The Scarf and the Sword

A girl moved across a landscape of dead, yellow grass, her breath creating puffs of vapor in the frigid winter air. She wore a thick jacket the color of dried blood and pants covered with white dust. The only bright spot of color she wore was the bright apple-red scarf wrapped tightly around her neck.

She tried singing as she walked but stopped after just a few minutes. It felt wrong to disturb the all-encompassing quiet of a world that had come to an end.

~~~

A few miles west, an old man with a large sword strapped to his back was walking through a scorched forest, its trees bare and black from flame.

He was bundled in a dark green coat, and while he had no scarf to keep his neck warm, his massive gray mustache managed to keep part of his face protected from the biting wind.

His step was purposeful, and his face was grim. A perfect fit for his mission and the place it would lead him.

~~~

The girl quickened her pace: the sun was setting behind the gray clouds, and being in an open field like this wouldn’t be safe if other wanderers happened upon her.

She was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that she nearly stumbled when she crested a ridge and found an entire city sitting below her in a valley. Malthos.

Or the remnants of what had once been Malthos. From her vantage point, she could tell that much of the city had been burned. What was left was covered in pale ash.

The girl found herself trembling, but not from the cold. Had no place been spared?

~~~

Dragonfire. He recognized the signs all too well.

The old man stood at the ridge looking down on Malthos, his eyes narrowed and glinting like steel. This meant he was on the right track.

He considered taking shelter in the city but dismissed the thought. It would be nearly pitch black by the time he got down the slope, and he didn’t relish the thought of meeting desperate survivors in a city he didn’t know the layout of.

He almost turned back to the forest when something caught his eye. A cluster of buildings set less than a quarter mile from the ridge: an abbey.

The old man was careful not to get too hopeful as he cautiously approached. Other people might have already found these buildings and holed up in them; he supposed the monks might still be inside, but he doubted they would have stayed upon hearing a dragon attack the city they lived by.

Reaching the grounds, he didn’t see any signs of fire damage or people. He quietly entered the abbey. The nave—the long stretch of space that made up most of the church portion—was only illuminated by the fading light.

The old man drew his sword from its scabbard and started walking forward. That is, until he heard a sound from behind him.

~~~

The girl hurried to the abbey, grateful she had spotted it. She had no wish to camp out in the open or in that skeleton of a city.

Maybe there would still be some kind monks. She had barely seen anyone else on her journey, and the ones she had seen had given her looks that made her fearful. A fourteen-year-old girl had no business traveling on her own. Thankfully, she was quite good with a knife thanks to her father’s lessons.

The memory of her father made her heart clench in pain, and she purposefully shoved the thought away.

When she reached the abbey grounds, she realized she most likely wouldn’t find anyone here. There wasn’t light emanating from a single building. A gust of wind made her teeth start chattering, and she started moving towards the abbey itself. There should be fireplaces in the rooms inside.

Stepping up to the large entrance doors of the abbey, she saw one was slightly ajar. Her eyes darted around. She didn’t see anyone, and the inside looked unlit. Still, she drew her knife and slowly stepped through the door.

And screamed when she found an old man holding a sword right in front of her.

She tried turning to bolt, but her panic caused her to fall. She whipped out her knife as she scooted back across the cold, stone floor.

“Stay back!” she warned, her voice croaky from disuse. When was the last time she’d spoken?

The man paused.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said in a gravelly voice.

Her panic started subsiding, but she still didn’t fully trust this stranger. She finally managed to get on her feet, keeping the knife pointed toward him the whole time.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the man repeated. When she still didn’t put the knife down, he let out an annoyed sigh and placed his sword on the ground. “There. Feel better?”

“A little,” she said. She slowly lowered her knife, still ready to run should he make any sudden move toward her.

They stood in tense silence for a moment. The old man broke it first.

“I was about to go see if anyone is staying in the guest rooms. You’re welcome to tag along if you want.”

The girl weighed her options. She couldn’t afford to stay out in the freezing temperatures; she could always try her luck in the city…but she’d already determined that she had no desire to stay in that cursed place.

“Sure,” she finally said. She started to put the knife away, but the old man shook his head.

“You’ll want to keep that out. In case we meet anyone else,” he said as he picked up his sword again.

They moved farther into the nave, the cavernous room making the silence feel suffocating. The light was quickly fading, but there was enough streaming in the tall windows that they could just make out their surroundings. Neither one of them brought up lighting a torch: it would be a beacon to anyone that might be hiding in the abbey.

“Where do you hail from?” the old man asked in a whisper as they crept forward.

