The End of an Era

"The time of mourning is now complete." Stan intoned the words over the village not two days after his father's death. Although Stan had been visited by many villagers -- the opposite of what he had wanted -- he was officially open for business now, as was the town itself. The sun had just set and the celebration feast had been prepared. The brief shield that Stan had received from the time of mourning was now gone, and he would most likely see a steady stream of his neighbors for days on end.

"What about the dragon, and everything?" Brenda's voice immediately rang out from the quiet crowd. There were murmurs of astonishment, for speaking out of turn like that was incredibly rude. One "Shut up, Brenda!" hissed quietly. But for every three or four grumbles, there was an appreciative noise -- what about the dragon? Was it a threat to the village? Would they hunt for it? What would they do?

"I have thought some about the dragon." Stan said, his booming voice quieting the gathered villagers. "We will send scouting parties in the morning in all four directions. If the men find nothing in three days, they will return here and we will assume that the dragon was just traveling through. And if they find it, they will kill it."

The crowd broke out into chatter. It had been a while since a full-town scouting mission, and for many men, it would be their first time out.

"I will go alone to Mount Grokum." Stan announced. "And search there for the dragon and any magics," He emphasized the word, although he was not sure if dragons had magic at all, "that he may have set up to hurt us. Yim, can you give me your sharpest spear?"

"Aye, shaman." Yim's voice came from the crowd, somewhere near the back.

"Good, thank you." He said. "Women and children must stay home to guard our village." This was a new statement for the village to hear, but he thought it might prevent some of the children from going off on their own, attempting to perform heroics in this actually dangerous situation. "But for now, please, let the feast begin."

Stan stepped off the podium as someone began to beat the village drum. It sounded deep in his body, imitating his racing heart. Mira was there to catch him and pull him to safety before the crowd began to pound him with requests or sympathetic bleating.

"Are you ready?" She asked seriously, brushing his hair out of his face. "This is your first feast as full shaman."

"Yes, I'll be fine." He said absentmindedly. Compared to his upcoming date with a dragon, feasting with his fellow villagers was an easy way to pass the time. "Thank you." He said belatedly. She tugged on his arm.

"Let's go then, and not keep them waiting."

"Stan!" Stan heard Jikal's voice over the crowd din and roar. "Wait!" He said.

Stan and Mira slowed their pace to allow Jikal to reach them. Stan did not like the sense of foreboding that flooded him. His ears seemed to focus on Jikal's every move, and they echoed much louder than the village drum that was still merrily beating away. Jikal's breath was ragged.

"I can't find my son anywhere." He wheezed at them. "I've checked the shop, our house, and even some of the places he goes with his friends. His friends haven't seen him since this afternoon."

"Where could he have gone?" Stan asked dumbly. He knew the answer, but was looking to delay just a moment, to find some sense of sage wisdom from his father that he could echo to Jikal.

"I think he went to find the dragon." His breathing was better now, but his voice was still a bit raspy from the sprint. Stan studied his face, but couldn't find any trace of the …fear… that had etched the man's voice moments before.

"Why would he do that?" Stan growled. His hands balled into small fists at his side.

"I think he thought he could be a hero." Jikal said conversationally. Stan was confused. Jikal had come running up to them, begging them to stop and listen, his son was in danger. But now he was… calm? Was there a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips?

"And why would he think that?" Stan asked. He turned his attention fully to Jikal. The man was outright smug now. Stan hoped his tone of voice would dampen any enthusiasm the man felt for his son's impending doom. "This is a real dragon, and your boy is an idiot." He did not mince words. "So where in the holy name of our ancestors did he get the idea to go gallyvanting off to gods know where to fight a dragon?"

Thankfully the crowd's vibrant noise and festivities camouflaged the content -- and tone -- of his words to Jikal. Jikal's secret smirk barely faltered as Stan stared him down.

"He thinks he could be a hero," Jikal repeated himself. He seemed more unsure of the statement now.

"Did you pressure him to go find the dragon, Jikal?" Stan asked flatly. "Your son has no motivation. Why would he do this on his own?"

"No, I…" Jikal trailed off. The smirk gave way to a hesitant confusion. "But you said…"

"What I said, was, that my father had died. Possibly at the hands of a dragon. And that we would have a period of mourning. Followed by a celebration of life. And then. At the end of it all. We would talk as a community about the dragon." Stan said. "Furthermore, when you came to me just yesterday, I. Urged. Patience." He stabbed the man with his long, bony finger, right in the chest. "I agreed that your son should not rescue sheep. That does not mean that he should try to kill a dragon." Stan threw his hands up in the air, muttering. "A real fucking dragon. The one time there was a real fucking dragon…"

Mira intervened while Stan attempted to reign in his anger. "Jikal. When did you last see your son, what did he take with him, and where do you think he went?"

Stan set off within the hour, armed with a spear, some food, and a horse to cover more ground. He would need to tie it off at the base of the mountain, but it would hopefully help him catch up to the foolish Kutak, who was attempting to kill a real dragon. With some coaxing from Mira, Jikal was made to understand that this particular dragon had not been meant for his son.

It was unclear to both Mira and Stan if Jikal actually understood that dragons were real, as he had kept making references to another boy in town, Ryber, who was also nearing his coming of age. There was a good chance that Jikal believed that Stan was displeased with him because his son had co-opted Ryber's quest, and not because his son might die by dragon.

He rode the horse hard, stopping only at creeks to allow the horse to drink. The waning crescent had peaked by the time that Stan made it to the base of the mountain. Mira had followed him at a much slower pace and promised to get the horse in a few hours, so he wiped the beast down, gave it some feed, and started his long hike back up Mount Grokum.

Kutak had a four hour head start on Stan, but the boy was not very stealthy. Either a herd of goats had trampled the path, or a young, foolish boy had passed through not long ago. His path was easy to follow and Stan had a feeling that if he pushed hard, he would be able to intercept the boy before he made it to the cave where the dragon probably was. If the dragon was on the mountain at all.

Stan was moving remarkably fast for a tired, aching, terrified shaman. His lungs and legs were on fire, his feet sore from sharp rocks jutting up from the path. His pack felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, and his hand was blistering around the spear turned walking stick that was helping him up the mountain. It was little wonder, then, that he didn't see that the muddy path in front of him had begun to erode. He stepped carelessly into a slippery puddle and fell forward, every so slowly, over the cliffside edge that he had been trying to avoid. He could see the starry night looming over the edge of the mountain as he tumbled farther and farther downhill.

His body came to rest unceremoniously against a large tree, and he heard a sickening thud as one of his ribs gave into the sudden pressure. He let out a long, pained grown. He hadn't fallen far, but he knew that there was no way, at this point, that he was beating Kutak up the mountain. If the dragon was there, he was dead.

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