"Please wake up. You
are in danger.”
The soft voice had barely been a whisper, but then, Aruzhan had always been a very good listener. The kindest princesses always are, of course.
The soft voice had barely been a whisper, but then, Aruzhan had always been a very good listener. The kindest princesses always are, of course.
She
sat up in her bed with a start and turned in the direction of the
warning. Past the thick wooden shutters of her window, Aruzhan
thought she spied a white horse—or perhaps a stallion?—glittering in
the starlight as it galloped through the village.
Then
Aruzhan had felt the cold silence settling over her home, an awful,
deep silence she had not experienced since she was a little
girl...the night her father's beautiful kingdom in the southern
mountains had been burned by a cruel, fiery dragon.
“I
feel it too.” Her father's voice had startled her. Yerlan the
Blacksmith stood in her bedroom doorway. His clear eyes and firm
expression made Aruzhan forget all about the gray in her father's
beard or the crutch at his side. He still looked very much like the Altai king of her childhood. Of course, devoted children like Aruzhan easily see the best in their parents.
“We
must warn the others, Aruzhan. Gather them to the shelter as quickly
as you can.” The blacksmith—the King—turned on his crutch and
swiftly limped outside, followed closely by his daughter. The
princess shivered as a cold eastern wind blew through the groaning
pine trees surrounding the valley...or was it a distant roar echoing
in the mountaintops?
Now
every family needs a shelter. Whenever an ogre, a witch, a dragon,
or any of life's many storms approaches, it is a place of safety and
calm. Mikhail himself had built the thick stone walls of the Altai Village's
shelter before he had left to continue his quest.
“It
is a small way for me to repay your village's kindness,” he had
explained to Aruzhan atop the church tower one evening while they
watched the dancing northern lights. “It
is a way for me to protect and serve here even when duty calls me
away.”
But
when the Princess saw the great beast stretch its hideous, scaly
wings over the nearest mountain peak and fly straight towards her
like a hurricane of darkness, she wished the mighty dragon hunter had
never left at all. Aruzhan had just reached the last house and woken
the candlemaker's family to the danger when the east wall of the
village burst into flames.
The small group ran as fast as they could towards the open door of the shelter at the base of the western hills where Yerlan and the rest of Altai Village waited for them. To Aruzhan's right and left, home after home burst into flames, sending up suffocating clouds of dark blue smoke as the fearsome dragon roared in the dark sky above. The princess had nearly reached the safety of the stone doorway when she saw the youngest of the candlemaker's daughters stumble and fall to the side of the path.
Without thinking--because all good and selfless thoughts become instinct with practice--Aruzhan turned from the shelter and scooped up the little girl. Struggling back onto the path, the Princess tried not to look at the fiery eyes of the monster as it swooped low over the village rooftops and opened its glowing jaws. Too late...
Dragon's flame shot like red lightning through the night sky, straight for the two girls still running for the shelter. Aruzhan felt the heat grow closer and closer behind her like a terrible wind. Just as she was about to give in to despair, the Princess felt her father's presence beside her. The blacksmith--the King--had leaped from the shelter, heavy aprons wrapped around his thick arms, to block the dragon fire aimed at his daughter. Yerlan's crutch crumbled in flames. Throwing the burning aprons to the ground, the noble man turned and shepherded Aruzhan and the candlemaker's daughter the last few steps into the shelter and the townspeople shut the thick door tightly behind them.
Any person who has stared down a dragon knows something about courage. And Aruzhan was as courageous a princess as any you'll meet. But her heart shook with the stone walls as the black dragon raged outside and her neighbors trembled against her in fear. The head of the monster's flames had awakened the old scar on the Princess's arm, and she felt hope and trust slipping away, replaced by those awful things we call panic and despair.
Old wounds can still hurt...more than we care to admit sometimes.
An in that awful moment of fear, Aruzhan heard her own voice, as clear as a bell, the night Mikhail had first seen her scar: “Some wounds need time to heal. Some need desire. More than anything else, I wanted to learn to trust again. And one day I realized that whether this ugly mark was only skin deep or reached down to poison my very heart...was up to me.”
Even in their darkest moments, noble Knights and gentle Princesses still have the power to choose hope over doubt, and trust over despair. Ignoring the roars of the dragon outside, Aruzhan chose to put her trust in the sheltering walls that Mikhail built.
The fear that had clutched her heart slowly melted away, and the roars of the dragon grew more distant and faint.
Yet safe in the shelter, Aruzhan still wished her friend were there. There are difficult moments in life when knights in shining armor are very welcome indeed.
