Dragon of Darkness

Chapter 4

HIS POV

"Mom!"

The girl who had taken a tumble with me happily exclaimed, sitting up. Finally visible from behind the wheelbarrow, the woman took one look at her--- and when our gazes met there was murder in them...

“Who are you?”

I stared up at her...

She had dark eyes—beautiful, but dangerous. Not the soft kind. The kind that watched wolves in winter and did not flinch. Her hair was almost as dark as mine, though brown rather than black, pulled back in a practical braid. She stood like someone who had spent her life surviving...

I wanted to answer!

I wanted to explain that I meant no harm.

But even though I understood the language, I did not speak it well...

So--- I shrugged!

That was the wrong choice...

Her expression hardened further, her gaze shifting to the kid who still sat on top of me.

Shit...!

“I not here,” I replied---- and the moment the words left my mouth, I knew they were wrong.

“What?” she asked, and her voice went from suspicious to murderous.

Fuck!

Was she mad? Of course, she was mad! I was a stranger who seemingly had appeared out of thin air and was playing in the snow with her village's children.

How did I explain?

A desperate idea came to me, and before I could think it through, I pointed toward the forest—toward where Hannes would come from.

“Run,” I said. “I run.”

Her eyes followed my finger, still wary.

“Have you fled from King Jasper?” she asked, clearly sceptical. Her grip on the pitchfork tightened, and I had a feeling she had practiced spearing people with that thing. Not that I really worried about it. Even in my weakened state, I could fight - I would always fight!

But if I could avoid it, I would...

I nodded - which did NOT help the situation!

“Who are you?" she snapped again, taking a step forward--- and now all the children were paying attention to us. "And why did you have to flee?”

I sighed...

This was going to take forever!

I searched through my sparse vocabulary, grasping at words like a drowning man...

“I... not name,” I said slowly, and carefully sat up, putting the girl down and brushing off the snow. “I run because… I prisoner.”

She looked like she believed me, but she did not lower the pitchfork.

Perhaps because I was clearly foreign?

Most of the children had brown hair in different shades, except Mira with her red curls. Their skin was pale. Their eyes were brown or blue. My eyes were green as summer grass. My hair was black as coal. My skin—though human now—was darker, redder in tone than theirs. My clothes were black: trousers, shirt, and cloak.

I didn't belong here...

“You speak with a dialect I don’t recognize,” she said, and to my frustration, she continued her interrogation. “Where are you from?”

“I not know,” I said. “I find in dungeon.”

It was the closest truth I could give. Explaining memory loss, torture, Jasper’s manipulation, the iron chains, the horn-weapon, the years of captivity… I could not!

Not here.

Not to her...

“And now you’ve escaped?” she pressed, still sceptical. “Why?”

“I not like dungeon,” I replied with a shrug. Well, it was the truth. A very simplified version of the truth, but the truth nevertheless...

For a moment, she simply stared at me in disbelief. Then, to my shock, she laughed. My heart first sank—then rose again with a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

I hadn't tried to be funny, but I liked her laughter...

It was not the shrieking giggles and half-choked screams I had heard from w****s in the fort. This laughter was clean. Warm. Real.

It lit up the grey morning like sunlight breaking through clouds. And suddenly I realized I had never seen a woman so beautiful before.

“Yes,” she said, still smiling, “that much is obvious. What do they call you?” And finally—finally!—she let the pitchfork drop. “And for God’s sake, get up. You’ll catch your death lying in the snow.”

“I… no name,” I said hesitantly, afraid to stumble over the words, and I took the hand she offered.

She was strong!

Her fingers were fine, but her grip was firm and sure, as though she had hauled sacks of grain and carried children and fought off thieves in the night. She didn't doubt her own strength. And she knew her weakness. I had seen that quality before.

Jasper had it!

And I hated that man! He was ruthless, cold, and everything vile that I despised to the marrow of my bones. But I couldn't deny that he had the strength of someone born to lead. But whereas he ruled with fear--- I wasn't sure what was different about the woman, but there was something in her eyes that I felt attracted to.

One inspired fear - she inspired something--- warm...

“He is Spaco!” Mira - I assumed that was the child on my lap - suddenly blurted out with a grin. The children had stood frozen, waiting for the interrogation to end, waiting to see what would happen. I could tell they didn't want me to leave, but if any child would dare stand against an adult’s decision, it was Mira. She had watched her mother with sharp, skeptical eyes, ready to leap in if the judgment went the wrong way.

Now she grabbed my arm and—without meaning to—gave me my first Christian name.

“Spaco?” I repeated, startled. I had no idea what it meant. But it sat strangely well on my tongue. And somewhere deep in my lost memory, a bell rang—faint and distant—one I could not quite hear...

