Dragon Gem

The wandering, weary waves crashed against the beach, dragging back and forth in a relentless pattern that, if stretched out against the linear concept of time, would reach forever, never-ending, into the endless sky. Rarely has the homesick surface of the curling waves reminded him more of the eyes of a cowering savage, waiting to break free.

Caleb had never seen a dragon, but the tales told of their vicious ways have etched an image in his head for him. Dark, gleaming eyes like broken pieces of coal that glinted in the sun. Mouths filled with smoke, flowing out of their noses as they gritted their jagged, red teeth. Scales as dark as obsidian and harder than steel. Curled stained claws and etched scars that snaked around their scales, leaving soft exposed skin open for the taking. As he watched the waves on the black sanded beach on a gray morning, he let his mind drift around the concept of the scaled beasts. He wondered what he would do if a black dragon burst its ugly head out from the ocean right at this very moment.

Probably not much, he mused. It would bear its snarled face and kill him in a heartbeat, for sure. His limbs would tear and his bones will pop as the beast tore them from the ligaments that bind them. His blood would stain the black sand and mingle with his mangled remains as the savage ate his worthless body to nothing but strains of guts and bones that litter the sand.

Hitting the rocky floor with his palm, Caleb forced himself back into reality. Small rocks and pieces of glass dug into his skin. The ocean continued to swirl. Staring out into the water, he let his mind wander along the shore, away from dragons and beasts and any threat that he had been warned of since youth. Beasts are real. Beasts will kill you. Caleb tightened his grip into a fist.

I am safe, he thought. Nothing bad is happening to me right now. I am safe, and I am happy.

Still, however, his brain kept returning to the bloodied beach he had ingrained into his memory. It took all of his remaining power not to fall over into the engulfing sea that hissed near his worn-down shoes.

“Ablenkung!” A voice calls from the inland. Covered in pleats of shiny metal, Woodroe calls into the open sea. He’s a tall young man, with copper skin and rough hands that scratch your skin if they rub against it. He stands with back-breaking confidence, a mirror of what every young boy should be in the village of Belmallard. In a league far more dignified to Caleb, he calls with open superiority.

“Ablenkung! Over here, Ablenkung!”

Caleb stands up, but his cloak snags in the wind and forces him downwards, scraping his exposed knees on the cuts of rocks and glass strewn amongst the black sand. Blood swells on his scrape and stings against the salty smelling air, but he only wipes it away and continues forward.

When he meets the place where the sand turns to grass, Woodroe slaps Caleb on the back.

“Ablenkung, you’re distracted as always.”

“I was just looking,” Caleb said.

“Well stop looking. I’m surprised you haven’t fallen into the ocean’s mouth yet, with you always tempting and teasing it.”

“I was just looking, that’s all,” Caleb repeats. “I was curious.”

Woodroe laughs, “Well, a curious man watches from afar. A stupid one gets closer.” He shoves Caleb, this time with much more force than it takes every will in Caleb’s being not to fall over again.

“Stay away from the water if you know what’s best for you, Ablenkung. Use your wasted hours being useful instead.” Woodroe’s tone digs into Caleb, the same tone a mother would use to scold their young child. Caleb shrugged the boy off, irritation pricking his skull. He wished to go back to the beach, even with its churning black waters and blood-stained floors.

I’m safe, he reminded himself. I’m happy. With each time he repeated it, the less and less he found it to be true.

Belmallard lived in routine. Wake up, go to work, go home. An average thing for an average society. While some cared for the village and it’s young and others sold food and necessities, most were trained in the Guard Against Beasts, often referred to as “Beast Killers”, “The Last Defense,” and sometimes, “A Waste of Youth.” Young boys and girls were often enrolled by age 13, leaving their minimal education behind to pursue the life of a warrior against fantasies.

Broken into three paths, an enrolled child will be set into one of the three. Although the chiefs of the Guard claim it to be based on random, it seemed less and less sporadic and more appointed with every enrollment.

Woodroe was a Krieger, a warrior at default. They were decorated with silver armor, spurs, and helmets, shiny and boastful. Every Krieger was held with prestigious air, axes held high and rifles tucked by their sides. Kriegers were often seen patrolling around the village on their horses or training near the valleys that spread past the village. Often, when Caleb had watched from afar, had noticed that each Krieger seemed to be itching with anticipation, shoulders tensed, as though waiting for a dragon to appear so they can show off their worth.

The most common enrollment was the way of the Verbreitet, better known as the commons. Most Verbreitets were athletic and thin, with fair skin and long legs. Verbreitets often wore a motley of tan cloaks when training in the fields, but in a real battle, Verbreitets would most definitely adorn the same iron coats that Kreigers wore. They held crossbows and rifles, quick offense from long distances was their specialty, along with their excellent flexibility and range.

Caleb was neither. He did not wear silver armor, nor was he flexible in range and leaps. He was not special, he was not heroic. He was Caleb, a member of the Guard, in the lowest of the low, traveling the third path that nobody wanted to tread.

Caleb was an Ablenkung, a distractor, a decoy, a waste. He was not granted special clothing or training, he was not given a goal and a duty to defend. He was nothing but a distraction to lead the dragons away if they ever decided to erupt from the skies and attack. Since his enrollment, he has been told over and over about his destiny to die a worthless death.

I’m safe.

He wiped his scraped hands on his muted gold tunic. His knee, now red and raw from its scrape stopped throbbing as he pushed onwards to Belmallard. The town was starting to wake now, in the middle of the square, he spied three brown cloaked Verbreitets stretch, with a few un-enrolled children milling about in their pale white clothes, barely fitted to their thin frames.

The routine was starting, and soon it will gain traction and end another long day. A routine twisted in fear of the future, a routine that left Caleb behind.

I’m safe, he reminded himself over and over again. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is happening. I’m safe, and I’m happy.

He reached the middle of the town, a square of stone pathed floors and warnings. Large posters made of torn, yellowed paper depicted flocks of bloodied dragons with gaping mouths and beady eyes that stared back at him. He traced the dragon’s jawline with his thumb.

I’m safe.

He ripped down the poster.

I’m safe and I’m happy, he repeated, like a cycle of misused hope, it spun around his head as he willed the rest of his body to accept it as truth. For now.