved the bone to the ring hand and balled his fist. “I am the very first dragon,” he said with an air of nonchalance.
“I already knew that.” Flint tilted his head toward the sky. The cloud had boiled to a dark and menacing storm, covering the descending sun and rolling toward the village. “Why do you bring it up now?”
As a shadow drifted over them, Abraham gave him a weak smile. “I am the father of a race that has suffered greatly and has also caused the suffering of many.”
Flint’s lips twitched. Still glancing at the darkening sky, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I think we should proceed. I don’t see how this is relevant.”
A rumble sounded from above. A flash of light shot through the clouds, followed by a clap of thunder.
Flint ducked his head, as did Greevelow and Mantika, while Abraham and Angel stood tall.
“My words are relevant,” Abraham said, “because my life on Earth ended too soon to stop the suffering there, but I will sacrifice everything to prevent my children from going through the same tragedies.” He spread out his arms as if to embrace Flint. “As a dragon, I wait for the Father of Lights to make me a flame.
”
Lightning crashed down from the sky and struck the top of Abraham’s head. Flint and Angel fell backwards. Greevelow and Mantika dropped to their knees. Dikaios flinched but kept watch. Too much was at stake to do otherwise.
His arms still spread, jagged arcs of current snaked all over Abraham’s body until he became as bright as the sun itself.
Flint slid away on his seat. Angel tried to look at Abraham, shielding her eyes with her arm. Suddenly, his clothes burst into flames, then his face and hands. As tongues of fire melted away his skin, he turned to Angel and said in a pain-streaked voice, “Your time of widowhood has expired.”
Clutching her dress at her chest, she gasped. “I … I don’t understand.”
“I have already spoken my vow to you,” he said, extending a flaming hand. “If you wish to become one with me, I would be honored. I might not have enough fuel to finish my journey.”
“Fuel? Finish your journey?” She scooted back. “Good Father, you speak in riddles.”
“If you do not understand, then you are not ready to join me.” With his face now completely engulfed, Abraham turned and walked out the back gate, leaving a skinny trail of fire in his wake. As he passed by the piles of reeds and split wood, they ignited and exploded into a huge blaze. After circling the fence, he strode by Dikaios, seeming to float across the ground as he called out from the midst of the flames. “Make haste! Get Angel and go to my village immediately. Do not even take the time to look back!”
With a mighty kick, Dikaios vaulted the fence and landed in the backyard. Biting the back of Angel’s dress, he jerked her to her feet. “Mount and hang on as tightly as you can,” he said, lowering himself to his knees. “Whoever else seeks safety, follow me!”
Flint shouted, “Where is my giant?”
Dikaios looked at the back door. The Naphil lay sprawled on the ground, the mug again in his grip.
Just as Angel lifted her leg to mount Dikaios, Flint withdrew a stiletto from its sheath and dove for her. “No!” he shouted, grabbing her ankle. “You will stay!”
Angel pulled against the prostrate Flint, but she couldn’t budge. Greevelow pounced. He threw his body over Flint and jerked Angel free. As she leaped onto Dikaios, Flint threw Greevelow to the side, rolling him face up with the stiletto protruding from his chest. Mantika rushed to Greevelow’s side and knelt. With a cry of anguish, she wept over his lifeless body.