The Last Dragons of the South - By G.D. Sanders

8/12/2019 The Last Dragons of the South - By G.D. Sanders

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The Last Dragons of the South

Draft 1

Gregory Sanders

Prologue

The sound of forest birds brought him back to his senses from a seemingly eternal

slumber. They chirped and cawed, from all around, no single cry could be separated, but maybe

that was merely from his daze. A stream babbled nearby, the water caressing the rocks on its

way to who knows where, but the stream wasnt the only sound of water nearby. A light rain

pitter-pattered on the leaves of the trees and the detritus of the forest floor. The rain brought

up its smell as well as the scent of the woods, a wet earthy smell that hung heavily in the air,

not like smothering smoke, but as a drawn out tone at the end of a song.

His eyes struggled to open, they seemed to cling to his lids, dragging him back to the

dark unconsciousness from whence he just escaped, but his curiosity overcame this will and he

was able to see where he lie. Tall coniferous trees stretched to infinity through a dense haze

that often accompanied rain. Their ancient trunks, nearing meters in diameter were green with

moss and lichens, both signs that the rain was an ever-present feature of the landscape.

His arms were numb, and he braced himself to sit upright. His hands pushed against

dead leaves and more mosses to push himself up, sinking under the new found weight. He felt

heavy and the depressions in the ground made him wonder if he truly was, or it was merely his

lack of feeling that gave that impression.

Now sitting, his eyes were free to scan the area. There was indeed a stream in a small

indent in the ground next to him. The water was as clear as glass and rippled as the raindrops

hit its surface. Its banks were covered in ferns, weeds and shrubs, some sheltering dark blue

berries. Various funguses grew in their shadows. Mushrooms of multiple appearances, some

red and white, others merely pale gray and even toadstools with deep blue stalks that seemed

to irradiate the ground around them with a cyan glow.


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He was sitting next to one of the massive trees, its trunk far wider than any he could

ever recall seeing. In fact, everything around him seemed alien. The bird song was a foreign

melody, not as throaty as the trilling of the terns that roosted in the cliffs, or as mocking as the

laughing of the gulls that patrolled the skies around the rocky beaches. The ground foliage was

strange to him as well. No such berries existed near his home or mushrooms that seemed to

illuminate the shadows.

He grabbed the mossy bark on the tree to steady himself as to brace his false leg, but as

he made to plant the cleated metal into the soil he only felt the soft pad of a boot. He looked

down abruptly to find a proper foot where one hadnt been, as though he had never lost it all

those years ago. He stood up straight, planting both feet on the ground carefully, as though

one might evaporate suddenly. Where he stood, a path seemed to have been cut through the

underbrush, be it by man or beast.

Not moments after he stood, the raucous cries of the birds was cut off, as though his

sudden rising had brought him to their attention, and now they stared, unseen, at the

mysterious figure in their woods. He was suddenly overcome by an immense uneasiness, that

grew to fear as the sounds of sudden flight en masse and snapping limbs reverberated off the

pillars of wood and bark.

He took off down the path, with no particular target, as the growing sounds of

uprooting trees were all around him. His feet pounded down the damp soil, sending mud and

leaves flying up behind him. As he ran, the noise grew louder and his fear of the unknown

source enveloped his senses like an executioners mask. The path rounded sharply to the left in

front of him, causing him to skid as he took the corner at full speed. He grunted roughly as his

shoulder hit the ground, but he quickly recovered and started his sprint again. The destructive

chorus was now simply background noise to his frantic gasps for breath and the thump of his

leather boots on the ground. He rounded another bend, managing to stay upright by holding

onto a root jutting out of the forest floor, and saw light ahead. Filled with a new haste he made

for the clearing at top speed.


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He broke free of the trees with several long strides. Stretched out in front of him lie an

enormous gorge nearly half a mile deep. He skidded to a halt just before the lip of the cliff. The

valley was filled with an endless sea of fir trees, some taller than others, poking above the

canopy like the spears of soldiers at attention. The valley continued off into the horizon, rolling

like the surf until it hit an island of rock. A massive mountain, its summit hidden in the low

clouds loomed over the valley, like a great watchman, casting a shadow miles long.

