Fragment

The laughter escaped Rhyannon before she could fully process what Ambrosine had proposed. It was high and manic, much louder than she wanted. It left her lightheaded and dizzy.

“Kill the dragons? Either you’re a tad touched or the miasma just affects your head. You’re absolutely mad if you think that’s possible!”

Ambrosine didn’t lose her cheerful expression at her words.

“Oh, but such a feat is possible. They did during the war, what makes now any different?”

“We lost, obviously.”

“Lost, yes, but several dragons were killed by human hands. It’s possible. You’re just afraid.” she punctuated her sentence with another quiet chuckle.

Rhyannon considered snapping back about how she was definitely not afraid, that she could go out and kill it this very moment if she so chose to, but she was afraid. Afraid of the dragon, afraid of what would happen to her should she fail to kill it, afraid of what would happen should they find her. Afraid of what would be left after killing the dragon. There were numerous factors that frightened her and perhaps they were what kept the thought from ever once crossing her mind. She was, truly, afraid.

But rather than admit the fact out loud and to Ambrosine, she merely shrugged her shoulders and returned upstairs to her own bedroom. Ambrosine already knew her fears, what would voice them do besides shred away her final strand that had been keeping her going this long? Her passivity was what allowed her to not lose her mind in the ghost town that she lived in. Routine kept her rising, routine put her to sleep. As long as she didn’t think too hard, as long as she didn’t pay Levnyth any mind, she was free to continue her daily life. She was free to tend to her little garden, free to sweep the floors of the empty house, free to not think. If she thought too long she’d be greeted with the ghosts of her family shimmering on the pollen of the memory moons. If she thought too long she’d hear her children’s giggles echoing down the empty halls. If she thought too long she’d be lonely again.

She pushed her racing mind aside as she reached under her bed for the box she kept there. Within the box sat her family’s grimoire. It was old and worn, having been passed down from mother to daughter for longer than Rhyannon was even sure. She rarely ever consulted the book, but on the few occasions she’s needed to, it often seemed to know exactly what she needed. It taught her how to construct the miasma warding, how to purify a spring, and how to reverse some of the more ghastly effects of the miasma. She questioned if her family just enjoyed recording everything they possibly could or if the grimoire just had its own mind. She eventually settled upon a page she thought was appropriate and took to prepping herself for the work ahead of her.

–

The next few days passed in relative silence. Rhyannon was mostly locked away in her bedroom, the spare moments they saw her were when she popped out to grab items she needed or to make them a quick dinner. They could barely get a word out of her, her movements were always frenzied and fast while her eyes were ringed in dark circles but possessed a fierce determination. Frewin, himself, seemed to have found himself pulling away from Ambrosine. It wasn’t a conscious act, but he constantly replayed Rhyannon’s confession in his mind anytime she was nearby. Ambrosine was unaffected by his actions as she tended to his needs until he recovered enough on his own. Afterward, she would bring him things she found to show off, spend time trying to catch his attention to talk with him, or simply reside somewhere in a room he was in as she hummed into a book.

It wasn’t disgust, but an uncomfortable feeling that passed over him every time he caught her silvery eyes staring at him. Part of him was certain it was some childish aspect of his attaching too much weight to her story, but another side found her conviction too believable. His conflicted thoughts were interrupted by the familiar sounds of Rhyannon’s footsteps echoing throughout the empty hallways. She descended the stairs and stood in the foyer doorway. Her eyes were weighed down with dark rings, her hair was worn loose and messy, obviously unbrushed. Despite her disheveled appearance, her expression was focused and clear as she stared him down.

“You said you grew up on a farm, yes?”

The abruptness of her question made him stop mentally. They hadn’t spoken in days and the first thing she asks about is his farm experience.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure how sheep and sugar cane can benefit anything.”

“You know how to trap, right?”

Frewin nodded, “We’ve had to deal with a few wild dogs, sure.”

The sparkle in Rhyannon’s eye as she grabbed hold of his arm was nearly bright enough to light up the room. “You’re going to be useful then.”

–

The forest was silent save for Frewin’s tired grunts as he sat back to check his handiwork.

