Dragon Gold

It was enough.

Cursed be that ruby encrusted brick. Had we not found it poking through the Mirden sands, we’d likely still be harvesting fields.

One instant can change too much. 

After a cold week of haying and a wild wind storm, it was suddenly warm. Like summer had returned. Rory and I had gone down to the shore. It seemed our last chance to feel warm sand under our feet. Snow would soon be falling. But instead of clean sand, fleas hovered above torn sea reeds. 

“Must of been uprooted by the storm,” Rory had said, plodding through the weeds.

Enchanted by tales of warring pirates, we dug at the sand with our boots. Kicking, turned up whole shells and smooth orange rocks.

“What’s this?” Rory had turned up a rectangular rock. No, a yellow brick. “I think its gold.”

On our knees, we scrapped cold muddy sand from the brick until seeing a pattern of shiny rubies.

“A dragon. This is from the dragon temple.”

So much happened since we played that hot October day. What did farm boys know of hunting for gold? The dangers of sailing high seas filled us with excitement not dread. 

The first time we crept down to steal a ship, blood seemed to jump through my veins. Exhilaration pounded through my temples, when I bent to untie that schooner from the dock. And nothing was like the taste of salt on the wind when we raised anchor and pushed off.

To be rid of my cursing thoughts, I creaked forward and spat on the tavern’s dirty wood floor. If only we’d bailed hay, as we ought to have done. Then we’d no more believe in dragon gold than any other boyhood myth. 

Rocking back, my stump stool tottered with my every shift, and I could smell rotting wood. Past the bar and its many amber bottles, I stared down at the harbour. Ocean waves crashed for as far as I could see. But waters could be crossed. I could find civilization. However corrupt, most lands had rules. Law people could beg for justice. There were always ships going to the new world or old. 

Staring long enough, the waves blurred and became Rory’s face. His eyes bulging with rage that last day. And it was such a nothing argument. Likely, we both agreed. Neither of us wanted to wander from the safety of the fresh water brook. We had to.

It took us years of raiding to learn that the dragon temple ruins were on the isle of Arryn, and now we had a map. That it was in Rory’s pocket didn’t matter. I knew every mark on the worn parchment. Even now, I could draw it in dust at my feet. 

We reached the isle of Arryn on a fair day, which ought to have been warning enough. All was quiet, but for the lapping waves and whisper of breeze through the shore brush, and I could sense hidden treasure. As when we landed on a ship to plunder, my temples ached as though drums pounded. 

Our map showed six leading rocks, two or three finger widths apart, that would bring us to the stone tower. The great ‘X’ beyond had to be the dragon temples where we’d find all the gold of their gambling dens and sacrifices.

Though cutting through the brush was tough, our start was good. We had the warmth of the sun and could follow a clear brook that drifted north. The background mountains were beautiful.

As close as we were, like leprechaun gold, the dragon temple always seemed beyond our grasp. Following the creek for hours got us nowhere. Were map inches miles or hectares? Or yards? What if we’d already passed the first marker? And the blood flies!

Cursing the sun, I sloshed after Rory. 

“You think we’d travel better in darkness,” Rory mocked.

“Clear skies bring us ill fate,” I’d argued. “Like any other demon, pirates need darkness.”

Rory rolled his eyes, but I shouted out to the sky. “Give us storm and fog for in them we can hide and follow our enemy’s light.”

“We’ve no enemies here to follow.”

“No?  We keep sloshing through this brook. Haven’t we come to a marking rock yet?”

“It doesn’t matter. As long as we go north, we’ll find the stone tower. The map shows a stream runs beside it.”

“But not this stream!”

“As long as we follow the stream, we’ll be able to find our way back. If we go wandering off, we could end up anywhere.”

“We’ve come to find gold. Not wander up a creek.”

My feet ached from stumbling across brook rocks. Rory’s must have too. To beat back blood flies, he swished a leafy branch above his head, but they only buzzed more furiously. When he raised his arm, I thought he was going to strike me. I’d seen fury bulge in his eyes before. “Atch,” he yelped striking at the water as though something had caught him. 

Through the clear water, I saw nothing but our feet on the smooth stones. Still I jumped high on the bank as Rory began dancing and yelping in the water. I’d thought he was playing. Mocking village legends, as we did, by making his eyes wide and limbs twitch. 

Until his parrot began to scream. Red head bobbing and blue wings flopping, it wailed like a new widow. 

Rory’s face turned gray and his lips purple. Back he fell back and disappeared with the current. 

There was nothing I could do. Regrets are but a fool’s torment. Time could not be turned back any more than a wine cork or genie be returned to a bottle. Swallowing downing my drink, I waved for the barkeep to bring me another.

Funny what we chose to believe. The brick convinced us there was a dragon temple. We’d easily accepted that pirates had stolen walls of gold from gambling dens. But the curses? Those we thought fairy tales to scare the cowardly.

How different life could have been. Instead of tasting coconut spice in my rum, I could have sipped barley beer. I’d not have had a beautiful copper skinned woman dancing to try and get my attention, but a nagging wife. She’d scold, ‘quit drinking and eat your dinner.’ Flies buzzed above the plate of salted fish and potatoes that I’d shoved aside. I didn’t even remember the Georgeton girls. 

Outside the squawking of fighting gulls was only a dull echo. Nothing like the scream of Rory’s red parrot.