SALVATION FOR THE FALLEN Chapter 4

The days were starting to run into each other. They consisted of walking through unknown forests and towns, stopping in places off the beaten path and sleeping under the stars at night. Bartholomew always looked forward to the end of the day so that he could be with Shadow. They would often just sit together by the fire until Bartholomew would fall asleep against Shadow's large body…dragon and rider bonding even in sleep.

Bartholomew had also been noticing something else that was changing or maybe it was just him making the connection that had always been there but he had never given it much thought. The last couple of nights he paid particularly close attention to when his hand would start to throb and when Shadow would appear. He came to the realization that there was a greater physical bond that was developing between them since they left Dragon Mountain. The marking on his hand was becoming more visible as was a matching marking between Shadow's eyes. He remembered the summer festivals that his village would have and a lady would be there to read your palm and tell your fortune. He recalled the one time she read his. She said that it was strange-looking and not normal compared to others, something about his life, heart, and health lines all being connected. At the time, he thought that she didn't know what she was talking about. However, now he wasn’t so sure. The lines did look as if they were connected at the ends forming a triangle shape. When Shadow arrived each night Bartholomew's hand was drawn, as if by some invisible thread, to the spot between Shadow's eyes. The throbbing would stop the minute the triangles touched. There was a strange, soft-glowing energy that flowed between them whenever they stood together like that; touching their triangles, cementing their oneness, creating harmony.

There was nothing about the glowing mark and its significance in any of the readings he had come across. There were no stories told of the type of relationship between riders and their dragons. He thought that it was still very strange that he could find so very little to help him understand why Shadow and he were the way they were. Since he did not have the answers to his random thoughts of why and what and how, Bartholomew tried to put it behind him and rest with his companion. As they settled down for another night under the stars, he wondered how much further they had to travel. How far had they already covered? Bartholomew yawned, his muscles relaxing in Shadow’s warmth. He knew they still were heading north but that was about all he was sure of. As he drifted off to sleep, he wished he knew more – more answers.

Knowledge

Bartholomew was completely surrounded by trees; their sturdy trunks thick with age, their branches connecting each to the other.  The forest floor was verdant green from ferns, grasses and moss with splashes of color as the flowers reached their heads to gaze at the world around them.  Filtered sunbeams from above made pools of light and moved gently as soft breezes blew.  Everything was vibrant and intense.  He could smell the flowers but could not recognize them by name.  That’s when he saw her.  She approached him with measured steps.  She wore garments of green and almost blended into her surroundings.  Her long blonde hair glistened when she passed through each sunbeam giving her a special glow, an aura of brilliance.  He felt his eyes squinting as she passed through each beam.  She wore a unique headpiece nestled in her hair.  It looked like the sparkling stones were in the shapes of flowers; flowers that winked at him as she came closer.  He couldn’t look away; he was mesmerized by the sight of her.  She stopped in front of him.  She stretched her hand out and combed her fingers through his hair, connecting with him.  He felt her touch send a current through his body, warming him.  Her hazel eyes gave him nothing to fear as he looked into their depths.  Her rose-colored lips turned up as she smiled.  Then, she began to sing.  Oh, what a sweet melody.  He wanted to close his eyes.  But she held his gaze.  Her voice was soft, clear and pure.  He did not understand the words she sang but he felt a peacefulness pervade his whole being – calming his fears, giving him confirmation that he was doing the right thing, that this was his time in history.

He woke up with the last few notes of her song resounding in his head. He had to take a moment to figure out if what he experienced was a dream or reality. He lay there and could hear Shadow’s steady breathing as it was not yet dawn. It was then he knew that it was truly a dream and the Elf Queen, for that was who he thought she was, disappeared into the night.

