Furville - 1. A Dragon of the Centuries

1865

CLAIRE ENTERAI

Claire settled into her seat, glancing at her husband. He had flown all this way just for her; a near nonstop flight from California to Washington D.C. just so she could visit her family. And though the visit hadn’t gone well, she still appreciated the lengths the dragon went to to make her happy.

They sat in some theatre, watching a farce she had seen several times over. Not that she would mention that to him. Just watching it with David brought her joy, seeing how he reacted to Dundreary’s shenanigans.

If he liked them so much, she’d show him shenanigans…

The doe looked down, hiding her mischievous grin behind a facade of shyness. It wouldn’t do to let her lecherous thoughts be known in public.

She lightly stroked the back of David’s hand, revelling in the closeness of him, the time they spent together. The dragon looked at her, a gleam in his eye. Had he heard her thoughts through his gramyre?

A loud bang startled her, and a gasp escaped from her maw. Someone in the balcony across the theatre was slumped in his seat, a thin wisp of smoke rising around him.

David was standing in front of her an instant later, wings outstretched, blocking her view.

“Don’t look,” he urged as the theatre filled with screams.

Someone yelled something, Latin from the sound, and David gritted his teeth. He took Claire’s hand and hurried her out of the theatre, keeping her gaze shielded. The doe’s heart pounded as she tried to keep up with him. She remained quiet, trusting him to see her to safety. Only when they were a block from the theatre did she voice her question.

“What happened?”

“I didn’t realize the President would be there,” David muttered. “Zi nelv du cen heyno.”

“What happened?” Claire asked again. “Did someone get shot?”

The dragon nodded.

“Come on,” he said, hailing a carriage. “We’re going back to the hotel, then we’re heading home.”

1914

DAVID ENTERAI

All was quiet around Ypres. The guns had fallen silent some hours prior, and the sound of singing could be heard from both trench lines.

David stamped his feet, and flexed his wings. The bitter cold had plagued him all month, but he felt that he was starting to get used to it. Winter uniforms were nonexistant, and more than a few of his compatriots had frozen, to be buried with little ceremony.

He supposed he was lucky to be alive. Or unlucky. Bending so his knee was an inch off the ground, he created a tiny flame on a dry piece of wood, letting the fire warm him, though briefly.

“Sie kommen!” someone called down the trench.

Peering over the parapet, David spotted movement in the fields of no man’s land.

Screw it, if I get shot, I get shot.

Hoisting himself out of the trench, the dragon winced at the brief contact with the ground. Standing, he shoved his hands into his shirt, and walked forward. His peers, emboldened by his actions, joined him, a jovial mood spreading through the ranks.

A lion raised his hand in greeting.

“Hallo Jerry! Frohe Weirnatchen!” he called.

“Danke! Auch dir Frohe Wiernatchen!” David replied.

Meeting, the two exchanged a handshake and a smile, the lion’s warm and friendly, David’s a ghostly attempt at warmth. Around them, the two sides mingled, a mix of German and English flowing through the frozen air.

David slipped away as soon as he was able to, taking shelter in a crater. He had done what was needed, allowing the Christmas truce to flourish. Lighting another fire on a broken fence post, he began warming up.

“Hey. Do you know English?” someone asked, jumping into the crater beside him.

“Yes I do,” David said, looking at his new companion.

The white wolf stared back at him.

“You’re American,” he said. “What are you doing with Fritz?”

“It’s a long story.”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” the wolf said, looking up at the mid morning sky.

David shrugged.

“My cousin is German,” he said, omitting the fact that his cousin had perished in the Mexican American war over seventy years before. “I’ve been travelling the world, and decided to stop by for a visit. The war kicked off while I was in Germany, and I decided to join before it ended. I wasn’t expecting it to last this long.”

That was a lie. David expected this conflict to last for quite some time. He hadn’t expected to still be alive however. Bad luck.

“And they just let a foreigner join their ranks?”

David laughed drily.

“Hardly. I’m a mercenary. It’s kind of the family business.”

“Ah. I see.”

Both were quiet for a moment, warming themselves with the fire.

“You seem like a decent fellow,” the wolf spoke up. “Do you have a girl waiting for you somewhere?”

“I had. My wife died a while back.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that mate.”

A stiff breeze blew out the flames, and David sighed.

“You know, I’m sure she would have wanted you to continue living.”

The dragon kicked at a spent casing.

“I know,” he muttered. “What about you? Got anyone waiting back home?”

“Nope. I’m as free as a bird. I’ll find someone eventually though. You hang in there mate. We’ll get out of this together. Merry Christmas.”

