DALnetizen - Short Story

Alestra by Myfanwy Morgan
Lorn leaned against the trunk of an old oak and felt delicious relief as cold beer washing down his throat. The hot sun was directly overhead now, but its rays were diffused by the forest’s canopy and Lorn was able to cool off as he tore chunks off a fresh loaf and listened to the songs of hidden birds. He had lost the trail of the deer some half an hour ago after tracking it successfully all morning, and now he was deep in a part of Elvanier forest that the villagers rarely ventured into.

He tipped his head back against the tree and closed his eyes in content. In the six months since his 21st birthday, he had attained his full height of 6” and had the taut, wiry body of one who relies on the woods for his survival. His face carried the fine lines and large dark eyes of his long-dead Mother. Always a popular boy at school, he had matured into a man whom the villagers respected and trusted.

Taking a final swig of his beer, Lorn got up and was just about to start heading for home when he heard a noise off to his left; the snapping of twigs underfoot and what sounded like a splash. The deer had resurfaced! He crept stealthily off in the direction of the sound, feet treading lightly whilst he drew an arrow from the quiver slung across his back. There was the sound again, only a few yards ahead of him now. He kept low to the ground and soon spied a clearing through the foliage and the glint of sun on water. On hearing another splash he ducked behind a low-hanging branch and peaked out onto a small pond. Suddenly there was laughter like a cascade of crystal, musical and feminine. Lorn caught his breath and leaned forward as far as he dare. There, sitting on a rock over-hanging the water was a girl skipping pebbles into the water and laughing as birds dipped, picking up the insects the ripples had disturbed. With her back to him, Lorn couldn’t see the girl’s features, but her hair, following down her back to the floor like molten silver, sparkled in the sunshine and held him spellbound. Suddenly the maid slipped into the water and disappeared. Lorn scanned the water for a sign of her, leaning forward until, at last, he lost his point of balance and tumbled forward breaking his cover.

Just as he was righting himself, the girl broke water and froze staring at him. For his part, Lorn could no more move than if an Orc had been sitting on his chest. He gazed mutely back at a huge pair of eyes the colour of sapphire shot through with platinum. Her skin was almost translucent and her features more delicate than any he had ever beheld. All too soon the moment was broken; the girl gasped and emerged from the water, disappearing into the trees in a blink of the eye. Lorn’s stasis was broken, “Stop! Wait, please – I won’t hurt you”, but his cries were in vain.

That evening Lorn sat at a fireside table in The Troll’s Head, picking over a plate of game pie and half-listening to the excited babble of his friends. On the trek back home he had made up his mind that he would find the girl again and persuade her to stay and talk to him. Now he was mulling over exactly how he was going to accomplish that.

“What do you think Lorn?”

Lorn came back to reality with a start and saw 5 animated faces looking at him expectantly.

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening – what do I think about what?”

The face of his oldest friend, Tarsis, erupted into a raucous laugh.

“The only thing that could be more interesting than talk of Dragons would be a handsome wench, Lorn must be love struck!”

Lorn could feel heat slowly creep up his neck and dance across his cheeks as though to mock him. He hurriedly shovelled some pie into his mouth to break the moment and, after concentrating fiercely on chewing until his cheeks stopped burning, turned his attention back to his friends.

“Dragons? Well they’re old widows tales, everyone knows they don’t exist.”

Pell, the blacksmith’s son, leaned forward and tapped out his point with the end of the pipe he had taken to smoking of late, in an effort to appear older than his round, smooth face would suggest.

“Well, another cow disappeared last night – plain vanished with no signs of a struggle. That ranger, Martin, says it must have been plucked clean out of the air as there’s no sign of any creature carrying it off.”

A few of the others around the table nodded and Lorn, looking at their faces, was surprised to see them paying credence to this tale.

“Well”, he said “It could have been a large eagle – I’ve heard that they grow very big in the reaches of the Blackcap Mountains, and it was a hard winter so perhaps one has come further a field to hunt.”

“No” Pell shook his head. “Even the biggest eagle the Blackcap Dwarves have seen was no size to carry off a full grown cow. Besides, it’s only us humans who don’t believe in Dragons, the Dwarves will tell you how they lost a few of their best mines to Dragons looking for a new lair, and some of the Elves still remember them!”

