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Chapter 3 (SFW) - ENV Series - Book 1 (An Inward Truth)
THE ENVIRON SERIES
Book 1 - An Inward Truth
STATUS: near polished, should have little-to-no grammar errors or typos
Genre: fiction, fantasy, medieval, romance (+18)
Ceallaigh remained displeased with Kedran over two things. First, making a mockery of his escape, and second, the sense of guilt, for it was poison to him. He lived and thrived in Reality for the reason it was thrilling and very human; at least to his understanding, there was simply no death and morality in the Otherworld. According to Ceallaigh, Kedran violated an unwritten clause within their unwritten contract by indirectly forcing transformation to take place under the pretext of personal endeavours. Kedran argued that while Ceallaigh was of Otherworld stock, the dragon was already being generous by giving the human ample time in Reality. The two were no more selfish towards each other; Ceallaigh would do whatever he can to realise his own furtherance of materialistic, monetary and worldly gains, and Kedran would also do whatever he can to realise his own furtherance of materialistic, monetary and worldly gains. That slither of an encounter with an apparently random dragoness was probably the last straw that gave Kedran plenty of reasons why he should be enjoying Reality again after years of setbacks during his own youth. Ceallaigh’s luck had gone beyond the tipping point, he was being reinvaded by his significant other. His human form, his godly and sanctified image was yet again being infringed.
Ceallaigh found himself at a tavern somewhere in some Provençal town that he did not bother to checking up on its name. The tavern was not worth his money, for he had difficulty sleeping in it. His room was filled of dust particles and a few unsettling spider webs, the bed rocked to its side on uneven legs, his neighbour snored like its own underpaid music ensemble, and the guests downstairs partied all night much to his chagrin. By the time these activities ceased, Ceallaigh was having insomnia. So in the twilight hours of morning, the mercenary immediately rose from the torture device of a bed and made his way down the discordant crackling noise of wooden steps; its winding turns protruding and intruding at uneven spots. Unafraid to vent a bit of his frustrations, he canvassed the half-asleep innkeeper to prepare him early breakfast which immediately aroused a few grumbles from the poor staff members of the tavern. They initially refused to entertain Ceallaigh until they were shown his Environ badge in which its reputation was respected in these parts. So they heeded, making breakfast for Ceallaigh at last, but at cost of their respect for the company’s employees.
Ceallaigh was treated to freshly baked country bread and a luxurious mug of milk. The meal was so sumptuous that he ordered more than what he should be consuming. And that made for a quick trip to the loo as his lactose intolerant stomach attempted to digest the dairy-rich meal. When Ceallaigh was done, he returned to his bed and started to pack, the tavernkeepers relieved that he was about to leave. Nobody waved him goodbye when he exited waving at them with a weak and insincere smile.
Before setting out on his next misadventure, Ceallaigh usually took short strolls into and around the market towns. This was where he got his news; town criers from the far reaches of the kingdom had arrived to broadcast events of what was happening beyond their worlds. With a never ending war, the news was hardly anything to smile at. Ceallaigh was distracted by the mellifluous voice of the day’s town crier, but it was not thoroughly distracting enough to contain his still agitated armlet. The pleasures of travel were once again trumped by the vociferous cries of Kedran persuading his captor to release him. Ceallaigh’s pupils dilated once again; his right arm was seized of its control as muscle spasms enraptured it—the dragon was manipulating the human again. As the two entities in one body fought for control of their chance of Reality, some members of the public began staring at the mentally unstable man. Ceallaigh, with whatever autonomy he had left in his legs, ran out of sight towards a few isolated buildings at the edge of this small town. Away from plain sight, the adventurer knelt to the grassy ground against his will and gestured to the armlet to release the dragon.
Irda sat, certainly not at eased with herself. Her rump and tail sank into the treasures as time dragged on with no stoppage. She paid great attention to her collection, barely moving a muscle except for her swaying her tail left and right, brushing coins and gems across the stone floor. As the day drew closer to mid-afternoon, her thoughts of Kedran grew stronger with every inch of detail she could remember materialising in her mind. The chances of finding the one she thought would never come, in a reptilian world where females probably outnumbered males, where more have emigrated, and the remainder of them hiding somewhere. Again, for Irda, she was being falsely led by expectation. She would think about just one person, and her mind went into a flurry of outcomes and possibilities, certainly not in the same capacity as when meeting other females or non-draconian folk. She was not learning any of her mistakes, she was fantasising, recalling novels and fairy tales, but most excruciatingly, her memories from younger days. The more she thought of the bull (or previous significant other ones) the more she blushed; occasional tears may drip but they say dragons never cry. Time to the mind was like an elastic dough. Even for a formidable dragon, time drag was a clamp against her wings.
She eventually slouched forwards in sudden arousal, the vexation of loneliness tingled between her mind and everything below her. She pressured herself to focus of the weather or the random outlaws that ran amok at the Roman roads, but the powerful image of him came back.
Then a scent. The smell of sweat and chest odour from a not-so-distant past. In fact, it was as recent as last week. She ceased her sharpening her claws. She then remembered, she was expecting a guest! They had promise to meet again on this very day. She was given a mild shock, she was not as prepared as she would have liked.
‘Irda!’ Kedran shouted into the cave entrance just beyond her demesne. The male was no different from how he presented himself on the previous day. White hair combed between his horns, his bare chest tucked naturally within his natural posture, his eyes shyly glued to her while his fists clenched within the pockets of his trousers.
Recognising the voice, Irda called him in, and he began his approach through the second entrance directly into her living quarters.
Irda’s heart raced, her spirit elated within her breast, and her eyes glazed under magic’s light. She peered all the way into Kedran’s eyes, doing so while also violently suppressing all forms of arousal. Her wings, once retracted for quite some time, sprang to life as she flew towards him.
Irda traversed the chamber, gliding over the treasures with the help of her wings. The unabashed female gave the humanoid a gentle hug, leaving Kedran slightly flummoxed, and so he hugged back unaccustomed and in foreign territory. Irda’s reptilian undertone and breathy voice sent forth a message, ‘So let me guess, you are trying to fight me out of my cave? I’ve bested the last four of them.’
