A Short Story

     Fire and Feathers

    Ashwing wiped tears from her silvery eyes with one hand, and with the other she brushed her raven hair behind one of her pointed ears, which were lined with obsidian black and snow white colored feathers. She knelt in a weeping confusion as her kin scurried to and fro to the injured and the dead. Ashwing was beside her brother, Asherum. He lay on what could be his deathbed, coming in and out of fevers, moaning and crying out in his sleep. Ashwing directed her porcelain face to the mountain that loomed overhead, almost as daunting as the dragon that it housed. The dragon had advanced and had raided her village, but not for the first time. Asherum had been sick for weeks from the smog the wretched worm sent down from his abode, but tonight he'd grown drastically worse. This sickness had taken their parents, and now Ashwing knelt there wondering if it would take her brother too. 

    Asherum rolled in his fevered sleep so that the great, chestnut wings that adorned his back were pointed toward the eerie moon whose light was choked by the smoke in the peaceless night. Ashwing rose to her feet and straightened her sleeveless, white dress that faded to black as it touched the earth behind her. She unfurled her great wings which were covered in black and white feathers. Similar feathers covered her bare shoulders and faded out as they went further up her neck and down her arms. She was one of the few feather elves that remained. In the past years her people had been dying under the dominion of Murdarous, the dragon that hoarded the mountain, like a cat hoarding its prized fish. Each day was spent with growing fear that a loved one would be taken away to the mountain to be the wretch's meal.

    Ashwing couldn't stand to see her brother lying there, usually so strong and now so fearfully weak. She hated the dragon. She hated what he'd done, and what he was doing. She didn't want to spend her life cowering in fear, unable to escape the certain extinction of her people. Subconsciously, she fingered the silver bracelet her mother had given her years before. She thought back to her promise. "One day we'll be free, and you will dance in the forests as I did hundreds of years ago. I promise you, my child, I promise." Dancing sounded in no tiny way frivolous, but to be free was a deep cry in all of her kin. Would they all be doomed to the same fate of death, or was there somehow another option? And what was the option? The cry the dragon had made years before came to her mind. "Bring forth your champions to fight me. If you defeat me, I will leave. Fail, and I will ever rule you!" Could someone somehow defeat him?" Was it possible?

    "Ashwing" uttered a tender voice from behind her. She turned to see a medic. His eyes were full of tears, and he looked so angry and heartbroken that Ashwing had to wonder if he'd lost someone he loved dearly in the attack.

    "Yes, sir?" Ashwing questioned in a soft voice, filled with dread. She knew then as he failed to meet her gaze that this was about her brother, and everything in her broke into tender sobbing. Had he died? The hesitant medic took a deep breath that filled his lungs and allowed the delivery of words, horrible to even the most hard of heart to hear.

    "Asherum he'll; he will... die, unless the evil that wretched worm sends down on us is cleared. If it is not somehow, by some way, then I fear he will not survive the week." Ashwing fell to the ground and let her sobs rock her to and fro. Tears stained her pale cheeks that had never known the warmth of the sun or had held dimples in her long lost childhood. She sat there, in her mourning, for surely nothing could save her beloved brother. The medic left her, feeling as though he was as wretched as the dragon itself for having to deliver such a wicked message. For who'd be willing to fight the beast? The people's fear of him mounted with each passing day. Who would arrive at his door and willingly die for the lives of these forlorn people? Who except...? Ashwing looked down at her hands and knew the answer as one would know day from might. Without a backward thought or question in mind, she strode with purpose to her cabin.

    Her things were strewn on the floor in various arrays not of her own doing, but rather from the wing beats of the dragon that had torn many a roof from its purchase. Here, Ashwing had been aloof as a little elfling, trying to avoid her many troubles that had died with childhood. Ashwing strode to an ornate chest that resided at the foot of her bed. She lifted the lid with ease and set it on the floor. She dug through it for a moment until her hand fell upon the hilt of an ancient sword. The sword was sheathed, and the sheath was attached to a decorated belt. Ashwing drew the sword part way, the sound of its gentle scraping was mellifluous to her. She slid the sword back in and set it beside her. She dug further and with far more effort drew various pieces of armor from their places. These had belonged to her mother, who had fought in ancient wars and, unlike most of the feather elves' warriors, had managed to keep her armor hidden from the nefarious dragon. The armor included a helmet, a breastplate, which was attached to another plate that wrapped around the back, and finely woven chain mail that was intricately designed with thin rivers of silver and gold that ran along the length of the sleeves. It was iridescent in the pale light that shone through her solitary window.

