Just A Dream

By R. Gale

Ryan is a born and bred Central Floridian who likes neither Disney nor the beach. His hobbies include thinking about writing while staring at a blank page, owning more books than his bedroom could possibly store, and helping to care for 4 cats that he’s fairly certain are plotting against him. Hoping to actually finish more stories in the future.

 

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Just like last time, just like every other time, he knew it was all about to come to an end. He knew this whole situation by heart: gravel crunching around the corner of the tunnel, the air growing hotter with every passing moment, the increasingly claustrophobic walls around him. He couldn’t go back; if he did, the dragon would follow him, and he would die. He couldn’t go down the left passage: partway down, the floor would collapse beneath him and he would fall into the inky black depths. Going down the right passage bought him a little more time, but the dragon would still catch up to him eventually. Every option led to the same unfortunate result: death. Not that any of that mattered anyways. Before he’d even moved a muscle, he saw the creature’s head round the corner. It stared right at him for a moment before opening its maw, flames frothing up from within. He barely had time to register the heat of the dragon’s breath before his entire world was snuffed out of existence.

 

Ancon awoke with a start. He was safe, in his small bed, in the small three-room hovel he lived in with his family. There was no cave, no dragon, just his three younger siblings sleeping soundly around him. The room was still nearly pitch black; looking out the window, he could only see a few scattered stars. The tiniest sliver of moonlight leaking through the cloudy sky. “It must be early morning. Great,” he muttered with frustration. That damn nightmare had cost him another night’s sleep.

The dream always started the same. He’d suddenly find himself in the wooded hills above his little hometown. It would be a lovely day, the sun high, trees in full summer bloom. Breathing in the pleasant air, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin… Ancon always made sure to take full advantage of this precious opportunity, as he so rarely ever got one in reality. It never lasted though. Before long the horrendous cry and the beating of wings heralded the arrival of Morred, the dragon that terrorized his home. Once it arrived, the dream would progress more or less the same every time: Ancon would turn and run, he’d find a cave that he would try to hide in, the dragon would follow him in, and eventually he’d get caught and killed. He’d tried many times to do something different, but in the end, the mere sound of the dragon would send him fleeing in terror. He had always been a bit of a scaredy cat, as much as he wished he wasn’t.

Just thinking about the dragon now, safe in bed, sent a shudder down his spine. Ancon had not lived a day of his life without its shadow hanging over his village; of course, being only slightly more than 11 years old, that didn’t exactly mean much. His father, though, was nearly 50 years old, and even he couldn’t remember a time before Morred, nor could any of the other townspeople, even the oldest of them. The dragon did not attack the town itself very often, but it didn’t have to; Morred had set up his nest at the entrance of their valley, blocking the only easy route in and out between two high mountain ranges. If someone wanted to leave, they could either use difficult paths over the mountains, or chance travelling through past Morred’s nest without being seen: a feat few had ever been able to accomplish successfully. 

No one even considered the possibility of trying to dislodge their winged overlord. The only man to ever attempt to fight Morred was Sir Jannis, a travelling warrior who valiantly took up the town’s cause not long after the dragon arrived. Unfortunately for the townspeople, he had been unsuccessful, and not a soul since had dared to challenge the dragon’s dominance. There was a simple stone memorial to him at the site of his death, up in the hills, in gratitude for his heroic efforts. 

Ancon knew the location of it all too well and feared it. Every townsperson knew of the place’s haunted reputation, and Ancon absolutely agreed with it. For most of his life he’d stayed far away, but a few months back he’d finally gathered the courage to venture up there one night. That had been a huge mistake; he’d barely lasted a few minutes before the glimpse of a shadowy figure in the trees had sent him running home in terror. Thinking about it in the light of day, Ancon figured he had probably just seen a tree or something, but ever since, these recurring dreams had plagued him. If he had his way, he was never going back there.

Ancon rolled over, trying to get comfortable again; he was exhausted, and worse, he was overheating under his blanket, which left him both tired and uncomfortable. His first instinct was just to close his eyes and try to get back to sleep. Tonight though, he felt too awake for that, and lying in bed until dawn held no appeal either. That left one option: getting up and finding something to occupy himself until he was ready to sleep again.

