by LJ Davies
By
LJ Davies
‘Dragonfire, Sphere of Eternity’ is a work of fiction.
The events described in this novel are imaginary, as are
all related characters and elements.
Copyright © 2021 LJ Davies
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission of the author.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to express my appreciation to all the people who helped and encouraged me to write this book, to all those who provided support, talked things over, offered comments and assisted in the editing, proofreading and design. I wish to thank especially Mark Jones, Tracey Hale and Conrad Jones for their invaluable help, guidance and advice, and SR Boruvka for her exquisite artwork.
And Dad, this is for you, for the hours spent listening to me, editing, proofreading, and designing. Your love and support have seen me through some personally difficult times.
Second Edition: As I’m sure many will notice this is the second edition of this story. Written several years after the first, this updated copy merely portrays the story in a far more coherent and better punctuated manner as my level of skill and experience has improved since I first produced it. That said, I don’t claim to be perfect and there is always plenty to learn, regardless, I hope you enjoy!
Part 1
The White Dragon
Prologue
"For centuries, we have looked to the stars for guidance, but sometimes the stars can guide us in more ways than we could ever imagine."
*
Early one cold winter’s morning, fresh dew sparkled like stars in a multi-coloured sky, as trees rustled in the light breeze. It was the first time Father had taken me out on a hunt and I'd barely managed to contain my excitement. I'd been awake all night, waiting for a chance to use the new bow he'd given me a few days earlier, and I'd been swift to put it to good use. We’d already caught some game to take home, but I'd been keen to catch something truly worthwhile. Later that morning father left me to guard what we’d already caught while he went to check the last of the traps.
I sat next to a fallen deer, playing with an arrow, pushing it into the damp forest floor, spinning the tip and observing the way it lifted the soil from beneath the cover of mouldy leaves. The tedium of my duty had subdued my excitement and I had to admit, I was getting bored. I never imagined the day I'd waited weeks for could be anything but perfect, yet no matter what I’d never leave our quarry.
Then I saw it, the largest stag I'd ever seen, illuminated by beams of sunlight piercing the tree canopy – and it was unaware of my presence. This was it, my perfect chance. I quietly fumbled for my bow, sure that if I could bring it down, we’d have enough food for months, and more importantly, the whole village would be cheering my name.
Poised for the shot, with weeks’ worth of practice behind me, I levelled my quivering arrow at the beast’s gently heaving chest, taking a deep breath as the forest seemed to calm. No sooner had the world stilled, than a powerful gust of wind ran through the trees with what sounded like the deafening roar of stampeding horses.
The stag instinctively bolted into the cover of the trees as leaves and branches cracked and splintered in the icy air. The chaos was illuminated by a light so bright that at first I mistook it for the low sitting sun. When my eyes adjusted, I realised it was a bright ball of fire plummeting from the sky. Seconds later, it vanished behind the trees and the ground shook as another wave of wind tore through the undergrowth, knocking me to the ground. A shower of leaves fell over me and the world spun wildly as stars danced in my vision. I don't remember how long I lay on my back, gathering my thoughts I sat up and rubbed my aching temple.
Behind the line of trees a plume of smoke climbed into the sky and without reason I had only one idea. Some may call it brave; others might have considered it foolhardy, but I felt driven to approach the ungodly event. I thought to wait for father, however, curiosity had me in its talons and where others may have fled, I suppressed my fear and did the exact opposite. The atmosphere changed the closer I got, and smoke cast a looming shadow over the darkening forest. Instinct told me there could be a great fire brewing, even more reason to turn away.
Distressed bird calls filled the air and the smell of burning wood scratched at my nostrils. But the thought I could be the first to witness something truly special drove me on, over fallen logs and frosty creeks. As I stepped closer my confidence grew, strangely there was no sign of fire and soon sunlight began to break through the smoke. Things seemed to become a little less eerie, even though the forest fell silent. I paused, the lack of birdsong and rustling branches was unnatural, I was a hunter, I knew that.
The clearing I came upon was no natural occurrence either. Whatever fell from the sky had left the trees bent and broken, once firm trunks snapped like frail twigs. A giant crater replaced an area where undergrowth had once sprawled, and any that remained on the edges of the pit were charred and blackened. Some still crackled as if alight with a ghostly flame, while wispy bands of smoke flittered by. In the centre of the newly formed hollow, a gold-tinted rock sparkled in the sunlight. Even from a distance it crackled as if smouldering hot, like a flame more powerful than any I knew had scorched it. Yet as I approached, I found it radiated no heat.
Dirt boiled to sleek glass crunched under my boots and I was close enough to touch the thing before I even realised. It feels stupid looking back, but when I reached out, I wasn't forced back by heat, but by a freezing cold sting. As I withdrew there was a shifting sound from within, prompting me to hop back a few more steps as one side of the rock broke away. Glistening surface crumbling into a fine blue dust and revealing something I never could have expected...
Chapter 1
Blaze
"Time to go!" a voice shouted from the neighbouring room, abruptly interrupting the story.
