Part 11
"Chasing The Dragon"
Stella ran, dragon-like, through the
endless inferno. All around her was flame, but she didn’t feel it.
Henrik ran next to her, and she could see his body covered in the
dark, shifting scales. Would they find his father before they, too,
became dragons?
At last, Henrik cried out, “I see
them!”
Stella followed his gesture and saw two
dark blots among the flames—Sigmund the Dragon and his prisoner.
Agatha crouched in a patch of blackened soot, her face curled into
her lap. Stella noticed that the dress didn’t seem damaged at all;
was it some sort of special material Nadia had discovered, resistant
to flame? The young woman did not make a sound—probably she had
worn herself out screaming as the dragon carried her away. Sigmund
waited defensively by, watching the two of them approach, spewing
fire wherever his protective circle broke away.
Henrik approached just ahead. “Father!”
He cried. “It’s me—Henrik! See, I’ve brought the girl,
Nadia’s descendant!”
Sigmund swung his head around and
regarded the two of them. Angrily, he sent a blast of fire over their
heads, but Henrik and Stella stood their ground.
Stella stepped forward. “My name is
Stella; I am the Bride you seek,” she said. “Let me have the Ring,
and I can lift this terrible curse.”
Standing there in the heat, Stella
could feel all her exposed skin thickening and hardening. It was hard
enough to breathe, harder still to see in the blinding light. The
dragon snarled at them as it angrily stalked the perimeter of the
clearing. Stella wondered if Sigmund was too far gone, if he
understood human speech at all by this point. Abruptly, at the far
side of the circle, the dragon’s head jerked up, and he took off
into the sky with a screech, lost amid the smoke.
Henrik stared helplessly after his
father. “Where has he gone? What are we going to do?”
Stella, on the other hand, focused on
the terrified figure huddled on the ground. “Agatha!” she called,
running toward her.
The tousled dark head came up,
revealing the tear-stained, scratched, terrified face underneath.
After the fear came anger, and Agatha glared at the scarred young
woman before her. “You!” she grunted. “This is all your
fault! If you hadn’t gone to the stupid party, Mother wouldn’t
have known you had the Ring, and I wouldn’t have had to stand in
the Governor’s Court wearing borrowed clothes!” She thrust
an arm out, gesturing toward the flames surrounding them. “And now
look where we are! I’m going to die out here, and it’s all your
fault!”
Stella ignored Agatha’s complaining,
as she had so many times before. “Agatha, listen to me! I think I
have a way to put an end to this, but I’ll need the Ring—“
Agatha wasn’t listening. She stared
over Stella’s shoulder and gasped. “Is that… Henrik?”
She clapped grubby hands to her cheeks. “Ugh! What have you done to
him? He looks… He’s like you! How awful!” Her mouth
curled in a horrified grimace.
The former serving girl saw the red gem
still on her finger. “Agatha!” She begged. “Give me the Ring!
It was meant for me!”
“Meant for you?” Agatha
shrieked over the roar of the fire. “You think just because
everything was wonderful when you wore it, but when I put it
on everything went terribly wrong, that it means you somehow deserve it, that I’d just hand the
ring back to you? Why should I believe you are anything more than a
servant?” She plucked the Ring off her finger and held it up
between them. “You want this cursed thing?” With a flick of her
wrist, Agatha sent it flying into the ring of fire. “Go and get it
then, Toad-face!”
Desperately, Stella leaped after the
Ring, searching frantically for where it might have landed. The
flames nibbled at her eyes and her hair as she dug her fingers into
the ashen earth until she felt its familiar shape.
Behind her, Agatha screamed—and so
did the dragon. Stella whirled around.
Sigmund had returned, and was tracing
trails of fire dangerously close to Agatha. She crawled backward to
get away from the flames, but in the process, she moved closer to the
ring of fire surrounding her. Henrik fought to stand between the girl
and the flames, but his father merely dodged around him, bombarding
his victim from the air.
With trembling hands, Stella fumbled
the Ring until she could slip it onto her finger. Unlike before, her
skin didn’t change this time, but she held up her hand in the air
anyway and called out, “Dragon! The Bride of Drakistos summons
thee!”
A powerful gust of wind rolled over the
fire, and much of the flame extinguished, plunging them all into
star-studded darkness. The sudden shadows danced before their eyes,
making it hard for anyone to distinguish their surroundings. In her
blindness, Stella felt a hard, knobby hand slip over hers and hold it
tight.
