Legends of Luternia (17 page)

Illyricus greeted them, “I’m so thankful they fit. I wasn’t really quite sure. We used to get so many human guests that we needed to keep extra attire on hand. But that was a long time ago. Uh, are you hungry? I hope so. I’ve tried to put together a bit of supper for you. I hope it’s to your liking.” He took them away from the baths into an enormous hall.

“The whole castle is dragon size,” explained Illyricus as they stood within the gargantuan space. The room could have held the entirety of the courtyard of Castle Åræthi. Even though burning torches lined the walls, much of the room remained in darkness. At the end of the room stood a table which would have been gigantic anywhere else but was dwarfed within the hall. A meal lay waiting for them, artfully laid out, but with peculiar combinations: cheese and meat covered with fruit sauce, salads made of lettuce and cake, fruits with gravy. Hunger drove their attempt to eat, not an inspired appetite.

“I hope you find this pleasing. I put it together myself. I tried to remember how we served our last human guests. I’m sorry if I botched it up.” Illyricus said.

“No need to apologize; everything is fine,” said Ulrik rearranging the food from platter to plate in the generally preferred manner. Clarissa tried to do the same, but her first bite caused a grimace. Ulrik’s hard expression stopped her from saying anything, and then he said to the dragon, “We can’t eat right now.” Illyricus’ hopeful eyes fell as Ulrik continued, “We’re too concerned about Prester John. Can we see him now?”

“Of course, of course.” The dragon perked up and answered. “How foolish of me. Of course you’d want to see him as soon as possible.” They hurried down the immense hallway, leaving the meal behind. Ulrik and Clarissa broke into a trot in order to keep up with their host, scarcely glancing at the great, colorful mural that stretched along the entire wall. Prester John lay in a room paneled in polished white marble, like a hospital for royalty. He lay in an exquisite bed, sleeping peacefully among the elegant bedclothes. Absent from his face was the usual tenseness. The scar on his face, normally a raging red, had softened to a placid hue, He breathed evenly and comfortably. Scattered on a nearby table lay a collection of medical books, some open to graphic anatomic illustrations. In a basin lay a collection of recently cleaned surgical instruments.

“The sting went deeper than I had smelled. Part of it broke off and I had an absolute dickens of a time getting it out. Old Magroth’s getting brittle, so I’m not surprised. He doesn’t have much venom left in him either, which turned out for the good of your friend. I did my best at stitching him back together. I did a decent job, if I say so myself. Looks like the last hundred years or so of needlepoint proved to be good for something other than antimacassars. I stitched the tiniest posy into his sutures. I hope he doesn’t mind too much,” explained the dragon. When he saw they had stopped listening to him and were standing by Prester John’s bed, he apologized, “Do excuse me for rattling on so, I’m sure you’d rather see to him than listen to me.” He quietly backed out of the room.

Ulrik stood by his teacher and began to pray, “Lord God, I don’t know where I would be without this man. He has been through much more than I can grasp. Ease his pain, dear Lord, ease the pain of body and spirit. Heal him, dear Lord, restore him to us.” Prester John groaned, turned his face to Ulrik and weakly reached out his hand. By instinct Ulrik took his hand, amazed at the great strength remaining in it.

“Ulrik, you’re here. Thank God.” he said before closing his eyes again and returning to sleep.

Bored with the vigil that Ulrik kept at his teacher’s bedside, Clarissa left to explore the dragon’s castle. As Ulrik looked at his mentor, he saw the peace that is beyond our understanding resting upon the ex-mercenary turned pastor. The cold, distant, and demanding instructor had been slowly replaced by this man who had risen to Ulrik’s defense, who cared for the prince in his own soul’s dark night, who was ready to give up his life for him and Clarissa, and now, lay healing in this opulent and unusual sickroom, equipped not only with human-sized beds and instruments but also with dragon-sized equipment. Ever since Ulrik left the safety of his home, much seemed more dreamlike than anything. These events, were they real? Were they disconnected events, a plan, a grand design laid out long before his own birth, or his mother’s or father’s birth, or before that? His ruminations were shattered by a bellowing heard throughout the castle, “What are you doing?”

