Born Of Fire Page 5
ground, hands sprawling out before him, shield rolling well out of reach. Gasping for breath from the impact, he lifted his face shield and drew in the retched, sweet scent of death and decay. As his eyes focused he nearly vomited at the sight of the melted face of what had been a man, not more than a foot from his own face. An awful, sinking sensation swept over him when he realized his right hand was buried in the corpse’s chest cavity.
He skittered backwards, shaking entrails from his gauntlet and choking with every breath. He forced himself to his feet and stood still until he could force air into his lungs and slow his fluttering heart. The world soon stopped spinning and he retrieved his fallen shield, telling himself he had been through worse at the hands of his adopted father. No wait, he meant on the battlefield. Best not to deviate from the dream.
As he picked up his shield the intricate four point knotwork design on it caught his eye. It was Celtic. The image meant something important, he just didn’t know what. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it though because thinking too hard always woke him up. And he wasn’t ready for that yet. The thought gave little consolation, but it did still his stomach some and gave him the courage to walk on.
Stopping at a bend in the path, he raised his shield and drew in a deep, painful breath. Though his armored feet felt impossibly heavy, he managed to step around the looming trees and then came to an abrupt, shuddering halt. All the battlefields he’d ever seen couldn’t have prepared him for this sight.
Before him was the entrance to the beast’s lair. It opened up like a huge, black maw, ready to swallow the world whole. Nothing whatsoever was alive near the place, not a single blade of grass, not a shrub, or even a weed. Despite the carrion littering the ground like pine needles, there wasn’t even a scavenger in sight. Charred skeletons were heaped to either side of the cave entrance, fresher bodies piled on top of them; some still with burnt meat and blackened armor hanging from them.
Steel rasped against leather as he drew his sword. Power built within his chest and he reveled in the feel of it, knowing it would help him defeat the monster. Light bounced off his blade as his hand shook. It wasn't the ravaged countryside, or even the ghastly white bones that struck such fear into him; it was knowing what else this monster was capable of. A greenish-yellow glow spread out from his hands to his sword, infusing it with his power. A long breath eased from him. He had the power to do this, if only he could stay focused.
The faded light of the gloomy day abruptly disappeared, leaving him in complete blackness. Hand gripping the hilt of his sword so tight the leather wrapping dug divots into his flesh, he stumbled back. Just as swiftly as the light had disappeared, it returned, and the sight before him made him wish it hadn't.
Overwhelmed by the bizarre sensation of slowed time, he was amazed to see his own legs moving forward as if of their own accord. It was easier to move than his numb mind had thought it would be. The smell of charred flesh and decaying remains was nearly overpowering in here and he had to fight down nausea.
Eyes riveted to the mouth of the cave, something caught his foot yet again and he stumbled to the soot covered ground in what seemed like slow motion. He watched his shield roll several yards away and bump into the remains of a large animal, then clang noisily to the ground. Heart sinking to the pit of his stomach, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was cursed. This was not going at all as he had planned. But then what ever did?
The ground shook with the footsteps of an incredibly large creature and he cringed against the earth, wishing he could sink into it. Betrayed by his weak heart and paralyzed, he could only lie in wait while it emerged from its lair.
The dragon was as black as the deepest pits of hell, with a row of wicked spikes running from the top of his head to the tip of his forked tail. One long, twisted horn sat on either side of his massive head, just above the ridges of his piercing, dark eyes. From an elongated jaw jutted too many long, sharp teeth to count. His eagle-like feet were adorned with razor sharp claws almost as long as Aiden’s forearm. Towering nearly twenty feet tall, with leathery wings curled against his back that would undoubtedly spread three times as wide as he was tall, he could block out the sun itself.
Survival instinct kicked in and overrode Aiden’s crushing fear, giving him the strength to scramble to his feet and hold his lance out before him. If he was going to die, he figured he might as well do so honorably and go down fighting. His arm tensed as he drew back and prepared to hurl his lance.
"You can't defeat me, you're pathetic," it said with a lisp due to the forked tongue that darted out between words.
The power surrounding Aiden's sword glowed brighter. "I can and I will."
The dragon laughed, a sound that made Aiden's power vibrate and want to shrink in on itself. He fought against the sensation, pushing his power out from his core, trying to strengthen it. But the glow around his sword faded, and slowly drew back from the suffocating press of the dragon's power, retreating first to his fists, then back into his body entirely. His breathing turned ragged and he stumbled back a step, then another.
The dragon followed, twisting and changing as it came. It shrank, but instead of diminishing its ominous aura, it increased it. Within a few steps the dragon became a man, this guise more horrible than the other, for it was a man Aiden new all too well; his adopted father.
Aiden's vision blurred then went black. Something sucked him back into a long tunnel, dropping him with a thud. His wrists hurt. One hand jerked to a stop when he moved and the pain intensified so much he cried out. He opened his eyes and found himself back in his cellar, iron chains holding him to the concrete wall.
"It's stupid to fight me boy, when will you learn that?" his adopted father shot over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs out of the cellar.
The pressure of the man’s power weighed on Aiden like an anvil, taking both his breath and will away. His eyes fell. In the dust before him was the same Celtic knotwork that had been on the shield in his dream. What did it mean? What did it matter.
Only after he heard the door close behind him, and the bolt thrown, did Aiden answer his adopted father.
"Never. Someday I'll defeat you."
Resting his head back against the concrete, he tried to will the dream to return. Reality was so much worse than his nightmares.
For more about Aiden and the channelers check out The Secret Of Spruce Knoll, Channeler’s Choice (releasing in February of 2012), and In His Eyes (anthology releasing in February). Also available from Heather is To Ride A Puca, a historical fantasy.
Acknowledgement:
Without the questions and interest of my fans, this novella would never have come to be. I want to thank each of you for asking, reading, and inspiring me to delve deeper into the story and learn more about Aiden and his parents.
Readers and fans are what make an author and I can’t thank you enough for being part of that for me.
About the author: