The Dragons Queen Saga

Part 9: Memory Revenant

That night Dresden walked the countryside outside the castle gates. He climbed the sloping landscape until he made his way to the top of the cliff overlooking the ocean. From this vantage point, the lights from the bustling courtyard and the castle were in full view. He sat right on the edge, dangling his feet carelessly. No strong coastal breezes threatened his safety this late at night, but by morning it would be foolish to be caught this way. He knew this, so he sat, unafraid, gazing out at the ocean as it reflected moonlight on the waves. The sounds of the water and the late evening filled his soul. He loved this land. Not only because it was his first introduction to humanity and the exiled life he currently lived, but because of the water and the memories of BasNassal and his life on the island as a Dragon. It brought all this to the forefront of his mind, and the feelings returned as well. He did not try to push them away this time. Instead he sat with himself, honestly. Brutal honesty and the pain that it conjured within him. He would have gladly retreated from it, but he knew better.

He would not allow Lazarus's sacrifice to be for nothing. He would honor his friend, a powerful Dragon. This gift came with burdens and obligations though. Dresden had no way of knowing how best to live, now that life was staring him in the face. He had spent so long playing at life, trifling it away bit by bit, taking for granted some of the most basic connections he had made with mortal beings. How would he change this habit? He had become far too entangled in the royal court in the Northern Lands. That mistake had cost him dearly, proving that Sariahfina was still watching him at the time. He was no longer welcome in the North as a result of her meddling. Would that finally end now? Was he free to wander unnoticed by the Dragon Council? Did they think him finally dead? These and other questions played upon his mind like a child with clay. It would shape and dissolve, creating images and then shifting into others as quickly as they came. It was a long night, sitting alone on the cliff edge with only his thoughts.

The moon made its way so slowly over the sky that it had hardly moved at all when he thought to look up at it. It made him feel that forever would be a shorter sentence than where his thoughts had led him. Forever. What an odd thing to conceptualize. For human beings it was such a fleeting and fickle idea. For a tree, who may not be able to analyze such fancies, time would blur into seasons and the changing of the weather and the creatures that lived with it. For Dragons, the concept of forever was much different. Nearly immortal beings view life from a lofty stance. Taking things for granted is a possible symptom, and boredom with the humdrum lives of lesser beings, and the feebleness of a changing world. The stoic nature of the Dragon is enough to boggle men's minds, and get scholars living their entire life trying to decode it for themselves - having never really lived, except to catalog the life of another. Dragons didn't waste their time on the affairs of what they considered lesser beings, which is why it was particularly cruel of them to force Dresden and his brethren into exile among humanity. Thirteen in all. Now they were twelve, or possibly less actually.

Dresden had not allowed himself much time to consider the others that had stood by him and his defiance of the Council. What had their fate become? Were they hunted to extinction? Had they chosen a human life like him and Lazarus? Where were they? Would he ever know and did he even want to? Seeing Lazarus degenerate into such a slovenly mess of a man was disappointing at the least, and pitiful to witness as a friend looking at a friend. It disturbed him still. He recalled the shabby dress and his toes. He might forever be haunted by the state of the man's feet! Lazarus had little left to live for, it had seemed. How had he spent his exile? He clearly still used his gift of sight. Dresden was careful when using his powers, especially around people, because it made him more Dragon-like and less human. He had so much time to think while in exile that he made sure to be careful what inhabited his mind. When alone he developed an almost meditative and monk-like mental space. The birds and natural sounds were the forefront of his awareness, allowing thoughts, like concepts or feelings, to be subtle, quieted, so that he was not wasting energy on pointless wonderings.

Tonight was a special occasion. He was grieving and this was the only way he knew how. He would shed a single tear for Lazarus, by imprinting him into a memory. He would recall the times they shared as Dragons, he would sing the song of the departed into the ocean, he would remember the man he became, and he would honor his sacrifice the best way he could. He took to singing. A low guttural chant fell from his lips. A deep resonant reverberation filled Dresden's chest with a melody he had not thought about in over 200 years. It was a song of the clerics of BasNassal. Not a death song, but a song honoring the dead, a song that was meant to convey all the memories of the fallen into a place that would remain for the rest of time. It left a signature, a mark on the land where the song was chanted. Dresden raised his hands into the night, high over his head, slowly, very slowly, as though he were lifting a heavy object over his head; his arms shook with an unseen pressure and weight. The memories, the lifetime he had lived with Lazarus, rested on his palms. He held it, painfully, he held it high into the night. He sat with his feet dangling over a cliff edge and a handful of memories that felt like it could crush him into the earth, singing the song of the departed for a Dragon who had given his life for him. The weight squeezed a tear from his left eye. He did not attempt to wipe it away, he paid it no attention whatsoever. He held those memories firm until they began to form into a shape. He pulled his hands down into his lap, where a dainty ingot rested in his palms. Now he got to his feet, standing there at the cliff edge. He stepped back several paces and placed the ingot on the ground. With the song nearing completion, he set both palms upon the ground on either side of the dark stone and watched. As the song finished the ingot planted itself there, and grew into the twisted shape of a stubbly tree. No leaves, but twisting branches reached for the sky in arcs and curves. It looked dead. It was not a tree at all, but a Memory Revenant. It would carry the life of Lazarus, from Dresden's perspective, into the world. Anyone who touched this tree would gain bits of knowledge that the Dragon man had passed on to Dresden in their lifetime together. It was the highest honor he could summon from within himself, and it freed him of the memories so he would not feel shame for living in Lazarus's place. He could always look upon this reminder, in a place of great fondness; for this cliff itself held many good memories for Dresden, and now for another. The Memory Revenant would come into contact with people here and would be impossible to chop down with any axe. Lazarus would live on in this way, in the hearts of any who dared to connect with the twisted, gnarled, unwelcoming shrine disguised as a dead tree.