Kedran held up his hands in uneasiness, pondering for a short while if the female he tried to woo behind Ceallaigh’s armlet was turning out to be a too farfetched for his liking. In fact, it was always easier to pilot the events through a proxy than in person than being in the situation itself. ‘I always return to things that I consider—’ Kedran left two seconds longer than the maximum four seconds he gave himself, ‘—adorable.’
Irda smirked, ‘You are referring to my orbs?’
‘Ye—wait—hey, no. I mean, you!’
‘Kedran,’ Irda let go of him, ‘it’s great to see you.’
The dragon sought a good choice of words, it proved more difficult than logical thinking would have suggest. Kedran huffed as he himself felt the unease within him, ‘So what have this dragoness been doing?’
Irda pulled a weak smile and turned to face her right which was populated by clay pottery from different cultures, some more ancient than civilisation, ‘I shall be honest, milord.’ And the female placed her hands to the front of her groin, assumed humility and courtesy but also not without puffing up her breasts which pressed against her somewhat unkept camisole, ‘The days are long, and life can indeed become too peaceful if you aren’t careful (if that makes sense). Probably explains why I spared your human. Also, your voice has been bugging my mind—it has resonated from the first words we spoke to the goodbyes we’ve exchanged. You’re terribly infectious.’
Kedran was clenching his fists, embarrassed and clearly blushing, but his confidence and willingness to try was as clear as sea bass presented to a king’s supper, ‘Last week’s conversation was—invaluable. I’ve been stuck in my armlet for a while, and to converse with a fellow-kind—It’s been a pleasure.’
‘I’m surprised and somewhat elated. You actually paid a visited,’ Irda said as she bent forwards a little. Her somewhat erratic shrugging were startling to Kedran at first, ‘so what brings you here?’ Her beautiful eyes glimmered from the golden orb rays while her triangular snout scouted hovered above the dragon’s neck and chest.
Suffice to say Kedran was not only to blame for awkward gestures. He pulled out his hand and extended his thumb, ‘First, I don’t want to be entrapped by this armlet. Second,’ and he extended his index finger, ‘I just want to talk to my own kind. Third,’ and he finally extended his middle finger, ‘the Otherworld is just dull and meaningless to live.’ The female drew a closer to Kedran, this time scrutinising her left eye towards his head, and it was interrogative, as if wanting to murder the beast, her brows narrowed again. This made Kedran somewhat uncomfortable, so he leaned back.
‘So to my understanding, you plan to abandon your human form? Your human form is not all bad. Except, he’s a thief.’
‘Look I am sorry we had to come to this. But I want to speak to my own kind.’
Irda had sympathy for the bull, and she beamed, but as she peered down her own armlet, she failed to relate. Transformations to that of a human were not commonplace for Irda, and whatever Kedran described both now and before, still mystified her. Dismissing the conversation, Irda grabbed hold of Kedran wrist. ‘Come!’ Irda swung her body around, sending her silver hair across Kedran’s eye. The sight of her voluptuous movements as well as an athletic, lean, chiselled body and shapely humanoid features captivated Kedran's secretly wild mind. ‘I want to present you the labyrinth.’
‘Again?’
‘Yes!’
The halls were a place that touched Irda’s heart. And when Kedran entered it the second time, he could see why. They were called the Halls of the Unknown. Ancient in origin, the walls littered scripts of hundreds if not thousands of draconic verses and other strange symbols which to the untrained eye, was a pathway to the underworld.
Irda pecked at the air, and a whitish orb of light began to rise from the ground and towards the ceiling. She then presented a passage of inscriptions and pictograms to the attentive Kedran, ‘I have managed to decipher only a quarter this block of draconian text. That was four years of works. I am wondering if you’d know any of this, because it has been my life goal to try to solve this riddle. Like, what is the point of living in a cave when you don’t familiarise yourself with these things?’
Kedran approached the wall and inspected the text himself, rarely did Irda ever have to tilt her head up to make eye contact. Kedran’s face perked like a dragonet, and he grinned. ‘Your pursuit is music to my ears. What have you discovered? Do you have a rough translation?’
Irda pointed her finger towards the right most corner of the wall. The draconian text read top-to-bottom, right-to-left. ‘This must be story. It’s about a dragoness who battled a great creature called the Syamidoxir. It even says here at that she was of the Nalkyasaug Clan which before her rise to fame was an insignificant clan.’
Everything seemed to be going well; the fact that they shared something in common began to excite the two. Kedran felt the discomfort ease, and he was in a familiar position. He loved reading, and nothing fascinated him as much as Old Draconian logographs.
‘I had—err—other “friends” who just couldn’t be bothered to read this. I’m throwing myself blind here, I suppose you know something of interests. No guarantees, but I thought I gave you a try.’ Irda was looking to Kedran for a reaction, and all she saw were his pupils snapping across different characters as if effortlessly glossing over them. It was not easy, Old Draconian writing was less standardised than Classical Draconian. Likewise there were many old characters no longer in use.
‘The study of ancient text excites me.’ Kedran utter.
Irda beamed, but not without accidentally issuing her first command to the bull, ‘You should give me credit—I myself am pretty knowledgeable of our four-legged foremothers.’
But her grin immediately disappeared as Kedran chuckled behind his shut jaws. He then proceeded to do what he had always done to others, ‘A good attempt. Though Syamidox means “promiscuous person”. Also the noun gender should be in the masculine form. Why? Because the following word Nalkyas is in the masculine dative case, hence NalkyasAUG.’
Consternation was quick to fill Irda. She felt like an ass. Pride had left and dumped her beside the road. ‘I am—ashamed. Now I want to kill you.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, it was a good attempt. Hardly any dragon today bothers remember reading older forms of Draconian. You deserve full credit.’
Irda gritted her teeth—the full credit did not feel legitimate. Kedran tried pouring more sugar on to the compliment, but the random salt particles still got in the way of his tongue. Kedran continued, ‘I will give you double credit if that’s the case. I can also hand over a Draconian dictionary that I possess back in my cave in England. It’s very comprehensive, if may be a bit dry and—’
Irda gave a demonic sneered before grabbing Kedran by the neck. It was a frightening stare, it penetrated all the way even through to Ceallaigh in the Otherworld. It was something Irda subconsciously does time and time again. Brusque, intimidating and invasive of the personal space of others, but it might also be due to her preference for the physical and the extroverted, as oppose to the gentle and intimate forms of communication. Irda then thought to herself, Irda, you did it again; and that’s intimidating people.