He slowly and quietly slipped out of bed and snuck into the main room of the house. He didn’t particularly feel like dealing with his siblings at this hour; they were annoying enough during the day, and the last time he woke them, they had raised such a fuss. He thought about getting something to eat or drink, but he simply didn’t have the energy, and so he sat at the dinner table and mulled over his nightmare. He went over every moment in detail, desperately searching for anything that might give it some meaning, some purpose besides horrifying him. He didn’t realize he was no longer alone until his mother spoke from the doorway.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

“No.”

She nodded, needing no further explanation.

“Did you have nightmares too?”, Ancon asked tentatively.

“No, no, I was just worried about your father,” she said, cringing slightly as she realized what she said too late to stop herself.

His head jerked up. “What about father?”

She hesitated for a moment. “I suppose I may as well tell you now. Your father is leaving this morning, on a trip.” Seeing the alarm on Ancon’s face, she added hastily, “We would have told you all before he left, but he didn’t want to worry you too much beforehand, and especially not the young ones.”

Ancon’s heart sank through the floor at the mere thought of his father leaving. His father had always talked about trying it, doing what he could for the community – there was always something vital they needed. That’s just the kind of man he was, and Ancon admired him greatly for that, but Ancon had never thought he’d actually go through with it. Nearly everyone who had in the past had died. Ancon would have to stop him from going through with this, one way or another.

He didn’t even register what his mother said next as he leapt from his seat and raced out the door and down the street. His feet pounded on the dirt road as he chased after his dad, determined not to let him leave. Before long, he was at the edge of town, and could see his dad. 

“Father!”, he cried out, as he came to a stop in front of him. His father laughed and shook his head. 

“Somehow I knew you’d be here.”

Ancon took a moment to catch his breathe. “…Father… You can’t go! Morred, he WILL catch you, you have to believe me…”

“Yes, yes, I know, your nightmares.” His father eyed him thoughtfully. “I do believe you, son, but I need you to also believe me when I say I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

Ancon wasn’t about to be deterred that easily. “No, no, Father, I’ve seen it, I know what it can do. You can’t… I don’t want you to…” His words trailed off, his determination failing him in the face of his fear.

His father paused for a moment. “You know, I know just the thing.” He knelt down in front of Ancon, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a worn, rusty and broken link of chainmail. Ancon looked quizzically at it and then at his father, who smiled. “I found this in the hills when I was a boy, think it once belonged to Sir Jannis. I used to have nightmares like you. Did I ever tell you that? This little thing made me feel real strong and brave, just like he was, helped me get over my fears. Maybe it’ll do the same for you, eh? I’ve been thinking about giving it to you for a while now, and, well, I’m gonna need you to be strong for your mother and siblings while I’m gone, so I’d say this is as good a time as any.” 

He pressed the broken link into Ancon’s hand. Ancon just looked at it, then up at his father; he could hold back his tears, but he couldn’t find the words, so he stood in silence. He felt his father’s hand clap him on the shoulder. “Now, don’t worry about me anymore, little guy. Be brave for Papa, and I’ll be back before you know it.” Ancon, still at a loss for words, nodded in response. His father smiled, patted him on the shoulder, then stood up; grabbing hold of the reins of his horse, he made his way down the road, stopping once to wave at Ancon, before slowly disappearing into the darkness.

Ancon stood for a moment before turning and beginning the slow, dismal walk back home. As much as his father’s confidence had been reassuring, he couldn’t shake his concerns. His father was the best man Ancon had ever known. He’d looked up to him his whole life, but even great men had their limits. Ancon was not going to lose him now. He turned the broken piece of chainmail over in his hand as he walked; he could already imagine what the rest of the armor must have looked like, the strength and confidence Sir Jannis must have had… 

When he got back home, his mother was still there, waiting for him. “Let’s go back to bed. What’s done is done,” she said, and guided Ancon back to the children’s room, pausing at the door. Kneeling down, she looked him in the eye and said firmly, “He’s going to be alright, okay? You don’t need to worry about him. He’ll come back.” 

He looked back at her glumly, and muttered, “Okay”. The look in his mother’s eyes told him she wasn’t entirely satisfied, but it must have been good enough, for she stood, gave him a little pat on the head, then walked back to her bedroom.

