Michael Mathias: The Sword and the Dragon

The day started with much moaning and groaning from both brothers. Hyden’s head hurt badly. It was not so much the actual wound that bothered him, but a deep inner ache that felt like a hot rock was loose inside his skull. Every little move he made caused the rock to roll around and scald another part of his brain.

Gerard was no better off. Like burning wires cutting through his muscles, his pain spread throughout his shoulders, back and legs. His movements took great effort and came with audible strain, but he didn’t dare voice a complaint. He didn’t want to hear Hyden razz him for whining.

Hyden managed to boil some water over the fire. At least Little Condlin had built the blaze up before he left. Hyden added chicory root and some gum leaf to the pot, and the warm, thick smell of the brew brought Gerard to the fire with his cup in hand. The dark, flavorful liquid put a little energy into their bodies and helped leech out some of the aches and pains. After a few cups, they felt well enough to break camp and start back to the harvest lodges.

While Hyden doused the fire, Gerard was waiting to go. Hyden went to grab the shoulder pack that held the eggs his brother had harvested for him, but stopped suddenly. He heard a sound coming from inside the bag.

“Oh no!” he said, thinking that one of the eggs had broken.

“Are they all right?” Gerard asked with concern. He watched Hyden’s face from where he stood, trying to gauge his brother’s reaction to what he saw as he peered into the bag. He expected to see either relief or anguish spread across Hyden’s face, but what he saw was a strange, somewhat confused look. The odd expression slowly morphed into a wide-eyed grin full of wonder and amazement. The curiosity to know what Hyden was looking at overwhelmed Gerard, and he hurried over to his brother’s side to see for himself.

Hyden reached into the bag carefully. His cupped hand came out with a squeaking little hawkling chick in it. As Gerard knelt down beside him, Hyden worked a piece of jerked venison from his pack with his free hand. He tore a piece off with his teeth and chewed it vigorously.

“Do you think it’s the prophesy bird?” Gerard asked, with a look from the bird to his brother and back. “Or was it just bad keep moss?”

“I-mmm-don’t-mmm-know?” Hyden answered as he chewed. Once the venison was softened, he spat a wad of the chewed-up meat into his hand. He dangled the meat over the little gray chick’s snapping beak and it gobbled the stuff up greedily. Immediately, it started squawking for more. Hyden bit off another piece of the meat, chewed it up, and fed it to the hungry bird. With Gerard’s help, he made a makeshift nest out of his rough spun shirt. Once the little chick was nestled in, it immediately fell asleep.

By all rights, it was Hyden’s egg that had hatched, but it was Gerard who had harvested it. Hyden turned to his brother with a serious look on his face.

“You brought it down from the cliff, but it hatched after you gave it to me. I don’t know if it could be the legend or not, but if it is, who is the chosen one? Me or you?”

“The Elders will know,” Gerard said, trying to remember the exact words of the prophetic campfire story. He realized after a moment that it was no use. He had heard the story told a dozen different ways.

The most common version of the legend stated that one day a clansman’s harvest would be blessed by the Goddess in the form of a special egg. Even keep moss wouldn’t keep this supposedly blessed egg from hatching. The lucky clansman and his hawkling, were supposed to bond, and then go off into the world to do extraordinary things together. They would have adventures far beyond imagining. They would travel beyond the mountains and across the seas, and their lives would be exciting. They would serve the Goddess abroad, and possibly earn a place in the heavens at her side.

After Hyden shouldered the pack with the five remaining eggs in it, he carefully picked up the shirt nest with both hands. Gerard led the way out of the canyon, and as they skirted the forest, he took extra care to make sure no branches or footfalls hindered his brother’s way. The trail wasn’t long, but it was rocky in places and awkward. It was meant to remain hidden, so it took them a while to make the short journey to the harvest lodges.

They made it to the small group of crude, huts by midmorning. They tried to make it to their grandfather’s hut with as little notice as possible, but it was impossible. Tales of Gerard’s leap from the day before had made it back to the lodges already, told by clansmen who had been watching the cliff face from afar. A handful of younger boys rushed forth to question Gerard about it. Because the clan women weren’t allowed at the harvest, the boys who weren’t yet old enough to climb were starved for attention and ran wild like a pack of scavengers. They wanted to know how well Gerard’s second harvest had gone, and if Gerard and Hyden knew how well Little Condlin had done. Gerard shooed them away as best he could, but a few of them spied the hawkling chick in Hyden’s hands and grew overly excited. It took only moments for the tale of the gift the Goddess had bestowed upon Gerard, or maybe Hyden, to reach every set of ears at the lodges.

Having just heard the news from a group of his grandnephews, Hyden and Gerard’s grandfather received them well. He quickly ushered them through the door to his shabby little hut. He gave an angry scowl to the line of boys that followed, which sent them scurrying every direction but forward. Then he pulled the elk skin door closed and tied it fast.

“On the table boy,” Granfather said, with an excited grin on his wrinkled old face.

Hyden set the bundle down gently on the table, while Gerard found their grandfather’s food box and pulled out some bread and cheese as if he owned the place. In council and in public, this man was the Eldest of the clan, and all of the Skylers treated him with the utmost respect, but here inside his harvest hut, just like in his home, he was just the grandfather of two excited boys.

He leaned over the table and studied the chick for a moment, and then he brushed the long, silver-streaked hair out of his face and sat down. He motioned for the boys to do the same, indicating that Gerard could bring the bread and cheese with him.

“This is a wondrous thing,” he said in his deep, scratchy voice. “Great things will come of this.” He looked to Gerard, then to Hyden, and the smile on his face slowly faded. “But there is the potential for terrible things as well.”

Gerard handed Hyden some bread and cut them both some of the cheese as he spoke.

“The story says that a man will harvest an egg and that it will hatch for him. Then, he and the hawkling will go off and do great things together.”

“Aye, Gerard,” their grandfather agreed. “That the story does say.”

He stood slowly, then walked to the other side of the little hut, and began rummaging through a pile of old furs and leather satchels.

“The story though, is just that. It’s a story. The true legend is written in the old language-the language of dragons and wizards. It may or may not be a true prophesy. The Elders and I have often argued that.”

He stopped speaking suddenly as something came to him. He dug around some more, and then pulled an object out of an old bag made from the skin of some shaggy mountain animal.

“Here it is!” he exclaimed. “My father’s translation.” He opened the tattered volume and looked at the pages for a while.

A few long moments passed, so long that it began to appear that he had forgotten the two boys sitting at his table.

Hyden looked at his brother with a grin. He was about to clear his throat to politely remind the old man of their presence, but the hawkling chick did the job for him.