"We'll finish it tomorrow," the storyteller called over the bustle of her young audience as they reluctantly started to depart with a collection of moans and groans.
Personally, I had no problem leaving it there, I'd lost count of the times I'd heard the tale.
Even so, I raised my head when one of the younger boys, seemingly unable to contain his desire to know how the story ended, ran over to the girl telling the tale.
"Miss Tarwin, what did you find in the woods?" he asked giddily.
She looked down at him, casually rolling her eyes and glancing around to make sure her words weren’t overheard.
"Don't tell the others, or you'll ruin the story. But if you really must know..."
"Yes, yes," the boy replied, mimicking her quiet tone.
"Him," she whispered as she pointed over to me lying on the stone floor beside the fire.
They often called me a ‘creature’ because I wasn’t like them. It really didn’t bother me – I'd accepted long ago it was a part of my life, and I really didn’t know any different; Tarwin was a human, as was everyone else I knew.
Humans walked on two legs, whereas I walked on four. They had hands and feet tipped with five toes or fingers, while I had four toes on each paw, tipped with sharp claws. My paws were dexterous enough to handle simple objects, though they were very different in comparison to a human's nimble fingers.
They had pale, soft skin that was squishy and prone to cuts and bruises. In contrast, I wore a coat of sleek scales, as white as starlight, or at least that was how Tarwin often described them. I preferred relating them to the winter’s snow; it didn’t seem as outlandish. Plus, there was no shortage of the cold stuff to compar
e them with. My scales were also hard as steel, apart from those around my legs, where they were more flexible for mobility, not to mention they were fireproof, something I'd learned long ago.
My head also differed from a human's, they had silly, flat faces with small noses and ears, all of which was topped with hair, while I had a long snout equipped with serrated teeth. The top of my head was crowned with a pair of horns. Then there were the things I had that they lacked altogether, most noticeably a set of leathery wings sprouting from just behind my shoulders, which I usually held tightly against my side. A row of small spines ran from the back of my head, down my neck and finally along my back to my tail, where they ended in a sharp, white arrowhead. Despite its dangerous appearance it wasn't a weapon, one of the many things I’d found out the hard way.
Of course, with my looks came the village's opinion of me. Humans claimed to know so much more about me, always telling me, or more specifically Tarwin, I could do so many things. They took inspiration from old stories and legends. Fairy tales for children, specifically those that spoke of ancient creatures like me. Among many things, I was apparently able to breathe fire and exercise magical control over other elements. It always made me laugh because they genuinely believed it, meanwhile I was very certain I couldn’t do anything of the sort.
Finally, there was one part of their stories I'll admit I didn't like – apparently, I was a legendary monster that their earliest ancestors knew only to fear. Despite any distaste I had for that reputation, I couldn’t help but find it ironic, because they certainly didn’t fear me. In fact, I was barely larger than one of the bigger hounds they called pets. Yet despite all their stories, there was one who I trusted completely.
Tarwin.
She was the one who had found my egg all those winters ago. The one who had told me what I really was without all the nonsense. I was a creature they called a ‘Dragon’, and even that title wasn’t a name I recognised. For Tarwin was also the one who had given me my proper name, the one I knew myself as...
"Blaze!?" the child asked, looking over to me, unaware that, in his surprise, he'd shouted my name for everyone to hear.
"Yes," Tarwin replied, shaking her head, appearing to have fully expected it to play out the way it did.
"But it's time to go now, go on, your mother will be waiting," she encouraged with a laugh, directing him out of the door.
"And don't ruin it for the others!" she added as he ran off.
Tarwin was my best friend, a rather silly title for our relationship. I knew I was more of a pet to her, but unlike everyone else, she never treated me that way. She was nineteen winters old, her twentieth fast approaching. Her reddish-brown hair covered her ears, and she was a moderate height for her age. She told stories on a regular basis, always thinking of interesting and engaging new themes, yet always coming back to the story of how she'd found me. Her soft voice was a permanent fixture in my mind, I never tired of it and I went everywhere with her. I rarely responded to any other and I certainly appreciated no other sound as much.
As for her stories, she told them to the youngsters – an even mixture of eight boys and eight girls – in the main hall of our small village. I knew most of her class just from all the attention they gave me. After all, not every child had someone like me in their village. I was thankful that the elders allowed them to be close to me, especially given their monster stories and myths. I was sure they knew I wasn't out to eat them, or maybe they were afraid I would gobble them up if they weren’t nice.
"Blaze!"
Hearing my name, I responded instantly.
Tarwin finished packing away her books and other gear, swung her bag over her shoulder and walked over to put her hand on my head. It was something she always did, just as the others did to their pets; whether they were intelligent enough to feel the way I did or not.
I've never seen dogs or cats acting like I do, some are loyal, but not like me.
"We should be going now," she suggested, voice croaky after the long day of reading.