Lorn guffawed, “As though you’ve ever met an Elf in your life Master Pell! As for those Dwarves, a few yards of Underhill Spirits and they start seeing giant rabbits too!” Lorn rose to his feet amid the resulting laughter and hailed a passing barmaid for another round of drinks. The rest of the evening passed in good-natured teasing and story telling of the kind old friends lapse into when beer has loosened the tongue.

Lorn was, once again, making his way along the trail he had marked out to the pool where he had first spied the beautiful maiden. In his hand he clutched a bunch of wild flowers, just as he had every day for the past week. He hoped that he wouldn’t suffer the disappointment of the other days, and have to return home with the setting sun having not seen a trace of her.

The glade, when he arrived, was empty – faint ripples skating across the otherwise still water when a bright dragonfly dipped to the surface. He placed his flowers, as usual, on the over-hanging stone where he had first glimpsed her and ducked into the undergrowth nearby to sit and wait out the long hours. The day was warm, as it had been on his first visit here, and the drone of the insects soon made him slip into a pleasant doze.

Some time later he opened his eyes and was about to stretch his limbs when he heard a faint sound. Suddenly alert, he peered from his hiding place and felt his heart catch in his throat. There she was, bending to pick up the flowers he had left. As she straightened and the curtain of silver hair hiding her face fell back, he could see her expression was a mixture of wonder and worry. She was obviously wondering if the bearer of the gift was still lurking nearby and, of course, he was. Lorn took a breath and propelled himself forward; one hand out-stretched in what he hoped was friendly manner.

“Please, don’t run!” Lorn’s face creased in anxiety because, alas, it looked as though the girl was on the brink of doing just that. “I left you the flowers, I just want to talk to you….you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and it was me who disturbed you last week…and I’m really sorry about that, I was tracking a deer you see…but I didn’t mean to frighten you, and I’ve been back here every day since to find you again because I can’t stop thinking about you…and Tarsis said I was love struck and should just do something about it…but you probably won’t want me anyway, I’m not rich and I’m sure you’ve got masses of admirers to take your pick from. I’m really sorry for disturbing you again lady, I should go ..sorry”. His embarrassed rambling came to an end and, with face blazing; he turned away with his mind set on retreat to a place where he could lick his wounds.

A voice like the purest note from an Elven prayer bell said, “Wait”. Lorn turned, not quite believing what he was hearing, and keeping his eyes fixed on his feet. “The flowers are beautiful, please….do accept my thanks, and perhaps we can talk awhile” He raised his eyes to see an earnest look on her face, his flowers held close to her chest. Trying to divert his eyes from the sight of her nakedness, he made his way back to where she stood.

Late that night, Lorn lay on his back watching shadows play on his bedroom ceiling; his hands behind his head and a faraway look in his eyes. Her name was Alestra, and she dwelled far into the deep woods, probably a poor poacher’s daughter – although she hadn’t mentioned her family, even whilst asking about his own. They had talked of the forest, and the seasons and he had made her laugh with tales of childhood pranks. As the shadows had lengthened, they promised to meet again the next day and though Lorn had taken his leave of her, he’d left his heart within her keeping.

The friend’s game of Gnome’s Chance was interrupted when Duncan, a local farmer, burst in to the Inn looking as terrified as a virgin on her wedding night. Matick, the Innkeeper, wiped his hands on his apron and set about pouring his strongest ale; it looked like a long night was ahead of him. All eyes were turned on Duncan as he came to a halt in the middle of the room and, with wild eyes, exclaimed “By the Gods, a Dragon! I saw it! Huge it was, silver as the moon and with claws like scythes.” A general swell of noise started to reverberate around the room, the friends glanced at each other and then back at Duncan who had begun to speak again. “It took off with Bess! She’s been my prize milker for nigh on 3 years now, and this beast just plucked her up like she was no more than a feather!” Duncan accepted the mug of ale Matick was holding out to him with shaking hand and let himself be led to a chair by the fire where he drank until the tremors subsided. As the panicked man calmed down, the occupants of the Inn speculated darkly about the meaning of the latest saga to their on-going problem of disappearing cattle.

“Duncan, are you sure it was a dragon?” Lorn asked “And not, you know, a big eagle or something?”

“I seen pictures of Dragons in an old book my Aunt got from a half-elf, it was a Dragon all right and it flew off over Elvanier with my Bess”. Duncan’s eyes started to well with tears, the cow had been the closest thing to a wife he’d ever had, she was gentle and he’d often sat in her stall on a night feeding her lush grass and telling her his woes.

