Nicholas Phelps
I: Rumors of a Dragon
On the outskirts of an ancient kingdom, a spine of mountains housed many crevices and caves. Within one of these such places, a Dragon made his home and hoard. The people that lived near this Dragon often spoke of him with hushed tones for fear of incurring his wrath by merely speaking his name. In the small village of Inistad, accounts of violent encounters from burnt cities to the destruction of entire armies bounced from person to person, with no one knowing from whom they originated. One of these villagers, a boy by the name of Osley, would constantly overhear such talk on his frequent trips from the well to his home. He heard a pair of travelers talking about the Dragon’s hoard and what might be in it on one such occasion.
”I met a ranger who said he went into Dragon’s lair, and he saw so much gold he could bathe in it.”
”So why didn’t he take any?” The first traveler looked confused.
”I don’t know. Maybe he was too afraid.”
”Convenient, don’t you think?”
”Hey, I’m just telling you what I heard.”
”Well, I heard a wizard….”
”A wizard?” The first traveler interrupted the second with doubt.
”Yes, he said that the Dragon counted an Elixir of Eternal Life amongst its possessions,” this captured the boy’s ear more than any other talk about the Dragon ever did. “He told me to spread the word that he would pay any adventurer a very hefty amount of money for it.”
”Why wouldn’t any adventure with sense just keep it for themselves?”
”I’m not sure he thought about that.” Osley couldn’t stand to spend any more time waiting, so he rushed home, almost spilling the pail of water he had just collected.
”Mother!” he called as he entered the small one-room hovel that had dried mud for walls and a thatched roof.
”Yes dear,” the voice was worn with sickness. Osley drew closer to her ghostlike face.
”I know what to do.”
”What do you mean?” her voice got progressively worse the longer she spoke.
”I don’t want to worry you, mother,” her eyes suddenly took on the shape of understanding.
”No!” she barely mustered the strength to yell as she sat up in bed. “I will not have you…” she lapsed into a fit of coughing that forced her back into a prone position. Osley brought her water.
”I’ll ask Tavern Keeper Tom to look after you while I’m gone. He told me that he owes father for the war.” She regained the ability to speak.
”I will not have you chasing rumors, Osley. I don’t care how tempting they are.”
”But…”
”I don’t care. You have to look to yourself now. I am a sea anchor to you now, and you have to let me go.
”No!” he began to cry. “I already do without father; how am I to do without you?”
”Like you said, Tom owes your father, he’ll help you!” Osley left the hovel halfway through what she said, so she had to yell the rest. He sat beside the door to think by himself while listening to if his mom needed any help. As he did this, he looked up at the clear blue sky with the occasional wisp of white cloud. Eventually, he moved from thoughts about his mother to thoughts about how unfair it was that he couldn’t reach and touch that sky. Maybe if he could do that, he could ask whoever was up there for help.
”Dragon!” he heard a woman scream. Then he saw it appear from one of the clouds. It was the most beautiful bright crimson he had ever seen, and it cut through the sky with such grace that he admired it more than he feared it. The beast was high above the village and didn’t seem interested in the panicked rabble below it. Amidst this, Osley was the only one actually studying the creature; everyone else averted their eyes from the terror and cowered in fear. He followed it with his eyes and thus his feet. Because of this, the only one that noticed it leave was him. As he walked home, he thought about what actually seeing this Dragon meant. It was real, and it was beautiful. He felt that if something like that existed and could touch the sky, then he could save his mother, or at least try.
The night passed with restlessness and thoughts of flying serpents and wizards. All of these things were far out of reach for a young boy, but this did not phase him. He was determined to go on this quest. The morning he left, he made his mother comfortable before taking a shovel. He took five careful steps away from the middle of the hovel and began digging. Soon after he started digging, it began to rain, and lightning struck nearby. The boom did not impede his progress. He soon stopped digging and retrieved an oblong parcel wrapped in cloth. He brought it inside and placed it on the floor.