He found that sleep now eluded him.  The words of the Queen’s song kept repeating themselves in his mind even though he didn’t know what they meant.  Why did he dream of her?  Did he have this dream to help answer his questions?  Was the dream a way of calming him down or was it just wishful thinking on his part?  Was she preparing him for something to happen or for nothing – success or failure?  His journey thus far had shown him that there were many things that he could not explain.  Did this dream, her words, fall into that category?  Questions came fast and furious in his mind.  The answers were not so quickly resolved.  Maybe he needed company other than his own.  Was this what it was like just before a person went crazy like Old Yerik back home?  Yerik did not come into the village often; in fact, no one knew exactly where he lived.  However, when he did he was always talking to himself, sometimes saying things that made no sense and sometimes arguing with himself and losing!  He would look off into the distance with a glazed look in his eyes and sing songs in a language no one knew.  His clothes were torn and unclean and hung from his body.  Mothers kept their children on the other side of the street fearing that whatever he had, it was contagious.  His unkempt white hair and scraggy eyebrows added to his crazed look.  But Yerik always took the time to look Bartholomew straight in the eye and raise one brow when he passed by him.  And for that moment, and that moment only, Bartholomew thought that Old Yerik might not be as crazy as he seemed.  Bartholomew could see the look of deep intelligence in his glance.  And every time that this had happened over the years, it sent shivers up Bartholomew’s spine and a tingling through his arms and legs.

Bartholomew decided that he would go ahead and start his journey earlier since he couldn’t sleep and he couldn’t wait for Shadow to wake. He gathered his meager belongings, taking stock of his bread supply. He had one small piece left and that would be gone before mid-day. He knew that he would need to find an inn to replenish his food. He hadn’t spent any money, his leather coin pouch still jingling with unspent wages. Before donning his glove, he went to Shadow and touched him, telling him goodbye. Shadow opened his dark eyes and blinked twice. Bartholomew turned and started making his way through the brush as he put on his glove.

As he traveled, he took stock of his surroundings. It looked like he was coming out of the forest area. The trees also looked different. He paused. Something was not quite right. Why didn’t they look right? He looked to either side of where he was standing. And then, it hit him. While the trees were tall, they had no leaves. There was no canopy of branches and leaves. They looked like forlorn skeletons standing in rows and groups. The green he saw was not leaves at all but moss clinging to the trunks and dead branches giving the illusion of leaves. The darkened sentinels were broken and lying on their sides, like old, broken soldiers. He had never seen a place with such a sad, forsaken look about it. He felt a pain close to his heart and sensed that some great tragedy had occurred here a very long time ago. He was shocked to see no new undergrowth trying to rebuild. No healing. No birds calling to their mates. No rabbits hopping around the ferns. It was as if this place, this land, was cursed by something evil.

It was then that he smelled it – a sickly, sweet smell. He sniffed the air, turning around trying to discover the source. Why did it smell so familiar? Where had he encountered it before? He was puzzled. He inhaled again. If only he could remember. It was quite distinctive and not a common tobacco smell at all. He stood there for a few more seconds. It came to him in a flash of remembrance! Old Yerik!! The tobacco from his pipe!!! Someone close by was smoking. Yes! That was it! He squinted his eyes and looked around him, trying to find the source of the smell. And then he saw him – the old man. He was sitting on a fallen log, his legs swinging freely as he smoked his pipe. Bartholomew slowly made his way over to where the stranger sat. The stranger didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge Bartholomew’s presence but just keep sitting and smoking and swinging.

Bartholomew ventured, “Ah, good day, sir.”

The stranger continued to sit. Holding the bowl of his pipe, he now looked intently at Bartholomew, his eyes moving slowly from the top of Bartholomew’s head to his toes and back up again. Bartholomew felt uneasy under the old man’s scrutiny. He had never had someone give him such a stare. The stranger took another puff.

While the old man looked him up and down, Bartholomew was fascinated by the pipe. He was well versed in the forest and recognized the wood as bog-wood. Bog-wood came from trees that grew near or in bogs and were usually preserved oak, pine or yew. The wood was naturally stained brown and when it dried out, it could crack or split. The knife-maker back home often used it for the handles of his daggers. But this was the first he saw it as a pipe. The bowl was large and fit in the palm of the old man’s hand and it had a long, long, curved neck and a small nub at the end. There were strange designs carved into the bowl but, without holding it, he couldn’t make them out.

Holding the bowl of the pipe in his hand, the old man pointed the tip at Bartholomew and asked, “So, boy, you hungry?”

It took Bartholomew a moment to realize that the old man had spoken to him. “Yes I am. I am also running out of food supplies and will need to buy some more before I can continue my journey.” Bartholomew raised his eyes and met the old man’s stare, square on.

“Then come with me.” He hopped off the log and started walking, not once looking back to see if Bartholomew was following him.

Bartholomew wanted to ask the old man his name. It would be so much easier for conversation. As he was about to open his mouth to ask, the man said, “You can call me Kirey, for now.”