But Irda was taken aback when Kedran suddenly blushed a second time. The faint audible sound of his heartbeat quickened, and instead of flinching away from her in avoidance, gave Irda a weak yet accidental grin which he attempted to hide by pulling down the sides of his thin lips.
Kedran was visibly engrossed with the her motions. He may have successfully read beyond what Irda took months to decipher with the wall of text, and now here he was deciphering her eyes. Her hand was still on his neck, and yet he still went on to talk about the wall’s inscriptions as if not bothering about being strangled, ‘Irda, if you delve deeper into this portion of this corridor you can make out more of the story,’ and he pointed his finger at the new passage of vertical text, ‘the next chapter is indicated by those larger text. It reads part 24. So it seems that the passage you showed me is only the halfway point of a much longer part 23.’
Irda was not smiling. Kedran’s explanations disproved or elaborated on the inscriptions she once thought she got right. She was not getting bored, she was thrilled, aroused by his interests and expertise, whilst mildly contemplating fantasies which were taboo to her only because her certain past still shamed her for communicating or cheating with her now non-existent significant other. ‘Kedran!’ She eventually exclaimed. ‘Hold up. I spent years figuring this out, and now you are telling me that my research is in vain?’ And Irda released her grip from Kedran’s neck. ‘Goodness, and I am so sorry for trying to hurt you.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Kedran muttered patting his neck, ‘I’ve been beaten up by other dragons before and this is nothing.’
‘As I was saying, my research. It feels all in vain.’
‘No. You are deciphering this impressively,’ Kedran said scratching his bright silvery hair, ‘there’s no reason to give up. After all, there is no one correct interpretation.’
Irda breathed a sigh of relief.
But Kedran would be lying if he did not reveal a more competitive side. He enjoyed a good intellectual challenge at times. Given it had little to no use in the Otherworld, he thought to himself, why not use it.
Kedran restarted to the beginning text, and Irda’s eyes followed his fingers and his cute muzzle, ‘I mean, these texts are indeed beautifully etched. Yet the draconian characters you have been studying are a very archaic and conservative form of writing that our foremothers don’t even use anymore. On the other hand, the text surrounding the poem, these so called “chronicler texts” are more recent additions to the work; that is, these characters are more recent—something like amendments and inserts. If I were you, I’d paid more attention to these for they might indicate historical revisionism and other addenda.’
The dragoness, however, did not like the answer as she figured soon enough a deeper meaning within his statement. She curled her fingers and cringed. She was willing to debate, and nothing turned her on better than a competent opponent who was willing to challenge her general knowledge. Kedran was not fighting material, but he was a brain.
‘The oldest texts defined the origins of all the subsequent scripts you can see.’ She said pointing at the most ancient of the walls which were closer to the entrance of the treasure room. ‘Excluding all the addenda you mentioned, this entire story was still written lineally, am I right?’
Kedran, like Ceallaigh, was well versed in etymology orthography and literature. Because of his extensive knowledge, he pushed ever further to testing the female. Equally sassy was his use of somewhat irritating hyperboles, sarcasms and metaphorical statements. What would ensue would turn from a talk of useless academia. According to the inquisitive Ceallaigh, this was too much acquaintanceship. As Kedran said earlier, there was nothing interesting in the Overworld.
Kedran scrutinised at the ancient of scripts again, pondering to himself why such rudimentary draconian texts interested the female so much. The anachronistic characters were hardly complicated, the story composed for entertainment that true religious nor ritualistic purpose. ‘My opinion stands,’ Kedran said in a stern voice, ‘this entire passage may be a fascinating read but its really a story of poor tastes. I mean, it’s a smutty story, far from the erotic quality.’ And he pointed his index finger towards a new portion of text, ‘Here reads: cave—intruder—and growth. Goodness, the innuendos.’
The dragoness stormed in front of the dragon, blocking Kedran’s view of the labyrinth walls. ‘Well, you did mention that this is open to interpretation.’ Irda snapped. ‘Riding on your opinion, society was once simple; scripts were simple, stories were told simply for entertainment.’
‘What?’ And Kedran snickered, snorting some steam as he inhaled the stuffy air. Unapologetically arrogant, supposedly restrained but controlled by circumventing choice of words, he continued, ‘you trying to challenge my knowledge? Sorry, but I am unmatched when it comes to Draconian texts.’
The dragoness finally came to the conclusion that Kedran was being too intellectual for Irda. Her next course of action was not to win him, not with knowledge, but something which only experience bought. Kedran was not entirely the humblest of beasts, though humble dragons were a rarity in the first place.
‘I guess I am an odd one. I enjoy listening to the hymns of churches, the folkloric songs and—' but Kedran stopped short. He felt the need to be more reticent. ‘In a nutshell, I just like reading.’
Irda laid her unyielding eyes to Kedran, again the duality within her grew as the division within their common interest began to diverge. At this point, Irda was getting tired.
‘Of the many dragons that I have met,’ Irda said, ‘your erudition impresses me. Admittingly, I am guilty of not studying these walls as extensively.’
‘Well then, looks like the future is bright.’ Kedran said, ‘there is more to read and study’. Irda was beginning to note Kedran’s largely unforeseen responses, a sign of unease and versed choreography. It was so well done it was not rustic, it was natural perfection—a person who has done his training and yet still committed to various the passions he hold dearly to. Then the male continued, ‘I wouldn’t mind going on to end of this hallway.’
So the halls filled with words; calm and bombastic, relaxed and intense, creative and pointless, controversial and sensible, rude and polite, arrogant and humble, vague and concise, apologetic and unapologetic. Nonetheless, the dragons have found similar ground, and their conservation evolved, from small to large, from casual to thoughtful. The halls now reverberated to a point echoes clashed, and the walls almost made to shake by soundwaves. The dragoness, in particular, felt a sensation of desperate dominance in which Kedran was not ingenuously aware of. It was a mere nauseating, heart pounding ego that was starting to flare within Irda’s heart—a powerful force even stronger than that of any mammal, bird, fish or reptile.