He trudged back to his bed and lay down, his body well and truly tired now, but his mind aflame with worry and concern. No matter what his mother or his father said, he couldn’t help but feel sure he was never going to see his father again. He gripped the link tightly in his hand as he lay down. He pulled his blanket over himself; the room was somewhat cooler than when he’d left it.

As he felt himself drifting back to sleep, one final thought flitted into his mind, quietly emanating out of some deep part of his subconscious he was not entirely familiar with. It resonated with a voice he’d never heard before, one filled with determination: I cannot let this happen. I WILL not let this happen…

 

Before long, he found himself in the woods once again, everything seemingly the same as it always was. Except, it wasn’t the same. This time, Ancon could see his father, far off down in the valley, astride his horse on the road out of town. Without thinking, he yelled out, trying desperately to get his father’s attention, but he rode on, oblivious to the winged danger above. Indeed, like every other time, Ancon soon heard the dreaded roar of Morred, soaring above, looking for prey. He tried again to get his father’s attention, yelling and throwing stones, but to no avail. 

Frustrated, Ancon switched tactics, shouting wildly up at the sky. If he couldn’t help his father directly, he could at least distract Morred so his father could get away. Or so he hoped. Overhead, Morred occasionally turned his head toward Ancon, but the dragon continued to circle closer and closer to his father. He appeared determined to seize the easy, unsuspecting prey beneath him at his leisure.

Finally, Ancon had had enough. Before, he could have easily fled. Perhaps this time, with the dragon distracted, it might not come after him. But, Ancon was done running, done hiding. He’d experienced months of nightmares, a full lifetime of living in fear, and now, even when it wasn’t chasing him in his dreams, the dragon was still looming over him. No longer. In anger, Ancon grabbed a stone and hurled it skyward. He couldn’t tell if he actually hit the dragon, or if it was just startled by a rock flying by it, but either way, one thing was certain – Ancon had his full attention now. Morred turned rapidly and dove towards him, a gout of flames bursting from his mouth as he went. Ancon was only just able to duck out of the way; he felt the flames graze his leg as he leapt to safety, and for the first time, he felt their horrible burning sting.

This was not normal; his dreams had never been painful, only terrifying. The impulse to turn and flee filled him once again. For a moment, he was unsure how to react to this new development. “The pain will only be worse when the dragon finds me hiding”, he told himself, and his courage returned. If the only way to stop Morred is to fight him, then fight him I will. This ends here… If he was going to fight though, he needed a weapon; puny stones would certainly not suffice.

As he considered his options, his eyes drifted to the memorial to Sir Jannis off in the distance, and a glint caught his eye. He could swear that, for a moment, he saw the same shadowy figure from before hovering in the dark trees nearby, looking back at him silently. But, if he was to face down a dragon, he was not about to let a ghost or phantom or his own silly imagination scare him anymore. Besides, for some reason he knew that was where he needed to be. Hoping against hope, he dashed off towards the monument, sprinting between the trees as he went and trying to stay out of sight.

Finally, he burst into the clearing. There stood the memorial, a solemn grey edifice in the otherwise beautiful forest scenery. Even in the daylight, the area still had a solemn, eerie atmosphere to it. It had been years since the area had been tended to regularly, and as such the memorial was partially reclaimed by nature. Tall trees cast long shadows along the ground and the stone monument and obscured much of the sky. This, in combination with the subtle waving of the trees in the sudden cool breeze was very unsettling. His first instinct was still to get out of there, fast, but he stood his ground. 

He quickly spotted the source of the glint of light: perched on top of the memorial were the knight’s weapons, the same ones used in the battle that killed him - a slender spear and a shimmering silver shield. Strangely, they lay in the shadows. This gave him further pause; why were they even there in the first place? “What does it matter now?”, he finally said under his breath after a moment. Throwing caution to the wind, he hastily crossed the open clearing to the memorial, and seized the mighty tools.

The spear and shield were heavy, clearly meant for a grown man rather than a young boy. Still, he lifted them, struggling at first. His arms wavered from the strain and his first attempt at raising them into fighting position nearly caused his knees to buckle. “You’re holding the weapons of a knight, act like it,” he chastised himself, and got back up. How could I possibly fight with these, when I can barely lift them? Nonetheless, he persevered and found his bearings, and not a moment too soon. Behind him, he heard the woosh of the dragon’s wings and the thud as it came to a landing in the clearing beyond. With a deep breath, he turned to face his foe.