Kirey’s quick response to Bartholomew’s unspoken question surprised him. It was like the old man knew what he was going to say before he had the chance to say it. He shook it off and asked, “Where are we going?”

“This village is Morridin and we’re going to the Inn of the Sleeping Dragon for your supplies. Ever hear of Morridin, boy?”

“No, I’m from the south. Is Morridin famous, Kirey?”

Kirey took two puffs, raised his bushy white eyebrows before he replied, “You didn’t read about it? Hmmm. It was the last battle in the War of the Dragons. Those trees back there have been that way since the last battle. And you’re right, it has been cursed since that day.”

The older man walked briskly so they reached the village square in fairly good time. He watched for Bartholomew’s reaction when he first saw the square. It wasn’t the square in general but the tree that stood in the middle of it that caught the young man’s attention. Bartholomew stopped dead in his tracks. His jaw dropped and his eyes grew big. He found his right hand was rubbing his left. The throbbing was so intense that it radiated up his arm. For there, standing in the center, was a tree. It was not a tree like any he had ever seen. It was massive, with a gnarled and twisted trunk. Its roots reached out along one side of the trunk, its branches bent and intertwined. But the most amazing thing about this dead tree, what caught and grabbed Bartholomew’s attention and held him breathless despite the pain, was its shape. This tree with all of its parts looked like a dragon as it was dying! The ground on which it stood was scarred by deep gouges of unhealed earth, no doubt the result of a long ago battle.

“That, Bartholomew, is the Tree of Sorrow. It will forever stay like that to remind all mankind of the destruction that was caused during the War of the Dragons. That was the place where the last known dragon died. Ah, but enough of this, the Inn is just over here. Come.” Bartholomew slowly followed Kirey to the Inn of the Sleeping Dragon. There they ate in relative silence and Bartholomew purchased the items he needed to continue his journey.

As they left the Inn, they went back through the village center. Bartholomew walked over to the tree, Kirey watching intently. Bartholomew squatted down and reached his left hand out to touch the tree’s root. The pain was so acute that he bit his lip, closed his eyes tightly, and tried to not shake from the sheer intensity of it. If Kirey asked what was happening, Bartholomew would have to tell him that he could feeling the dragon taking its last breath as it lay dying. Being a dragon rider must have made him sensitive to the tragedy of this place, this tree, and the war that claimed the lives both of men and dragons.

Kirey came up to him and put his hand on Bartholomew’s shoulder. In a soft voice filled with emotion he said, “Take Shadow and continue north over the Tonathium Mountains until you come to the home of The Castle Angels. Look for the tavern called Diova Gruss and ask to speak to Carl, one of the proprietors of the tavern. He will be able to take you on the next part of your journey.” With that, the old man named Kirey walked away from Bartholomew.

Bartholomew stood next to the Tree of Sorrow and watched him leave. Only when he was no longer in sight did Bartholomew realize that not once had he mentioned Shadow to Kirey. So, how did he know?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RugSclNY4y8

created originally 1 June 2011

SALVATION FOR THE FALLEN Chapter 2

Bartholomew watched the changing of the guard: the sun finally setting and the moon rising to take her place.  The twilight sky was painted in vibrant shades of yellows, reds, and oranges.  The few clouds that could be seen floating in the sky reflecting and giving more depth to the colors than Bartholomew had ever seen.  It looked as if the whole sky was on fire, the flames leaping and crackling to consume the clouds as they reached further and further towards the heavens - the pockets of bright yellows giving the feeling of intense heat.  With the sun setting, the trees looked black against the flames, like they would be caught up next in the inferno.  Nature was giving them a show for them to remember and what memories they would have!  Shadow and he stood side by side – his hand still on her neck marveling at the display.  The sadness engulfed the pair and mirrored the sky’s fiery flames immersion.  The dragon sensed that Bartholomew was unsure of the path that lay before them.   The human’s eyes glistened with unshed tears thinking back on his life here in the valley in the shadow of Dragon Mountain under the blazing sky. 

He thought of Shadow.  The secret he had kept from everyone since he was five and a half.    That started a time where everything in his life changed.  His father had given him his first bow and taught him how to use it for his fifth birthday.  He and his friends would go out and practice together.  First they practiced with small game; rabbits, squirrels, pheasants and quail.  Oh how his mother could cook a good squirrel stew.  His mouth watered in remembrance of that first one when he brought home the meat.  After he became proficient with smaller animals, he tried his hand at bigger targets; wild boar.  He shot his first deer in the fall of that year.  Ronin was surprised with how Bartholomew had taken to the bow.  It was a clean kill, in the head so that the hide was unmarked, the arrow flying straight and true.  Grown men had a hard time producing the same results, let alone a boy not much taller than a man’s waist.