Now as wonderful as heroes are, the
story books teach us that heroines are quite just as important. Even
the best knights only reach their potential with the help of kind
and courageous princesses. A life with no one to fight for is a
lonely life indeed.
And Mikhail was lonely.
He did not know how long he had
wandered alone through the great forests after casting off his armor
and leaving Spirit behind. His beard had grown long and tangled, his
body had grown thin on a rough diet of berries and river fish, and
his shoulders drooped with shame.
The ashrooms
had long kept Mikhail numb to sadness and despair; they had kept him
from experiencing life in all of its rich complexity. Now, for the
first time he could remember, he felt sorrow...felt it more deeply
than he imagined was possible. For a life that is truly lived to its
fullest is hard at times. Sometimes even the bravest knights and the
kindest princesses have bad days. That is what makes the wonderful
moments of life, so...well, wonderful!
But
for Mikhail, wearily rounding the last bend in the road that lead to
his home village, this was not one of those moments. Many moons had
waxed and waned since he last crossed under the familiar birch
gates. The colorful leaves of fall had all but fallen from the trees
as he made his way through the village center at sunset and came to a
fork in the road. Before him, in the distance, stood the Village
Elder's house. A welcoming whisp of smoke curled from the chimney.
To his left lay the western field, and beyond that the forest, and
somewhere deep in the dark shadows of those thick Siberian firs lay
the secret ashroom cave.
Swallowing
hard, Mikhail strode past the dark path and
approached the Elder's familiar house...his home. Weary as he was
from long months of sorrowful wandering, Mikhail still remembered
that the best decisions always lead home to family. And when his
adoptive father burst from the cottage door and wrapped the fallen
Knight in the tightest of bear hugs, Mikhail's shoulders felt lighter
than they had in a long, long time.
As you
well remember, the Village Elder was a kindly man who loved the
Knight as if he were his own son. And love has a way of unlocking
hearts and loosening tongues. Mikhail told him everything. The
Elder listened quietly as Mikhail related his journey to
the far North, his difficulties hunting the dragon, his long stay at
Altai Village, his friendship with the lost Princess, Aruzhan, and
his heartbreaking discovery that he, a noble knight who fought so
hard to be faithful and true in all that he did...had also been a
wicked dragon all along.
At
this the Elder's eyes glittered, and a tear ran down the old man's
cheek to match Mikhail's own sorrow. The bowls of borscht grew cold
as the two men sat in silence, the son ashamed and hurting, the
father wishing he knew how to help. Sometimes, even the very best of
parents don't know the right answers to give their children, though
they dearly wish they did.
“I
finally understand you now, Andrey,” the Elder spoke softly to
himself as he gazed out the window at the cold autumn rain. “I
finally understand...”
“My
father?” Mikhail slowly lifted his head to stare at the Elder in
surprise. “Understand what?”
“Understand
why he didn't kill the fearsome dragon that attacked our village that
night you and I were in the woods. He could have, you know,” the
Elder smiled as though recalling pleasant memories. “Andrey was
the best dragon hunter of his day. A mighty knight, fearless and
kind. Like father, like son, Mikhail Andreyevich.”
“Vitaliy
was the better Andreyevich,” Mikhail answered bitterly. “My
brother was the very example of faithfulness and truth. He would be
ashamed of what I have become because of those cursed ashro--”
Mikhail
stopped as though bright snow had been thrown in his eyes. Only he
and Vitaliy had know about the ashrooms.
And if the poisonous plant had turned even a noble knight such as
Mikhail into a wicked dragon, then Vitaliy...
“And
now you understand as I understand,” the Elder nodded sadly. “Have
you never wondered, Mikhail, why you still carry your father's sword?
Why it didn't disappear along with him that night?
Mikhail
stared down at the dusty scabbard that hung loosely from his ragged
belt...the only piece of his armor that he had brought back with him.
“Father never even put it on for the battle,” he spoke softly.
“Because
he left your house that night to save, not to slay,” the Elder
finished the thought. “To save, if he could, your brother from
himself and the monster within him.”
“Small
comfort to the monster who has been left behind.”
“You are no monster!” the Elder replied sharply. “Whatever else you are, you are a knight, a man of nobility and kindness. You must choose to believe that.”
And Mikhail wished he could. But sometimes it is difficult to see the best in ourselves, even when those who love us see it so clearly. Without another word, Mikhail stood
from the table and, with a deep bow of respect, excused himself for the night.
