Brightest Gold

Part 1: Treasure Chapter 1 My first token is nothing more than dust and memory. The jar that contains it appears empty, except for a fine powder, barely visible. I used to open it and inhale the aroma of long lost love, but the ages have turned the simple daisy into less than a thought. I stole it as a wyrmling. Back then I was a wiry little thing, keen on finding a home of my own. My nestmates and I separated early on after our abandonment, each taking a unique path. I roamed city streets as an urchin, taking handouts by day and eating vermin at night. I traveled from town to city to village to keep the humans from noticing I did not belong. One lovely hamlet in the countryside was my home for some months. An elderly blind man let me stay with him in return for simple chores. Every day I hauled buckets to and from the well in the village square. The citizens fascinated me. An old crone chopped wood every morning, babies bawled, youths carried buckets to their homes with the bored diligence of need. A girl with hair the color of raw earth traded a basket of eggs for a loaf of bread each day. She handed the basket over to a girl with hair of flax, who would accept it and press a wrapped bundle into her hands. It was a careful, slow exchange, and I marveled at the glow that grew when they were in each other’s presence. They mirrored the ritual in the evenings, returning the basket and cloth to the other with the same measured glances. The light burst and sputtered if their fingers met. Each day it grew brighter. It was riveting. I knew the time was drawing near for me to move on to the next homestead, but I couldn’t stop watching from the well. I studied it from afar, watching as it transformed the two youths into bright, shimmering beauties. I began neglecting my duties so I could catch glimpses of the engrossing phenomena. One evening when Flax was returning the basket to Earth, the two lingered together in the square. Talking. Just talking. Their light had warmed to the color of honey and I drank it in from the shadows of a hedge. At last, when the rays of sun threatened to hide beyond the hills, Flax stooped and plucked a daisy from the grass. Bringing the petals to her lips, an ounce of Flax’s aura seeped into the flower. When she handed it to Earth, the daisy sparked, becoming a brilliant star in the girl’s fingers. Transfixed, I decided I would possess this jewel of a bloom. Flax departed for the night, leaving Earth a pink, sparkly creature, the flower clutched to her chest. I followed Earth to her home of clay bricks. Peering through the c****s in the material, I followed the movements of the luminescent daisy until I knew its resting location beside Earth’s bed. Patient, I waited for the family to extinguish their lanterns and fall into slumber. It was curious the brightness of the petals did not keep them up. Perhaps humans could not see the light. With Earth asleep, the token was as good as mine. I padded through the hut to where the lovely plant stood in a glass of water. It was so beautiful, tears swarmed my vision. Grubby fingers lifted the stem to my nose and I inhaled the breath of Flax, the sigh of Earth, the spice of affection, and the sharp snap of daisy. My human child guise was not perfect. When I caught glimpses of myself reflected in panes of glass or pools of water, a horn or claw shone back at me like a pointed disfigurement. It explained why most people avoided me and only the blind man spoke to me. Despite this, the violence in Earth’s reaction startled me. She had stirred awake while my senses were filled. Gasping, she flung the cup at my head where it shattered. Forehead smarting and sputtering water, I fell back on my butt. “Thief!” Earth leapt from her cot, shouting for her parents. “No, please,” I said, holding up my hands. “I just want the flower.” “Out!” she spat. Her father came in with a candle, and Earth’s eyes widened. “Demon Child!” Children in the hamlet called me Demon Child. Kind adults called me the Poor Wretch. No one knew my name, as none had asked. I clutched the daisy closer to my chest, watching them warily. “What are you doing in my home, boy?” her father asked, voice a snarl. Flinching away, I said, “I just wanted this flower.” “Get out!” I jumped to my feet at the volume. Earth snatched at the daisy, but I slipped out of grasp. “Give it back,” Earth said, swiping at my face. “Kiera, stop. Let the ugly wretch have it.” From the doorway, I could hear Kiera’s mother shuffling closer. “I’ll smack you, boy! Out of our home,” she said. Kiera was in tears, leaping at me while her father tried to explain it was just a flower and her mother angled a broom at my head. I knew it was more than just a daisy. It had Flax’s light in it, given to Kiera to keep. I knew it. Kiera knew it. Her parents, though, drove me out, not seeing the worth in the rumpled thing. I fled the hamlet, daisy in my fist. It lost several petals before I had the chance to snitch a glass jar from an apothecary. It was my light in those early, dark days. When I couldn’t feed for days on end for fear of discovery, the wilted bloom sustained me.