The Fourth Dragon of Creative Writing- Part Two of Four

The Weeping Dragon

*****

“Keep it low, keep it soft,” Hauck’s seductive voice whispered in her earphone.

Prick, Sveta thought.

Hauck worked through the electronic aethyr while she and the rest of the team operated in a burned out section of Detroit that looked like photos of Warsaw after the bombings. She had never seen his face. In fact, no one had seen him since January 14th, 1995— the night his prisoner had escaped, killing three guards and nine prisoners in the process. Only Hauck had survived. The KGB was not a forgiving organization, and he stayed alive only by going underground until he could escape the Soviet Union.

She touched her throat mike and said, “Car’s still in the garage. Back and north side areas are vacant.”

In the quick flash of her LED flashlight beam she saw something slide past the smudged pane of a basement window. She pulled back and swore.

“What is it?” said Hauck.

“When I shined the flash in one of the back basement windows, I saw something move,” she said softly.

“What the hell do you think you have night vision goggles for?” snapped Hauck.

It was the first time Sveta had ever heard him swear. Hauck had been tracking the Slovak and his gold for the better part of three years; his nerves were beginning to fray.

excerpted from "Intruder Alert," by Ferrel D. Moore

*****

I am hiding things from you.

Bundled beneath my cape, I shiver from guilt and not from the cool night air. It is the secrets I am hiding that chill my bones.

There are five secrets I am hiding from you; you have known one from the beginning. You, my readers, know that I have withheld my name and you wonder why.

It is to protect myself from your disdain. If I give you my name, you will know too much. What will you think of me if you know my name? I have done many bad things in my young life, but I know that we have reached a moment, you and I, when you will no listen to my adventure unless you know the truth about me.

Do you remember the old woman who passed the writing to us that helped us to survive the first dragon- the Dragon of Calcination? Yes, I thought you would. Before I left the village, I stole something from her. It was the only thing of value she had. And the most dangerous thing I have ever taken.

There, you have it. The second secret of my soul.

I am a thief.

My name is simple. I am called Othur. My family is a good family- all save I. The woman from my village that I am traveling with is Lea. It means " heart's love" in the language that our ancestors spoke. The red-haired woman, who has joined us in our journey to meet the Dragon of Conjunction, is called Scarlett. In the language of our ancestors, her name means "temptation." Othur, of course, means "claimer of hearts" to some, and "clever thief" to others. It was safer, I reasoned, to face dragons than to stay and be caught.

The moon has faded into the mist rifted night skies. A soft orange-red glow lights the ledge we lay on. Earlier it warmed us, but is now a past memory of comfort provided and lost.

We have not seen another living person for the last three days, but my dreams each night have been of the wise old woman who helped us begin our journey. She comes to me like an accusing relative. Her face is gray, her eyes watery with the sorrows of a long life, and I know that as surely as I live, she is now dead.

I have stolen something precious from a woman who no longer breathes. Her transparent shade hovers in my dreams like a winged predator. I have wronged the dead and I fear that neither her spirit nor mine will ever sleep well unless I make amends.

Across the orange light of smoldering ashes and burnt branches now white with exhaustion, I see that Lea sleeps beneath her cape. She lays on her side, with her back to me as she should. I love her, but she is good and true and I am not. No thief is fit to be in the presence of a good woman. What is left for a thief if not redemptive love?

I see the rise and fall of Scarlett's breasts beneath her cape. Her red hair is dazzling in the fading firelight. Her lips, her face, her delicate arms draw my eyes and I cannot close them. Before me lies a woman whose every breath excites me. It is not love, I know, but I feel more heat from this woman than I feel from the fire.

If I sleep, the old woman's shade will surely come to accuse me.

With my eyes open, the sight of Scarlett flushes my skin with desire.

I must choose between ghostly accusations and the sight of a desirable woman.

After a glance at Lea to be certain she sleeps, I inch closer toward Scarlett.

*****