The Dragon Witch

Chapter Two

Inhaling weakly, Arakhne felt a flood of emotions as she held the beast's gaze. She knew much about dragons; their culture and mere existence continued to amaze scholars in Rhilion, but no one quite as much as Arakhne herself. 

Magic itself, along with her entire life, were attributed to dragons. 

Ever since the Draconic War, magic has lived in Rhilion. It was the most tangible, living thing left of the dragons after they left the land. It filled the air. It filled the trees. 

It filled the children. 

It killed the children. 

Swallowing back tears, Arakhne recalled the stories of the thousands of children, plagued with seizures and necrotizing, black death. In the lands that the dragons had roamed and pillaged, the children were cursed, selected seemingly at random. And days later, they fell dead - an excruciating, bitter death. 

But some, also seemingly, survived. 

The true nature of the magic was disputed, and no one really understood it. For Arakhne herself, it was a voice, that came alive often and enabled her to cast spells, read minds, and become invisible. The spells had no audible component on her part; all she had to do was think what she wanted - and it happened. Always. 

The magic passed down through the generations, but it alienated the users from the non-users. Horrible acts of racism were wielded for months, until the king at the time, Luthor, declared that the magic users - witches, the women were termed, while the men were termed warlocks - were to be moved to places of sanctuary, but away from the cities. It was to protect the common folk, children, and even the king himself. 

Arakhne had never set foot in the capital city, Carthen, though its enormous walls could be seen from the edge of her sanctuary: the Forest of Deep. It was a popular hunting forest for the king and his men, but it was also contractually bound to the witches...or what was left of them. 

Despite the forest being sanctuary, the common folk held superstitious beliefs, and slowly began to kill the witches off over the past one thousand years. Few held the magic anymore; Arakhne knew only seven other living witches in the Forest of Deep. There were others in other areas of the kingdom, particularly in the north. 

Even her parents were gone; they had been killed four years prior when the soldiers of the current king, King Talarixor, raided the Forest of Deep in an effort to find the kidnapper of the infant princess, Eustinia. The princess was found alive, but in the hands of a warlock who had gone mad. As punishment, the king ordered a massacre of every magic user he could get his hands on. And while her parents were killed, Arakhne herself hid successfully. 

She had been fifteen years old and left without parents.

And ever since then, witches and warlocks alike had gone into more of a strict hiding. The sanctuary they had been promised no longer existed. Talarixor had promised that his genocide was over for good, and few magic users died in the following years, but there was tension in the air...as ripe as the mushrooms Arakhne had added to her soup. 

But Arakhne had fallen into the belief that many people in Rhilion held - that the dragons themselves were to blame for everything bad that happened to the kingdom since their disappearance. The magic they had bestowed only caused great harm. The deaths of thousands of children. The violent uprising as the magic users were pushed out of civilization. The maddening abduction of the princess. And the orphaning of youth like Arakhne after the king's retaliation. 

It was all because of the dragons. 

And while many in Carthen and other civilized cities believed that the prior one thousand years had been overall very peaceful and successful for the kingdom, Arakhne knew the truth: Rhilion was filled with a deep evil from which she would never be free.

So as she stood there, her gaze unbreaking from the black beast before her, the witch's eyes filled with tears. Both in the awe that the beast was even there, but also in anger. How different, how blissful, her life would have been if the dragons had never come to Rhilion. 

"You," the dragon said, speaking as all dragons did: through the mind, through their gaze. A deep voice, the dragon was clearly male. "You have the Aulre." 

Arakhne swallowed, her heart pounding in her ears. The Aulre was the formal name for the magic she wielded - it was rarely called that in Rhilion because of the societal hatred for all dragons and their culture. 

"Why have you come back?" she asked. Her voice shook, her hands joining it. 

"What is your name?"  His voice was firm, but had a hint of kindness, almost like a form of patience. 

"My name is Arakhne," she allowed firmly. "Subtle, you are not, dragon. The king is in Carthen, just beyond these woods. He will see you, and you will die." 

"I am not alone," he responded to her, his flaming red eyes blinking as he exhaled smoke from his nostrils and rolled his shoulders. "Does all your kingdom hold the Aulre?"

"No," she whispered, staring up at him. "Those that do are forsaken by the king."

At that, the dragon huffed, shaking his head in confusion and his tail sweeping away a tree or two. "Humans," he scoffed. "Pathetic and fearful of power."

Arakhne began to shake all over now, her lungs filling with rage. "Children died, dragon," she said, her emotions ripping through her. "You killed little...little children with your power. Of course we would fear it."

"Children were not meant to die," he responded, his long neck stretching up as he glanced at Carthen through the trees. 

Arakhne sensed that he was wary of the king's gaze, and seized the opportunity to get him out of her forest. "The sun is going down soon, and these woods will soon be filled with soldiers bent on killing both me and you," she lied. "I am small and easy to hide, but I suggest you disappear."

Huffing again, the dragon narrowed his eyes at her. Somewhere deep inside her, Arakhne could feel her magic stirring in realization. 

He knew she was lying.

And yet, he straightened, letting out a smoky sigh, and then stretched out his wings, flapping into a great wind that lifted him up and into the gray clouds above. As quickly as he had arrived, he was gone.