“Crissa,” she replied.

“Was it…” he let the sentence hang in the air.

“Earthquake.” She didn’t offer any further information, and the old man simply nodded. They reached the end of the nave and turned right to a set of stairs. In most abbeys, these would lead to the monks’ sleeping quarters.

“Pier’s Point,” he said as they ascended the stairs. “Dragonfire.”

They reached the top of the staircase and quietly opened the door that led to a hall. There was still no sign of life. The old man signaled for the girl to wait by the door and checked each of the sleeping quarters. She felt tense the whole time, half expecting someone to jump out and attack the man.

“We’re clear,” he said in a louder voice when he finished checking the last door.

The girl sagged in relief. The old man made his back down the hall toward her.

“I’ll take the first room here; you can take the second. They both have fireplaces. You know how to get a fire started?”

“Yes…sort of.” It’d taken her over an hour to do it the first night she had started traveling west.

The old man seemed to sense her half-truth. “I’ll help you get yours started.”

They entered the small room. The furnishings were simple: just a cot, a small dresser, and a pile of wood next to the fireplace in the corner. The old man moved toward the latter.

“I’m headed in the direction you came from,” he said as the girl sat on the cot. It wasn’t that comfortable, but it would do. “Any of the towns or cities still standing?”

“No,” she said, and then in a whisper, “There’s nothing left.”

The old man was silent for a moment while he worked to get the fire going. “Maybe we really did anger the gods,” he said to himself. He started listing cities. “Atria, Slievall, Pheblin, Norkas, Katra.” He got a flame going in the fireplace. “All of them destroyed. Barely any survivors.”

The girl brought her knees up to her chest on the cot. “What’s happening?” she asked in a quiet voice.

The old man blew the flame to make it grow before answering. He then turned to her, his face half-lit by the flame. “Some are calling it the Ruin. They’re saying it’s the gods’ final judgment on us.” He turned back to the fire. “Certainly feels like it.”

“Did you lose anyone?” the girl asked.

“My wife,” came the reply. “You?”

Tears began streaming from the girl’s eyes, and she swiped them away. “My whole family. They were crushed when the house collapsed.”

Silence for a moment more. “I’m sorry.”

She sniffed. “I’m going to Vrella; my mother’s sister lives with her family there. Do…do you know if…”

The old man shifted his back toward the fire, which was now blazing. “No. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up too high.”

“I know.” She looked up at him. “Where are you going?”

By the firelight, she could see the grim resolve in the old man’s face. “To kill that damn dragon.”

“By yourself?”

He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes. “Yes.”

The girl dropped her eyes after a moment. The odds of a single man killing a dragon were next to nonexistent, but she didn’t say that. She had a sense that he already knew that.

After a few minutes of silence where they both watched the fire, the old man slowly started rising.

“Well, it’s getting late,” he said. “Wake me if you hear anything out of the ordinary, all right?” The girl nodded. He left her alone in the room, and she stared at the dancing flames for a long time, thinking.

~~~

The next morning, the two travelers stood at the edge of the abbey’s property, ready to head out. The girl was loathe to part company with the only safe person she’d met so far, but the old man seemed set on seeing his personal vengeance through.

“Safe travels, girl,” the old man said. “Don’t hesitate to use that knife if anyone tries to mess with you.”

She smiled. “I won’t.” He gave her the ghost of a grin back. Then he started walking in the direction she’d come from: according to his tracking of the dragon’s path so far, it had been flying in that direction on the day of the attacks.

She turned to go the opposite direction, then hesitated. She turned back and ran after him. He heard her coming and turned around, curious.

“Sorry, I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I can’t just let you walk to your death,” she said in a rush. “Come with me. We can watch out for each other, and I know my aunt will gladly take you in.”

The old man just smiled at her sadly.

“Thank you for the offer, but this is something I have to do.”

“Then let me come with you!”

“No!” he said gruffly. “No,” he said again, in a softer voice. “Go to Vrella, little one. You at least have some hope to hang onto. I’m…well, I’m fresh out of that.”

The girl looked at him, knowing she wouldn’t be able to convince him. She took a step back.

“Then may your journey end in peace,” she said, her voice trembling.

“And may yours continue on for many more years,” he replied. He turned to go but stopped when she grabbed hold of his arm. She removed her bright red scarf from around her neck and placed it in his hands. Nothing was said, just a tearful smile, and then she walked away.

The old man held the red scarf in his hands for a moment, then fastened it around his neck and began walking east, his step a little lighter than before.