The Shattered Dragonslayer

Chapter 2: Phantoms of the Past (Part 1)

Demetri hunched over the table, staring at the half-finished rifle. Of all days for him to lack focus, now was the time when he struggled most to keep from day-dreaming. It was getting late. There was nothing for it now. The village was going to battle, whether he liked it or not. They were fools, the whole lot of them, and had doomed themselves to a blazing death unless, just possibly, he could provide them with the means to adequately defend themselves. It was either that or flee the village and leave everyone he ever knew behind. It was hardly an ultimatum; either path he chose would rob him of someone else. He had lost too many people already.

The first was his mother. The only memory he still had of her, he was hiding behind a wooden bench in Joseph's house, watching around the corner as her frail body lay sprawled across a cot. He was four years old and felt too afraid to come near her when she looked so pale. Her scarlet locks of hair covered half her body, the light in her green eyes was growing dimmer every minute, and sweat droplets trickled down her temples. He remembered her shallow, labored breaths, and the warm voice of Joseph as he attempted to treat her fever with a damp cloth and comforted her with words of Scripture. The moment Demetri heard her speak his name he quickly withdrew his face behind the bench again.

"Where is he?" she uttered. "Where is my little Demi?"

When he didn't respond he heard Joseph's voice become louder. "Demetri! Get over here, boy, and see your mother before it's too late." It was one of the only times he knew the man to be angry. "Now!" Finally, he emerged from his hiding place and inched his way over to her, and as he drew close he could see her smile return, however weak it was. She reached out her shaking hand and, reluctantly, the boy touched it.

"You look so much like your father," she whispered cheerfully, though her eyes looked bitter. "When you grow up, you're going to be brave and kind, will you not? Be kind to everyone, and listen to what Mr. Joseph tells you, alright?"

He was too afraid to speak, so he only nodded. And seconds later, she was gone.

The old blacksmith made good on his promise to look after Demetri, and Demetri tried to make good on his vow to obey him. A month after his mother passed, he finally left the house and ventured to watch the other children play. He wouldn't join them at first, not for another several days later when Raylan invited him to throw a ball around. His greatest joy however was always watching Joseph build things in his shop, and as soon as he was old enough he became his apprentice. Every year or so, he'd inquire about who his father was, and why he wasn't around, and every time he was told, "I'll explain when you're older." It was when he was twelve that the old blacksmith answered his question at last, and it was that day that he resolved to be nothing like his father.

By thirteen, he had bonded with Raylan more tightly than he ever thought he could with anyone, though he wouldn't admit to it. If Joseph had become his new father, then he supposed this spirited lad who surpassed his own age by one year had now become an older brother. They sometimes sat atop one of the smaller hills just outside town and talked, or more accurately, Raylan talked while Demetri whittled away at some piece of wood, for even while he was away from the shop he couldn't stop himself from crafting. He once made a small knife with holes in the hollow handle so that he could blow into it like a flute, and it turned out quite well. In fact, the first time he played a few notes Raylan paused mid-sentence, and his eyes bulged in amazement.

"How did you do that?"

Demetri simply shrugged and peeled off a couple pieces of fraying wood.

"It reminds me of the tale of the pied piper, or the wayfaring minstrel. You know, you could probably woo any damsel you wanted with that."