“We both know you didn’t kill him.” The soothsayer smiles at the knight across from her, tracing her finger along a gold chain that wraps her face, piercing her nose and running to her ears. The metal catches the curling light of an oil lamp, reflecting droplets of wealth over the carpet and walls of her sacred yurt.

“I beg your pardon?” Sir Andal seizes the worn rug, leaning forward, the material bunching around his gloved hand. “I cut his head off that trunk of a neck! I still have the marks where his lifeblood got through my armor! Don’t say I didn’t kill him!”

“You seem troubled–”

“Of course I’m troubled!” He clutches his knees, muscles straining without cause. “It’s been months, yet he torments me still!” His posture deflates, and his gaze shifts to his skin, where wrinkles and graying hair interlace between a tapestry of scars. “I see him everywhere. Whenever I want to sleep, I see those burning orange eyes set in a void that brings no rest. I never should have killed him.”

The wise woman sways. “Dragons are vengeful spirits,” she murmurs, drawing her sleeves back, revealing arcane symbols inked on her skin. “You did a good thing, Sir Andal. Your suffering is not unusual. Every soul in the kingdom owes you a great debt.”

He shrugs. “I acted in accordance with my oath, nothing more. Why am I haunted by it? Why does he command me to do such evil?”

“Do you ever listen?”

He shakes his head, one finger tracing the blotchy marks left by the beast’s blood.

“You’re strong.” She nods, a knowing smile between thin lips. “Thus, it had to be you to slay him. Other knights lack conviction.”

“That can’t be it,” he says, his lips quivering. “How much more must I endure?”

“You will learn to live with it.”

“How can anyone live like this? Without rest, being tortured day in and day out.” He points behind him, at the flapping fabric that covers the entrance. “They call me ‘Sir Andal! Slayer of Dragons and Savior of Man,’ but I feel as though I’m made of glass, and he’s trying to knock me over.”

“Remove your gloves so that I may read your palm,” she says, reaching towards him.

“Don’t touch me,” he whispers, shifting back. “He’ll possess you. My wife, my beloved children—he talks through them all. This morning, my grandson turned to me and begged, with the monster’s tongue, that I disembowel him. I’ve already slaughtered the hounds and the goats. I even slew my faithful horse. He didn’t need my touch to talk through them. But people, I can’t kill people.”

“Do you want to?”

“What kind of question is that? I wouldn’t murder a person in cold blood. I’m not a monster! I’m not him.”

“You aren’t him. You’re too strong to be.”

He looks down.

“You need not worry about me. I’m protected.” Her thumb traces a twelve-headed deity tattooed on her forehead. “He has no power here.” Her hands reach across the gap. “Trust me.”

He bites his cheek. “I butchered the neighbor’s pigs. They think it was a fox, but it was me. At night, they’d break out of their pen and gnaw on the fingers and legs of my wife and children, who stood there and chanted, ‘Us or them.’ So, this morning, I grabbed my sword and gutted each swine, then tossed the creatures in the gully.”

The wise woman puts her palm against her chest. “You did the right thing.”

He wipes his eyes as his voice breaks. “But when will it be them? I’ll do it one day. I know I’m not strong enough. He’ll take them from me, I know it.”

“Remove your gloves, Andal,” she says, her voice flowing rich and smooth. He watches her hands, reluctant to comply, but powerless to refuse.

“What do you want to know?” she asks, taking his bare hands in her own, her fingers tracing the lines etched into the skin.

“When will I sleep? That’s all. When will I close my eyes and not see his wretched face?”

“I’LL ALWAYS BE A PART OF YOU.” Smoke rises from the oracle as her body collapses. Sweat springs from her skin, melting the sacred icon.

Andal leaps forward, clutching her hair as he presses a dagger against the wise woman’s seizing neck. She gazes at the confluence of the tent as the dragon’s voice rolls from her mouth, his tone thick as pitch. “CUT THE WITCH’S THROAT, THEN SLEEP WILL COME.”

He shudders, the syllables burning his ears. His knife falls on the carpet as he jumps back, pushing his way out of the tent.

“Watch out!” A boy screams as Andal collides with an ox pulling a load of stones.

“What’s wrong with you?” the boy, shouting, hits Andal with the ox’s switch. “Get out of the way!” With his arm acting as a shield, Andal instinctually catches the child’s hand as he prepares to strike again. Orange ignites the boy’s pupils. “YOU’LL HAVE TO KILL SOMEONE EVENTUALLY. WHY NOT ME?” His lips blister with each successive word.

Andal dashes down an alleyway and enters a side street. Collapsing against the outside wall of the cobbler’s house, his head rolls along the plaster as he imagines deep, recuperative rest. His hands shake without cause, as his bloodshot eyes, set deep in hollows that sag between cheekbones, dart from left to right.

The deserted street offers no comfort. The triple-floor homes, held together with plaster and iron-oak beams, stand like giants, their dark windows staring down at him in silent judgment. A low groan gurgles out from his throat as he bangs his fists against the wall, but they refuse to settle. The cobbler swings open his door.

“Who’s the cur that’s banging on my wall?” He is a short man, smooth all over, and red from exertion. Andal lifts a shaky hand in apology.

“Don’t you—” The cobbler stops, his cheeks turning a pale pink. “Oh-oh! Sir Andal! What a blessing!” His head drops below his shoulders, arms reaching out in shame. “I didn’t mean to—”

“COWARD.”

A thud echoes against the grungy walls. The boy stands at the far end of the alley, repeatedly smacking his face against the plaster, blood pouring from his nose. “WHY DID YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?” he cried.

The cobbler raises his brow. “Is—is that your boy?”

Andal backs up, rubbing his face. “I just wanted to sleep,” he whispers.

“Are you okay, sir?” The cobbler withdraws into his doorway. “Do you know him?”

“I’m so tired.” Andal moves across the rough stones into the street. “He won’t leave me alone.”

“JUST DO AS I SAY. THEN YOU CAN SLEEP.”

Andal wheels about, taking in the rest of the road. His wife teeters in front of him. Raw, bloody stumps are all that remain of her fingers, and her ankles have been chewed to the bone. The cobbler’s door slams shut as he retreats, reciting a protection rite under his breath.

“What do you want?” Andal cries out. “Want me to say I wish I’d never killed you?” He sways; his feet slip between the uneven cobblestones. “Because I do! I wish I’d let you burn the entire world!” His hands cover his eyes, pressing on them until dots flood his vision. “I just want to sleep.”

“GIVE ME A SOUL TO EAT. THEN YOU CAN.”

“No.” It takes an immense amount of strength to shake his head. He stares past his wife’s eyes into the beast’s. “N-no, no one’s going to die.”

“SOMEONE HAS TO DIE!” the boy screams from the alley, bones crunching as he hits his face against the now crimson wall.

“Then kill them yourself!” he sinks to his knees, grasping frantically at the stones. “You’ve already taken them from me. Just kill them! Be done with it.”

“WHY CAN’T YOU?” Its serpentine tongue twists between his wife’s charred lips.

“I’m done killing. I’ve had enough of it. I’ve seen too much–done too much of it throughout my life.”

“THIS IS YOUR OWN DOING!” Sparks fly from their mouths as the dragon screeches through its conduits. “WHY DIDN’T YOU FINISH THE JOB? KILL ME FOR GOOD?”

“I killed you!” Andal holds tight to the rough ground. “I blotted out your eyes with my arrows! I tore your wings to ribbons with my spears. I cut your head off with my sword.”

“YOU LEFT MY HEART!” the dragon roars, lava dripping out from the corners of the speakers’ mouths. “YOU OF ALL PEOPLE KNOW THAT YOU HAVE TO DESTROY A DRAGON’S HEART. BUT YOU LEFT IT, AND CURSED US BOTH.”

“You were supposed to kill me.” He shuts his eyes, gasping breaths convulsing his body. “You, Uldrog, the Fire God of the West, who has devoured kings, whole armies, entire nations! You were supposed to kill me!”

“AND YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KILL ME. AND NOW WE BOTH SUFFER BECAUSE OF IT.”

He nods his head repeatedly, the Dragon’s unblinking gaze scorching the inside of his eyelids. “How can I fix it?”

“FINISH WHAT YOU STARTED.”

Andal’s trembling hands release themselves from the cobblestone. “Take me back. I-I want to make it right.”

A salty breeze washes over him, filling his lungs and lifting him to his feet. A desolate coastline stretches out before him. The decapitated skull of a dragon rests in the sand, and past it, its great blackened bones rise like the trestles of a cathedral. Long streaks of glass radiate from where the beast lies, carving deep lashes across the shore. A corpse hangs from a rib. A wooden board nailed to its chest reads Dragon Worshipper in dried blood. The corpse sways, turning Andal’s stomach as flies buzz in thick mats over the bloated skin.

“ANDAL.” It says, lava dripping where blood should be, igniting the sign. “EAT THE HEART.”

He steps over disconnected vertebrae, approaching the beast’s chest. Half buried in the sand, a great ember pulses in time with the waves. He falls on his knees before the heart, its heat drawing out beads of sweat.

“If I do, I can sleep?” he mumbles, his eyelids drooping heavy, blurring everything except for the heart.

“IF YOU DO, WE BOTH CAN FINALLY SLEEP.”

Without hesitation, he lifts the ember from the sand and bites, cracking the outer charred layer and sinking deep into the warm, soft, inner flesh. With each bite, darkness descends closer until, as the ocean’s sounds mute and mingle into a dull hum, deep sleep encompasses him.

~~~

The tide pulls sand from under his heavy body. With a groan, he rolls onto his back, his great weight crushing the old dragon’s bones to dust. Opening his eyes, he gazes at the magnificent metallic scales that run the length of his body. Andal leaps to his feet, four sets of vulture claws ripping gorges in the wet sand. His vast tail thrashes in the surf, salt foam dripping from long, cascading spines.

His heart burns in his chest, his veins pumping fire into every nerve. Sweat boils under the scales, escaping as steam, spewing out from the creases between the plates. He tries to scream, but only fire sprawls from his elongated mouth.

“YOU’LL NEVER REST AGAIN.” Uldrog’s voice booms in his head, splitting his brain and erupting out of his mouth. A tremendous burst of fire arcs across the sky as Andal whips his long neck back and forth, smashing it against the beach.

Shouts echo from the dunes as a group of petrified fishermen tremble, nets and rods clattering to the ground. Andal’s head snaps to them as they scatter over the ridge.

“NOW, ANDAL THE DRAGON EATER,” Uldrog whispers, his heat filling Andal’s body, “DEVOUR EVERYTHING.”

Editor: Shannon Hensley