“Are you sure this is even going to work?” he asked, taking note of the numerous ropes and contraptions.

“There’s only one way to find out,” she replied rather dryly as she finished her own preparations.

“So, we’re really going to wait until the dragon decides to step into this one very specific spot in the entire forest?”

“No, we’re going to lure it.”

Frewin grimaced as he felt an uncomfortable fluttering settle into his stomach, “You can lure it, I’m not. It’d be better if one of us stayed behind to make sure a stray animal doesn’t set off the trap, anyway.”

Rhyannon merely shrugged as she pushed her hands into her pockets.

“You sure you’ll be safe out here without me?”

“I’m sure I could fend off a rogue deer or two if I have to.” he gave her a grin as he sat back against a tree.

She chewed at her lip before she turned to start the walk into the forest towards Levnyth’s lair.

The walk was short but felt like it took her ages to reach the mouth of the cave. How stereotypical, she thought, a dragon residing in a cave. The permeating smell of rot and musky, wet earth forced her to pull her blouse up over her nose and mouth. The empty branches of decaying black trees shook limply in the faint breeze. Stepping inside the cave, she was rather surprised at how noisy it actually was. Distant dripping sounds echoed off the slick walls, and scurrying insect legs sounded louder than they should have.

She removed a pair of stones from her dress pocket and gave them a quiet chant causing the stones to glow faintly. With the small amount of light produced, she was able to make her way in deeper, moving around large, fallen rocks and the remains of animals. As she walked deeper into the cave the rotting smell became stronger. Soon, even with her blouse pulled up over her face and her hand acting as a filter, the smell became strong enough to make her stomach quiver uncomfortably. Her stomach muscles began to ache from forcing down the urge to vomit.

The chamber opened up wide and was littered with more bones and carcasses in various stages of decay. In the middle of the filth sat Levnyth, their milky, unseeing eye seemingly staring right at her. The dragon was motionless and still, eye unblinking as if it wasn’t seeing her approaching. She struggled to get a deep breath down, the smell of decay heavy and moist in the cave air.

Facing Levnyth head-on, she began to question her choices. It was far too late to go back on what she had decided on. She came all this way, she was standing in front of it. If she could even change her mind about what she was about to do, she was certain she wouldn’t make it out either way.

Kill. Be killed.

She struggled to steady her hand as she went to undo the buckles on the leather harness around her hip holding the grimoire. It was a pain to get a deep breath to calm herself, the odor thick enough to nearly taste made it a chore to breathe, her stomach in a near searing pain at this point. The buckles danced around in her shaking fingertips, the quiet chiming of the metal being the only sound within the lair. When she finally freed the book, she flipped open to the page she had singled out with a piece of torn cloth.

You came here with the intent to kill and yet you shake like a newborn lamb.

The voice startled her nearly causing her to drop the book.

How can you rend a life when you’re so uncertain in your actions? Do you plan to take my life or did you intend on me taking yours? Is that why you approached me alone?

Rhyannon ignored the words of the dragon as she straightened herself out to begin the chant.

You children of men are weak-willed. Levnyth turned its attention away from Rhyannon to pluck at a deer corpse in front of it. You speak of getting rid of us but you only approach us in fear or with no value for your own lives.

She was halfway through the first verse, her head aching with the clawing, gravelly mental voice. Levnyth snorted, unamused, and began to stand. Its body creaked and echoed off the walls of the cave, its claws scratching along the rock floors as it moved toward her.

Is this how you want your children to know you? The fool who allowed herself to die so willingly? You want your sons to hear how you entered my lair, belly up and not even attempting to fight for your own life?

Its voice took on a heavier tone, one almost filled with pity yet still holding clear malice. She stopped in her words, the book nearly falling from her hands for a second time. The cold fear she felt melted into a wave of hot anger.

“You leave them out of this.”

Is it wrong? Have I struck a nerve? Are you only able to bark? It’s no wonder your husband and youngest left with the Children. If my own mother were such a spineless slug I’d have offed her myself.

The dragon continued to prod at her. Its impassive face did not give any hint of whether it was doing this out of enjoyment to see a reaction or if it genuinely felt what it was saying. Rhyannon, regardless, reeled herself in, not allowing the creature the possibility of seeing her further crack.