”What are you doing?” his mother asked with concern.
”I’m saving you.”
”No, you are not!” She renewed her passion. Osley removed the cloth and revealed a longsword in a decorated leather scabbard. The blade was well made, but it was clear that it hadn’t been sharpened in quite some time. “Listen to me, Osley!” He turned his attention from the sword and to her. “You can’t throw away your life for me,” she calmed her voice now that she had his attention.
”Yes, I can.” She was surprised that he seemed to thoroughly understand the danger he was willingly walking into.
”Osley, I am dying, and there is nothing you can do about it. It is tragic, but you have to be prepared for living on your own.”
”That might be true, but it might not.”
”I don’t understand.”
”What the travelers were speaking about may be true; it may not be. I may be able to save you; I may not. Regardless, I have to find out because if there is the slightest chance I can save you, then I have to try.”
”Your father taught you all of the wrong things.” Osley was profoundly angered by the idea that his dad was anything but perfect.
”Don’t insult him!” he yelled at her. “Everything only started going wrong after he died!” He started to cry. “If he was still here, he would do it.”
”Don’t do this just because your dad would.” She was losing the strength to speak again, so she couldn’t yell back if she wanted to.
”I’m not. This is my judgment and mine alone.” She looked into his eyes and saw the unparalleled passion there. It was clear to her that she wouldn’t be able to change his mind and that she was in no position to physically force him. So, she acquiesced.
”Drag the trunk from under my bed.” A moderate amount of excitement took over Osley’s movement as he fulfilled his mother’s request. He always wondered what was in that trunk, but he looked at her before continuing. “Open it,” she was surprised she needed to give him permission. The latch on the front snapped open and gave way to the silver, dusted opulence of a complete set of plate mail.
”Are you giving this to me?” Osley’s voice betrayed his excitement.
”Yes, but not all of it. You are almost your father’s size, but you haven’t been trained to wear such heavy armor. However, the chain mail that goes underneath should do fine.” Osley took the helmet and looked into the empty space where one would typically find a pair of eyes. For a moment, the visage of his father appeared, and in that precise moment, for the first time, there were second thoughts. The hope, desperation, and enthusiasm drained from him as he realized he was not akin to his father. He had been trained to use a sword, but he had never fought; he had imagined slaying the Dragon, but he had never done anything tantamount. His gaze shifted back to his mother, and the trepidation instantly evaporated, but the seed of doubt had been planted.
”Thank you,” those words were more sincere than any he had ever spoken before.
”If I can’t change your mind, then I’ll do my best to help. I’m afraid I can’t do much outside of the trunk.” She imagined her son accomplishing his goal and locked it in her mind as prophecy. “Just go make sure Tom is able and willing to look after me.” Osley nodded and left to see Tom. The cold morning dew juxtaposed the warmth that he had just felt, and that cold persisted when he entered the vacant tavern. The fireplace was empty, and each table was covered with a thick layer of dirt and dust.
”Good morning, Osley!” Tom spoke from behind the counter as he wiped it clean. It was the only thing he kept clean.
”Good morning, sir.”
”Please just call me Tom,” the smile he gave did not reach his eyes. In fact, you could barely tell he was smiling through his thick beard.
”Okay,” Osley sat at one of the bar stools. Tom looked at him incredulously.
”You want a drink?” he asked.
”No, I’m here to ask you for help.”
”I see,” he paused and stared at the counter for a moment as his shoulders slumped a little more than they already were. “What can I help you with?”
”I need you to take care of my mother.” Tom looked confused.
”Going somewhere?”
”Yes, I may have a way to save her.” He widened his eyes in realization.
”You’re not talking about the Dragon, are you?”
”I am.” Tom rubbed his beard and grunted.
”Well, I have no right to tell you can’t do that. I’m sure Helen has already tried to stop you.”
”Will you?”