The rain had subsided, still leaving behind a great heaviness in the air. The sunlight

appeared as to claw its way out from the clouds, making a painful effort to bring its rays to bear

on the dark forest below.

The great disruption in the forest had ceased, leaving behind only the quiet howl of the

wind blowing through his brown disheveled hair. It felt cool on his sweaty brow and he

collapsed on the edge of the cliff to catch his breath, dangling his two feet over the edge. His

breathing lightened and his heartbeat slowed, but the calm didnt last for long.

Suddenly, the sun, which had been seemingly winning its bout against the cloud cover

was smothered by a new wave of dark clouds that seemed to fill the sky instantaneously. The

wind picked up, where it was just a minute ago a cool breeze, it was now a tearing gale and it

forced him back to his feet. He shielded his eyes from debris as he scanned the horizon for a

cause for the shift and, as though, harkening a response, a dark shape cast itself on the clouds

above. He was suddenly overcome by the same fear as when he was chased through the

woods, but he could not find the energy to run nor call for help. He bent over, covered his face

and curled up into a ball on the cliff edge.

From within his private sanctuary he heard a deep rumbling roar and the beat of

massive wings over the howling gusts. He trembled with fear, waiting for certain doom, but it

did not grant him a reprieve from the horrors around him. Instead, the air around him grew

hot, as though he was within the belly of a volcano and the very skin and hair on his body was

being lit aflame. He again tried with futility to call out for help to someone, anyone, but upon

opening his mouth, the hot air rushed in and his throat was as dry as a tanned hide.


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After what seemed like hours, the roars and wing beats halted. The wind died to

nothing and the heat seemed to dissipate into thin air. He opened his mouth to let air in, but

the stinging heat was replaced by an acrid smell that had him gagging. He forced himself to his

knees and convulsed with heaving coughs, spitting in an attempt to clear the filthy air. The air

did not grow clear, but he managed to compose himself long enough to cover his nose and

breathe through a rag he had in his pocket. As he stood, his eyes fell upon, not a valley of green

trees, but a desert of burned, blackened spikes where trees once stood. No ferns covered the

floor, no moss on any of the rocks. Although this seemed to have happened so quickly, no fires

raged on, what remained of the forest was as silent as the grave.

He whipped around to see the state of where he had come from. The woods behind

him had not been spared. Every branch, every stump, every mushroom had been obliterated,

vaporized in a ghostly flame that disappeared as quickly as it destroyed. But something he had

not seen before, nor could he have missed, now stood in the midst of the desolate waste. A

small village.

He ran toward the strange houses. He could make out the shapes of people wandering

in a courtyard in the center of the buildings. They wore long flowing cloaks of black with hoods

covering their heads and shoulders and seemed to float above the ground like ghosts. As he

advanced closer and closer, the uneasiness returned. He wanted to turn around, run back to

the cliff side, but his legs were not under his control. His breathing was raspy and strained, he

felt as though he was about to faint. The odor grew ever stronger and tears welled in his eyes,

but he kept running. He was only about 100 meters from the town now. He felt greater fear

than ever before in his life. 50 meters. He wanted to call for his mother, his father, but no

words left his mouth. 15 meters. His vision was blurring from the tears in his eyes.

He collapsed to his knees at the edge of the courtyard. The hooded figures turned to

him, their faces still obscured in shadow. One stepped toward him. Closer he glided across the

burnt soil until he was merely a foot from him. He slowly moved gloved hands up to his head

and began to lower his hood. Under the hood was not a face of skin and hair, but a charred

mask-of-a-face, contorted in a permanent scream. The heat from before rushed back over him


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like a massive wave, driving him to the ground and forcing out a screaming cry. He truly felt his

skin and clothes burning to cinders and his face charring as the man under the hood.

Hiccup sat up straight in bed, sweating from head to toe and he could hardly breathe.

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The Last Dragons of the South - By G.D. Sanders