    She scooped up the various items and changed into them swiftly. Her dress was laid aside, and her leather pants and boots were applied. Ashwing wore a white tunic beneath the armor. She strapped her belt, with sheath and sword attached around her waist. She quickly grabbed two loaves of bread and an apple, which she tied up in a cotton sack and strapped beside her sword. As she stepped out of her cabin she was met with more than one odd look. Ashwing ignored the stares and strived on. 

    "Ashwing, where do you journey?" queried a tiny feather elfling with an ashen face and curly red hair.

    "I journey to fight the dragon, wee one, and free these lands of his tyranny," Ashwing revealed with a calm, cool voice. She didn't allow her fears to surface in her tone as she wanted the elfling to hope and not doubt her journey. The tiny girl gaped and set straight off to spread the news. In hardly five minutes a crowd had gathered around Ashwing as she headed for the mountain. Some seemed to disbelieve, others cheered for her and wished her victory, most others threw flowers onto her path bidding farewell to a warrior who was sure to die. Ashwing wasn't sure of anything to voice to them and so continued wordlessly. The crowd slowly dissipated as she neared the mountain base. As she looked up at the black rocks, knowing without seeing that a dragon had his bed up there, she wondered if perhaps it would simply be better to turn back. Then the nearly dead form of her brother came to mind, along with the tiny feather elf girl, and the medic who'd run out of hope. No! Her people and her family needed her to be brave now, and even if she died, she couldn't simply let them continue on like this without even an attempt to stop it. Their misery couldn't continue on when she could be the cure. Taking a deep breath and uncertainly unfolding her wings, she pushed herself. She let her strong and capable wings carry her higher and higher until the heavy armor caused her such exhaustion that she had to stop on a ledge on the mount or risk falling to her death. She situated herself tediously and centimeters from the edge. She took deep steady breaths to try to slow her racing heart. Surely, she thought to herself as she sat there miles from the ground and miles from her goal, surely I can defeat this beast'. What is there this dragon will fight for but money, but I will fight for the lives of my people, my home, and feather elves freedom. Her thoughts much encouraged her, and she soon found herself climbing the perilous edge with renewed vigor and a clearer image of just how far she'd push.

    The journey up the mountain was in no way easy for her nor was the ever increasing odor from the dragon's lair welcoming. She scraped her chin on a rock and lost her footing multiple times. Every once in a while when her wings felt well rested, she'd let them take her further before she'd convert back to climbing. The air grew thin and the weather chilled. Her breathing grew faster, but the cool air on her sweaty face was a welcome respite. Ashwing passed through the smokey layer and was met with the clearness of the air that made each breath feel more a gift than it ever had. It all smelled so sweet up here beyond the dismal dwelling of her dying race below. She looked up and could see the blue of the sky and the clouds that looked to be waving down at her in an appreciated friendliness. As she looked to their freedom, she longed to be a part of it. Without remembering anything else or even her purpose, she pushed herself away from the rocks and dipped, dove, spun, and flipped through the air. Her hair flowed behind her like banners caught in the morning breeze. The sun warmed her cheeks with its wondrous rays. Everything felt free and clean.

    Then with a horrible realization she knew the night had passed. The sun had risen! When? How? She hadn't noticed she'd been so preoccupied. She remembered her brother, lying on his bed, death in sight. Without a moment's hesitation she raced back to the mountain. She let herself think of the clear sky only to help her strive harder for the freedom she could win and the lives she could save.