”I should.” A distant thought passed through his mind. “But I won’t. I owe your father thus I owe you.”
”Thank you.”
”Don’t thank me, I am repaying a debt.”
”I am still grateful.” He gave a smile with the corner of his mouth.
”Are you leaving today?”
”Yes.”
”Well, do you know where you are going?” Osley hadn’t thought about that before now.
”No, I don’t.” Tom chuckled.
”Well, from what I can tell,” he spoke as he stepped into the back with a limp behind the bar counter. A map drawn on cowhide was placed down upon his return. Some of the charcoal was rubbing off, but it was accurate. “Most of the rumors seem to come from around here.” He put his finger on a spot where there were several notches. Osley remembered some of the things his father taught him.
”That’s almost straight west from here,” a glance back at the map. “A little south, but I can always use this stream as a landmark,” he pointed out a stream on the map near the notches.”
”Your dad taught you that, didn’t he?” He gave Osley the map.
”Yes, he wanted to make sure I was ready to live without him before he last went to war.” Tom looked down at his leg.
”I would’ve joined him if not for this,” his mind carried off to fantasy. “Maybe I could’ve saved him in return then, but here we are.” They shook hands.
Osley secured the sack to his back and the bedroll on top resting nearly on his neck. The sword he carried over his shoulder in its scabbard like a knight without a horse. The chain mail shirt and coif weighed heavy on him, but his endurance was well-tempered.
”I promise I will save you,” he said earnestly to his mother.
”I don’t care about that. Promise me you will come back,” she began to cry, and in her mind, she desperately wished she could force him to stay. Osley looked into her eyes, and she saw a glimpse of previously buried doubt that was quickly hidden again.
”I promise. I will come back.” They did not say farewell. Instead, he hugged her for long enough to say all that needed to be said and entered the cold. The weight of the mail seemed heavier, and despite the layer of fur he donned, he felt naked traveling alone, and as the edge of the forest came within grasp of hand, he looked back at his home. Chimneys oozed smoke, and people wandered back and forth in dead silence. He turned away and entered the darkness.
II: Brothers at a Bridge
The creaking of trees and bushes in the wind surrounded him. Birds chirped and sang above, leaves rustled and twigs broke, and the air was still as if the wind only brushed along the edges of the autumn-capped forest and was forbidden from entering. A thick dew lay over everything, and the ground was soft with water and moss. The bounteous nature did not lend itself to a clear path, but he knew moss grew to the north due to his father, so the way was never obscured to him.
Osley traveled with determined haste. Even as exhaustion set in and the weight he was carrying began to weigh a little more, he did not slow. Only the night gave him pause. When the sunlight receded, it grew especially frigid as the nights tend to when winter draws close, so he retrieved flint and steel from his pack and sparked a fire. As he sat on a log and ate some of the dried meat he packed, he felt the warmth relax him as if he was home. Osley began to hum a song he heard when he was younger. The tune was slow and melancholic; he couldn’t remember the words or its meaning, but the melody stuck in his head. The song hid the recession of nature as the bugs ceased their creaking and the wind ceased pushing on the edges of the bushes and trees. The world seemed to be at rest with him.
The following morning his adventure continued through the forest. With his ears and eyes, he avoided most signs of trouble, whether it be a wolf howl or a bear track; his astute observation kept him from encountering the sources of these indications of danger. However, there was one particular manifestation of trouble he couldn’t avoid. It was a bridge across the river that he had pointed out on the map. He needed to cross it to get to the cave, but there was a sizeable hole roughly in the middle, and the water seemed tumultuous and cold.
”Ho there, stranger!” Osley heard a grimy voice come from the other side of the bridge. The trees obscured the source, but he could detect a distinct scraping sound like something was being dragged.
”Hello there, may I ask you to identify yourself?” The voice didn’t seem to have intended malice, but he wanted to be sure.
