At dawn, we fight!

Sibillah smiled to herself as her creaky knees slowly lowered her into her seat.

The flames of the fireplace danced in her eyes like new blossom in the April wind. She held the cup with both hands. It had been so long since she tasted her husband’s sherry. It was as sweet and smooth as she remembered, and its kick hadn’t changed either: she still felt it the strongest just after it reached her gut.

Things were different back then, more than forty years ago.

She walked her fingers softly over the left arm of her chair, feeling the cold touch of the fine white oak. Her husband felled that tree just for her, and made the chair himself. Two of their children had been nursed in it, the other one would often fall asleep in it, dreaming of her mother’s tales of beasts and monsters and valiant heroes.

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‘Tell me the story again, mama!’ little Moira asked, tucking at her mother’s robe.

‘She will become a librarian, this one, I’m telling you.’ Her husband laughed his full, hearty laugh which could conquer entire halls just as well as his speaking voice. He handed Sibillah a cup of sherry, and kissed her cheek. They were all in the bedroom.

‘Enough of the dragon stories, Moira. It is now time for you to go to sleep.’ Sibillah said, watching her daughter’s small legs dangle over the lip of the chair. She was playing with a wavy strand in her otherwise straight, amber coloured hair.

‘But, mama! Please! Tell me again about Dlaug the Telible!’ Moira pleaded, a sparkle of excitement behind the beautiful azurine blue eyes she shared with her father.

She really meant to say Draug the Terrible, but she was at the same stage as a lot of children her age: where pronouncing ‘r’ was still the equivalent of a difficult foe to vanquish. On occasion, just before he met with his council, her father would hold her on his knee and exercise her articulation of the sound.

‘Prrrride, accorrrrdion, firrrrre.’

Sibillah stifled a laugh and handed her cup back to her husband. She took Moira in her arms and walked with her around the room. The child smelled like almonds, and she felt warm like freshly baked dough. Little did Sibillah know then that there will come a day when Moira’s smell would be amongst her only pleasant memories of her.

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Sibillah sighed with heavy heart. She remembered it all; like leaves in her tree of life, all her days were hanging now above her, and she carried them. Of some she was proud, with others she had made her peace, and some she wished she could undo.

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'The battle had dragged on far too long, and Mount Sarrahun was angry. It wanted all those who did not belong there gone. The rain had started, and it was furious too, the forest we were walking through knew that we were there for Draug. His magic was all around us, pulsating. The muddy paths were gripping onto our feet and stopping us from moving. We started to think we should turn back, when finally, through the dense bushes and even denser rain, we spotted the entrance to the cave. We had to smother in our joyous shouting, for we knew we were about to face our first real challenge since the beginning of the battle.

As we approached the opening in the mountain’s wall, black lightnings hit my troops. Two of my soldiers fell dead on the spot. Sarrahun had given us our final warning, but we kept on. We went in through a thick blanket of darkness. Two men with torches led our convoy, and we trusted them with our lives. We did not want to be noticed by Draug or anything else in the cave, by spreading too much light. We’d keep a hand on the person in front of us, so as to not stray away from the path. You could almost hear our hearts beat, that’s how silent we were.’

Moira’s eyes widened in suspenseful expectation. She knew how the story ended, but every time her mother told it her, it felt renewed and wonderous. There was something in her voice, something that made the images in Moira’s head come alive in her dreams, and so, the world was less ordinary.

‘Then out of nowhere, the air around us caught fire, and…’

‘That’s how Uncle Remus got his scars. All over his back, it burned his skin off.’ Moira’s father added, patiently listening to Sibillah’s story, watching them from the edge of the bed.

Moira’s little peach-like mouth opened in a hushed ‘Wow’. Sibillah gave him a disapproving look. She did not want to put terrible images of maimed bodies in Moira’s head from such a young age. She hoped that Moira would grow different from her, that she would never see the cruelties of the battlefield first-hand. 

‘Before I knew it, the awful, foul-breathed head of Draug was reaching out for us, whoever was left alive after his fire spitting. His teeth were long and shiny, sharper than my blade. He was not a villain I could take on.

We managed to crawl back towards the exit, while Draug kept sending blaze after blaze to find us. He could not reach us, you see, for the corridor was too low and too narrow for his fat body to fit. We were lucky enough to find our way out, and…’

‘No, mama. Papa said yesterday when talking to Lold Dallow that you slayed the dlagon!’ Moira objected, pointing her now incriminating finger at her father.

Sibillah’s gaze tightened in hostility and fixated on her husband for a brief moment, before turning into a puzzled frown.

‘Oh, did I? I really don’t remember, sweetie. It was soooo long ago…’

‘But, mama. Papa said…’

‘It’s time for you to sleep. Now, Moira.’ Sibillah’s voice tensed, and Moira knew the negotiations were over.

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A knock on the door disturbed her reverie.

‘My Queen. The time has come.’ The Captain of her guards declared.

Sibillah nodded. The new dawn greeted her still rosy complexion with reviving light. The lines between her eyebrows came together in a frown of determination. She got up, her sword knocking against her armour-clad thigh. One more battle to be fought, and perhaps the hardest.

‘Call it.’ She told the Captain, who silently bowed his head and walked back down the corridor. Soon after, the cry of the war horn sounded, and so did the voices of the army.

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‘Mother, your kingdom is waning. This is the ebb of your rule. Do you not see what I can do? Do you not know how powerful my magic is? Give up whilst I am still allowing it. You cannot stop me.’

'I will not lead my people on the path to perdition. Your word spreads fear, you would reign by the shedding of blood. I will not have it, Moira!’

'Very well, then. At dawn, we fight.'

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Sibillah had not realised that tears were rolling down her cheeks. She let them sink into the creases of her skin and tumble over the fleshiness of her jaw, once famous for its strong contours. She was not going to wear her helmet today. If she was going to die, she wanted her men and women to see her face, to know she was there until the end, in her old age, without fear or shame.

She wanted her daughter to know, when she struck her final blow into her mother’s heart, that what was done, could not be undone; and when the time was right, she wanted her to remember: they fought at dawn.