Kedran maintained an aristocratic posture despite the attraction for her; he was just going for it, having little-to-no expectations. To him, the sobbing need only be temporary, and from then on it was all about self-improvement again. He would walk slowly, making some eye contact from time to time, sometimes smirking, snickering or sighing. It was neither accidental nor purposeful, ‘You have already made it clear that your decisions are based entirely on no other influences.’ Kedran said.
Their topic became ever more wayward. ‘Unlike your mind,’ Irda replied hoping to win the male dragon one last time, ‘I am driven by my intuition and quite often I have found myself in most dire of straits.’
‘Sounds like villages love attacking you.’
‘Undisputedly.’ She hissed back, this time pressing her finger against his chest.
‘So for the last six years you were harassed by villagers? I guess you’ve developed a reputation. Every settlement in Aragon and Catalonia would have heard of the mighty dragoness, Irda.’
And the dragon thought he has made the stupidest comment ever.
But Irda chortled, juggling in her mind between fantasy and underwhelming insinuations. Knowledge was not much of a help, it told the truth, but experience could only tell her of the relative nature of great sensations which all too often loitered between being actually good and bland. She attempted an itemised approach to people—analytical of the heart, and nuanced of the conversation—but her past often superseded it, and she felt something dragging towards and away from the male in both directions. She was about to shift topics, but suddenly slammed the urge with a loud clearance of her guttural tract, ‘I do not care about humanity and their feelings, at least in these parts.’ She hoped to find an agreement with the dragon, somehow to find common ground where there seemed to be a large crevasse between the two which was more attractive than a creek.
Kedran eyes beamed a little, ‘I do’
‘What?’
‘Not all humans are that unwelcoming.’
Irda’s eyes rolled towards the sky, ‘I am not stupid.’
‘Of course not.’ Kedran salvaged, or so he thought.
‘Well, what do you do as a dragon?’
‘I’m a mercenary as you know. I work for people.’
‘Here? In this wretched place?’
‘You have heard of The Company of the Environ?’
Irda nodded. But then she snapped; that name could not be a good one, ‘wait, they sent you to me so you can steal from me?’
Kedran’s faint smile disappeared. Immediately denying that allegation, ‘Did I not tell you that last weak? The answer is no, they did not dispatch me to raid your cave! It was merely my rogue human doing a fool’s errand.’
Irda chuckled, clamping down her lips so hard as to prevent the full extent of her disbelief. Nevertheless, she was not foreign to stories of rogued human forms, ‘Well, that explains. Fellow is too greedy.’
‘Irda,’ he realised this was the first time he has said her name, and he did not unstress the second syllable, ‘why not you give the Environ a try? They will gladly employ dragons.’
Irda placed her snout wildly close to Kedran, nostrils swelling as his scent went into her. Fresh and untried, but also rich and innocently expressive. She kept up the pressure, ‘So you are here to not only get acquainted with me, but advertise the Environ? I would kill you then—you’d be the third dragon skull in my abode of death.’ It was not natural of her to say that, she never once called her abode a deathly place if one disregarded the litter of human bones. She then shrugged, casting an eye to the walls, ‘well, Kedran, what else you want to me share before I find an excuse to kill you?’
He blinked and he smiled, ‘Why not show me around the mountains?’ Kedran did not really need a tour, he had already scanned the place with much diligence. He felt like Socrates asking people what is a question.
‘No,’ Irda twitched her brows then pointed her index finger at herself. Her heart was racing for some reason and she knows why but refused to know why, ‘I am not obligated to entertain you.’
‘If it pleases you,’ Kedran said immediately, ‘I’ll do it myself.’
There was another long pause between them, with each of them studying the each other’s reactions. For Kedran, he did not make any body gesture that was associated with hesitation save for his lips which were giving away some of his true feelings. The hands that dangle slightly beyond his hips were stiff and nearly frozen but clearly suspended like a withheld pendulum from his elbows. When the winds died completely, the sensitive hearing abilities of the dragons finally caught a low but audible breathing rhythm associated with indecision. It was probably better to backout.
‘I’ve got to go, Irda.’ Kedran assumed his opportunities were defenestrated, and so a great sigh of relief went into him.
‘Take care.’ She said immediately before Kedran was finished delivering his farewell.
The dragoness then watched the bull turn his body, repeatedly folding his wings inward in sudden contractions of suspected nervousness and exhilaration. There were sounds she had not heard for the past year, that is the rattling noise of metal caused by the steps of a fellow dragon brushing against coins and trinkets.
A gust of wind blew from behind her wings before traversing straight for the male. It flicked even his white hair which then swung around his horns. The winds had picked up something. Irda gulped—he smelt it.
The two dragons flushed with red, and the dragonesses sneered at him in a satanical aggression and restrained hostility. ‘Take care!’ She said.
Kedran meanwhile, quickly adjusted his trousers, pulling it higher. A frantic nod from him confirmed Irda’s concern that the dragon has got the message.
‘I—I’ll take my leave. And yes, I look forward to seeing you again. How about—um—next week?’
Irda then threw an otherwise imaginary dice in front of her. Anything goes, she said. ‘Please, just comeback any time you like. Just call out my name if you do pay a visit. Oh, and I shall think about the Company of the Environ.’
Ceallaigh heaved a sigh of relief. So much was the pressure, and yet it was adverted. He took his hand, and immediately crashed it into the water, rocking the fishing boat which rocked aimlessly in the Endless River of the Otherworld. Then Philip, the sleeping musician who could play no wrong tune, convulsed, then shivered as the autumn temperatures bit his pale skin. With shiny blood-red lips glistened by lunar light, the violinist squinted beyond the horizon which was his tattered, yet enduring leather jerkin. He spat, ‘what have we here? Did Jonah’s fish hit us?’
Ceallaigh wiped his watery hands against his trousers. He pretended to feel perfectly normally, ‘Indeed, a fish that towered the tallest cathedral has emerged.’
The sarcasm was sufficient, and Philip gave the adventurer a dismissive huff, ‘I’d rather have such a creature swallow me than to be woken by your funny tricks.’
‘I try my best to entertain you, Sir Philip.’
‘Don’t call me “sir”. It’s incredibly derogatory to my very nature.’