”Yes, if you could spare me a parcel of time, this is particularly onerous.” The dragging continued, and Osley waited patiently with his hand over the hilt of his sword. After some time, a massive creature that stood at least ten times taller than a fully grown man emerged from the trees with an equally enormous stone in tow. “Greetings, sir,” he grunted as he dragged the stone closer to the bridge. Its head was disproportionately large compared to the rest of its body, and the skin appeared as if it was made of stone. The thing looked like a brute, but it carried a certain intelligence in its eyes.
”Umm,” Osley was frightened by the creature’s size and appearance, but as it made no notion of threat, he was not immediately alarmed. “I am Osley. Who would you be?” The creature turned from his work and rested on the ground, using the rock for a backrest.
”I am Archibald, the bridge artificer at your service.”
”Oh, is this your bridge?”
”I am its architect, though, at this particular juncture, I am not eager to announce as such.”
”Why is that?”
”It’s in a negligible state of disrepair, can’t you see?”
”What happened to it?”
”I am perplexed by that very query at this moment. After constructing the appliance, I traveled to my abode for some much-obliged respite, and upon my restoration, I discovered it in this lackluster disposition.”
“Is there any way you could help me across? I am on an urgent quest.”
”Urgent quest, you say? Well, I sup…”
”Archy!” he was interrupted by a voice that came from behind him.
”Oh damn it.”
”Where are my chip chips?” A second creature emerged from the trees. It was very similar in appearance to Archibald except with a slightly smaller head.
”You mean your stone working tools? Which are actually under my stewardship.”
”Yeh, my chip chips,” he noticed Osley. “Who that?” he inquired as he pointed at the young boy. Archibald refocused Osley in his mind.
”Actually, he hasn’t bequeathed me with the knowledge of his nomenclature as of yet. How do they demand you harken, sir?”
”My name is Osley.”
”Nuck!” the new creature spoke with excitement.
”Sorry?”
”This is my brother, Nuck,” Archibald clarified.
”Oh, I see. And, what might you two be?”
”I’m not sure I understand your inquiry.”
”Well, you see, I’m a human. What are you?”
”Nuck and Archy!” Nuck exclaimed.
”Yes, we are Nuck and Archibald; we have no other titles.”
”I see.”
”I want my chip chips!” Nuck’s attention shifted in an instant back to his previous objective. Archibald sighed.
”How many times must I inform you. The tools are my possessions. You don’t even possess the proficiencies necessary to utilize them effectively.” Nuck clearly did not understand most of what his brother had said.
”Give me my chip chips!” he lunged at Archibald, and they were quickly engaged in a childlike brawl that would be common amongst brothers of a young age.
”Damn buffoon! What could you possibly want with them?” They continued to slam each other into trees and occasionally dunk each other’s heads into the water. Their express purpose was only to cause each other pain. At no point were either of them in any real danger, but Osley needed to get across the bridge.
”Excuse me,” he spoke timidly at first and garnered no response. “Excuse me!” he articulated himself more, but the brothers continued their quarrel.
”I’m gonna Nuck you!” Nuck scraped his brother’s head against the bark of a tree.
”How many times must I inform you? Nuck is your name; it’s not a verb.”
”Verb this!” Osley decided to take a moment of rest by finding a comfortable spot to sit on the bridge. He sat there for some time and watched the fight, which he might’ve found entertaining if not for his present purpose. After more than an acceptable amount of patience, Osley set his mind on doing something. He had no idea what, but he had made the decision.
The water was too cold, too deep, and too fast; the gap in the bridge too far to jump. Several vain attempts to get the brothers’ attention caused Osley to decide he would throw caution to the wind and risk the water. With some hesitation, he relinquished the protective chainmail to reduce the risk of drowning and secured his belongings to his back. He regretted that he had to leave behind one of the remnants of his father, but there was still the sword and the knowledge. Two things for which death was preferable to losing.
