DESTINY OF A DRAGON

I know. I know. Dragons can’t talk. We just soar around. Just breathe fire. Just harass the populace.

Well, not this dragon. Not old Durginak (that’s me).

Thanks to a young druid from DeVille, a spell was cast from his staff, and here I am speaking the language.

It’s about time too. I’m four hundred and forty years old. And in that time, I’ve only had one friend. Oh Rosalina. Her bones are buried out back of my cave. There under my rock porch where I lounge and look over the valley and wonder what could have been.

Now before you say, ‘Wait a second, Durgy! Why didn’t that young druid cast a spell and raise Rosalina from the grave?’

I asked him. I pleaded. I begged.

The druid spoke to me, kindly, calmly, ‘I can grant you speech. That’s the best I can do.’

For a moment I thought about the offer, but didn’t reply, for I could not speak.

‘With speech you can explain yourself,’ the young druid said. ‘Explain your trials. Maybe even make a new friend.’

To this I nodded and flapped my wings. The druid raised his staff, shouted, ‘This here dragon, mighty Durginak the Determined, is no killing machine. While once feared throughout the Kingdom, Durginak has now softened. He’s a dragon of the people.’ The druid’s staff went high over his head. ‘The power of all worlds, into this staff you go. Give him speech and the will to inspire. Let words be his fire!’

The staff touched my snout. I felt a tickle in my throat. No, not a fireball to spew at a ship of raiders. Not a hairball from the three bison I devoured last night. It was a word!

‘Froggenlip.’

Well, it wasn’t really a known word. But it was a start.

‘Friendinblip.’ I shook my head. ‘Friend-sh-sh-ship.’

There, a real word!

With the gift of speech, possibilities seemed endless. I could now hold conversations. Let my thoughts be known. Maybe even sing! My aging dragon heart thudded in the center of my chest. Suddenly I was afraid. Full of self-doubt. Then I remembered something Rosalina had said: Nobody can take our free will. In this world there are so many constraints. But at every moment we have free will to decide how to live. How to speak.

She was right. Even an old dragon could see that. Free will on how to live and speak. That’s the memory I needed to unlock. It was time to leave the cave and test my newfound skill in the world.

‘Thank you,’ I said to the young druid of DeVille.

Onward to make a new friend.

.. .. ..

From the rock porch I launch. An updraft of wind catches under my wings and takes me east. I choose to ride that flow. Soon I’m over the center of the valley, flying fast over farms and feedlots, patches of forest, meandering streams.

The farm folk look above, see me, run in terror. Fair enough. They know the wreckage I can inflict. They don’t yet know that I’m harnessing a new gift. One that can make me more compassionate to the frailty of humans. One that can make me less of a ruthless maelstrom of melting fire.

Flying amid the cool air, scanning below, I see a woman tending a flock of sheep. There’s something about her, something familiar. I circle above, descending in a slow spiral.

I land and hop twice, tucking my wings tight against my back.

The woman bravely steps in front of her flock. ‘Durginak the Dreadful,’ she declares.

I clear my throat. The sheep bleat and scatter. ‘Hello, new friend,’ I say.

‘Friend?’ she snaps back. ‘The people of DeVille have wanted you dead for centuries. You’re no friend to us.’

Ah, a fiery lady, one that suits my personality (and my skillset) perfectly. ‘But now, dear lady, I have speech,’ I say, puffing my chest. ‘I’m no longer simply an organ of propulsion and explosion. Though I’m still good at those things, I presume. Anyway, you must see, my dear friend—’

‘Destiny.’

‘Hmm?’

‘I said, “Destiny.” It’s my name.’

She continues to fiercely stand her ground. Radiant red hair, eyes green as a summer meadow. No weapons in hand, but her look could kill. ‘Destiny. Of course it is. So as I was saying—’

A thunderous noise cracks nearby. Destiny looks to her left. My stomach instinctively fills with fire, the burning crescendo of flame, as I summon a fireball.

‘It’s the trolls,’ she says with disgust. ‘They’ve turned our lush forest into death and decay. They come in the night and poach my sheep. Evil, mischievous monsters.’

‘Shall I extinguish them, my lady?’

She replies with vitriol. ‘Why would I ever trust you?’

I dangle a dare. ‘Come along, Lady Destiny. I’ll prove my honor.’

Her eye contact is strong, reminiscent of someone I knew. ‘I guess there is no choice,’ she concludes.

‘Will the trolls continue to purge your lands?’

‘Aye.’

‘Then come with me,’ I say, extending a stiff wing to the ground.

‘I will retrieve my sword,’ she says.

Soon, Destiny returns with her shining piece of steel. She uses my wing as a ramp and nestles at the nape of my long neck. Her arms wrap halfway around. ‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘This isn’t my first time carrying a lady.’