(4915 words)
Appearances:
- Humans: Ceallaigh, Philip (Otherworld)
- Humanoids: Irda, Kedran
Book 1 - An Inward Truth
STATUS: near polished, should have little-to-no grammar errors or typos
Genre: fiction, fantasy, medieval, romance (+18)
Previous chapter: APERITO
CHAPTER THREE – INVESTIGATA
Next chapter: IRAE[/url]Ceallaigh remained displeased with Kedran over two things. First, making a mockery of his escape, and second, the sense of guilt, for it was poison to him. He lived and thrived in Reality for the reason it was thrilling and very human; at least to his understanding, there was simply no death and morality in the Otherworld. According to Ceallaigh, Kedran violated an unwritten clause within their unwritten contract by indirectly forcing transformation to take place under the pretext of personal endeavours. Kedran argued that while Ceallaigh was of Otherworld stock, the dragon was already being generous by giving the human ample time in Reality. The two were no more selfish towards each other; Ceallaigh would do whatever he can to realise his own furtherance of materialistic, monetary and worldly gains, and Kedran would also do whatever he can to realise his own furtherance of materialistic, monetary and worldly gains. That slither of an encounter with an apparently random dragoness was probably the last straw that gave Kedran plenty of reasons why he should be enjoying Reality again after years of setbacks during his own youth. Ceallaigh’s luck had gone beyond the tipping point, he was being reinvaded by his significant other. His human form, his godly and sanctified image was yet again being infringed.
Ceallaigh found himself at a tavern somewhere in some Provençal town that he did not bother to checking up on its name. The tavern was not worth his money, for he had difficulty sleeping in it. His room was filled of dust particles and a few unsettling spider webs, the bed rocked to its side on uneven legs, his neighbour snored like its own underpaid music ensemble, and the guests downstairs partied all night much to his chagrin. By the time these activities ceased, Ceallaigh was having insomnia. So in the twilight hours of morning, the mercenary immediately rose from the torture device of a bed and made his way down the discordant crackling noise of wooden steps; its winding turns protruding and intruding at uneven spots. Unafraid to vent a bit of his frustrations, he canvassed the half-asleep innkeeper to prepare him early breakfast which immediately aroused a few grumbles from the poor staff members of the tavern. They initially refused to entertain Ceallaigh until they were shown his Environ badge in which its reputation was respected in these parts. So they heeded, making breakfast for Ceallaigh at last, but at cost of their respect for the company’s employees.
Ceallaigh was treated to freshly baked country bread and a luxurious mug of milk. The meal was so sumptuous that he ordered more than what he should be consuming. And that made for a quick trip to the loo as his lactose intolerant stomach attempted to digest the dairy-rich meal. When Ceallaigh was done, he returned to his bed and started to pack, the tavernkeepers relieved that he was about to leave. Nobody waved him goodbye when he exited waving at them with a weak and insincere smile.
Before setting out on his next misadventure, Ceallaigh usually took short strolls into and around the market towns. This was where he got his news; town criers from the far reaches of the kingdom had arrived to broadcast events of what was happening beyond their worlds. With a never ending war, the news was hardly anything to smile at. Ceallaigh was distracted by the mellifluous voice of the day’s town crier, but it was not thoroughly distracting enough to contain his still agitated armlet. The pleasures of travel were once again trumped by the vociferous cries of Kedran persuading his captor to release him. Ceallaigh’s pupils dilated once again; his right arm was seized of its control as muscle spasms enraptured it—the dragon was manipulating the human again. As the two entities in one body fought for control of their chance of Reality, some members of the public began staring at the mentally unstable man. Ceallaigh, with whatever autonomy he had left in his legs, ran out of sight towards a few isolated buildings at the edge of this small town. Away from plain sight, the adventurer knelt to the grassy ground against his will and gestured to the armlet to release the dragon.
Irda sat, certainly not at eased with herself. Her rump and tail sank into the treasures as time dragged on with no stoppage. She paid great attention to her collection, barely moving a muscle except for her swaying her tail left and right, brushing coins and gems across the stone floor. As the day drew closer to mid-afternoon, her thoughts of Kedran grew stronger with every inch of detail she could remember materialising in her mind. The chances of finding the one she thought would never come, in a reptilian world where females probably outnumbered males, where more have emigrated, and the remainder of them hiding somewhere. Again, for Irda, she was being falsely led by expectation. She would think about just one person, and her mind went into a flurry of outcomes and possibilities, certainly not in the same capacity as when meeting other females or non-draconian folk. She was not learning any of her mistakes, she was fantasising, recalling novels and fairy tales, but most excruciatingly, her memories from younger days. The more she thought of the bull (or previous significant other ones) the more she blushed; occasional tears may drip but they say dragons never cry. Time to the mind was like an elastic dough. Even for a formidable dragon, time drag was a clamp against her wings.
She eventually slouched forwards in sudden arousal, the vexation of loneliness tingled between her mind and everything below her. She pressured herself to focus of the weather or the random outlaws that ran amok at the Roman roads, but the powerful image of him came back.
Then a scent. The smell of sweat and chest odour from a not-so-distant past. In fact, it was as recent as last week. She ceased her sharpening her claws. She then remembered, she was expecting a guest! They had promise to meet again on this very day. She was given a mild shock, she was not as prepared as she would have liked.
‘Irda!’ Kedran shouted into the cave entrance just beyond her demesne. The male was no different from how he presented himself on the previous day. White hair combed between his horns, his bare chest tucked naturally within his natural posture, his eyes shyly glued to her while his fists clenched within the pockets of his trousers.
Recognising the voice, Irda called him in, and he began his approach through the second entrance directly into her living quarters.
Irda’s heart raced, her spirit elated within her breast, and her eyes glazed under magic’s light. She peered all the way into Kedran’s eyes, doing so while also violently suppressing all forms of arousal. Her wings, once retracted for quite some time, sprang to life as she flew towards him.
Irda traversed the chamber, gliding over the treasures with the help of her wings. The unabashed female gave the humanoid a gentle hug, leaving Kedran slightly flummoxed, and so he hugged back unaccustomed and in foreign territory. Irda’s reptilian undertone and breathy voice sent forth a message, ‘So let me guess, you are trying to fight me out of my cave? I’ve bested the last four of them.’