“I’m here,” Henrik croaked, his
throat parched and likely scaled over.
A massive claw almost as big as
Stella’s whole body landed in the dirt right in front of them.
“You have summoned me?” rumbled a
deep, rolling voice overhead.
Stella blinked until her eyes adjusted,
and she could see the Dragon standing before her, its scales dark as
the midnight sky, and sparkling like stars in the small firelight
that remained. Its terrible size dwarfed Sigmund, who crouched
defensively before it. She saw that its tail reached around the
entire clearing. She stepped forward, tilting her head back to look
into the Dragon’s face.
“I have come, bearing the Ring of
Drakistos,” she held it up for the Dragon to see, “to ask you to
lift the curse upon this family.”
The Dragon crouched lower, bringing his
enormous head nearer to the pair standing in front of him.
“Only a descendant of Despina, wife
of General Drakistos—the first woman to summon me through the
portal—can bear the Ring and reopen the portal to send me back to
my own realm. Only a descendant of Nadia Drakistos, the Bride and
last true heir of the Drakistos lineage, would receive the curse of
the Dragon’s Mark I placed upon her and upon the son of the
Barbarian Chieftain who threatened both of us—Sigmund
Gabbaldursson.” He paused as Henrik ventured a glance at the small
dragon burying its head in shame behind them.
Stella nodded. “I am Stella
Drakistos, descendant of Nadia Drakistos.”
A rumble resounded in the Dragon’s
chest. “In fact, you are her daughter, and the true heir of the
Drakistos holdings. Which means,” he swung his head to look upon
Henrik, “that this must be the son and heir of Sigmund, since he
has suffered a similar fate.”
Henrik stood firm and nodded. “I am,”
he announced in a rasping voice.
The Dragon lifted its head. “And
these two!” Its tail shifted, knocking the smaller dragon and the
petrified young woman closer to him. “Sigmund Gabbaldursson, it
would appear that you did not seek out the Bride yourself, or you
would not have been fooled by this impersonator who laid false claim
upon the title of Bride, and suffer a greater transformation from the
Mark I laid upon you!”
Sigmund bellowed loudly, accompanied by
the sound of Agatha’s pitiful whimpering.
“Dragon!” Stella called his
attention back to her. “I believe we have suffered enough the
consequences of our own choices. If you would lift this curse upon us
all, I will consent to open the portal and send you back to your own
realm.”
The Dragon blinked once, very slowly.
“Indeed,” it said. “It is time for me to return, and all things
are in order. The Ring carries the power because of your lineage,
Stella Drakistos. Release it into the ground.”
Henrik took a step back as Stella
crouched down and pressed her hand into the ground, just as the
mysterious Greek woman from her dream had done. Tiny tendrils of
light slithered along the soil, gathering up in the center of the
clearing until a sharp spike like a brilliant firework raced up into
the sky. Where it exploded, a hole seemed to open in the clouds, but
instead of the clear night sky, a different sky showed. The wind
raced around them like a whirlwind, extinguishing what little fire
there was left. The Dragon lifted off with a roar, headed through the
portal in the sky. When he passed through the barrier, it slammed
shut behind him with a clap of thunder.
Everything lay still. Stella shivered
as the cold of the night reached her, and she gripped her arms to
conserve body heat. Her hands met smooth skin. Surprised, she looked
down at herself. The Ring had disappeared, but she no longer had
scales over her body! Stella rubbed her palms against each other,
marveling at the way it felt.
“Stella!” Henrik’s voice recalled
her to the present. She looked up to see him at the far side of the
clearing, cradling the body of a very, very old man.
Henrik’s voice sounded hoarse as he
hugged the man. “Father…” he whispered.
Sigmund—all the centuries he had
lived finally catching up to him—reached a trembling, bone-thin
hand to grasp his son’s wrist. “Henrik,” he croaked hoarsely.
“I’m sorry.”
Tears slid down Henrik’s face. “Sorry
for what?” he asked.
Sigmund’s breathing came thick and
rattling. “Sorry… that I let… my pride… and vanity… keep me
from telling you… the truth. I could have told you… about Nadia…
about the Ring… about… the true Heir of Drakistos… but I…
chose to hide… rather than tell you… what a drunk fool… I was…
and how my own father… Gabbaldur… almost killed… an innocent
woman… doomed our family…”
Henrik held his father close, nodding
fiercely. “It’s all right, father,” he said. “I forgive you!”
Stella herself tried to keep silent as
tears streamed down her face. Sigmund raised his gaze and reached a
gnarled hand toward her.
“Stella…” he rasped. “To you I…
owe… the greatest debt… Everything… I have… should have been
yours… I should have found you… sooner… Should have taken…
you in… I am… sorry… so sorry… that I did not… find you…”
Stella smiled and cradled his hand in
hers. “You didn’t find me,” she whispered, “But Henrik did.”
The young man looked up at her, and they smiled.
The rattling in Sigmund’s breath
increased. Henrik gently crossed his father’s arms in front of
Sigmund’s chest.
“Go in peace, Father,” whispered
the son.
Silence reigned, as Sigmund at last
slipped away into death.
>>>>>>>>
The next morning, the whole village of
Kadros turned out in the Grand Piazza for the second day of festival
celebrations—but instead, they bore witness as Henrik Sigmundson
stood atop the wall around the Drakistos estate, on a platform, and
announced that his father had passed away in the night, and that he
had found a suitable bride in none other than Stella Drakistos—the
last true heir of that name. The festival turned into a celebration
of their betrothal, and nearly everyone wished the happy couple a
long and prosperous life.
Meanwhile, back at the Villa di
Farfalle…
Jacintha sat rigid in her armchair as
she listened to the cheers and happy music from the Piazza. She had
stood there long enough to see the radiant woman presented as the
true heir of Drakistos and the impending bride of Henrik, and she had
left as soon as social etiquette dictated she could. Minutes later,
Agatha returned to her alone, covered in soot, dirt, and streaked
with blood from wounds on her cheeks. In her hands, she bore a letter
with the Drakistos seal. Jacintha had sent her to bathe immediately,
and now waited for her daughter to return, freshly beautified.
While she waited, Jacintha opened the
letter and read—
Dear Jacintha Farfalle—
I am writing to inform you that you
are no longer connected in any way to the House of Drakistos. As
such, you may not use the name as credit, you may not avail yourself
of the House coffers, and you are hereby stripped of your title.
In recognition of the fact that you
did provide the last surviving member of the Drakistos family with a
place to live, I will allow you and your daughter to remain in the
villa and remain in possession of everything that you currently own,
but the maintenance of the house and grounds, the food that you eat,
and the clothes that you wear must be provided from your own pocket.
I hope that as you learn to survive on your own, you will cultivate a
more generous heart toward those less fortunate than you—because
you never know when you might become one of them.
That being said, if you ever have
need of anything, you may ask for it at the Drakistos Gate. Lady
Drakistos gives freely to all.
Signed,
Lady Stella Drakistos
Jacintha read the name at the end, and
all the blood seemed to drain from her face. A wave of dizziness
spread over her as she looked around at the enormous house and the
half-scrubbed floor that was hers to finish and maintain, without any
dependence on others. To the woman who had enjoyed such luxury for
most of her life, the mere thought of lifting a finger seemed a cruel
punishment, as just as it may have been.
“Mother…” Agatha’s voice
trembled as she entered the room.
Jacintha looked over at her daughter,
the last bit of her normal life she could cling to… but—
“Good heavens!” She wailed as
Agatha turned to face her. “What is that?”
Over half of Agatha’s cheek, the
scars of Sigmund’s dragon claws stood out: shallow, pale furrows forever
marring her skin.
Agatha burst into tears. “I tried to
cover it! I used every kind of plaster and makeup there is, but
nothing worked!” She cast herself petulantly upon the couch. “I’m
ruined! I’ll be ugly for the rest of my life!”
Ugly… Jacintha thought about Stella’s
old scars, the fact that she looked like an entirely new person,
while her own Agatha had taken on the ghastly appearance. Justice
indeed! Jacintha could only pat her daughter’s head in consolation,
as they resigned themselves to their new lives as average citizens.
Henrik and Stella lived generously and
governed Kadros fairly, and passed these habits and practices down to
their children, and on down through the generations of the Drakistos
family. The Drakistos Curse became the Drakistos Blessing, and the
Dragon’s Mark continued to impact the city long into the hereafter.
~THE END~
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