“Then we have to find it and kill it before it does away with all of our livestock” said Tarsis “We’ve already lost 5 cattle this past 3 weeks.” The room immediately erupted into heated discussion as everyone debated the best way to kill a Dragon, from the standpoint of people who had never even seen one. After a few minutes the noise was stilled by Matick thumping a tankard up on down on the bar until he got everyone’s attention.

“Pipe down now lads” He hefted his considerable weight up onto the bar to get a view of the entire room. “Seems to me that we don’t have much chance of finding a beast which can fly over any terrain, our only hope is to kill it when it comes here to steal our cattle.”

“What we need is bait” Said a voice from the back, to which there was a chorus of approval. “Aye, well the beast has a liking for our cattle, so I dare say a cow will do the job – the problem is catching it, if it’s big enough to carry off a cow, then I doubt us sitting behind a bush firing arrows is going to stop it.” Matick looked around the throng of glum faces.

“Arrows would work if they were firing a net over the creature.” Speculated Lorn “They’d have to be heavy though, probably fired from catapults to carry the weight of net you’d need, but that could pin the beast down, and then you could kill it with a blow to the neck…a lance or something.”

The next afternoon Lorn set out on his daily trek to meet Alestra at what he now thought of as ‘their glade’. He was in high spirits having been at the Inn until late the night before hatching a plan with his fellow villagers based on his idea to ‘net’ a Dragon. In his heart he still believed that the beasts were fictional and that the culprit would turn out to be a big bird of prey, but he was happy to play a leading role in this plan and was secretly proud that everyone had naturally deferred to his command, even though he was barely into his manhood. He couldn’t wait to tell Alestra about it all and intended to invite her along on the great day so that he could finally show off this beautiful girl to everyone at home and, perhaps, use the opportunity to ask for her hand in marriage.

Later, as they lay in each other’s arms under the warmth of the sun, Lorn told Alestra about the cattle stealing and how the villagers thought a Dragon was to blame. She had remained quiet throughout his tale, and now he propped his head on his elbow to gaze upon her face. He was shocked to discover that her eyes were swimming with tears.

“Oh love! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you with such stories.” Lorn stroked her hair in distress. “Don’t fret – there’s really no such things as Dragons you know, it will simply turn out to be one of those big eagles from the Blackcaps.”

“Oh, but there are Dragons” She whispered, and turned her strange blue eyes upon him. “It is said, by the Elves, that the Dragons were the first born of the Gods and put on earth as guardians of all the races that would follow. In the early era they ruled alongside us in human form, offering advice and helping to soothe troubles between the races. In return, the races would give gifts of food and precious metals which the Dragon kind lined their lairs with for comfort.”

“What happened then?” Lorn was enthralled with the way Alestra’s musical voice brimmed with emotion as she told this fairytale of old.

“What always happens, time passed and the heart of man changed,” said Alestra sadly. “Soon they began to question why these gifts were necessary, and to whisper that the Dragon kind were not guardians of the races, but keepers – ensuring that the races were kept in place. The Dwarves began to shun the advice of their Dragon guardians, and the Humans to persecute them, raiding their lairs and slaying them for the treasures there. Only the Elves continued as before and, they say, still do – from the lands they retreated to when the great wars between men and Dwarves erupted.”

Alestra sighed and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “It was not long before the Dragon kind were driven from the lands of men and Dwarves and, those who remained were doomed to sleep long centuries from starvation and to eek out a life on stolen cattle and game they could find. Down the ages, they became little more than a story to frighten children with. Time and myth made them into ghastly creatures with only greed and pillage on their minds.”

“It’s a sad story Alestra, but don’t upset yourself – the only Dragon in these parts is old Widow Devlin” Lorn smiled and changed the subject. “I wanted to ask you if you would come to the village with me, I’d like you to meet my friends and show you how I live. I love you Alestra and I want to show you off to the world.”

Alestra sat up and stroked Lorn’s face softly, “Lorn, you have my heart but I cannot come to your village.” “Why my love? They are simple people, but they are true and they will welcome you.” Lorn pleaded.

“Please Lorn, I cannot. I do not belong there.” She turned away and said with infinite sadness, “I am not of your nature my love.”

“Oh don’t be silly Alestra!” He admonished, “They will not reject you, they are good people. It doesn’t matter if you are the poorest poacher’s daughter, we’ll find you some pretty clothes and everyone will be enchanted by you.” But Alestra put her finger to his lips silencing him and would hear no more on the subject.