Kedran held up his hands in uneasiness, pondering for a short while if the female he tried to woo behind Ceallaigh’s armlet was turning out to be a too farfetched for his liking. In fact, it was always easier to pilot the events through a proxy than in person than being in the situation itself. ‘I always return to things that I consider—’ Kedran left two seconds longer than the maximum four seconds he gave himself, ‘—adorable.’
Irda smirked, ‘You are referring to my orbs?’
‘Ye—wait—hey, no. I mean, you!’
‘Kedran,’ Irda let go of him, ‘it’s great to see you.’
The dragon sought a good choice of words, it proved more difficult than logical thinking would have suggest. Kedran huffed as he himself felt the unease within him, ‘So what have this dragoness been doing?’
Irda pulled a weak smile and turned to face her right which was populated by clay pottery from different cultures, some more ancient than civilisation, ‘I shall be honest, milord.’ And the female placed her hands to the front of her groin, assumed humility and courtesy but also not without puffing up her breasts which pressed against her somewhat unkept camisole, ‘The days are long, and life can indeed become too peaceful if you aren’t careful (if that makes sense). Probably explains why I spared your human. Also, your voice has been bugging my mind—it has resonated from the first words we spoke to the goodbyes we’ve exchanged. You’re terribly infectious.’
Kedran was clenching his fists, embarrassed and clearly blushing, but his confidence and willingness to try was as clear as sea bass presented to a king’s supper, ‘Last week’s conversation was—invaluable. I’ve been stuck in my armlet for a while, and to converse with a fellow-kind—It’s been a pleasure.’
‘I’m surprised and somewhat elated. You actually paid a visited,’ Irda said as she bent forwards a little. Her somewhat erratic shrugging were startling to Kedran at first, ‘so what brings you here?’ Her beautiful eyes glimmered from the golden orb rays while her triangular snout scouted hovered above the dragon’s neck and chest.
Suffice to say Kedran was not only to blame for awkward gestures. He pulled out his hand and extended his thumb, ‘First, I don’t want to be entrapped by this armlet. Second,’ and he extended his index finger, ‘I just want to talk to my own kind. Third,’ and he finally extended his middle finger, ‘the Otherworld is just dull and meaningless to live.’ The female drew a closer to Kedran, this time scrutinising her left eye towards his head, and it was interrogative, as if wanting to murder the beast, her brows narrowed again. This made Kedran somewhat uncomfortable, so he leaned back.
‘So to my understanding, you plan to abandon your human form? Your human form is not all bad. Except, he’s a thief.’
‘Look I am sorry we had to come to this. But I want to speak to my own kind.’
Irda had sympathy for the bull, and she beamed, but as she peered down her own armlet, she failed to relate. Transformations to that of a human were not commonplace for Irda, and whatever Kedran described both now and before, still mystified her. Dismissing the conversation, Irda grabbed hold of Kedran wrist. ‘Come!’ Irda swung her body around, sending her silver hair across Kedran’s eye. The sight of her voluptuous movements as well as an athletic, lean, chiselled body and shapely humanoid features captivated Kedran's secretly wild mind. ‘I want to present you the labyrinth.’
‘Again?’
‘Yes!’
The halls were a place that touched Irda’s heart. And when Kedran entered it the second time, he could see why. They were called the Halls of the Unknown. Ancient in origin, the walls littered scripts of hundreds if not thousands of draconic verses and other strange symbols which to the untrained eye, was a pathway to the underworld.
Irda pecked at the air, and a whitish orb of light began to rise from the ground and towards the ceiling. She then presented a passage of inscriptions and pictograms to the attentive Kedran, ‘I have managed to decipher only a quarter this block of draconian text. That was four years of works. I am wondering if you’d know any of this, because it has been my life goal to try to solve this riddle. Like, what is the point of living in a cave when you don’t familiarise yourself with these things?’
Kedran approached the wall and inspected the text himself, rarely did Irda ever have to tilt her head up to make eye contact. Kedran’s face perked like a dragonet, and he grinned. ‘Your pursuit is music to my ears. What have you discovered? Do you have a rough translation?’
Irda pointed her finger towards the right most corner of the wall. The draconian text read top-to-bottom, right-to-left. ‘This must be story. It’s about a dragoness who battled a great creature called the Syamidoxir. It even says here at that she was of the Nalkyasaug Clan which before her rise to fame was an insignificant clan.’
Everything seemed to be going well; the fact that they shared something in common began to excite the two. Kedran felt the discomfort ease, and he was in a familiar position. He loved reading, and nothing fascinated him as much as Old Draconian logographs.
‘I had—err—other “friends” who just couldn’t be bothered to read this. I’m throwing myself blind here, I suppose you know something of interests. No guarantees, but I thought I gave you a try.’ Irda was looking to Kedran for a reaction, and all she saw were his pupils snapping across different characters as if effortlessly glossing over them. It was not easy, Old Draconian writing was less standardised than Classical Draconian. Likewise there were many old characters no longer in use.
‘The study of ancient text excites me.’ Kedran utter.
Irda beamed, but not without accidentally issuing her first command to the bull, ‘You should give me credit—I myself am pretty knowledgeable of our four-legged foremothers.’
But her grin immediately disappeared as Kedran chuckled behind his shut jaws. He then proceeded to do what he had always done to others, ‘A good attempt. Though Syamidox means “promiscuous person”. Also the noun gender should be in the masculine form. Why? Because the following word Nalkyas is in the masculine dative case, hence NalkyasAUG.’
Consternation was quick to fill Irda. She felt like an ass. Pride had left and dumped her beside the road. ‘I am—ashamed. Now I want to kill you.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, it was a good attempt. Hardly any dragon today bothers remember reading older forms of Draconian. You deserve full credit.’
Irda gritted her teeth—the full credit did not feel legitimate. Kedran tried pouring more sugar on to the compliment, but the random salt particles still got in the way of his tongue. Kedran continued, ‘I will give you double credit if that’s the case. I can also hand over a Draconian dictionary that I possess back in my cave in England. It’s very comprehensive, if may be a bit dry and—’
Irda gave a demonic sneered before grabbing Kedran by the neck. It was a frightening stare, it penetrated all the way even through to Ceallaigh in the Otherworld. It was something Irda subconsciously does time and time again. Brusque, intimidating and invasive of the personal space of others, but it might also be due to her preference for the physical and the extroverted, as oppose to the gentle and intimate forms of communication. Irda then thought to herself, Irda, you did it again; and that’s intimidating people.
