Dragon Stone: Vivification

“There may be a great fire in our hearts, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and passers-by see only a wisp of smoke.” Vincent Van Gogh.

Blog Battle has begun. This months word is “Blaze.” I often use word prompts to explore writing before deciding if there’s enough backbone to continue. This is no different!

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What seems like an eternity ago I wrote a chapter called “Dragon Stone.” It’s buried deep in the chaos that is my blog roll. Another WIP waiting for a sort out.

Dragon Stone left Wayland in a bad place. Dead, but dreaming and going insane. Not too far in his past he was a blacksmith that had just proposed to the love of his life Tara.

Things change fast sometimes. She was now missing and his body was dead. That was curious in itself, but now he fluxes between worlds as well. One in particular that holds its own story of deceit and genocide. Here Wayland is able to live and  breathe again.

There used to be dragons here. That was the genocide. Now only one revenant remains. The Black, watching over the graveyard of its kind. It knows of Wayland and something he found during his last visit.

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Dragon Stone – Vivification

Wayland’s eyes opened into the absence of all light. Maybe they had always been open, he couldn’t remember. His conscience was awake for the first time in, he didn’t know that either.

He was aware of heat. Somewhere above wind flew across the landscape. A deep intake of breath feeding the conflagration that scorched earth bare. On ancient oak tree leaned over with split branches. Blackened and dead. A skeletal remnant of his burial marker.

Is this your doing dragon? Speech still eluded him, as did all his senses since… Oddly, he couldn’t remember that too.

The Black responded, No Smith, that’s the sound of your world burning.

All of it? Wayland tried not to panic. It was dark, he couldn’t move and the heat was boiling the earth stacked against his coffin.

No, just your old domain. Amusement flickered over the words in Wayland’s mind. It burns to cleanse the land and open a new wound.

Riddles still dragon.

###

His focus shifted and a familiar landscape appeared. The Black rested on an outcrop of rock in the cliff to his right. It was watching him this time.

Here Wayland could move, feel and speak. “What have you done?”

The dragon still spoke in his mind. Nothing boy, but I have been waiting.

“For what?”

The Bearer of the Stone.

“There was a battle here long ago.” A statement. Wayland was remembering his last journey here. The skeletons, human, elf and those of the wyverns towering above all.

There was.

“And you tried to kill me.”

The silence returned said yes.

“Why?”

I am the last revenant of a dead race.

Translucent wings unfurled, each rib tipped with a talon that fluoresced in the sunlight. Claws released their hold as The Black descended. Wayland flinched and stepped backwards. Again he was trapped against a wall of rock. Last time he escaped back into his own world someone had said “Run.”

His memory was jaded, who? A female voice. Familiar, but who?

She’s gone now. The Black now rested before him. Wayland hadn’t seen it land.

“Who was she?”

It matters not. That world is no longer yours.

“It does to me.”

Then 200 years in darkness has taught you nothing Smith.

Wayland processed that and came back with nothing. The Black towered above him. It’s maw twitched side to side tasting the air. He let it go.

“You said my world was burning.”

The twitching stopped. The blaze that consumes your world is purging the earth. Around your tomb it will crumble, sink and become a dead marsh. A place resting between worlds and time until you come to your senses.

Frustration welled in Wayland. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

Then you are of no use. Go back to your tomb and rot.

The Black turned, its tail swept in a large arc sending the horned tip straight at him. He watched as it approached. Transfixed. Time slowed.

“Wayland, don’t just stand there.” A woman’s voice. One he knew.

“Tara?”

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It was dark again. And hot. There was no wind roaring above now though. Tara, he thought, before, it was her that said run.

Again it was her voice that brought him back to his body. The dead one where his conscience remained locked in residence.

That was what The Black meant. To remember while worm and time eroded his casket. Yes, he had endured madness. Lost in time and space as the shovels of damp earth landed on his coffin. With each he had sensed sweat and blood coursing round vein and artery of the gravediggers. When silence fell, so too had his sanity.

Now, he was at peace. Drifting in thought. There were more worlds. The Black had said it, Dead in that world Boy.

Did that mean so too was Tara? He dug deeper. The folly where he was to ask her hand in marriage. That part went well. Then he learned of her vision, a darkness about to happen. That was when he was hurled by some unseen force off the path to tumble toward the floodplain where his conscience fell to a boulder breaking his fall.

The transition to The Blacks world. He remembered walking from a burnt out village, through long past genocide, to the graveyard of Dragons. And The Black standing guard, waiting and watching. It struck him the beast was waiting for the bearer of the Stone.

There was something resting under his right hand. How he knew this was unknown. He had no physical control beyond his senses. He could feel it though. Hard, smooth and resonating. Somehow he knew it was black.

He also knew who it belonged to.

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It was dark again. And hot. There was no wind roaring above now though. Tara, he thought, it was her that said run. As before, that had brought him back to his body. The one that died and left his spirit in residence.

That was what The Black meant. To remember, while worm and time eroded his casket. Yes, he had endured madness. Lost in time and space as the shovels of damp earth landed on his coffin. With each he had sensed sweat and blood coursing round vein and artery of the gravediggers. When silence fell, so too had his sanity.

Now, he was at peace. Drifting in thought. There were more worlds. The Black had said it, Dead in that world Boy.

Did that mean so too was Tara? He dug deeper. The folly where he was to ask her hand in marriage. Her vision of something about to happen and then he was hurled by some unseen force off the path to tumble toward the floodplain where his conscience fell to a boulder breaking his fall.

The transition to the other world where he walked from a burnt out village, through long past genocide to the graveyard of Dragons. And The Black standing guard, waiting and watching. It struck him the beast was waiting for the Bearer of the Stone.

There was something resting under his right hand. How he knew this was unknown. He had no physical control beyond his senses. He could feel it though. Hard, smooth and resonating. Somehow he knew it was black.

He also knew who it belonged to.

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