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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