Of
course, sleep rarely comes to a troubled mind. And Mikhail was
troubled indeed. Dark thoughts and painful memories drove away the
rest that he desperately needed. The evening so long ago when he
and Vitaliy—just boys then!—had stumbled upon the red glow of the
ashroom cave. The
night when he and the Elder had trembled in the forest clearing as
the dragon's shadow had swallowed the starlight. Village after burnt
village that he and Spirit had met on their long quest. Aruzhan's
warm smile atop the church tower under the dancing Northern lights.
The spark of trust and hope in the Princess's eyes—so rare for one who had
felt the terror of dragon fire. Mikhail's own haggard reflection in the
cracks of the ice mirror, where he had first seen the monster's smoke
and flame in his own eyes.
Memory
after memory crashed down upon the fallen Knight as he lay in the
familiar bed, a place where he had spent many nights of his youth dreaming of
nobility and courage and daring deeds of kindness and goodness.
“Faithful and true in all that I do,” he heard a boy's voice—his
own—echo in the darkness. “Faithful and true in all that I do.”
Thoughts
and emotions are strange things, aren't they? Alone among all the
beautiful creatures that call this earth home, Knights and Princesses
can choose what they think and feel. It is among the rarest of
gifts, and so rarely understood. For far too many people allow their
thoughts and feelings to control them
instead...and it often leads to misery.
Without
question, Mikhail felt miserable: miserable and afraid and confused.
And all at once, he remembered how good it had felt not to feel at
all. He remembered how tall he and Vitaliy had stood as the ashrooms
cleared away their feelings, dulled their fears, and focused their
minds. For months now, Mikhail had been a shadow of the noble Knight
he once was, a broken and lost man wandering in the endless forest.
“I
am tired of feeling shame and sorrow.” Mikhail hissed to himself
as he rose from his old bed in the middle of the starless night. “I
am sick of discouragement.” He moved silently through the Elder's
house and lit a torch in the embers of the fireplace. “I am weary
of despair.” The fallen Knight closed the front door behind him
and strode quickly through the darkened streets of his village. His
hand tightened around the small wooden box that had hung empty at his
belt for far too long. “And I finally know exactly what to do,”
he muttered towards the heavy clouds above.
As he
reached the western field, Mikhail broke into a jog, then a run, past
the old bathhouse and into the trees. The light of his torch
glimmered and dimmed as he dashed ever faster and deeper into the
gnarled shadows of the forest.
Memories
good and bad were plentiful in the Village Elder's house that night.
They had kept the old man up as well. At length he had risen from
his own bed to check on Mikhail. Parents often do this, you know,
even after their children have grown up. It reminds them of selfless
thoughts and loving feelings which are more important than any
others. In his own grief, the Village Elder hoped for a
reminder...but found an empty bed.
With a
speed that would impress even Spirit, the Elder ran from his house
and through the village. He had learned from Mikhail the location of
the accursed ashroom cave
earlier that evening. The Village Elder was a very wise man, but
even the village beet farmer, Ivan, (who was...somewhat less wise) would
have guessed where the fallen Knight had gone.
As the
Elder reached the edge of the western field and caught his breath,
he saw a tremendous spout of flame shoot up in the night
sky from deep in the forest. “I am too late,” he gasped, and
bitter tears of sorrow sprung to his old eyes, sorrow for his lost son,
and sorrow for their village that would surely be burned before the
morning came. And then the Elder began to run once again...straight
into the forest.
As a
rule, it is rarely a good idea to chase fiery dragons into dark
forests armed only with a set of pajamas and a sputtering torch. But
the Village Elder carried something else with him as he worked his
way through the grasping branches of the gnarled trees. He carried
his love for his son, and love is a weapon more powerful even than
dragon fire. Love conquers fear and chooses hope...even in the
darkest of forests.
But the Village Elder's hope began to quake as the light ahead grew
hotter and brighter. At length the old man stepped into a small
forest clearing and shaded his eyes against the pillar of fire before
him.
There
stood Mikhail, dark against the roaring flames, a small wooden box clutched in his hand. His father's
gleaming sword leaned against the nearby stump of one of many trees
which had been chopped down to feed the bonfire that now engulfed the
ashroom cave. The domed roof had already collapsed in on itself, and the gutted cavern sunk
deeper and deeper into the flame-softened mud. A dusty red glow from
hundreds of wilting ashrooms
disappeared under burning wood and falling rock.
Mikhail
turned and noticed the Village Elder for the first time. He bowed in
respect, and nobility and clarity shone in his eyes.
“I
am a Knight.” Mikhail stood tall and grim amidst the smoke
billowing from the ruined cave and tossed the small box into the roaring flames. “I slay dragons...even my own.”
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