Claw

The next chapter

Claw

Tim felt the musty chill of a deep foreboding as he inched closer to the castle, standing dominant before him. He was meek before the presence of a Dragons spirit, a single beast at least. There was nothing of this to be seen, only felt. Souls of the dead, human and Dragon, formed an imperceptible aura around this place. 

Storm-clouds hung far skyward, supporting the ancient structure, as though waiting to attack. Tim felt his own strength waver as he continued his pacing. He stopped abruptly, clutched his chest, as a new energy presented itself.

 

Something of the Dragons energy, alive still, was definitely here. As he knew this without knowing, pain shot through his heart. Pain, but almost a yearning, or as if something were trying to break loose. There would be no stopping now. As unprepared as he felt, he would need to persevere. 

 

Finally, he reached a portcullis to one side. Behind this, a wide passageway bore deep into the earth, quickly swallowed by darkness. Was this where he'd find the spirit drawing him in?

Tim could sense no life. The forests behind him seem to stare, to watch his movements, and gave their silent disapproval. He turned his head away from the haunting void of the passageway and back into that encapsulating fog. A tree rustled. Only a bird.

 

Wary of being spotted, Tim stuck to the shadows against the castle walls as he edged further along the outer walls. They were wrought with moss, slick and crumbled with age, he didn't like to touch them as he crept along their cold edges. Passing a corner, he felt a shock to see a single window lit high above him by candlelight. He was fortuitous to remain out of sight, for footsteps paced delicately, and a single voice, an elderly man, muttered to itself as it carried out its nameless duties:

 

*Grunt* "Well, here we are once again Miss Maria. I'm glad you're still safe, this time."

Silence.

"I'm not sure that you can hear me. I'll leave water and some of your favourite cake right here. Ring the bell if you need..."

The voice stopped.

"Miss Maria...your arm? This isn't good, the patterns have usually receded by now. It's possible that I didn't use enough. Or worse still..."

 

Tim was drenched by a wave of cold, as he span to its source a small shriek escaped him. The voice inside was alarmed, moved its way to the window.

"Come on, back over here!" The cold called from the forest.

In panic, Tim decided the safer course of action was to run back into the woods despite himself. The man inside held a lantern from the window, and seeing nothing, opted to patrol the grounds when he could. There were more pressing matters...

 

Hidden in the darkness of the forests, Tim stood across from a translucent figure, a spectre almost at one with the mist. He could discern features neither male nor female, somewhere between human and reptilian, momentarily bulging between the two. 

"Who are you?" The spectres voice wavered. Tim found himself unable to speak. He'd never seen them in this...state.

 

"Nobody else who passes through these forests can connect with us. There was once another who would trap our essence to treat her own interminable disease. She has not been here for some time. Perhaps it finally got the best of her."

Tim remained silent, stunned.

"You have a certain look about you.." the voice continued. "..you were a catcher once. I can tell."

"That was a long time ago.." Tim finally found his voice. "..and only briefly. I could see the humanity in the Dragon souls..once I saw that, I could see it in their eyes as well."

The spectre shimmered: "Interesting that you could see that. Then, you know what we are?"

"Spirits of Dragons."

"Many of us volunteered for the transformation during the war, two hundred years ago.." the spectre began "..we were promised that it would be temporary. However, it quickly became clear that this was misjudged. Once we had been transformed into Dragons and completed our assignments, none of us reverted to our human forms. 

 

The mages, in their blundering wisdom, discerned that our souls had become too damaged, too twisted to revert. We would wander forever. Even when slaughtered, our spirits would wander the earth unseen, energies merging into a single consciousness.

 

Eventually, they worked on a solution. By merging, capturing, condensing and refining the energies of our tortured spirits, the mages could create a tincture able to patch over a damaged soul and revert the transformation. Ours are souls which have been captured and brought here, to be refined for Lady Maria. Yet, this has only drawn out her slow decline into madness, and we have not seen her by these woods for a long time. They may run out of their tincture altogether. Besides which, we are still unable to rest."

 

Tim listened with conflicting emotion. Hatred for the Dragon who had slaughtered his friend was diluted with a...confusion. A pity for the creature’s damnation already powerfully suffered. A newfound respect for a story he had never known, or perhaps long forgotten.

 

"We don't know who you are, but you must be here for a reason. If you are here for the Dragon, she is perhaps the last. Once she has transformed, she will forget her old life, as we have ours."

"What should I do?" Tim asked. He shivered in the cold, his hands had gone numb. Particularly his right hand. Numbed, but itching. Dry skin.

"It doesn't matter. Not anymore. If you want to kill her, go ahead. She doesn't seem to want to be human anymore. When she came, she would often speak words of kindness. She was gentle, once. If any magic can help her soul to rest, please find it. It may be too late for us, but not for her."

 

Back at the castle, a door opened in the distance. Alfred had begun a short patrol of the grounds looking for any strange characters, but had walked away from their conversation.

 

"If you wish to enter.." the spectre concluded. "Now is your chance. That door is unguarded. We apologise, but our energies have affected you. I hope your new gift will help you nonetheless."

 

Tim's heart dropped, though the spectres message was unclear, he had a bad gut feeling about his hand. With trepidation, he lowered his gaze. In the darkness, he saw a tool of force, of aggression, steel scales and cold iron, as his right hand.

 

His new claw.

 

Author's Note

Dragon story

Reviews

[Vasilees Sybissyl]

Oh my goodness, the ending! The ending is amazing. And once again I noticed the change in language. The storyline has developed a hell loess since the first story, Chicken, and so have we, isn't it? This is just another amazing edition to an already magnificent series. Looking forward to more!

Love,
Vasilees.