“I’m cleaning up this pit. Either lend a hand, or a claw, or get out of the way.” Clarissa said, her volume matching the dragon’s. Ulrik dashed from the sick room and followed the noise through the passages to their source: the kitchen. Dirt encrusted pans littered the stoves. Ancient plates with ancient food filled the long dry sink, stains of soup and sauces lined bowls and ladles. In the midst of the mess stood Clarissa, angrily staring down Illyricus and demanding an answer: “When was the last time this place was cleaned?” The dragon mouthed something about the last guests who had been there several hundred years ago. She saw Ulrik and barked, “You finally showed up! Give a hand. Take everything out of the sink.” She turned to Illyricus and said, “You’re a dragon, right? You breathe fire, right? We’re going to need plenty of hot water.” His jaw dropped in disbelief. “Come on,” she continued, “we’ve work to do. If we’re going to be here a while, we’re going to put the place to rights.”

Illyricus turned to fetch the water and heat it up, whispering to Ulrik on the way out, “Is she always like this?”

“She gets it from her mother,” explained the prince as he put on an apron and set to clearing out the sink.

Under Clarissa’s cajoling, the kitchen was put to rights in half a day. Working side by side, they were able to learn much about each other.

“Excuse me for asking, but does the castle have another kitchen?” asked Ulrik.

“No, only this one.” said Illyricus.

“Then what do you eat?” said Ulrik.

“Mountain goats, mainly. Sounds odd, doesn’t it? I don’t think about it much. No real taste buds, you see. Since I can’t taste my food, it doesn’t matter what I eat. And it roasts inside the fire chamber, you know. Every week or so I fly off and pop in a goat. That’s all I really need. This kitchen’s here to provide for honored guests,” the dragon explained.

“When was the last time you had honored guests?” asked Ulrik.

“That would have been in my father’s time about five hundred years ago or so.” answered the dragon.

Hearing that last exchange between Ulrik and Illyricus, Clarissa started to howl, “These have been sitting here for five hundred years? You’re the champion of putting something off! Look at this! I’ve ruined historical artifacts.” Ulrik and Illyricus joined her laughter. A smoke puff of contentment popped out of the dragon’s nose.

“It has been so long since there’s been laughter here. You don’t laugh much when you’re by yourself all the time. You rather forget how,” said Illyricus.

At their urging, Illyricus showed them his castle. He first took them to the garden behind the castle. “I’ve done my best to keep this part up,” he said, “unlike the kitchen.” A pair of carved dragon wings stretching to the sky formed the garden gate. Not a leaf or shoot was out of place. An intricate herb knot revealed the pattern of stars and planets; the topiary depicted a magical world: ogres, giants, elves, centaurs, and one hedge clipped into a line of soldiers ready for battle. As Illyricus was showing his work, a rabbit snuck through a hole in the garden wall and began to nibble upon the herb garden. Illyricus snorted, “Not you again.” The rabbit stopped and turned to him, its nose twitching. The dragon blew the faintest bit of smoke towards the rabbit, causing it to retreat back through the garden wall. “I should block that hole up, but he doesn’t eat that much, does he?”

One small section of the garden not given to ornamentation was a homey vegetable garden, kept in the hope he would have guests to share the harvest. “And now you’re here. Help yourselves,” he said.

With Ulrik’s help Clarissa gathered enough food for their first regular meal since leaving the hostel. “Now that the kitchen’s clean we might as well make use of it,” she said as they carried armfuls of roots, greens, and other vegetables. The root soup flavored with watercress caused Ulrik to say, “This isn’t plain food.”

“I know,” she replied with a flip of her hair and a smile.

When Ulrik took Prester John his soup, the prince saw his teacher examining his wound and saying, “Who stitched a posy into my side? Did she do that? And what is this place, a hospital? The last thing I remember is that we were about to be eaten by dragons.” Ulrik handed over the soup and related everything that had happened since the dragon attack. “Do you mean the dragon did this?” his teacher said, pointing to the wound.

“Yes I did, and I’m quite pleased with the way it turned out,” said Illyricus who had been listening from around the doorway so as to not frighten the patient. “And for your information, dragons don’t eat people. Not enough meat, too many bones, and a horrid taste, or so I’ve read. Never tried them myself, thank heavens.”

Under Illyricus’ care Prester John was up and walking within days, still tender, and lacking his usual agility. When he winced, he quickly passed off the pain with a comment about being hurt worse, although he couldn’t remember when.

“Now that you’re up and around, I can finally show you what I’m most proud of,” said Illyricus as they walked through the castle. Ulrik fully expected that his host would show them the great mural, but instead, Illyricus rushed them past it. In his excitement the dragon propelled his guests at such a quick pace that Clarissa needed to remind him of Prester John’s condition.

