The Dragons Queen Saga

Part 8: The Death of a Dragon

The Haiute wasted no time once negotiations had been finalized. They motioned for Dresden to give them the bottle containing the hissing, now whispering demon. The moon had risen quite high in the sky, meaning that the deadline for this exchange was nearing its pinnacle. Dresden could almost feel the rage and hunger contained within the vessel.

The Haiute turned to leave. Lazarus did not follow.

"The agreement we made is for right here and now, I will not go anywhere with you until you have ensured that he lives and I die in this moment." He looked skyward. "We haven't much time left." Lazarus had not meant to sound commanding, but the Haiute had little patience for being told what to do.

They stood woodenly before the Dragon-men. Impossible to read their emotions from the looks on their faces. They returned to the spot where Lazarus waited.

"Hold out your hand Lazarus. Dresden, take a few steps backwards if you wish to be spared. It's primal drive is to desire only your scent." The Haiute woman approached Lazarus with the bottle. The cork had been sealed with some kind of tree resin or wax to affix it in place. She broke the seal, sending a visible ripple into the sea around them. The Haiute began chanting something melodic and slow; time seemed to fade into the background of the moment, everything around the group grew still and silent. The sounds coming from the water-born couple left an eerie chill to the air, tightening in Dresden's throat like the moisture had been sucked from his mouth and he was unable to swallow properly. Lazarus appeared to be experiencing a similar plight. His hand wavered in front of his outstretched arm. The Haiute woman twisted the cork, changing the tone and inflections of her tune. She grabbed Lazarus by the wrist and shoved the opening of the bottle into his palm as soon as she removed the cork. A shadow crept from the edges of his flesh, the bottle fell away revealing only a black stain in Lazarus's palm where the opening had pressed into it, writhing and wriggling under his flesh. A cursed burn mark on a dead man.

Lazarus convulsed and his eyes rolled back into his head. The transition happened instantly and Dresden could see the pain taking place just under the surface of his skin, he could see the tension behind Lazarus's face, now taut with a pressure from within as veins bulged unnaturally. The Haiute man stopped chanting and stepped forward whispering a silky language that made dolphin song seem like Barbaric Slavic. The smoothness of the tones, the lingering crystalline sing-song rhythm carried through the ocean as he placed glyphs on Lazarus's head with his fingers. They lit up in golden radiance as the Haiute hand drew each one in a line down the center of his face, moving down his body from Lazarus's head to his waist. The ancient looking symbols had an Eastern flare with ancient Elvish and something else he wished he understood. This seemed to calm the tension in Lazarus's now expressionless face. His hands hung placidly at his sides. He stood awkwardly, as if having to prop himself up from too much drink, but otherwise remained standing somehow. Dresden could tell that the body no longer belonged to Lazarus and that the soul inside had separated from it. The demon however appeared to be in a state of paralysis, swirling around in the pupils of his eyes. Dresden suddenly felt overwhelming pity for this man, his old friend. What had he just allowed him to do? That would have been him, only not like this, under the care of the Haiute, but ravaged gruesomely in some dark place, unknown and alone. He shuddered, shaken for a moment. The Haiute bristled at his obvious emotional reaction. Dresden stiffened too, angry now with himself that his feelings betrayed him so openly. He recovered himself and stuck out his chin in defiance of the empathy he was experiencing. This had been a choice, a well thought out choice by a very wise creature who had been his friend. Lazarus may have been the only friend he had ever really had in his entire existence. He pondered this quietly to himself without flinching or wincing as the Haiute led Lazarus's body, now housing a powerful demonic entity, back to the depths of the ocean.

"You had better depart, Dragon-man. The ocean will not wait forever for you to reach the shoreline." The Haiute woman turned only long enough to issue this last warning as they receded back into the ocean, a torrent of sea creatures following their slow, deliberate descent.

Once back at the shoreline with the moon high above him, Dresden knelt with his sword in hand. For a rare moment he allowed himself to pray. Lazarus didn't deserve this; he did not deserve to go on living after allowing such a gruesome atrocity to take place. Dresden gave himself this opportunity. Alone, and unseen by anyone, he prayed. It didn't matter to what he was praying, he sent out his inner workings into the unknown, to be carried to wherever they needed to go: the recognition of his gratitude for a sacrifice he felt he did not deserve. He must live, now. He must live in a way that showed his deepest respect for what had just taken place. This sea shore would forever hold the memories of the most powerful exchange a Dragon had ever experienced. He had conducted many ceremonies, been Sariahfina's right hand cleric at many rituals, been Lazarus's student, been an outcast and now an exile, and somehow he must honor this moment for the rest of his life. Having gotten used to being nothing to anyone, and living as a loner with no purpose, all that was about to change. Lazarus had changed his fate. It was his turn to rise to meet that with the most powerful choice he could make. To truly live.