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Tranquil Waters: The Lead Crown Ch 5-4, What's In a Name?

The cool spring breeze flowed constantly into his face, a pleasant contrast to the bright sun that shone down upon his spread wings. Kesst couldn't remember the last time he had been able to take to wing during the day... or at all, for that matter. He reveled in the freedom of soaring through the sky, the emerald hills of Altenburrough rolling by below him. The sensation was beyond words, and he reveled in the feel of his wings cupping the wind... a euphoria exceeded only by the presence of his parents flying beside him.

There was a genuine sense of liberty that came with being free from the clutches of the ground. It felt like it had been so long since he last saw his mother and father, but they were with him, and it was wonderful. Strange that he couldn't remember their names... or even what they looked like... yet he knew it was them. The Dragon didn't think closely on the matter, simply content to ride the air currents and reveling in the experience.

That all ended abruptly when his mother screamed; her wings had been severed cleanly and he could do nothing more than watch helplessly as she spiraled down to the ground. Moments later his father had banked closer to him and shouted out a warning, "Flee, Kesst... go! Get away... quickly!"

Moments later his father's wings failed him, torn from his body by some unseen force. The majestic Dragon that was his sire fell from the sky, disappearing into a black cloud that roiled up from below. The beauty of the spring day was gone, replaced by the hellish shadows of an oppressive darkness. Kesst attempted to fly higher but, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't fight against the downdraft that continued pushing him closer and closer to the cloud below; he could have sworn that ephemeral, bony talons were reaching up toward him.

He continued flapping his wings, pushing with all his might in a vain attempt to combat both the wind and gravity, but it was to no avail. He continued descending, growing ever closer until one of the grasping, cloudy claws grabbed him by the leg. He let out a gasp, shouting with all his might, "No!"

With a mighty yank, whatever had hold of him pulled him down... down... down... his wings collapsed, no longer able to keep him aloft, and only then did the grasp release, sending him spiraling down into the insidious darkness, and the hard, unyielding land below. The earth was scorched, pock marked and scarred by the lighting coming from the storm all around him. It was nothing he had to concern himself with, however; as the ground rushed up to meet him he realized there'd be no way he could survive the impact.

Instead of hitting the ground, his body instead thumped against a wooden-floor. Jarred awake by his own movement, Kesst gasped in surprise. Panting, the young Dragon put a talon to his face, feeling sick to his stomach from the realism of the dream. He rolled onto his side with a groan, but he fell silent the moment he heard the sound of a metallic tinkling. Looking down, aghast, the Dragon watched as several small, damaged gears and other such brick-a-bracks fell out of the gaping hole in his chest and onto the floor boards.

Kesst remained there for some time, simply staring at the black chasm within his ceramic body... an opening that should have been made of scale and flesh, revealing living organs, viscera, and all of the guts of a normal Dragon. No, he realized... he must have still been dreaming!

He slowly sat up, shaking talon moving to the cracked opening in his body where he slowly felt around the shattered pieces of ceramic, whimpering faintly when a finger brushed across the jagged edge and another small, cracked piece of faux scale crumbled. It didn't hurt... not in the sense that he ever recalled pain should have felt; it was as though his entire body was numb. It was far different from the time he'd sprained his ankle or when he was in agony for three days after eating spoiled meat when he accepted a dare.

The Dragon's thoughts came to a screeching halt. He'd eaten that meat on a dare; he knew is was back when he only had fifteen years to his name. Kesst attempted to remember who had dared him, but couldn't. He thought to the time he'd sprained his ankle; that was when he was ten. His mother and father had kept him immobile to give it time to heal and he was forced to stay inside their hut for the duration. That memory sparked a strange quandary: he had never lived in a hut-- he was born among the people of the Church.

The confusion continued to gnaw at him, even as he got shakily to his feet. With one talon on the wall and his tail steadying him against the bed, Kesst reached up to rub his head, but paused when he saw a small metal sculpture in the palm of his free talon. Studying it closely, the young Dragon was astounded at the fine craftsmanship of the minute dragonfly and the numerous moving parts that made up what was obviously some kind of construct. Despite its exquisite quality, however it did not appear to be functional.

All of his thoughts ended when he heard the sound of movement outside the door of the room in which he had awakened. The Dragon was discomforted by the entire situation, and his only escape appeared to be the window. Grabbing his crumpled cloak from off of the floor he quickly donned it and pushed the shutters open. He was on the second story, but it was late afternoon and the street below appeared to be empty. Hoping his luck wouldn't abandon him, he jumped.

Although Kesst had planned to fly to the rooftop across the street his spread wings did little more than slow his descent and he instead landed on the boulevard. Cursing to himself the Dragon fled into the nearest alleyway, folding his cloak around his shoulders to hide his wings. He pulled the edges closed in front of him to likewise hide the gaping hole.

The Dragon would have felt better at that point if he could feel his heart beating in fear against the inside of his chest, but he didn't even have that comfort... nothing but the empty whirring and ticking of what gears within him continued to function-- it was enough to make him feel sick... or perhaps it was all in his mind... was he even capable of feeling sick? Sighing, Kesst simply tried to stop thinking about it; he had more important things to do, like finding... help? ...answers? ...a remedy?