    The sun set, and the aurora of the next day soon came. Ashwing had made it into the clouds. She could see almost nothing before or behind her. The ascent was perilous, reckless. Ashwing hoped and prayed that Asherum still lived. Day fell to night, and as Ashwing lay on a rocky ledge, she looked up to the stars. The clouds dissipated that night and all clearly. She was free to marvel at the radiant specks of light and the most majestic of them all, the moon. It wasn't eerie or yellowish as it appeared through the smoke. It was monstrously large, beautiful, and of such a stainless white that Ashwing was left to wonder if it was made of crystal. She drifted off to sleep and felt so oddly and pleasantly at peace, with the moon smiling down on her, that none would have ever thought she was sleeping on a cliff, but on a feather mattress. No one would have thought that she was heading for what could be her own demise.

    Each of the passing days felt this way and the fifth day of travel entered and exited. The golden sun shone clear and the bright moon governed each night. Ashwing had never before felt so glad or peaceful with the world around her. She couldn't explain it; it was all so ineffable, so she didn't think to try. She still worried for her brother and her people, but for some odd, unaccountable reason it all seemed like an ancient time. Yet she strove on and longed for her people to know the freedom and bliss that she could freely feel up in the world just below the heavens.

    As the sixth day came, Ashwing stood at the entrance of the horrific Murdarous' den. She could hear his cool deep breathing inside the cave and didn't question if she should enter. The outside world let down torrents of wind and rain and Ashwing, who had ingrained her resolve, drew her sword. With slow deliberate steps she entered the maw of the cave, whose mouth was opened like a monster of some kind or sort ready to swallow all trespassers.

    "Murdarous!" Ashwing yelled into the dark, "Stand by what you claimed years before and fight me now. If I prove myself the champion, then you must leave. If I fail, then you have the right to stay." The gentle breathing stopped and became rapid.

    "Who dares to disturb me? Who awakens me?" he bellowed, and Ashwing's blood turned to ice as his voice reverberated off the walls. She could vocalize nothing for some time, but after a silent prayer, her speech returned.

    "One who will have you stand by your oath!" Ashwing screamed out. She could hear the beast's scales scrape against the stone floor, and she was filled with fear. The beast's head became visible from the outside light, and it was at least ten feet long!

    "I'll fight you, you wretched, feather elf, and sure as daylight I will kill you!" With that the beast lunged, and Ashwing narrowly avoided him. Their battle shook this world, the world of Fingale, and fire met feathers with howls of anguish. Ashwing was burned many times and bled from many wounds. The dragon, who assumed the battle won, held his head high to declare his triumph. It was not to be, for with a mighty leap and slice of her sword, Ashwing cut the head off the miserable brute. It rolled to her feet, and she stared at it a moment before she spat on it and moved to return to the light of day.

    With heavy breathing and exhausted limbs, Ashwing left the cave and let her sword fall from her hands and clatter to the ground. She looked down and watched as the smoke evaporated and her village could be seen. She could perceive her people scampering to and fro, frolicking with joy, or crying with pleasure. Ashwing smiled and knew then that she didn't have the strength to climb down the mountain. The sky had cleared and was blue when Ashwing glided down to the ground. The pain in her body and wings was indescribable. She smelled her burned flesh and feathers with a sad sort of peace.

    When she reached the bottom, many feather elves hoarded around her, and they gasped in horror at her wounds. Ashwing, however, thought only of her dear brother. She found him, color returning to his cheeks. He opened his eyes and gaped to see her so bedraggled. "My sister, you've given so much for such a forlorn and broken people!" he declared, in grateful admiration. Ashwing smiled to see him healing.

    "My brother, it is for love I gave so, much, and now I have nothing left to give." Asherum looked at her quizzically. Her head dropped to his chest. Her life was slipping away. With her last ragged breaths, she peered into the blue sky, and with a peaceful sense of a completed purpose, she whispered her last words to her brother and sank into an eternal rest. Asherum sobbed uncontrollably as did many others. It was many days before they rejoiced in their new freedom. Ashwing's last words forever lived in their memories: "Through the battle of fire and feathers, freedom has been gained! For the sake of our people's future, lose it not!"

    I hope you enjoyed my short story Fire and Feathers. I have several other short stories; all anchored it truth. Join my reading list and comment if you would like to read more of my tales. I post every Saturday, so make sure you check back soon!