The water soaked through his boots quickly, and the stark coldness followed suit just as swiftly. The water was not forceful on the fringe of the river, so he made progress with relative ease until he got closer to the middle. The water was now up to his waist, and he felt the powerful tug of the current. To combat the pull, he used his still sheathed sword as an overqualified walking stick by sticking it in place, securing his footing, then moving it forward. This method made slow but consistent progress. Eventually, the water had reached his chest, and each time he moved the sword forward, the water nearly swept him away.
”Archy, look.” Nuck noticed Osley was attempting to cross the water as Archibald had him in a headlock. It was clear the current was becoming too much to handle.
”Oh dear,” he let his brother go and rushed to the river as Osley was nearing the very center of the river. He slipped and for a moment lost his footing, but the sword saved him from being lost. Archy made his way into the water.
”Damn, that water is frigid!” he exclaimed. “Reach your hand out to me, Osley!” He reached his hand out, and just as he lost his footing once again, Archy grabbed his arm and pulled him from the water. The solid ground felt stable at first, but Osley quickly felt the cold wind rush over him. His teeth began to chatter, and he curled up into a ball. “Firewood, Nuck or cold shall snatch him from us!” Together the brothers built a rather large fire without which it is very likely that Osley would’ve suffered from some form of severe hypothermia. As he recovered and dried, he slept through most of the day and awoke to find Archibald feeding the fire.
”Hello,” he spoke reflexively as he sat up, momentarily without the knowledge of where he was.
”Osley, we weren’t sure if you had perished. You may take a moment of respite. Nuck is obtaining nourishment.” Osley suddenly recalled the urgency of his quest.
”How much time has passed?” he requested fervently.
”Just the day, oh that’s correct, you were on a mission of particular urgency if I recall correctly.”
”Yes.”
”Well, there’s little reason to travel at this time. What is your destination?”
”I’m seeking a cave that’s near this very stream.”
”Is that so?” Archy’s eyes betrayed that he knew something, but Osley did not notice. “Well, given that it is in close proximity, you might as well take the time to rest.” Osley recognized that it would be pointless to attempt to travel at night, so he took the advice, but his mind began to wander, and he developed a question.
”What were you and your brother fighting about?”
”Oh, it’s a somewhat constant ordeal. He believes the stoneworking tools I used to construct the bridge are his. I haven’t the slightest idea how that notion entered his head, but he is convinced. He doesn’t even possess the proficiencies necessary to utilize them effectively.” Osley thought for a moment.
”Why don’t you teach him?” he offered.
”Why would I commit to such an endeavor?” Archy’s response seemed thoughtless.
”Well, then he could help you. That way, whenever the bridge breaks, it’s only half the work.”
”Hmm,” he rubbed his chin in thought. “That is an elegant proposition now that I query it to myself.”
”Maybe that’s his whole goal.”
”Elaborate, please.”
”Maybe he just wants to help.”
”Maybe.” Nuck returned with a deer, and Osley ate his fill before returning to sleep. In the morning, he felt refreshed and ready to continue his journey despite all of his belongings, besides the sword, being ruined by the water. This did not concern him in the slightest.
”The cave is a minuscule journey that way.” Archy pointed in a direction that coincided with the way that Osley thought was correct.
”You know of it.”
”I know of a cave. I am unsure if it is the specific one you seek.”
”Okay, thank you for everything.”
”It was our pleasure.”
”Yeah, our pleasure,” Nuck mimicked his brother.
Osley’s journey briefly continued as he quickly reached his destination. The cave’s mouth was massive, and inside he couldn’t see anything but blackness. He took a deep breath and entered.