I hop forward. Hops turn to steps, steps into a sprint.

Liftoff.

In seconds, we are high above the valley. A dead forest is our destination, one called Hypnotic Wood. A beautiful piece of land, it once was, rich with hardwood trees, trails, boulders, and bridges. No wonder the trolls developed such fondness.

‘There,’ Destiny proclaims as the scorched forest appears.

We land near a bridge. The tree canopy, once bursting with leaves, is now barren and open to the gray sky. Fresh air is impossible to find. The smell is abhorrent, as if half-mutilated bodies of sheep are strewn nearby. In fact, they are. It is all very sad. Once the finest forest of the kingdom, Hypnotic Wood has been eclipsed by ecocide.

A fire burns upon the ridge. Two trolls bathe in the woodsmoke, their broad backs at rest against a boulder. Destiny dismounts, unsheathes her sword.

The two trolls stand and hoist their clubs. One shouts, ‘This is our wood, dragon! Begone or face our wrath!’

‘Oh, may the Gods help me,’ I reply with a sneer. ‘I’m trembling!’

Their black eyes go wide. ‘It speaks?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘And that’s not all I can do.’

From the ridge top, the trolls began to descend. Plowing through brush, clubbing aside flimsy dead trees. The advantage of surprise is gone, but they have given up the high ground. Fools.

I clear my throat, feel the burn in my eyes and belly. A fireball is brewing.

At the base of the ridge, the trolls start to run. Fire, is my thought. But the fireball doesn’t come. Well, that’s a first. My neck and mouth, usually hot by now, is cool as a woodland breeze. I remember the druid’s spell, the final climax that made it all real.

Let words be his fire!

It can’t be. Durginak the Dreadful is no longer … dreadful?

I exhale. No flame or smoke. No trolls ablaze, running for the river. Just a normal, useless breath.

Destiny—undaunted by my inaction—runs toward the trolls, toting her sword, swinging and slicing. The bare skin on her arms pale and rippling with muscle. Her red hair a lashing, autumn wave. Nearly double her size are the trolls. Yet in an instant, they are no more. One troll falls like a big green pine, a fat leg separated from the body. A severed hand befalls the other troll, next a severed head. It too falls hard upon the dirt.

Destiny sheaths her blade, dusts off her hands. She turns to me, smiling. Not just the smile of any village vixen, but the smile of my Rosalina. A near perfect resemblance. Bittersweet nostalgia floods my heart. That smile, unseen in forty years, now alive, distinguished, and divine. ‘Rosalina?’ I say, unable to resist.

Destiny nods. ‘My grandmother.’

My lovely Rosalina is long gone, but here I stand with a new prescription to heal my heartache. From Rosalina’s own lineage, a new friend, my Destiny.

A flash near the fire catches my eye. Another troll rises from behind a fallen log, a bow loaded with arrow. My instinct kicks in, but my stomach remains cold, my throat, my mouth incapable of launching any hot mortar.

‘No!’ I shout at the troll. ‘No, you will not!’

The arrow releases from the bow. It rises at a slight arc, falls toward Destiny’s blindside.

I hop and jump and fly. My eyes lock on Destiny, then the arrow, then back to my scarlet-haired friend. I must become her castle wall. I feel warmth enter my throat. Not from fire, instead a warm liquid. My blood.

‘Durginak,’ Destiny yells. ‘You’ve been shot!’

‘But you haven’t,’ I say.

She tugs at the arrow lodged in my neck. My belly fills with warmth, but not a brewing fireball. I glance down. Again, I’ve been hit, impaled by a second arrow.

There was a time when the arrows of trolls and men would clang off my steely scales. The druid was right. I have softened.

I see the troll, seemingly absent of arrows, throw down his bow and charge downhill. Destiny races in front of me. Like a bear the troll crashes down the ridge. Drawing near, his claws come out. Destiny steps aside and swings her sword. The sinew at the back of his leg is slashed clean through and the troll tumbles into a tree. Destiny runs forward, plunges her sword into the troll’s hollow heart.

I cough up blood. My wings collapse. I fall to the blood-spattered soil.

She runs quickly to my side, scans around, kneels. ‘You’ve sacrificed your life.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘And the Gods won’t save me.’

‘But why,’ she asks. ‘What happened?’

‘The druid has played a trick, granting me speech, but stealing my inferno. The druid has slayed the dragon. Not by force, but by cunning.’

The forest grows darker. Her green eyes still shine bright.

‘But Durginak, you have speech. Tell me what to do.’

‘Smile for me, Destiny. Let me see the beauty of this world before I move to the next.’

Destiny obeys, her brilliant smile glows in the fading forest.

My world goes black. The good souls of DeVille are safe from my torment. The days of the dragon have disappeared.