The deer was not the only event that happened to Bartholomew on that fateful day.  He found his dragon, too.  In fact, he found it while tracking that same deer.  He saw this large egg-shaped object, almost a quarter his size, lying amongst the rocks at that base of the mountain.  This is where they use to play king of the mountain and he never noticed it before.  This egg would have caught his attention so it made him wonder how it got there nestled in the rocks.  In looking at it, he suspected that it was important whatever would hatch from it.  Bartholomew would come back when he was alone and carry it up the mountain.  He wanted to take it to a cave he once found while exploring on the mountainside.  He smiled briefly thinking how many times his mother told him not to go up the mountain by himself and definitely not to go into any of the caves.  She said that you never knew WHAT you would find there!  If she only knew just how often he had disobeyed her over the last twenty years! 

He had placed the egg in a sheltered area in the back of the cave, made a nest of grasses and moss from the side of the mountain, and waited.  He even had taken his cloak off to use it to cover the egg, not sure if it needed to stay warm like chickens when hatching their eggs.  It was all young Bartholomew could offer at the time.  When it hatched several weeks later and Bartholomew saw the creature that emerged from the shell, he was fascinated.  He was excited.  He was afraid.  Yet, deep inside, he knew he could tell no one.  He had his very own female baby dragon, found in the shadow of Dragon Mountain and he had to keep it quiet.  He knew then and there its name should be Shadow.  And, as a new parent, he took care of Shadow.  He made all kinds of excuses to spend time in the cave with Shadow.  At first days grew into months and then the months into years.  He didn’t want to leave Shadow by herself.  He was enjoying getting to know his dragon.  Shadow was his best friend; if dragons could be thought to have human characteristics.  Shadow and Bartholomew were inseparable.  Unknown to either of them at the time, it was just as the dragons and their riders were meant to be - inseparable.

From all the stories he had heard and read over the years, dragons were thought to be extinct.  Dragon Mountain was once home to a number of dragon families, each cave with its own plateau for take-offs and landings.  It was a time when the dragons and villagers lived together, hunted together, fought together – in harmony with each other.  Young children grew up hoping to become a dragon rider with the ultimate honor of being in the Dragon Elite Guard.  The skies use to be filled with dragons and their riders in various stages of education.  It was an age of wonderment and knowledge, fulfilling destinies and dreams.  The best riders and dragons were prized assets for aiding those people in other lands who were oppressed and under the rule of evil tyrants. 

Alas, the dragons from Dragon Mountain and their riders are all but stories now.   Stories written and stashed with the cobwebs of long forgotten times in towers left in ruin.  Stories of valor and honor kept in the dark recesses of old men and women who remember the stories from their ancestors’ memories of the glorious Dragon Age.  In all the dusty manuscripts that Bartholomew was able to find, it seems that the dragons were all killed during the War of the Dragons; the war between the Dragon Slayers and the Dragon Riders.  Since that time, all stories of dragons and riders and slayers ceased, no new tale could be found.  He could find no proof of their existence.  Except for a few obscure pages tucked in a small journal buried deep in the furthest room in the highest tower which was thought to be the dwelling of a very old and wise wizard long believed dead.  Bartholomew thought the manuscript, those few pieces of parchment writings, held the proof he needed: it held the key to understanding.  That was the one link he sought.  That was the purpose of the quest that Shadow and he would soon begin.  He needed to find out if they were the only dragon team left in the world.  He needed to find a place for them to fit.  He could not stay here at Dragon Mountain living a contented life knowing that he did not try all within his power to find out the purpose of why he had been given the gift of this dragon, his Shadow.

He passed his hand across his brow suddenly weary.  If he were to tell people of the true nature of why he was leaving his home and life as he knew it, they would surely try to stop him or think he was afflicted or both.  Doubts continued to plague him – his thoughts whirling around in his mind and he couldn’t make them stop.  Was he really doing the right thing?  He felt in his heart he was.  However, he could be putting Shadow’s life AND his in peril.  Was this quest really that important to put them both in potential jeopardy?  What will he do if he wasn’t successful?  What would he do if he was?