“Nuiy se’a suhf sus ruhe’ar se’ae’z urruhs’a,” she began the chant again, her voice clear despite her hands shaking around the book, “saz ahe’as ais urs rahe’as uhse’a.”

Levnyth gave no reaction beyond a disinterested snort.

A witch without conviction is rather pitiful. You have truly come to me to die.

“You’re wrong!” she declared, digging her fingers tightly into the book, crinkling the pages, “I’ve come here for your head and I’m not leaving here without it!”

Is that so, child of man? Then entertain my curiosity- why is it that you can’t even cast a spell? Surely, a witch of your talent should be able to, yes? You were the healer of this town, you even managed to thwart the miasma for so long. Then what happened, witch?

Rhyannon gritted her teeth, refusing its questions.

“Nuiy se’a ruhruhr suhfs zuhsuhr-“

You can try any number of spells against me and it won’t take effect.

Its voice was thunderous in her head, loud, deep, and angry. Rhyannon dropped the book to cover her ears reflexively. She could still feel vibrating.

You can chant and cast to your heart’s content, but without the conviction behind anything you do, you’re just repeating fancy words. Tell me, why did the people start dying? Why were you ineffective?

“I…I lost hope.”

Why?

“There were too many. Too many sick. Too many leaving. Too many dying. It became pointless, nothing I did mattered anyway. I was one person expected to take care of an entire population. No matter what I did they ended up becoming sick again, dying, or just leaving. When they didn’t recover the family would act like it was my fault- like I was the one keeping them sick. What did I even gain from that? I couldn’t even keep my own family together, why would I want to keep theirs? I…” Rhyannon stopped her outburst, realizing she was confessing to the thing she came to kill.

Levnyth remained silent, its large haunches sitting before her like a loyal dog, allowing her to scream her grief. The only reply was her own voice echoing back.

“Why?” meek and quiet, Rhyannon wasn’t even sure she actually spoke.

It again offered no reply. If not for the tiny twitching of exposed muscle, there would’ve been no form of motion.

“Why!” Rhyannon demanded louder after a strained couple of moments of silence between the two.

“Rhyannon?” his voice reached her before the sound of his footsteps.

She whipped around to face Frewin, barely illuminated by the small light of her stones, and marginally slower than the dragon who sprung from its sitting position to bound towards him, its jowls gnashing and splatting thick saliva. It crossed the space between them quickly, its body crashing into him, sending him flying towards the cave wall with a dull thudding sound that echoed through the cave. Frewin slumped down to his knees, a hand clutching to his chest as he struggled to get a breath in. The beast roared deafeningly loud before darting its rotting body towards where he lay. Rhyannon’s body went into auto-pilot as the words of the chant tore themselves free from her, she barely even registered the voice as her own.

It was mere inches from Frewin before it went still, the remaining skin bubbled as a bright light grew within its core. It grew brighter and brighter and forced them both to shield their eyes as Rhyannon kept chanting. There was a muffled popping noise before a wet splattering noise against the cave walls. She felt something warm and slimy spray across her face. A fresh putrid smell assaulted their noses. She waited a few moments more before she finally stopped speaking to clean her face off on her blouse sleeves and open her eyes.

The dragon remained as nothing more than sprays of blood and other slimy fluids on the wall. Various chunks of what was its body laid in haphazard piles between her and Frewin. They were both filthy, she was exhausted. He was the first to speak up but she couldn’t make sense of his words. He sounded breathless and wheezy and a thousand miles away. Her mind was swimming, making his words distorted. Her head pounded behind her eyes as trickle of blood made its way from her nose down her chin. Frewin continued to talk to try and get her attention, her foggy mind barely processing what he was saying. She managed to understand just barely enough, something about his chest aching and it being hard to breathe.

She knelt down in front of him, her knee squishing in something slimy that stained the fabric, and pushed him back against the wall eliciting a sharp gasp from him. Rhyannon felt around on his chest, the area feeling soft and squishy and causing him to groan, before lifting his shirt to assess the damage. Aside from the deep bruising across the side and chest and a thin sheen of sweat, he looked relatively fine. She undid the leather straps of the carrier and handed him one.