The wolf jumped out of the crater, leaving the dragon behind. David pulled a silver locket out of his shirt, and studied it.

“Life is temporary, but love is forever.”

Holding it tightly in his hand, David whispered, “Merry Christmas mei areula.”

1916

DAVID ENTERAI

Summer was his favourite season.

So David reflected as he crawled into no man’s land. No rain for days, and no mud. It could very well change for the worse, but he didn’t see why it should. Except to make his existence terrible, but then, it already was. The weather didn’t need to help with that.

Sliding over the bloated corpse of a horse, he scanned the dark skies around him for any hint of the sun. Finding none, he continued his work, heading deeper into the land that could very well become his own grave.

He descended into a crater, and made himself at home, setting up a blind and covering his gun so it was nigh invisible. Casting his mind before him, he checked his camouflage. It was good.

And now the wait began. He came early in the morning so no one would see his work, but now he would be trapped until night fell.

David had been working this line for well over a year. He knew a general schedule of the British lines, though most of the men in the enemy trench seemed to be a Canadian corps lately. They liked to switch things up on him occasionally, but David enjoyed the challenge. It was about the only fun he had.

Word had come that the Brits were plotting something to the south. It didn’t concern David. He would be in Ypres for the foreseeable future. Maybe he would even be part of the force that finally captured the town.

But for now, he waited. Judging the sun’s rise, he figured it was about six in the morning. The enemy stand to had passed. Now foraging parties would begin darting place to place on both sides, praying to evade himself and the other snipers. They, too, did not concern him today. He was after a far more dangerous game.

A crack sounded in the still morning air, and he spotted a muzzle flash to the north. Turning his rifle to bear, he cast his mind out again, floating above the ground until he found his target, a white wolf.

David hesitated, recalling another wolf, and a frozen Christmas two years prior. He sent his mind’s eye about finding the perfect spot, though he had found it almost instantly.

Sighing, David withdrew, and lined up his target. Taking a breath, he steadied his iron sight, and squeezed the trigger.

The bark of his rifle sounded, and he ducked instantly. His target was hit, he was sure of it. But now he had to watch for return fire.

David lay back in his crater, steadying his breath. No matter how many times he took a life, it still screwed with his mind. The sudden whistle of shells overhead took his mind off the death, however. They were unusual. The two sides often shelled each other throughout the day, but these shells were heavier than normal.

David’s blood froze as he spotted a green flare rising into the air. His position was about to be swarmed by a wave of bodies. Peeking over the crater’s edge, he saw a mass of bodies leave the enemy trenchline.

Ducking back down, he took a deep breath. He would get through this.

As the screams of charging men met the sounds of German fire, the dragon splayed his wings, adopting a prone position in his hole. The wave reached him, feet tripping over him. A cat fell with a gurgle on his left wing, and David bit back a yelp as he felt bone crack.

Pain rushed into his shoulder, but he didn’t dare even mouth a healing spell. In a way, the cat had helped, adding his blood to the scene. Now they were just two more dead amidst hundreds of others.

Their eyes met, and the cat gasped, “Help…”

David stayed motionless as blood pulsed from the feline. He watched the life drain from his eyes, feeling sick. Mere minutes later, and another wave came, this time from behind as the attackers fled back to their trench in defeat. Bullets whizzed overhead, a rain of death. He didn’t dare to lift his head, for fear of being shot by his own.

Gradually the world passed back into quiet, and then David moved. He rolled the corpse off his wing, whimpering as the weight shifted. Panting as he sat gingerly against the back of the hole, he glared at the cat.

“A fine pickle you’ve put me in here,” he said sourly, running his hand over his wing.

It was broken in two spots. A quick spell wouldn’t fix this.

“Nelheda,” David whispered, and the pain in his shoulder lessened, though it didn't go away completely.

It was much more bearable now though, and David set about trying to figure out a new plan. He couldn’t leave the hole he was in; he’d become an instant target for both sides in the nervous pause.

As the minutes passed and the world remained quiet, save for the cries of the dying, David relaxed slightly. Minutes became an hour, and then two. The sun reached its zenith, cheerful light shining upon the bloody carnage of the earth. A cloud hid it from view briefly, and David waited.

He had played this game many times before, and knew how it went. This time though, he was injured, and the pain distracted him constantly. Snipers fired around him, but he no longer joined their exchange, having lost the lust for killing, the drive to be better.

Finally the sun neared the horizon once more, and now David made his move. He would not be returning to this crater again.

Sliding out of the tomb, the dragon crawled back along the ground, ever alert for a shot that could spell his death. He was early today, but it couldn’t be helped. He needed to have his wing checked.