The dragon nuzzled her nose in Bartholomew’s neck.  Shadow rested her head on her friend’s trying to give him comfort and let him know that, even though she might be a dragon, she still understood the turmoil that was surrounding this man.  Shadow knew that what was affecting Bartholomew would also affect her future.  She, too, would be leaving her cave, her mountain, her sea.  Shadow would soon venture out into an unknown world with her friend, her companion, and her rider.  It was no less important for her fulfillment as a dragon than it was for Bartholomew’s as a man.  They were a team and each of them complimenting the other.  Both of them needed the other to live – to survive.  Shadow knew that should anything happen to Bartholomew, then she would be lost and die of a broken heart.  It was very rare that a man lived after losing his dragon.  It was rarer still that a dragon lived after losing its rider.  Shadow sensed this.

As the full moon rose higher in the sky, Shadow nudged Bartholomew in the shoulder.  She wanted one more ride in the night sky, along the cliffs of the Vishnu Sea and around Dragon Mountain.  She wanted the chance to say good bye, too.  Bartholomew looked up into his friend’s large black eyes and knew what they both wanted and, yes, needed to do.  He smiled. 

“Let’s go, Shadow!”

Shadow lowered her blue body so that Bartholomew could climb on its lower neck, right in front of her wings and smaller front legs.  Bartholomew had lost count the number of times they had done this.  They were always in tune with each other that they did not need any harness or saddle.  Bartholomew squeezed his knees and legs against the side of Shadow’s legs.  He stretched his body close to that of his friend’s.  He felt the blue leathery dragon scales under his fingers, the double row of soft spikes along Shadow’s long neck that were soft while he flew but knew could harden and be deadly if Shadow was threatened, the silver under belly covered with ribbed scales that started at the chin and traveled the length of her just stopping short of the tip of the tail.  When she was ready, Shadow stood on her powerful hind legs, took a few steps to the edge of the plateau, stretched out her massive blue wings, and they rose into the night sky.

Bartholomew always loved riding on Shadow’s back, feeling the powerful wings as they flapped, propelling them through the night sky.  The wind rushing to greet him, his hair flying behind him was exhilarating.  Shadow’s tail stretched out behind her; her lean, muscular body waiting for any command that her rider might give.  Bartholomew leaned even closer into Shadow’s neck, his hands gently holding onto the spikes as they soared up and over Dragon Mountain.  Their flight was one they often took: over the mountain and down to the cliffs, soaring along the cliffs until all that was in front of them was the sea, skimming along the water, Shadow’s tail dipping  just enough to cause ripples that followed them as they flew, and then rising up gaining altitude until they could touch the clouds. 

This was a beautiful night for their last flight at Dragon Mountain.  After the earlier fire sky, the moon shone bright, the stars winking at them, the few clouds large and fluffy, and the night quiet except for the sound of the rushing winds cause by Shadow’s great wings.  If anyone where to look up in the sky, they would not be able to distinguish the man from his dragon for they were one, harmoniously flying across the heavens on blue wings with silver moonlight.  This was the way a dragon and rider should be.  Together as one.

The ride came to an end.  They flew back across the sea and cliffs and the mountain back to Shadow’s liar.  There was a melancholy sweetness as Bartholomew dismounted from his friend’s back.  He stood in front of Shadow and put his head along his friend’s snout.  Slowly taking his glove off his left hand, he placed his hand it between Shadow’s eyes.  They both stood there looking into the others eyes, not moving.  This was a ritual for them.  They did not know or understand why, just that they had to do it to feel complete, whole, one.

“Shadow, my friend, tomorrow we will leave on our journey.  You wait here until nightfall and then come to me.  I will be anxiously awaiting your arrival.  Be safe.  We have a long journey ahead of us with unknown adventures.  You will know how to find me.”

They stayed like that for several moments.  The dragon and the man, heads close, the man’s hand between the dragon’s eyes.  As Bartholomew stepped back, his left hand still gave a soft glow in the darkness of the night.  He put the glove back on as he turned and walked away.  He had to prepare for his departure.  He only had a few hours until sunrise and the first day of their new beginning.

created originally 1 June 2011

SALVATION FOR THE FALLEN Chapter 1

Bartholomew Nogard stood on one of the many plateaus on the side of the mountain and gazed at the vista before him.  He had spent all of his 25 years roaming the hills and countryside in the shadow of Dragon Mountain.  There was not a piece of this land that he did not know, had not explored, and had not seen change with the seasons.