Standing before him was a menace he knew from head to tail: Morred, with dull black scales, broad wings, long claws, and plenty of sharp teeth. The dragon reared up on his hind legs, its throat turning bright red as the flames welled up inside him; Ancon only just managed to raise his shield in time to avoid getting roasted. He could feel the heat of the dragonfire all around him, but miraculously, he found himself unharmed, the shield fully protecting him from the flames. He could hardly believe this; with such powerful tools, perhaps he might actually stand a chance after all? 

Emboldened by his good fortune, he emerged from behind the shield unscathed and charged forward, thrusting his spear determinedly with reckless abandon. This caught Morred by surprise; the creature, staggered by the unexpected attack, reared back and flailed its claws wildly. Once, twice, three times Ancon thrust the spear towards his foe, the third time headed straight for a gap in the dragon scales; unfortunately, the blow glanced off the creature’s scales rather than slicing between them. Ancon fell forward, and was forced to throw himself to the side as a large, clawed foot came swinging towards him. 

Ancon stumbled back as he scrambled to his feet, desperately trying to put some distance between him and the scaly beast whilst still presenting his shield in defense. Morred had evidently figured out the shield could block fire, as he made no further efforts to exploit that advantage. Instead, he snapped at the retreating little figure, more irritated than anything. The shield felt heavier than ever before, and Ancon found himself wondering how much longer adrenaline and willpower could sustain him. Just breath, I’ve made it further than I would have thought already, don’t overthink this. Just stand your ground…

The dragon held his ground, sizing Ancon up as he considered his next attack. For the moment, Morred contented himself with cautious bites and menacing snarls, testing his opponent’s nerve. For his part, Ancon made sure to keep his distance.

Finally, Morred reached a little too far, exposing a flank. Sensing an opening, Ancon made his move. He ducked under the biting jaws, and got in as close as he could to the dragon’s left side. He thrust upward towards its chest… only for the tip of the spear to skate off the hard scales and catch on a gap between them at an odd angle. For a moment the tip of the spear penetrated the dragon’s armored hide, but before it could plunge deep, it snapped in two with a loud crack. Morred howled in pain, and this time Ancon was not quick enough to avoid the reprisal. He brought his shield around to block a nasty bite, only to leave himself completely open to a sweeping, devastating paw.  The razor-sharp claws tore into his chest and stomach, while the impact of the blow threw him several feet, depositing him at the edge of the clearing. 

He lay limp in immense pain. Blood flowed freely from his wounds, but he was still alive, if only just. Pain radiated from all over his body; his right arm felt broken and he could barely move it, and blood from a head wound was beginning to obscure his vision. Helplessly, he waited for the inevitable.

Morred skulked closer, moving in for the kill. If a dragon could smile, Ancon was sure that was what he saw on the creature’s face. It favored its injured right side, but that was of little comfort to the boy. He braced for the flames to lick around him but nothing came; Morred had evidently decided he would be its afternoon meal. 

Ancon lay still, conserving his strength; he had half a mind to just give up now and wake up. It wouldn’t be so bad, losing this time…. I can always come back and try again… He shook his head to clear his thoughts. No. I’m still here, I can still do this. This ends now. The top half of his broken spear lay just within reach. If he was going to make his move, he’d have to time it perfectly. 

Morred stood over him now, eyeing him voraciously. It sniffed at him hesitantly, unsure at first to whether its opponent was truly defeated. It must have been satisfied, for it raised its long neck in the air and gave a terrifying howl of triumph. 

In that moment Ancon sprang to life. With all the strength he had left to muster, he grabbed the broken spear, and in one fluid motion, thrust it into the exposed neck above him. 

This time the spear did not break or glance off; instead, it sank deep into the creature’s neck, tearing through its throat before poking out the other side. 

A roar rent through the forest once again, but much hoarser and croakier than before. It trailed off with a whine rather than the booming echo Ancon was accustomed to hearing. The creature thrashed around wildly, red-black blood splattering across the clearing, until it collapsed in a crumpled heap in the dirt. A final, pathetic spurt of flames slipped from its throat as its life sputtered out. 