“Bite down.”

“Why?”

The same faint light spread through his chest warming the injured area as a sharper pain flared throughout his chest. He bit down hard on the leather as Rhyannon continued to work, the pain increasing before it dissipated completely, leaving him breathing heavily. Rhyannon sat back on her heels and wiped her hands off on her skirt.

“Get up. It smells.” Rhyannon barely looked at him as she retrieved her grimoire and brushed gunk off of the cover.

Frewin complied without a word as he inspected himself to see what she did. Apart from the remaining bruising, the injury was healed up entirely.

The walk back was silent with the only sounds being their footsteps. Frewin attempted to start a conversation, asking questions about what happened in the cave between her and the dragon but was met with only silence from Rhyannon, her eyes glossy and heavy as she stared ahead. It was dark by the time they reached the edge of town, the moon dimly lighting their path to the manor. A faint breeze blew through and stirred the small patch of memory moons causing Rhyannon to wince in response.

Ambrosine leaned casually against the manor doors to greet them, her nose wrinkling up when they approached.

“Tough catch?”

Rhyannon walked into the building without even glancing in her direction. A banging of a door could be heard from inside. Frewin was left standing at the bottom of the stairs as Ambrosine raised a brow and nudged her head in the direction Rhyannon went. Frewin shook his head while she trailed after him inside.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened or do I get to make up the details when I write the history books?” Ambrosine was excited as she pulled over a chair and poked at the bruise as he was slipping on a fresh shirt.

He batted away her hand with minor irritation, “shouldn’t you be asking Rhyannon instead of me? She’s the one who did it.”

Ambrosine let out a whine as she made a face.

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m not into stealing valor. Besides I told you once already. She said something and the dragon…exploded.”

“I don’t care about that, I want to know about the bruise.”

“Aren’t you used to seeing me injured already?”

“Yes, but the stories are always funny and I didn’t get to experience this one. So out with it.”

Frewin looked at her curiously, “I took a wild bear out with my one hand. You know, tied behind my back.”

His response at least managed to get a laugh.

“Yeah sure, and I’m a dragon.”

He shrugged.

“Fine, don’t believe me.”

She gave his chest one final poke before putting the chair back, “get some sleep.”

The following morning, Frewin walked into the lobby still groggy from the previous night. Rhyannon had been busy filling a pack with essentials and other items.

“Getting rid of us already?”

She poked her head over the front desk with a confused look.

“What? No, these are mine. You’re free to stay a little longer but I’m leaving.”

“What do you mean? Don’t you own this place?”

“Yes, but there’s no point staying here anymore. There’s nothing here. It’s a dead town and it’s impossible to keep it going with only one person. Besides, after so long it would be nice to…see other things. Kind of sick of repairing this old place anyway.”

“Oh.” Frewin kicked at the edge of a frayed rug unsure of what to say, “What about your son? Your husband?”

He couldn’t see her reaction but guessed it from how whatever she was rummaging through had gotten silent.

“Well, if they show up, then they’d probably know to go to our eldest. That’s where I planned to go, at least. I already sent out a letter this morning.”

“So that’s…it? You’re really leaving us?”

“Who is ‘us’?” Rhyannon asked, placing a heavy box on the counter.

“Us…You know...You, me…Ambrosine?” his voice pitched as he finished speaking.

“No thanks.”

He gave a half-hearted hum.

“You and your little lap dog can go on your own way, I’m not really interested in raising two more kids after I’ve already raised my own.” she placed a few other items into the little pack before strapping it over her shoulder.

“Make sure you at least lock up behind you, okay? It’s not the fanciest of places but it would annoy me if people broke in.”

“Wouldn’t they do that regardless of it being locked?”

Rhyannon pondered his remark before shrugging. She held out a hand towards him for him to shake.

“It’s been nice, at least. If you need me, well, I’m sure you can find some way to get a hold of me.”

Frewin took her hand and gave her a little shake. “Yeah…Thanks.”

She gave him one last smile and a gentle squeeze before dropping his hand. The door closed shut behind her, leaving an echo through the empty lobby.