He turned slightly to his right and looked down at the creek winding its path throughout the valley where he and his childhood friends would swim and frolic in its waters on warm summer days, laze on its banks and watch the cloud formations in the spring, or catch fresh fish for the evening meals.  As his eyes followed the creek’s path he saw the woods where he shot his first deer.  His family was amazed that he was able to shoot the bow with remarkable accuracy at such a young age – he was only 5.  Ah, and there was the tree marked with his initials and those of his first love surrounded by a heart – I. F. + B. N..  He gently smiled remembering that cold winter day when his heart was warm with first love and he so shy.  Isilindil Falassion never knew!  And there were the rock formations at the base of the mountain were they use to play the kids’ version of king of the mountain.  Oh the many scrapes and cuts he got trying to reach the top first – the thrill when you were the one that reached the summit, waving your hands in the air in victory and taunting in a sing-song voice to anyone who would listen.  “I’m king of the mountain!!  I’m king of the mountain!!” 

This was home to him; all he had ever known and surrounded by those who loved him.  But, he knew the time had finally come.  He was going to have to leave Dragon Mountain for he felt he had a destiny to fulfill.  Now, was the time to embark on his personal journey.  Bartholomew knew that this, this quest and the results of it, was part of why he had been born.  He felt he had some importance in life other than living it out here in the shadow of this mountain.  The need had become so great inside him, almost consuming him now, that he could not put it off any longer.  If he didn’t leave, he felt he would suffocate.  Since the southern face of Dragon Mountain eventually turned into the cliffs that surrounded the Vishnu Sea, he knew he must travel in the opposite direction to find what he was seeking.  His gaze went to the horizon, the unknown.  NORTH.  This was where he was going to have to start his adventure…north of Dragon Mountain, north of Vishnu Sea, north of his homeland.

It saddened him to think of leaving his family behind for this was not a holiday outing they could take together.  This was his and he was going to own it – good choice or bad.  The guilt that he had been feeling for the past decade or more still sat heavy on his heart – the fact that he didn’t feel he could be completely honest with those he loved with all his heart.  Bartholomew caught his parents, Ronin and Sapphira, looking at him strangely.  The little side glances between them started about ten months ago.  Bartholomew sighed.  He began spending more and more time exploring the ancient towers and the dilapidated cottages around them.  He often came home dusty from the old ruins with cobwebs still clinging to his sandy hair and the back of his shirt.  On rare occasions, Bartholomew would bring an old book with brittle pages home with him so he could spend more time sitting at the table and carefully reading it by candle light.  Sapphira sometimes kept him company knitting by the fire.  She tried asking him questions about why the ancient writing would fascinate a young man, but she never received a reply.  Bartholomew was so engrossed that he never heard her feeble attempts to try to understand him or what was driving him to such extremes.  Over the months, she finally gave up asking him but continued to keep him company; rocking in her chair next to the fireplace while she sewed. 

Ronin tried to get him interested in hunting again.  After all, he was an excellent bowman.  He was the best hunter Dragon Mountain had seen in many years.  Bartholomew just shrugged his shoulders when his father asked where the best place would be for hunting wild boar.  Bartholomew’s green eyes would often get a faraway look in them and Ronin knew his son’s mind was thinking about other things.  It was during those times that Ronin and Sapphira would look at each other in resignation and leave Bartholomew to do what he felt needed to be done, praying that their son would grow out of whatever consumed him.  Bartholomew knew they were puzzled and he felt their fear on his behalf.  He knew they didn’t understand what was driving him.  He didn’t comprehend what was pushing him.  So, how in the world could he possibly explain it to his parents so they could?  Bartholomew felt he was at an impasse so he continued with his pursuit of knowledge and understanding and ignored the concerns of his parents.

And, then, there was the secret that he lived with for twenty odd years.  He never spoke of it to anyone - not his parents, or siblings, or friends, and definitely not strangers who came and went from the village.  Not a living soul knew.  He had always felt very protective of it and sensed, even at the tender age of six, that it could spell trouble should anyone know.  Really BIG trouble.  The hours of missing time when his parents thought him to be with his friends and his friends thinking he was doing special chores at home.  If they only knew.  If he had ever let out the real reason, would they have thought any better of him or worse or understand his reluctance to discuss it?  Would he have been forced to make a choice that he knew, in his heart, he could never, ever make – not then and not now?  He had searched on his own for answers over the years - more recently looking through the old dusty books and papers in the forgotten towers trying to find answers.  He was trying to find the explanation as to why he was burdened with this responsibility.  He didn’t find enough answers in the archived texts.  He asked the older villagers and travelers unrelenting questions under the guise of a young boy’s need for more and more adventure stories.  While he was often spell bound at their countless stories, he didn’t find the answers he needed. 