But Irda was taken aback when Kedran suddenly blushed a second time. The faint audible sound of his heartbeat quickened, and instead of flinching away from her in avoidance, gave Irda a weak yet accidental grin which he attempted to hide by pulling down the sides of his thin lips.
Kedran was visibly engrossed with the her motions. He may have successfully read beyond what Irda took months to decipher with the wall of text, and now here he was deciphering her eyes. Her hand was still on his neck, and yet he still went on to talk about the wall’s inscriptions as if not bothering about being strangled, ‘Irda, if you delve deeper into this portion of this corridor you can make out more of the story,’ and he pointed his finger at the new passage of vertical text, ‘the next chapter is indicated by those larger text. It reads part 24. So it seems that the passage you showed me is only the halfway point of a much longer part 23.’
Irda was not smiling. Kedran’s explanations disproved or elaborated on the inscriptions she once thought she got right. She was not getting bored, she was thrilled, aroused by his interests and expertise, whilst mildly contemplating fantasies which were taboo to her only because her certain past still shamed her for communicating or cheating with her now non-existent significant other. ‘Kedran!’ She eventually exclaimed. ‘Hold up. I spent years figuring this out, and now you are telling me that my research is in vain?’ And Irda released her grip from Kedran’s neck. ‘Goodness, and I am so sorry for trying to hurt you.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Kedran muttered patting his neck, ‘I’ve been beaten up by other dragons before and this is nothing.’
‘As I was saying, my research. It feels all in vain.’
‘No. You are deciphering this impressively,’ Kedran said scratching his bright silvery hair, ‘there’s no reason to give up. After all, there is no one correct interpretation.’
Irda breathed a sigh of relief.
But Kedran would be lying if he did not reveal a more competitive side. He enjoyed a good intellectual challenge at times. Given it had little to no use in the Otherworld, he thought to himself, why not use it.
Kedran restarted to the beginning text, and Irda’s eyes followed his fingers and his cute muzzle, ‘I mean, these texts are indeed beautifully etched. Yet the draconian characters you have been studying are a very archaic and conservative form of writing that our foremothers don’t even use anymore. On the other hand, the text surrounding the poem, these so called “chronicler texts” are more recent additions to the work; that is, these characters are more recent—something like amendments and inserts. If I were you, I’d paid more attention to these for they might indicate historical revisionism and other addenda.’
The dragoness, however, did not like the answer as she figured soon enough a deeper meaning within his statement. She curled her fingers and cringed. She was willing to debate, and nothing turned her on better than a competent opponent who was willing to challenge her general knowledge. Kedran was not fighting material, but he was a brain.
‘The oldest texts defined the origins of all the subsequent scripts you can see.’ She said pointing at the most ancient of the walls which were closer to the entrance of the treasure room. ‘Excluding all the addenda you mentioned, this entire story was still written lineally, am I right?’
Kedran, like Ceallaigh, was well versed in etymology orthography and literature. Because of his extensive knowledge, he pushed ever further to testing the female. Equally sassy was his use of somewhat irritating hyperboles, sarcasms and metaphorical statements. What would ensue would turn from a talk of useless academia. According to the inquisitive Ceallaigh, this was too much acquaintanceship. As Kedran said earlier, there was nothing interesting in the Overworld.
Kedran scrutinised at the ancient of scripts again, pondering to himself why such rudimentary draconian texts interested the female so much. The anachronistic characters were hardly complicated, the story composed for entertainment that true religious nor ritualistic purpose. ‘My opinion stands,’ Kedran said in a stern voice, ‘this entire passage may be a fascinating read but its really a story of poor tastes. I mean, it’s a smutty story, far from the erotic quality.’ And he pointed his index finger towards a new portion of text, ‘Here reads: cave—intruder—and growth. Goodness, the innuendos.’
The dragoness stormed in front of the dragon, blocking Kedran’s view of the labyrinth walls. ‘Well, you did mention that this is open to interpretation.’ Irda snapped. ‘Riding on your opinion, society was once simple; scripts were simple, stories were told simply for entertainment.’
‘What?’ And Kedran snickered, snorting some steam as he inhaled the stuffy air. Unapologetically arrogant, supposedly restrained but controlled by circumventing choice of words, he continued, ‘you trying to challenge my knowledge? Sorry, but I am unmatched when it comes to Draconian texts.’
The dragoness finally came to the conclusion that Kedran was being too intellectual for Irda. Her next course of action was not to win him, not with knowledge, but something which only experience bought. Kedran was not entirely the humblest of beasts, though humble dragons were a rarity in the first place.
‘I guess I am an odd one. I enjoy listening to the hymns of churches, the folkloric songs and—' but Kedran stopped short. He felt the need to be more reticent. ‘In a nutshell, I just like reading.’
Irda laid her unyielding eyes to Kedran, again the duality within her grew as the division within their common interest began to diverge. At this point, Irda was getting tired.
‘Of the many dragons that I have met,’ Irda said, ‘your erudition impresses me. Admittingly, I am guilty of not studying these walls as extensively.’
‘Well then, looks like the future is bright.’ Kedran said, ‘there is more to read and study’. Irda was beginning to note Kedran’s largely unforeseen responses, a sign of unease and versed choreography. It was so well done it was not rustic, it was natural perfection—a person who has done his training and yet still committed to various the passions he hold dearly to. Then the male continued, ‘I wouldn’t mind going on to end of this hallway.’
So the halls filled with words; calm and bombastic, relaxed and intense, creative and pointless, controversial and sensible, rude and polite, arrogant and humble, vague and concise, apologetic and unapologetic. Nonetheless, the dragons have found similar ground, and their conservation evolved, from small to large, from casual to thoughtful. The halls now reverberated to a point echoes clashed, and the walls almost made to shake by soundwaves. The dragoness, in particular, felt a sensation of desperate dominance in which Kedran was not ingenuously aware of. It was a mere nauseating, heart pounding ego that was starting to flare within Irda’s heart—a powerful force even stronger than that of any mammal, bird, fish or reptile.