III: In The Dragon’s Lair
The sword was unsheathed, and orange light filled the cave from a makeshift torch for which Osley sacrificed a branch he found and a piece of his shirt. The cave seemed naturally formed, but as he made his way further away from the sun, the cave appeared to take a more deliberate form. The walls became finely crafted and smooth, and unlit braziers were occasionally found. He entered a long hallway that led to an enormous door. Osley probably wouldn’t have been able to push it open if it wasn’t already ajar. The door led to a fairly simple but large hall, but the hall precursed something much more impressive. He made his way through another door and revealed a vast underground space dotted with pillars several times larger than the largest tree he had ever seen; he imagined he would need more than a hundred ladders to reach the top, and it took him several minutes to make his way around one. Then, he realized he had taken for granted that he could perceive this entire chamber. There seemed to be light filling the hall from no visible source. There were no torches or fires to be seen, and when Osley put his own light out, his sight was not diminished.
The roar of a thousand lions echoed through the chamber and made the pace of Osley’s heart quicken. He determined the direction from which it came and began approaching the corresponding doorway, which once again he probably wouldn’t have the strength to open if it wasn’t already ajar. The door led to a similarly designed chamber that was much thinner and not nearly as tall. This hall directed Osley to a much larger room at the far end. The stone floor turned into a mountain of gold and gems that stretched far beyond his vision. If he were a greedy person, he would’ve been instantly enchanted by the glory of it, but instead, he noticed that one of the gems was not a gem. It was a green serpent’s eye that likely had been staring at him since he walked through the door. It was surrounded by the golden splendor of the horde.
Osley was frozen. The moment his attention caught the eye was the moment he had experienced more fear than at any other point in his life. In his mind, an eternity passed as the courage to fight the monster to which the eye belonged was mustered. He tightened the temporarily loosened grip on his sword, focused his perception, and took a deep breath.
The significance of this particular moment was not entirely lost on the young man, but he didn’t quite have all of the pieces. He brought his courage and strength to full froth and asked.
”What’s your name?” The eye narrowed for a moment before the Dragon stirred and caused the entire mountain to shift and quake. Soon its whole terrifying form was revealed. The teeth were about the size of Osley himself; the scales were impervious and ridged, while the wings could cloak an entire city in darkness.
”That is certainly different than what I expected,” the Dragon’s matronly voice carried through the entire chamber, but it seemed to calm Osley more than scare him.
”What did you expect?” he asked naively.
”Well, the heroic knight is supposed to charge forward, slay the Dragon, and get the princess or whatever he’s after. I don’t have a princess, so it would likely be fortune.”
”Why would anyone do that? It seems foolish.”
”Did your parents never tell you any of these stories?”
”No, my father taught me all he knew but never told me any stories like that.” The Dragon’s eyes scrutinized Osley more closely.
”I recognize you. You’re not Arther’s child, are you?”
”That is the name of my father.”
”You must be Osley then!” The Dragon’s voice suddenly became overly excited, but her posture remained grand. “That makes so much sense now. Your dad was a sagacious man.”
”Sagacious?”
”Wise.”
”Oh, I see.”
”My name is Brunhilda, by the way. I already know your name.”
”How did you know my father?”
”Well, we were close friends, actually. I would often lend him a hand. You see, he saved my life. I was enslaved by a particularly tyrannical king.”
”Oh.”
”It seems your dad didn’t teach you everything he knew, just what you needed.”
”Why would he not teach me more? Also, I don’t think my mother knew either.”
”Well, you have to learn some things for yourself; otherwise, you’re never truly tested; I’m sure he didn’t tell her, so she wouldn’t tell you.”
”I shouldn’t expect to be given everything?”
”Exactly.”
”I already know that. I had to travel all this way.”
”Yes, but that wouldn’t require much courage if you knew I was friendly, would it?”
”I suppose that’s true.”
”See, he knew what he was doing.” She brought her head down to Osley’s level so she wouldn’t have to speak so loudly. “So, why did you come all this way?”
”My mother is dying.”
”Oh, I’m sorry.”
”There’s a rumor that you have an elixir of eternal life within your hoard.”