It was cold outside and as she opened the door; I was reluctant to leave the fire's warmth. Even so, I followed, knowing it would be equally comfy where we were heading. Stepping out, the warmth of my breath was stolen by the brisk evening air as I exhaled. Sunlight was fading from the sea lying below the cliffs bordering the village's south side. The last rays creeping behind the western horizon. It cast a carpet of red over the darkening world, creating a beautifully glowing blanket across the sky where it mixed with the undersides of wispy evening clouds.
The village consisted of a few wooden houses built in a circle around the central fire and totem, which the villagers lit for celebrations and other important spiritual events. Their kind believed in all sorts of mystical beings, from horned-snakes, three headed dream crows, to dragons like me. Despite the obvious connection I didn’t really pay any attention to their spiritual talk regarding deer of the great tree, horses of the waves, or fire birds of the northern mountains.
At the centre of the village was the great hall, a large wooden structure filled with long tables, high chairs, huge barrels of mead and walls covered in trophies. So many it was hard to spot any new ones whenever I entered.
The hall often hosted celebrations, the villagers spent many nights in there enjoying great feasts amidst their songs, drunken dances, and rowdy festivities. They were always lively events, but as with most things in the village I never cared for them.
Then there was my home; well, to be precise, Tarwin and her father's home. It was the largest in the village and closest to the great hall, due to the fact her father held the important role of village chief. Even if to me he was simply Tarwin’s father.
Tarwin entered through the wooden doorway first, with me close behind. As she lit the torches their flickering glow flooded the room, warm light dancing across the walls and chasing away the darkness. She turned to light the fire-pit in the centre of the room, which was nothing more than a small circle of stones holding a pile of blackened logs and dusty charcoal.
Using one of the torches she lit a thin saucer filled with whale oil, a flammable liquid the villagers used to light most of their fires. The moment the first flames sprung from the blackened wood, I was lured in. Just as the torches outside beckoned insects. I found a comfortable position and lay down to reclaim the comfort I'd lost upon leaving the last beacon of warmth. Closing my eyes only to open them again when I caught a glimpse of Tarwin peering down at me, hands on her hips and a smile breaking her cherry-red features.
"What am I going to do with you? All you do these days is laze around in front of the fire," she laughed.
What? It's cold outside! She'd lay here too if she were me! I thought, chuckling too, not that she understood it as a laugh.
Her friendly remarks to my somewhat lethargic attitude were common. I didn’t know if she knew I could understand her, even though she spoke to me as if I could. She always seemed able to work out roughly what I was thinking from body language and expression alone, without the need for verbal responses.
Seconds later she promptly left to get something from the small storage room that lay off to one side of the house. That was where the food was kept, it was cool, and the meat salted to keep it edible until ready to cook.
With Tarwin momentarily absent, I returned my head to the floor and closed my eyes, emptying my mind of all but the thought of relaxing heat. When an unexpected gust of cold wind blew in through the open door moments later, however, it seemed the world was out to see I didn't get a second's peace.
By the spirits, if that door's broken again, I'm sleeping in the main hall's fire pit!
With a huff, I reluctantly raised my head, and my worries were quickly dismissed. With a whoosh the door slammed shut, locking out the chilling wind like an uninvited guest. My eyes fixed on the cause of the disruption, as Tarwin’s father made his entry quite clear.
He was a tall, heavily built man with long dark hair and a beard to match, hiding a
weather-worn, deep-lined, and craggy face. He always wore his armour, a mixture of thick fur, hide, leather and tarnished metal. The villagers had worked the materials together especially for him. Two rounded metal spaulders sat over his broad shoulders and a thick leather belt wrapped around his waist. While his feet were shod in a pair of heavy leather and metal boots that clanked on the hard stone floor with each step.
Wrapped around his neck was a wolf pelt, a beast he'd slain many winters ago. In fact, he was responsible for most of the ones hanging in the great hall. Then there was the intimidating part of him that wasn’t a piece of armoured apparel. He always carried a great war axe, a large double-sided blade with a master-crafted handle and head carved to mimic the likeness of beasts commonly referred to as ‘spirits’ by humans.
Despite my desire to lie before the flames I got up, sure I'd inevitably have to move at some point. I glanced up at him, although he didn’t understand me the way Tarwin did. In fact, he hardly noticed me, treating me just like any other pet.
He was a difficult man to impress, even if he always tried to be tolerant and accept the way his daughter viewed things. Either way, I was safe in the knowledge that, in the unlikely occurrence of him being angry at me, Tarwin would most certainly be on my side. I often wondered why she would choose me over him, although, more recently, their relationship had changed for the worse.
Before I could dwell on that idea, Tarwin returned. I glanced her way, preferring the sight of her friendly face to that of her judgmental father. She held some skinned squirrels and a few small fish, tossing one of the latter to me.
As far as reactions go, I was faster than any of their other pets and caught the food with a flick of my head, sharp teeth preventing the slippery morsel from escaping before I quickly gulped it down. Meal consumed, I continued to watch her place the remaining food on a pair of long, metal skewers before hanging them over the fire, paying little attention to her father.