Sunday Scribbling #193 : brave

Simon sat still on the rock. The sun was at that point where you couldn’t see it anymore but the colors in the sky betrayed the position it so recently held. There were cushions of clouds that reflected the gold and orange and rose before they pushed into the purple that was on it’s way to deepest blue.
The black shape whirling through the sky came ever closer then darted away again. It had the power to kill Simon in one swipe or one breath of it’s fiery nostrils if it chose. Silence and stillness were the test and if he failed there wouldn’t be a second chance.

The last pass was close enough that the sunset colors glinted off the green scales and the indigo of the evening sky could be seen though the nearly transparent skin of the wings. It was cold but still Simon sat. He had travelled for days to get to Weyr Rock and that was after years of trying to learn it’s location. The knowledge had been common at one time. The dragons hid their home by way of magic, for survival. He knew that they were aware of his presence. He had felt the magic going out around him. It made his skin tingle, and the air smell like lightening.

Long ago, before these kings and their wars, magic was known. Now, politics and intrigue had pushed it aside. Wizards who once held kingdoms together and kept the evil at bay, were in hiding like the dragons. The land was cold and dark for most. The poor, the powerless, they were the ones protected by magic and now, they were on their own.

Once a month at the full moon, he had gone to the mountain and Nuala left her moon for one night and they would dance and talk until morning when she would have to return. It was one such night that she told him of the Weyr Rock and how to travel there. The kings had had their time. It was time to bring magic and dragons back.

The green and bronze monster circled closer each time and though he had trumpeted a warning to others, he alone showed himself. Dragons had their own politics and this one must be very powerful to have kept the rest from killing Simon.

Out on the edge of the rock I had set an offering basket of herbs and apples. There were blueberries, borage, bracken, hawthorne berry, and lots of chamomile and garlic. The hawthorne berries were out of respect for the fae. The old stories told of Dragons love for chamomile.

He prayed that Nuala would guide him as the dragon came to rest on the rock, his beautiful scaled tail curling around the outcropping. He bowed his head towards the basket and gently flicked his tongue at the treats. He turned his gaze at Simon and blinked, his scaled lids momentarily covering the lapiz iris and black slit of a pupil. He nodded his head for Simon to speak. Simon told him of the wars and the hunger in the land. He spoke of wizards and fae in hiding because with no dragons they became nothing but pawns for whatever bloodthirsty king had possession of a patch of ground.

Simon told him that he had seen the caves on the mountainside where dragon and human once life bound themselves to each other. He had seen chamomile growing wild among the rocks. The people were ready. They needed dragons.

The dragon nibbled a bite of food from the basket. His huge but somehow delicate wings were folded gracefully and as he ate, puffs of smoke came from his nostrils, an ever present reminder of his power to char Simon to nothing.

The dragon looked at him and Simon heard his voice in his head. The dragons lips never moved but he spoke to Simon as clearly as if he was next to him.

“I am the eldest and remember the days when we lived together in harmony and white magic was strong in the land. I will talk to my brothers but only if you go along.” He blinked again. Simon heard the challenge in the voice in his head.

Simon knew without a doubt, that if he was unable to convince the dragons to help, he would be killed. It was enough that he had found Weyr Rock. They would never let him leave if he held their secret lair. He stood and stared for a second at the moon as it rose. He asked the dragon to lead him there.

The dragon chuckled then. “This is no place you can walk to. There is only one way to get there.” He laid his head down so that his neck was stretched out and Simon could see a natural place just above his wings, just right for a rider. He gathered his cloak and climbed upon the dragon. He grabbed the offering basket and before he could say he was ready, the dragon took off. Simon was flying! He might not live through this night but by the gods, he was riding a dragon! He glanced at the moon and could have sworn he could see it smiling at him. They soared across the top of the mountains. Simon was too excited to be afraid. He yelled with the exhilaration and the dragon laughed. The wind whistled past and in the cold silence, Simon felt the closeness of the moon, of Nuala. He felt alive. He felt hope.