“We’re almost there, but we can rest here for a nonce if you so choose,” he said as he opened a large set of double doors. They entered a library flooded with light pouring through skylights and several windows stretching from the floor to the ceiling. A balcony ran halfway up the walls and bookshelves filled the space above and below. Except for a few notable empty slots on the shelves, every object was in its proper place; neat, dust free, and smelling of leather bindings and old books. The dragon’s couch reflected the imprint of his body; a closed book with an ornate silk ribbon presumably marking the last page read stood alongside the couch on a reading table. The writing table held a stack of papers, one carefully set on top of the others. Illyricus’ needlepoint was displayed on pillows, doilies and small wall hangings, all reflecting the progress and development of his skills through the years.

Prester John lay on a smallish couch in the warmth of the sunlight studying the room as Ulrik and Clarissa slowly examined the titles of the books. Some were in languages neither recognized. “Have you read all these?” asked Clarissa.

“Oh yes, at least twice. This has always been my favorite part of the castle, even when I was a small dragonling and my father forced me out of here to teach me what he believed was a proper dragonling’s education. I never cared much for all that armor and fighting and ruling business. I’d rather come in here and bury my head in the books. I had a dickens of a time figuring out how to read Hebrew. I still haven’t figured out all that is going on in the Book of Job. O bother, listen to me wax on; that’s not why I brought you here. My intention is to show you this.” He walked over to a small door tucked among the bookshelves and slowly opened it like a parent trying to build suspense for a child. “Let me light the candles first,” he said, popping a few carefully aimed bits of fire into the room. He stepped aside. Clarissa followed Ulrik into the room.

“Prester John, you won’t believe this,” said Ulrik sticking his head back out.

“Yes, I am most anxious for your expert pastor’s opinion,” said the dragon, who paced in the library while Ulrik and Clarissa helped the patient inside. “It was a closet before I remodeled it.”

The candles illuminated a chapel complete with altar, reading desk, and a dragon sized kneeler. Upon the desk lay an open psalter; a crucifix adorned the altar, and a needlework depicting the complete life of Christ hung behind the altar. Clarissa put out her hand to touch it, only to hear the dragon say from the library, “Please don’t. It took ever so long to make.” She pulled back her hand. The chapel was too small to hold three humans plus a dragon comfortably so Illyricus remained in the library, except, of course, for his head. “Do you like it? I was hoping you would,” he said.

“This,” said Prester John, “is amazing. But why?”

“I believe Jesus instructs us to pray in a closet, doesn’t he? So that is what I do,” explained Illyricus.

“I didn’t know dragons prayed,” said Prester John.

“This one certainly does, but only for the last hundred years or so. Ever since . . . Oh dear, I think I’m tiring our patient with too much talk,” he said, sliding his head from the chapel’s doorway.

Prester John needed both Ulrik and Clarissa to help him out of the chapel and back to the couch. Illyricus directed them to other chairs while he lay on his couch to tell them the story of the chapel. “About a hundred years ago I took the Bible off the shelf again . . .” he continued to explain that under his father’s orders he had read it in order to understand human beliefs, but it made little sense to him. Then, centuries later, he picked it up again and this time the depth and meaning became clear. “It was still a bit muddy. The Holy Spirit kept on teaching me, although I didn’t realize it at the time. By God’s grace I was illuminated to believe and trust in him. The only part I’m missing is being baptized. That’s probably impossible because that holy gift is only for humans as far as I can tell.”

During the next few days he and Prester John engaged in long and detailed theological discussions. Plainly, Illyricus had read widely and, at times, was instructing the teacher. Ulrik listened in on their discussions a few times but grew restless. He was more interested in the great mural in the hall. He studied it and realized it was a history of dragons on the earth. The first panels showed humans and dragons together, living and working in one seamless community. He traced the mural’s changes as the dragons took to the skies more often, rising above the people. The humans began to cower and hide when the dragons appeared, for they were demanding gifts of gold and sacrifices. The last completed panel showed a mighty dragon king, splendid in golden armor striding among humans who lay at his feet in absolute submission. Illyricus found the prince examining the final panel. He explained, “That was my father, the last dragon lord demanding that humans worship him as their god. The humans abandoned their worship of him when I was a dragonling and that killed him.”