Kedran maintained an aristocratic posture despite the attraction for her; he was just going for it, having little-to-no expectations. To him, the sobbing need only be temporary, and from then on it was all about self-improvement again. He would walk slowly, making some eye contact from time to time, sometimes smirking, snickering or sighing. It was neither accidental nor purposeful, ‘You have already made it clear that your decisions are based entirely on no other influences.’ Kedran said.
Their topic became ever more wayward. ‘Unlike your mind,’ Irda replied hoping to win the male dragon one last time, ‘I am driven by my intuition and quite often I have found myself in most dire of straits.’
‘Sounds like villages love attacking you.’
‘Undisputedly.’ She hissed back, this time pressing her finger against his chest.
‘So for the last six years you were harassed by villagers? I guess you’ve developed a reputation. Every settlement in Aragon and Catalonia would have heard of the mighty dragoness, Irda.’
And the dragon thought he has made the stupidest comment ever.
But Irda chortled, juggling in her mind between fantasy and underwhelming insinuations. Knowledge was not much of a help, it told the truth, but experience could only tell her of the relative nature of great sensations which all too often loitered between being actually good and bland. She attempted an itemised approach to people—analytical of the heart, and nuanced of the conversation—but her past often superseded it, and she felt something dragging towards and away from the male in both directions. She was about to shift topics, but suddenly slammed the urge with a loud clearance of her guttural tract, ‘I do not care about humanity and their feelings, at least in these parts.’ She hoped to find an agreement with the dragon, somehow to find common ground where there seemed to be a large crevasse between the two which was more attractive than a creek.
Kedran eyes beamed a little, ‘I do’
‘What?’
‘Not all humans are that unwelcoming.’
Irda’s eyes rolled towards the sky, ‘I am not stupid.’
‘Of course not.’ Kedran salvaged, or so he thought.
‘Well, what do you do as a dragon?’
‘I’m a mercenary as you know. I work for people.’
‘Here? In this wretched place?’
‘You have heard of The Company of the Environ?’
Irda nodded. But then she snapped; that name could not be a good one, ‘wait, they sent you to me so you can steal from me?’
Kedran’s faint smile disappeared. Immediately denying that allegation, ‘Did I not tell you that last weak? The answer is no, they did not dispatch me to raid your cave! It was merely my rogue human doing a fool’s errand.’
Irda chuckled, clamping down her lips so hard as to prevent the full extent of her disbelief. Nevertheless, she was not foreign to stories of rogued human forms, ‘Well, that explains. Fellow is too greedy.’
‘Irda,’ he realised this was the first time he has said her name, and he did not unstress the second syllable, ‘why not you give the Environ a try? They will gladly employ dragons.’
Irda placed her snout wildly close to Kedran, nostrils swelling as his scent went into her. Fresh and untried, but also rich and innocently expressive. She kept up the pressure, ‘So you are here to not only get acquainted with me, but advertise the Environ? I would kill you then—you’d be the third dragon skull in my abode of death.’ It was not natural of her to say that, she never once called her abode a deathly place if one disregarded the litter of human bones. She then shrugged, casting an eye to the walls, ‘well, Kedran, what else you want to me share before I find an excuse to kill you?’
He blinked and he smiled, ‘Why not show me around the mountains?’ Kedran did not really need a tour, he had already scanned the place with much diligence. He felt like Socrates asking people what is a question.
‘No,’ Irda twitched her brows then pointed her index finger at herself. Her heart was racing for some reason and she knows why but refused to know why, ‘I am not obligated to entertain you.’
‘If it pleases you,’ Kedran said immediately, ‘I’ll do it myself.’
There was another long pause between them, with each of them studying the each other’s reactions. For Kedran, he did not make any body gesture that was associated with hesitation save for his lips which were giving away some of his true feelings. The hands that dangle slightly beyond his hips were stiff and nearly frozen but clearly suspended like a withheld pendulum from his elbows. When the winds died completely, the sensitive hearing abilities of the dragons finally caught a low but audible breathing rhythm associated with indecision. It was probably better to backout.
‘I’ve got to go, Irda.’ Kedran assumed his opportunities were defenestrated, and so a great sigh of relief went into him.
‘Take care.’ She said immediately before Kedran was finished delivering his farewell.
The dragoness then watched the bull turn his body, repeatedly folding his wings inward in sudden contractions of suspected nervousness and exhilaration. There were sounds she had not heard for the past year, that is the rattling noise of metal caused by the steps of a fellow dragon brushing against coins and trinkets.
A gust of wind blew from behind her wings before traversing straight for the male. It flicked even his white hair which then swung around his horns. The winds had picked up something. Irda gulped—he smelt it.
The two dragons flushed with red, and the dragonesses sneered at him in a satanical aggression and restrained hostility. ‘Take care!’ She said.
Kedran meanwhile, quickly adjusted his trousers, pulling it higher. A frantic nod from him confirmed Irda’s concern that the dragon has got the message.
‘I—I’ll take my leave. And yes, I look forward to seeing you again. How about—um—next week?’
Irda then threw an otherwise imaginary dice in front of her. Anything goes, she said. ‘Please, just comeback any time you like. Just call out my name if you do pay a visit. Oh, and I shall think about the Company of the Environ.’
Ceallaigh heaved a sigh of relief. So much was the pressure, and yet it was adverted. He took his hand, and immediately crashed it into the water, rocking the fishing boat which rocked aimlessly in the Endless River of the Otherworld. Then Philip, the sleeping musician who could play no wrong tune, convulsed, then shivered as the autumn temperatures bit his pale skin. With shiny blood-red lips glistened by lunar light, the violinist squinted beyond the horizon which was his tattered, yet enduring leather jerkin. He spat, ‘what have we here? Did Jonah’s fish hit us?’
Ceallaigh wiped his watery hands against his trousers. He pretended to feel perfectly normally, ‘Indeed, a fish that towered the tallest cathedral has emerged.’
The sarcasm was sufficient, and Philip gave the adventurer a dismissive huff, ‘I’d rather have such a creature swallow me than to be woken by your funny tricks.’
‘I try my best to entertain you, Sir Philip.’
‘Don’t call me “sir”. It’s incredibly derogatory to my very nature.’
(4915 words)
Appearances:
- Humans: Ceallaigh, Philip (Otherworld)
- Humanoids: Irda, Kedran
Category Story / Fantasy
Species Western Dragon
Size 84 x 98px
File Size 2.5 kB
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