The first pains that he felt when he was about eight and didn’t totally understand why he had to be different and couldn’t be as free as other boys.  There was just something holding him back that kept him from sharing his malady with his parents.  As the years passed, he learned to tolerate the pain.  The warm summer days when he had to wear a glove on his left hand and endure the jeers from those who didn’t understand then, would NEVER understand his secrecy now.  Even then, he knew he was here, on earth, for a purpose.  Even now, his gloved hand throbbed with a dull ache as he unconsciously rubbed it.  And given all that was his life now, he was ready and somewhat eager to begin this exploration to find the “why” from his past so he could work towards his future.

Bartholomew continued standing on the side of Dragon Mountain letting his thoughts wash over him as he contemplated his life – past, present and future.  His parents taught him to be a well-mannered young man – for the most part he was.  It had only been the last few months that he felt himself withdraw from his life at Dragon Mountain.  There were so many thoughts roiling around in his mind that it was hard to concentrate on just one.  He felt he was standing on a precipice of an event bigger than himself and grander than Dragon Mountain.  All of the reading and searching through musty records for answers that he couldn’t find frustrated Bartholomew.  He could stay here in the only village he had ever known and become a pillar of the community like his father.  He could find a woman to share his life and they could become a family.  Perhaps give his parents the grandchildren he knew they desired.  Lately, when he walked the village streets, he noticed several of the girls looking at him as he walked past.  He even caught the wandering eyes of their parents looking over his medium frame and muscular stature, contemplating a match to their beautiful and available daughters.  Was that so bad, to stay here and put down roots?  Bartholomew recognized that should he stay here, that would become his life – wife, home, and children - and he was not ready for that type of life.  Not yet anyway.  Bartholomew had other roads to travel before he settled down.  If they didn’t succeed, then he would come back home and give his parents what they wanted for his life.  This quest just had to be his answer, it just had to be!

He sensed his long-time friend approach and just stand by his side; not making a sound but giving him the knowledge and the comfort that whatever the future held for him, Bartholomew Nogard, that he would have the company of such a truly amazing and extraordinary friend by his side.  He would not be alone on this journey and his friend was equally important in its success.  It was THEIR destiny and THEIR path to take – together.

Bartholomew reached over and put his left hand on his friend’s neck, unconsciously rubbing it, and quietly said, “The time has arrived, my friend.  We will be off at first light.”

He felt his friend bow his head in acknowledgment.  Bartholomew continued, “We have spoken of our destiny a lot lately.  I think we both knew that when it would come, it would mean us leaving our homes and venturing out to find the answers we both seek.  While we could live our final days here at Dragon Mountain, there would always be that empty feeling of could there have been more to my life if I had only left the comforts as I knew them.  Oh, my dearest friend, I cannot do this without you, your support.  You have been there for me throughout my life and I need you now, more than ever.  We have this bond that no one will ever be able to break.  But we need to find answers so that we can understand it better and not be so afraid.  You do see the importance, don’t you?”

He could feel his friend’s breath on Bartholomew’s cheek as he moved closer.  The number of times over the years that they stood like this - faces close, Bartholomew rubbing his neck, looking toward the horizon from the side of Dragon Mountain, having their talks.  They both knew that this was going to be the last one, if not forever than at least for a very, very long time.

Bartholomew and his friend both gave deep sighs, ones that came from the very depths of their souls; the importance and magnitude of this quest lying heavy upon each of them.  Each in their own world but with the other to lean on.  This was, in part, their eternal destiny.

As the sun began her descent in the west and the moon rose in the east, Bartholomew stood facing the north.  He closed his eyes trying to imprint all of this upon his mind, in his memories, and upon his heart.  He was saying farewell to his life as he currently knew it.  He was preparing for the next chapter of his life – their lives.  He had not moved during all this contemplation; his hand still on the neck of his friend, his boyhood confidant since he was six, his eternal companion, his Blue Dragon, Shadow.

created originally 1 June 2011