“It means Dragon of Darkness,” the woman explained, reaching a hand out to Mira, who immediately darted to her side. “A legend. A knight in black.”

“I like Spaco,” I admitted, gesturing down at myself, and saw the resemblance. “Good name. Fitting.”

She smiled and--- did my heart just skip a beat?!

“I’ve never seen clothing like yours,” she continued, nodding toward my cloak. “Who gave it to you?”

How did I explain that one?

They weren't clothes...

It was me!

“Born,” I said--- but the moment I did, regret hit me.

Damn it!

Humans were not born with extra skin like this. But if I had to explain that they were my wings--- I needed something—anything—to save myself!

“You got it when you were born?” she repeated, unknowingly rescuing me from my own mistake.

“Yes,” I said quickly, making a silent vow to never talk without thinking again.

She studied the cloak again.

“It’s torn. Should I mend it for you?”

I took a second look at my wings. The fire in the shed had healed most of my wounds, but not all. There were still small tears and thin places, showing as holes in what should have been a thick, solid cloak.

I opened my mouth to answer, but she spoke before I could.

“Come. You look like you need food and drink. Children, too. Go home—breakfast will go cold. Mira, come with Mom!”

Mom...

So she was Mira’s mother - which shouldn't surprise me. They resembled each other—not in likeness as much as in spirit. It was obvious that the mother ruled the home, and Mira ruled the playground...

“My name is Tara,” she said as she led me toward a small house. I echoed the name, realizing that I liked the way it rolled of my tongue. Which was a strange thing, since I had difficulty pronouncing most of their human words. As if my tongue was never meant to curl in that way...

The moment she opened the door, warmth poured over me like a spell. The house smelled of bread and smoke and herbs. It was cramped but sturdy, built from rough timber and stone. A hearth burned on one side, and above it a blackened kettle hung. A heavy table sat in the center with a bench on either side. The ceiling beams creaked as the warmth sank into them. Soot danced in the firelight, swirling like tiny shadows. The stones of the oven seemed to sigh as bread baked inside, and I could hear the weight of snow tapping and sliding against the thick roof.

I stood there, stunned.

I had never known humans lived like this. I had never known anything could feel so…

Safe!

“Welcome to our humble home,” Tara said, pulling me out of my thoughts. But she was already moving toward the oven, focused and practiced. Mira tugged off her outer clothes and sprang to the table. She quickly gestured for me to sit beside her.

I obeyed.

My feet were soaked and red from the snow. Cold had never bothered me before, but this body—this skin—was sensitive. Even the snow had hurt. I lingered near the hearth for a moment so my feet could dry, while taking a look around. And instantly something stood out to me...

“Mira… your daughter?” I asked, turning to Tara. “Where is man?”

Tara’s face didn't change much, but something passed behind her eyes—something old and tired.

“Where all men are these days,” she replied with a dry tone that was part hurt - part annoyance. The way she said it told me she didn't want pity. She had already lived through it.

The war had taken him...

And with my luck, I was probably the one who killed him...

“Sorry,” I said quietly, guilt and anger blooming in my chest. I hated this war. Hated that I was being used as a senseless weapon of destruction. Used like a blade with no soul or thought for killing...

I looked down at my hands. If I'd been human, would my hands have been stained red by the blood I'd spilled?

I chose not to think about it and moved back to Mira, who eagerly made room for me. She smiled so brightly her freckles seemed to glow, and when I smiled back, she went red in the face and giggled. I liked her laugh, but a part of me wondered if she would ever smile at me if she saw my true self...

Suddenly, I felt a sharp sting over my left eye. Instinctively, my hand reached up, and I felt a huge gouge there - a scar where my missing horn was supposed to be.

Did that mean what I thought it did?

Was Hannes already close by?

When humans hollowed out a dragon’s horn and used it as a war-horn, it became a weapon against the dragon it belonged to. That was how they kept me leashed, but most didn't know that. They instead said that Jasper had made a bargain with the devil.

And with a smile, he let them believe it...

“Is everything alright?" Tara asked, setting a bowl of porridge and fresh bread in front of me, and then gestured to my scar. "That looks fresh."

I nodded--- and let myself be distracted by the heavenly smell. And yet, strangely, my hunger had faded into the background. Because I could not stop watching her. She sat across from me with a kind of grace I had not expected. Not the grace of nobles, but the grace of someone who knew exactly who she was.

“Do you have any family?” she asked, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. I shook my head. I did not want to talk about it - mostly because I didn't have the vocabulary to explain that I couldn't remember my family. That one day, I'd woken up in Jasper's dungeon with no recollection of who I was or how I'd gotten there. I didn't know how I'd lost my horn, only that he was now in possession of it. There was no clue to my past and no way for me to find out...