”Yes, I do recall sowing that one; lucky for you, it happens to be true. It’s right over there,” she pointed with her eyes. Osley looked to see a small glass bottle of red liquid lying at the feet of the mountain of gold.
”I am forever grateful,” he respectfully bowed to the Dragon.
”Anyone who should desire such a thing for the right reasons deserves such a thing. Now, just don’t lose it. As far as I know, it’s the only of its kind.”
IV: The True Dragon
Tom stared at the green vial in front of him. His mind ran through the creation process as well as his plan in the hope of ensuring no mistake had or would be made.
”May he forgive me,” he spoke solemnly as he took the object of fixation and made his way to Osley’s home. His mother was asleep when Tom entered. “Catherine,” he shook her awake.
”Good morning, Tom,” she had been feeling slightly better, but this was a well-documented disease, and a spell of improvement tended to precede the final stages before death.
”Do you want tea?”
”Yes, that would be fantastic, thank you.” He set about making it on the woodstove. Before he added the liquid from the green vial, guilt entered his mind, so he recalled something.
”Do you want to hear a story?” he asked her.
”Sure, I don’t have much for entertainment here.” He mixed it in and placed the bottle down.
”Back during the war, Arther and I were scouting some nearby woods where the army was encamped. We had the element of surprise on our side, so the king wanted to make sure the army wasn’t spotted by anyone or anything.” He gave her a cup of tea. “So, as we explored this forest, a dense fog rolled and caused us to get lost. We wandered for what seemed like ages until we came across a crone’s house. She knew everything about Arther and me, so we both concluded that she was some sort of witch. But, regardless, she offered to read our futures. After some debate, he refused, but I was curious to see what she would say.” He paused for a moment as Catherine took a sip of the tea. “She told me I would die an excruciating death by fire in a moment of regret.”
”Oh my.”
”Yes, and I have to be honest. I am terrified. Not just of fire, but to die. I encountered so much death back then, but I was always the dealer. I can’t imagine being dealt.”
”I’m sure the witch was just trying to trick you or working to some other dreadful…” her face cringed in pain.
”I’m sorry, but this is the only way I could avoid killing both of you. The Dragon will give him the elixir, and if you’re dead, he might give it to me willingly. I don’t want to kill him; you have to believe me.” He began to cry as Catherine, Osley’s mother, drew her last breath.
”Yes, just like that. You have to break off useable chunks from this big chunk.”
”I thinkin’ I get it.” The brothers were working on the bridge when Osley approached. He immediately noticed the wooden boards laid across the gap.
”How’s it going down there?” he felt the need to hurry but wanted to check with the brothers first.
”Osley!” Archibald was excited to see him. “Were you successful in your quest?”
”Yes, I am now on my way home!” Osley was equally excited, if not more.
”He’s teches me how to bridge bridge.”
”It seems you were correct in your assumption that my brother only desired to offer assistance.”
”I thought so, well, I must be on my way. My return is time-sensitive.”
”Yes, of course, but before your departure, I must offer the recovery of this parcel.” Archibald held the lost shirt of chain mail towards Osley
”Thank you, but I won’t be needing it anymore.”
”Are you certain?”
”I think so. I’m sure you could find a use for it.”
”I suppose we could melt it down and fashion it into something desirable to our work.”
”Perfect.”
V: The Quietly Courageous
The stark wind hit Osley like a hammer as he left the protection of the forest. It hadn’t yet snowed, but an early frost was lying on the field he was now crossing. Smoke billowed from the chimneys of the village homes. He wondered why smoke could not be seen from his own.
”He came back!”
”He actually made it!” The villagers recognized the significance of his return. Most celebrated, others were frustrated by a lost bet, and Osley felt an increasing amount of apprehension as he approached the door to his home.
