The Dragonslayer of Arcadias

I had seen it once. My brothers scoffed in my face when I told them so. Not even the village idiot believed me. But I saw it. It goes by many names: the Weaver of Woe, the Fire Tongue, and the Bain of Arcadias. More commonly, we call it Arax, the Fire Drake. Arax is a dragon, the greatest calamity of our kingdom Arcadias for centuries. Our legends tell of the destruction of the King’s City, and the grandmothers of my village still mourn the losses of their sons who valiantly rode into the Second Siege of the Beast. Since that fateful battle almost half a century ago, the dragon has fled from the city and hasn’t been seen since. But if you listen quietly, when even the crickets have drifted to sleep, you can still hear the rumbles of his breath and feel the scorch in the air. It is said that Arax has never left, and the blackening trees of the forest and the billowing smoke on the mountain ridge are portents that the dragon will return one day. Our entire kingdom will be reduced to ashes, and the cries of countless mothers will be heard on the wind for all eternity.

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My story begins on a summer day, with a clear sky and a gentle breeze. Preparations for the Midsummer Festival were underway; merchants were peddling banners and various wares, and the other village children were busy waving wooden swords in the streets. Instead of joining their games of merriment, I made my way to the house of old Syrus, the village mage, as was my custom. I had befriended Syrus when I was much smaller, and although I was young, I felt as though he was a close companion. I entered his cottage on the edge of the wood and smiled when I saw his dark skin and glassy white eyes. Though he was blind, he knew who I was when I approached him and greeted me warmly.

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“Hello, my child.”

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“Hello, Syrus,” I replied. “How did you know that it was me?”

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“People who cannot see have a special way of seeing.” He answered, his eyes glimmering as he spoke. “Do you think you might find a few ingredients for me today?”

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“Of course!” I paused a moment before continuing, “Syrus, have you ever seen the dragon?”

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“I have, child. The dragon’s breath is what took away my sight when I was only a boy. They say that you can see the future if you gaze into his eyes.”

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“And did you see anything?”

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He didn’t answer and smiled instead. “Nettle, clover, feverfew.”

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With the nettle and clover in the pockets of my dress, I wandered the wood in search of feverfew. I began to fear that I would never find the white flower for Syrus when I noticed it above a small ledge in front of a rock wall. I scaled the ledge with ease, reveling in the fact that I was better at climbing than my two older brothers. I studied the rock wall in front of me, never recalling it before. It rose ominously above the treetops and was marked with a fissure spanning from left to right. The wood seemed quiet, not with the tranquility of fairyland, but with the silence of a deer holding its breath when hiding from the mountain lion.

 

Before I could turn and descend from the ledge, the fissure suddenly began to sunder, and the ground shook beneath my feet. To my horror, I realized that the rock wall was, in fact, an eyelid and that the eye of the dragon was opening right before me. I stood, frozen with fear, as ice crept across my skin and my heart ceased to beat within me. The amber gaze penetrated my being, but before I could scream in vain or run for my very life, I noticed a shape emerge within the depths of the eye. A woman, bloodstained, with flaxen hair and dark eyes, became visible. It was as if I was staring into a looking glass, and I knew beyond a doubt that I was seeing an older version of myself. Fearful of what I would behold, I finally ventured my eyes onto the rest of the vision that loomed behind her. And behind her silhouette, in the eye of the dragon, the Mirror of Fate, I saw the lifeless body of Arax, with a sword piercing his heart.

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My future was before me.