Ancon slumped back to the ground; the adrenaline rush of the fight was already beginning to wear off, and he knew he didn’t have much time left. “I did it,” he thought weakily, “I can’t believe I did it…” Despite his rapidly worsening condition, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride.

In the distance, he could hear footsteps and voices – perhaps even his father’s voice, although he could no longer tell - quickly coming closer, but likely not quickly enough. As his vision began to blur and his strength finally gave way, he could hear someone leaning over him, saying, “Get up, come on, get up!” 

But it was no use, the shadows steadily crept across his vision, and his body felt lighter and lighter by the moment. The end had come for him, as it always did. But just as everything else in this strange, strange dream, there was a different feel to it, the difference between falling into soft pillows and falling onto hard rock. This isn’t so bad, really, not so bad at all…

The sky and the trees faded from his sight, and in their place once again was his bedroom ceiling. He was home, and yet that voice didn’t go away…

“Wake up, wake up, come on, wake up!”

The face of Ancon’s younger sister, Petra, appeared above him, looking petulant. “Get up already, we’re going to have a picnic in the woods and I don’t feel like waiting for you.”

“What are you talking about?” Ancon responded, blurry eyed and not even halfway awake. “You know we can’t go have picnics this time of year, Morred will get us.”

Petra rolled her eyes; it was at this moment Ancon’s mother entered the room, looking surprisingly happier than he had remembered her being the night before. “Petra, are you bothering your brother again? Why don’t you give him a little space?” she said with a laugh.

“Ani’s complaining about dragons again,” Petra said with indignation before making her way past Mother and out of the room.

“Ah, nightmares again?” His mother chided him, “How many times do I have to tell you, there are no dragons here. Sir Jannis killed the last one, Morred, over a hundred years ago, as I’m sure you remember.”

“But… what? No, Morred is alive, I’m sure of it. He’s going to kill Father, like all the others!” Ancon sprang up in bed, only for his mother to gently push him back down.

“Relax, you were just having a dream. You really must stop this worrying, you do this every time your father leaves on a trip. You should know better than to listen to Barda’s stories. That’s all they are, myths and stories. Morred is ancient history, nothing more; I’d think you were old enough to understand that by now.”

“Right... right, of course mother,” he stammered unconvinced and uncertain

“In any case, get yourself up, Petra’s been nagging at us since dawn, so you’d better hurry up or we’ll be leaving without you.” With that, she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Ancon sat in bed for a little while, his mind still struggling to come to terms with all this new information. Morred, gone? Impossible, I remember it clear as day. Everyone was terrified of him. It was all so real. What is going on?

He pinched himself, half expecting to awaken once again, but nothing happened; he felt as awake as he had ever felt. No matter how he turned things over in his mind, he simply could not make sense of any of it; his memories were so clear, and yet… how could things be suddenly so different if this wasn’t the truth? 

Looking out the bedroom window again, he saw the town full of life - no furtive glances towards the sky, no downcast aura hanging over every move people made. Nothing. He watched as his neighbors, people he’d known his entire life, went about their morning business – hanging out laundry, going to the market, catching up on gossip – without a care in the world. It’s like there never was any dragon in the first place, he thought, surely that can’t be right…

At long last, he gave up thinking about it, and pulled himself out of bed and got ready for the day. As he did, he heard a light clink, and looked down to see the rusty old chainmail link his father had given him lying on the floor. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. Strangely, he was already having trouble remembering being given it at all. Was that really last night? It’s all a little foggy. I’ll have to ask Father about it when I see him… He placed it on his bedside table, and went to join his family outside.

By the time he finally returned to the bedroom after hours of fun and carefree pleasure with his family, he’d forgotten all about dragons and dreams and strange happenings. Only when he sat down on his bed to rest for a moment and turned to his bedside table did he remember the broken link, but it was gone. He searched all over, on the floor, on his bed, but there wasn’t a trace of it, as if it had never been there at all. Hearing his mother calling everyone for dinner, he gave up the search, got to his feet, then headed for the door.

As he stood in the doorway to leave, he took one final look back at his little bed. Could it have all been just a dream?… He paused. No, I don’t think it was…  and with that, he closed the door behind him.

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