He sighed anew, stopping to lean against one of the alley's walls, "I don't even know what's happening anymore."

Kesst fidgeted for a moment until he could make sure his cloak would stay closed, then, sighing yet again, he continued on through the alley. He wasn't sure where he was going to go, but he realized that he wouldn't be able to stay put... not with the Church after him. How would they respond when they found out he was different? He had no doubt that, whatever it was, it would be something bad.

The Dragon lost track of how long he traveled the alleys, back roads, and side streets of Newport but, as he drew further from the building where he had awakened he pulled his cloak's hood up and slowly slid into the evening foot traffic on one of the major boulevards. As he went he was convinced that the sound of the mechanisms inside him were growing louder with each passing minute. He became increasingly concerned that someone would eventually hear it and realize that something wasn't right with him.

Unable to come to terms with his worry the Dragon elected to escape the press of the crowd and took the next alley available... and ran right into a small, older-looking ewe wearing a dirty, ragged frock. She jumped in surprise, but Kesst recovered quickly and mumbled a quick apology before sliding around her, attempting to push past without any further interaction. He slowed for just a moment when he saw the splotch of red marring the grayish-white wool on the back of her arm. That hesitance was all she needed to hail him, "Sir Dragon?"

Kesst's first inclination was to run but he realized that could have raised more suspicion. If she truly meant trouble for him she wouldn't have just greeted him, after all. Pulling his cloak tighter he turned three-fourths towards her, still making sure his chest was hidden from view, "Yes, ma'am?"

Once he had stopped he realized that the woman was favoring the bleeding arm, holding it by the elbow with her free hand. Regardless, her attention was solely on him, "You have red scales... such a thing is not at all common of the Dragons here in Lehsunia."

It was a personal question, and it put him immediately on the defensive. He hadn't survived the Church's hunt for so long by casually giving away all of his personal information to any random passerby, and he wasn't in the right mindset to give up anonymity, his only defense against the church's hunters. He gave as simple an answer as he could think of, "I must not be from around here then."

She held her wounded arm closer to her body as she reached a hand out to him, "Are you from Altenburrough?"

Had the young Dragon's mouth not already felt dry he was sure it would have just gone that direction by her inquiry, "Why?... Why would you guess that?"

The ewe smiled calmly, "I met a Dragon looking for his son... he said that he and his red scaled boy were from Altenburrough."

Kesst was able to provide a truthful and blunt answer immediately, with full conviction. He hoped it would end their interaction. "My parents are both dead. Sorry, but I'm not the Dragon you're looking for."

She withdrew her outstretched hand, face taking on a sorrowful expression, "I am so sorry to hear that, young man... it is hard to lose parents at any age."

He shrugged in response, "It happens though."

The ewe offered another sympathetic nod, "Though that does not make it any easier."

Kesst checked to make sure his cloak was still wrapped firmly about himself, "Well... sorry I'm not who you're looking for, Miss."

She nodded, and her ears slowly raised, "Perhaps you could help me?"

The Dragon glanced back to her, looking at her arm, "I'm not a healer."

The ewe cradled her arm again, "No... I mean looking for the dragon. His father is desperate to find him."

Kesst shook his head, "Like I said, I'm not from here. I don't know anybody in Newport and I have..." he gripped his cloak closed, "... I have some... things to take care of."

She didn't seem put off by his dismissal, and only reasserted herself, "I understand, young man... but, if you SHOULD encounter another red scaled dragon would you please let him know that his father Wiesen is looking for him."

Something about the name struck a chord with Kesst. It was strangely familiar, as if he knew it from a dream. "Wiesen?"

The ewe nodded calmly, "Yes. Wiesen is a good man. I met him at church. He's looking for his red scaled son, named Kesst."

At the mention of the Chruch Kesst was frozen immediately in fear; only then did he realize for the first time that the filthy, torn clothing the ewe wore was, in actuality, a nun's robe. He backpedaled away, eyes widening when he understood that she was a member of the Clergy. How could he have been so careless? "I... I'll... sure."

The nun regarded him, "Are you alright, young man?"

No longer able to deny his need to get away, Kesst about-faced and moved quickly. He glanced once over his shoulder to see if she was giving chase, but she was not; the ewe was just staring after him, a concerned expression on her face. He looked back toward his direction of travel, but not fast enough to avoid the rubbish bin right in front of him, and he fell over it, landing on the ground hard. Kesst heard the distinctive sound of ceramic cracking, and he winced, not sure whether he was relieved that there was no pain accompanying it.

He heard the sound of the nun approaching and tried to get back up, but found that his body was completely unresponsive. She was calling in his direction but he was unable to answer. The ticking in his ears started slowing and, as everything grew dark he realized that the ewe was kneeling down beside him. She was speaking quickly, and he felt himself being hoisted up by others who had come to join her.

It all faded out into nothingness as the ticking once again stopped.