“Wer geht dahin?” someone challenged, as he approached the line.

“Der Scharfschutze,” came David’s pained reply.

He was allowed entrance to the trench, and immediately made his way to the support line in search of a doctor. He would not be back in the field for a while.

1924

DAVID ENTERAI

David knocked back another whiskey. It was some expensive stuff, but then, things had started rising in price lately. It was a sign of the times, and why he had left Germany after the war. He had purchased a modest home in the German countryside before leaving, but with the German economy in shambles at the moment, David was not going to remain.

Not that America seemed any better lately. This Prohibition of theirs was really hurting him. Too many memories haunted him, and without alcohol to dull his mind, he was even more miserable than before.

And so he had found his way here, to an underground speakeasy, where youth spouted poetry and the drinks flowed without end.

David turned the glass in his hand. There had to be a better way…

A month later, the dragon stood before a brown concoction in his house. He was certain the stuff wouldn’t hurt him, but he still wanted to see if it would work the way he needed it to.

Taking a deep breath, David raised the flask to his lips and drank. The taste was horrible, like moldy shoes mixed with rat droppings. But he could feel it working, and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. There would be more tests, but he had finally found a way to be happy again.

1938

DAVID ENTERAI

So many graves...
David knelt in the grass, bowing his head before a cross grave marker. He had put the body here. And now he prepared to do it again.
"Please forgive me, wherever you are," he murmured.
Rising, the dragon slung his rifle over his shoulder, and let his wings carry him into the air. The sound of a propeller engine entered his ears, and the dragon muttered a spell, distorting the air around him. He was used to the tin cans sharing his space now, and viewed them as little more than an annoyance.
Checking his chronometer, David sped up, body slicing through the air. He'd make it to his destination in time. But he still needed time to prepare.
Landing on a grassy knoll, the dragon studied a camp surrounded by barbed wire and guard towers. Hos target should be coming out through a certain door in two minutes.
Pulling his rifle off his shoulder, the dragon loaded it with the speed of an expert. He tested the lever action, confidant it would work, before adopting a prone position.
Then he waited.
And there he was. Herr Goether, the commander of the guards in this prison.
The dragon wasted no time in lining up his shot, aiming for a point a dozen meters in front of the hyena guard.
Steadying his breath, the dragon pulled the trigger of his rifle, listening to the comforting bark of the weapon. It would take the bullet ten seconds to reach its target, and another minute for the guards to reach his position. By that time, Goether would be dead, and David long gone.

1995

DAVID ENTERAI

David walked through the oaks, his feet straying from the paths walked by the public. He should be out with the gang, he knew. But there was something he needed to do. The past five years had been fun, but honestly, hanging with Silas and the others no longer appealed to him.

He traced a path he knew by heart, a path made by his heart. And surrounded by four willows amid the mighty oaks, he found his destination.

It was a marker only his eyes could see, one older than any other in this town. Kneeling before it, he removed a bouquet of roses from his leather jacket, and placed it on the dirt. His head bowed in silent contemplation for a minute.

“One hundred years. It is quite the milestone. Do you remember the words you spoke? Do you remember the promise you made? I do. I think about it every day I am here and you are not. I am glad for you, mei areula, that your heart will never know the pain of mine. You are free from the chains of this world, and I have been through so much that taking my life now would seem like the ultimate failure. But you shouldn't have to listen to all that.”

David fell silent again, rolling into a lotus. A fallen twig poked into his thigh, but he paid it no mind.

“A lot has happened since I last spoke to you. You wouldn't believe the half of it. Everything is so different now, from our quiet home in the woods. The town is growing. The Rabbits had a baby, Cog. He's adorable. You would love him. I've offered to babysit for them, but I don't think they'll take me up on it. I feel people would rather I was the quiet presence in the town.”

The dragon chuckled dryly.

“I'm sure I'm the one to blame for that. I haven't exactly been the most outgoing person in the past fifty years. Most of that is because of Zenoan. He moved into a cave on the outskirts of the town, and I keep offering to help him find a house, but I think he's still pissed at me over the sword. It makes me a little nervous. With the grimoire, he is a stronger mage than I can hope to be. But he hasn't tried anything yet.”

David looked up at the setting sun.

“I need to leave. They're closing the gates in a few minutes and I'd rather not hold anyone up.”

He placed his hand briefly on the dirt, and a ghostly marker appeared, tendrils of energy spreading out from it.

“You'll be safe for another century now. With luck I will join you in your rest.”

The dragon turned away, but the marker remained for another minute, smoke forming words that twisted in the air.

Claire Enterai

3 January 1823

5 May 1895

Rest In Peace