”Mother,” the creak of the door made his mousey call unhearable. The bed was empty. The heart sank, and hope left his mind. He felt his legs giving out, so he sat down on the floor, then the tears came. There was no sobbing or anguished moans, just a steady stream of tears from eyes full of pain. Something out of place. Through the tears, he saw an odd vial that he did not recognize. He stood and examined, noticing the slight green tinge to the glass. It was placed next to the tea kettle, which led to what Osley thought was an outlandish thought. A look to the nightstand beside his mother’s bed. A teacup full of tea. He took the cup.
”Osley!” he heard Tom’s voice.
”I’m here!” he stepped outside, unsure if he should feel angry or sad at the sight of the man.
”I’m sorry, Osley, I made a coffin for her. I thought you’d…”
”Drink this.” Tom was interrupted.
”What, why?”
”Why not.” Tom’s expression appeared confused but could just as quickly be read as concern.
”I don’t understand what’s going on here.”
”I’m offering you some tea; it would be rude to waste it.” Osley became almost maniacal.
”Look, your mother just died. Maybe that’s why you’re acting strange.”
“ I know what you did. I saw the vial.” Tom sighed.
”Don’t make me kill you for it.”
”I’m the one with the sword.”
”Then strike me down, or don’t. I would prefer it if you didn’t and just gave me the elixir. You have no use for it now.”
”You selfish filth!” Osley charged him and put all of his strength into a downward swing, but Tom easily dodged to the side, and thus, the sword hit nothing but dirt. He then stepped on the sword’s blade to pin it and punched Osley hard enough to send him reeling backward. Tom took the sword off the ground.
”You could’ve just given it to me.” He stepped towards Osley and took the elixir after searching for a moment. “Beautiful.” He held it up. “Well, if I leave, you’re just going to come after me.” His eyes bore no regret as he brought the sword up to kill Osley, but he was stopped by a shadow that passed over for an instant. He looked up to see what it was, but by then, it was too late.
The Dragon turned up vast chunks of dirt when it landed, yet it was still graceful. Tom’s eyes grew wide with fear. He dropped the sword and attempted to open the bottle in his hand, but Brunhilda reared her head and let forth an inferno that instantly turned the sword, Tom, and the elixir into dust. The wind lifted the dust and spread it out of sight.
With the object of his anger gone, Osley returned to deep sorrow. He curled up into a ball on the ground and wept. This time it wasn’t composed like before. There was snot, wailing, and the complete absence of reasonable thought. Only pain was in his mind.
”Osley,” Brunhilda’s voice was soothing, but it was not enough to take him out of his apathetic state. She stood at her full height and took on a position of tyrannical grace. “Osley!” This time her voice thundered with manufactured indignation louder than any sound he had heard previously. His attention was now on her, but the pain was still on his mind. “Do not flounder in your self-pity, boy!” The ire remained. Seeing that his attention was now on her, she shifted her position and tone to a less intimidating stature. “This is not you,” she said, “you are a conqueror of fear. A slayer of a Dragon and a confronter of chaos.”
”But I didn’t slay a Dragon!” Osley yelled as a way of coping with his current pain. Tears still poured down his face. “You just handed me the elixir with no challenge.”
”But you didn’t know I would do that. For all you knew, I was the pillager of cities, the destroyer of armies. What you did took more courage than ten ordinary men would have put together. You did something where most would’ve done nothing.”
”What does it matter if I have courage! I failed! It was all for nothing!”
”That might be true, but if you try again, you might find happiness. You only have to discover it once for it to all be worth the trouble.”
”What if my mother was my happiness?”
”No.”
”What do you mean no?”
”It’s not a person, place, or thing. Those are fleeting. It’s you. You are your condition. You decide if it’s time to quit searching.”
”How do I know if it’s time?”
”You will know.” Osley’s eyes were bloodshot and wet, but he was no longer filled with pain. It still remained, but his mind focused its attention on something else. He remembered the vacant spot next to his father’s grave and the shovel he used to clear snow in the winter.
Osley stood, “it’s not time yet.”