And as if she suddenly realized something, her eyes widened, and guilt flickered across her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said sofly. “If you were born in a prison, then you’re probably—”

She cut herself off, irritated at her own words. Then, rather than dig herself deeper, she stood and went to a small wooden box on a shelf above the hearth.

“I’ll shut my mouth now,” she muttered. “May I have your cloak?”

“NO!”

The growled word flew out before I could stop it. Instantly, regret hit me, but I couldn't help it. Both Tara and Mira stared at me as if I had just fallen from the moon, their eyes wide with surprise and shock.

I didn't blame them...

But how could I explain the importance of my wings? That it was not only precious, but part of me! Without it, I couldn't take my dragon form, and then what the hell was I? Even when Jasper kept it in tatters so I couldn't fly, he'd never managed to get it off my person...

And I preferred it that way!

“It… important to me,” I tried, lowering my eyes to the cloak as though I could hide behind it. It was the only thing I'd been allowed to keep as my own. Everything had been taken from me - even my past! But I could still call myself a dragon, because I had my wings...

But to my surprise, Tara stood and walked over. Her presence was disarming, and some old instinct surged that I couldn't put a name to. However, when she sat at the end of the bench beside me, and her hand touched my shoulder, a warmth spread through my body that felt all-consuming and gentle at the same time.

“I promise,” she said softly, looking up at me. “You will get it back.”

My heart sank--- but not from fear. I couldn't explain why her touch sent a pleasant current through my whole body, waking senses I barely recognized. Just like that, I felt that my heart belonged to this woman...

That I would burn the world for her!

“Don’t worry!” Mira blurted, snapping me out of my thoughts. Her green eyes were almost glowing with excitement as she watched the exchange. “My mother is the best seamstress in the whole world! She makes all my clothes. And father’s, when he was alive.”

Mia kasarwa...!

Shaking myself free of these thoughts, I tried to smile. I didn't know where these words came from, althouhg I did understand the meaning.

My heartbound!

And while I understood the words, I didn't understand their meaning...

Instead, I nervously slid my hand under the clasp of the cloak. With magic, I could separate myself from my wings. I wouldn't be able to shift in the meantime—which was a blessing, in a way, when it came to… urges! Uncontrolled lust and euphoria mixed with dragons was not always a great combo. And no, I didn't know how I knew that, I just did!

But if this human form melted away--- then what?

The cloak came off--- and Tara took it and began stitching with quick, experienced hands. Nobody screamed, nobody reacted in the bit. Glancing down at my hands, I realized that my fingers were still pink and smooth - not at all the gray, clawtipped digtets that I'd gotten used to...

Well, so far so good...

“Mira, eat your food,” Tara warned, though her voice was not harsh. “Hmm. I’ve never felt fabric like this before.”

Because it was not fabric - it was my flesh and blood. However, I could not say that. They couldn't find out I was a dragon.

I could not risk it...

“Do you not like Mother’s food?” Mira asked suddenly, staring at me with wide, accusing eyes. “You know it is insulting the chef if you don't eat, right?”

“Sorry,” I blurted, startled, and quickly shoved a few spoonfuls into my mouth. Both women laughed, the sound lyrical to my ears. I glanced up carefully, finding myself realizing that Tara’s eyes lit up like ambers when she smiled. With warm cheeks, I swallowed the porridge and tried to remember what manners humans had.

“It… good,” I said, wiping a smear of porridge from my lips, which had Mira giggling.

“Mira, behave,” Tara said, giving her daughter a stern look—though it only half worked because she was still smiling. “Don’t mind her. She just likes the company.”

Then Mira took over the conversation, launching into stories about her friends in the snow. She talked so quickly I only caught half the words, but her excitement was obvious.

And slowly something inside me eased. I sat in warmth while snow fell outside like feathers from a white sky.

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I was not in chains.

For the first time, no one screamed.

For the first time, I felt like I was allowed to exist without being hunted...

Tara finished mending the cloak and folded it neatly.

“There,” she said, handing it back to me. “It will hold. For now.”

I took it with both hands.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. The words were simple, but they were real. Tara gave me a small nod—like I had passed some invisible test. Then she stood and went to the hearth, cutting thick slices of bread. She opened her mouth to speak, but before the words left her mouth, I could hear it...

Footsteps!

Quick, heavy--- and heading this way...

Before I could say s**t, the door burst inward. Cold wind howled into the room, scattering ash and smoke. And in the doorway stood a huge figure—broad as an ox, tall enough to blot out the pale morning behind him. For a moment, all I could see was shadow - before a snarl filled the room and everything became a blur of motion...