The day of the Dragon hunt drew near. Lorn was kept busy supervising the construction of a giant net and piles of stakes that could be fired from several large catapults. It was determined that the most suitable location for the trap would be Widow Lander’s top pasture as it had woods bordering 3 sides and would thus provide lots of cover for the villagers. The plan was to set up the catapults on the tree line on two sides of the field, and leave one of Widow Lander’s milk cows staked in the middle. When the beast swooped to abduct the cow, Tarsis would give an Owl hoot as a signal and the catapults would be fired, trailing the netting over the beast. Men armed with clubs would then race out and hammer the fallen stakes into the ground to keep the beast still whilst Lorn, designated ‘Dragon Slayer’ would slip a lance into the its neck and slay it.

Despite his work, Lorn found time nearly every day to meet with Alestra and he would often try to persuade her to come back with him. He was desperate for this woman he now considered his future wife, to be known and accepted in his home. But Alestra would always shake her head sadly and change the subject.

Finally the day of the hunt came and the village was awake and buzzing at dawn. Thanks to Lorn’s meticulous planning, everything was in place before the sun had topped the trees. The villagers settled down to wait with only the occasional moo from Widow Lander’s cow to punctuate the soft drone of summer insects.

When the sun reached its zenith, Merick and his barmaids ensured that bread and cold ale were passed out quietly amongst the men who were, by now, aching and hot. The sun continued its progress and the shadows of trees appeared on the pasture and started to length. The only movement was the occasional flick of the cow’s tail as she kept the flies at bay.

Lorn was beginning to get very frustrated, he’d never believed a Dragon would turn up, but he’d have liked the chance to slay some winged terror – if only to impress upon Alestra that he was the type of man you could depend upon in a crisis. He reflected that it was a very good thing he had not told her about today’s plans as it now looked as though nothing more exciting than cramp was going to happen. He was just debating with himself when to call it a day, when his train of thought was interrupted by the cow lifting her head to the sky and letting out an anxious moo. The beast seemed agitated and, looking along the line of men, he could see nervous eyes searching the skies.

Suddenly he was hit by a wall of air so strong it was like a physical pressure on his chest. Battling to raise his head he was stunned to see an apparition hovering some 10 feet over the cow. It was enormous and the steady beat of its wings flattened the grass in a wide circle. Lorn shielded his eyes to get a better look, but it was impossible for bathed in the sun’s rays, this beast was glinting like a polished shield. Its great head, long and poised upon a sinuous neck, snaked back and forth. It was like molten silver, forever changing shape and moving with a strange liquid beauty.

The sound of an Owl hoot pierced Lorn’s consciousness, and he managed to tear his disbelieving eyes away from the creature in time to see a rain of stakes sailing out in a high arc trailing acres of net behind them. The creature saw the danger coming from one side and manoeuvred with frightening speed, only to back itself under the netting coming in from behind it. Time seemed to slow as the nets fell down over the beast, tangling its wings and putting it into a free-fall that ended in a glittering heap in the grass. Lorn watched as men, galvanised from their fright, sprang out and dodged thrashing wings to hammer in stakes around the netting. The Dragon, Lorn had now accepted that this was no eagle, strained its head to the skies and emitted a sound like a thousand crystal glasses shattering.

It was now time for his part in this spectacle. He took a deep breath and raced to where the Dragon was now surrounded by frightened, but curious villagers. Someone handed him the lance, gifted to the village by a neighbouring Knight and polished to a high gleam for today. Lorn took his place in front of the dragon and picked the spot where he would slide the deadly steel up under one of those shining silver scales and into its neck. He took a few deep breaths and thought about Alestra to calm his nerve. At that moment the dragon’s head swivelled down to look at Lorn and it recoiled as though in shock. As the villagers looked on in stunned silence, the Dragon raised its head and with a voice so beautiful they would never find words to describe it, it rang out “Ryarc n’seth shirat! You know not what you do!”

It was Tarsis who broke the spell “Kill it Lorn, quickly before it works a magic on us!”

Lorn started and, without thinking, plunged the lance upwards – feeling more than hearing the scrape of scale against steel and the screech of the beast above him. Blood ran down the shaft of the lance, coating his hands as he pushed the lance in deep and stepped back in time to avoid the beast’s head slumping to the ground bare inches away from where he stood. As he looked down, one great eye flickered open; an eye of the purest sapphire shot through with platinum, and only Lorn was close enough to hear the Dragon’s final words “I told you I was not of your nature my love”.

©Myfanwy Morgan