To Wrestle with Wind

The Way of Wind | Roman Empire, 403 CE

Preface

Saint George lived and died around most likely around the year 300 CE. According to Christian Tradition, he was a dragonslayer. The legend goes a dragon required payment from Silene in order for him not to invade their town. After all their resources were disposed of, the dragon required a human sacrifice, the king's daughter. After he rescued a princess from a poison-spewing dragon, George saved the town of Silene from the tyranny of the dragon. Being the only dragon slaying Saint, he has inspired many tales of adventure, chivalry, and faith. This tale is such a tale. It takes place in the time after Saint George passed, imagining the dragon he slayed was not the only one, and they're back to invoke their terror. But what George actually fought is far more sinister than any dragon, as our characters will soon learn.

I.S. Cantrell

Chapter One

Wind is always cold. Even on a summer's day, it always finds a way to bring a chill. The wind on this night was acting no different. It went right through to my bones. Burns on my skin left open to the wind's influence made the chill especially sharp. A long way off in the distance I strained to see any light, but could see only blackness. No one was around me. I was abandoned by my regime, left for dead, yet in the distance I could hear their shouts, like wild animals being tortured. Their cries beckoned me to come.

We were attacked after approaching a den of dragons who had continued a two hundred year reign of terror on my town. They had to be dealt with. During our attack, many of them swarmed us, all at one time. In that moment, it was exhilarating. I felt like Saint George, the dragonslayer. But I was overpowered. Now, alone, I was unable to kill a dragon by myself. I needed my companions, and yet all I had of them were their screams. How George took on a dragon without aid is beyond my understanding. The priest told me I could speak to him, and ask for his prayers. I felt as though I did not need to speak to him, that he already knew what I wanted to say. That my blade could be any offering of prayer he could desire.

That night I pleaded to him as I wondered through the darkness.

Occasionally from the top of the trees, black venom would drip down, littering and burning the ground around me. This was from the mouths of the dragons as they patrolled above the thick forest. It nearly missed me at each turn, making the worst crackling noise. The harsh noise was only matched by the continuous crackling of my skin from the venom burns the dragons dealt me. Their venom had an immortal quality to it. Even if these dragons salivated eons ago, it would still be raining down from the trees like the freshly falling snow that it accompanied that night. If only Saint George was in flesh and not with the Lord, I thought, the dragons wouldn't dare have come back to Silene.

I hold onto George in my heart that night. I felt his prayers strengthening my every step. As each prayer arose, the dull blackness began to become lightened by a resilient gold hue. I did not see this in my eyes however, but only in my heart. I cannot explain this.

As I approached my crew, I saw them by the dim light of their torches. They were surrounded by the beasts, all of them snarling and spitting at them. The dragons cornered them on the lake side. There was no where for them to go, as the dragons had blocked their passage to their ships. I heard a scream as the venom hit one of my compatriots and burned his skin. And in a moment of blind fury I made myself large, and threatening.

"Beasts" I screamed, "come and finish your work".

One thing one should be aware of before confronting dragons is that although they are vicious, they are more proud than they are destructive. A taunt was a sure death. I wanted to meet death in the same way George did. I wanted to meet him, and thank him for protecting my people.

As the dragons approached I began to run at them with all that I had left.

"Do not forget Saint George!" I yelled as my sword began to pierce the neck of my first foe. As it happened I felt a warm burning on my neck. I knew immediately it was venom. I quickly rolled on my back to get it off of my and onto the ground. This left me vulnerable. Suddenly, the hoard of dragons surrounded me, salivating their liquid death at the mouth.

As they were about to deal their deadly blow, I spit at them first. And just as I expected it, I felt the hot liquid all falling over my flesh. But it was not burning. Instead it was black, hot, blood. Blood of my enemies.

"You creatures" said the wielder of the blade which slay the dragon, as he chopped off another head from a long scaly neck, "you bringers of chaos and damnation go back to where you came from."

With that, my crew surrounded the creatures. Black blood flew in a fury, as the prayers of George were answered all around me. The crew had a viciousness not seen except by our Lord when he cleared the Temple.

"This city belongs to the Lord. And the Lord alone" Arcadius yelled out.

And all the men yelled in agreement. Their agreement not met with mere voices, but with blades piercing sharply through dragon scales. It was a triumph unlike anything else I had been apart of. The dragon's reign of terror was finally over.

I was embraced by my fellow countrymen, with rousing shouts of celebration, and giving of honor. They were all Romans of high regard and stature. I, as the younger, was just grateful to be apart of them. They were grateful I was still alive. We saved our people and our countrymen, just as Saint George had.

"This is for Silene. This is for Libya. This is for Rome!" These were merely samples of the joyous sounds that could be heard from that lakeside beach. All was rapture, victory, and glory. A day we only dreamed about as children, without thinking we ourselves could be dragonslayers.

And in the quiet, when I sat on the beach listening after our victory, and the revelry had died down, I could hear Saint George in the wind. It is only this such wind that is not cold, but warm, despite snow flakes dancing around me. In that moment, there was a unity to it all. Of everything finally being one.

"Your father didn't make it" I heard a voice say behind me.

I had never been so jarred awake by a hurricane wind like that before, and it flung my heart around. I would've rather felt the dragon's venom down my throat than felt that wind.

I turned around and looked at Arcadius, with tears in my eyes.

"He went looking for you, after you went missing" he stopped, seeing my struggle, but continuing knowing it must be faced. "They just found his body, if you want to come."

My nerves never got the chance to settle enough before I could think about my father. All I could think of was killing our enemies, the rage consumed me in a way I could not understand. In other fights, the fate of my father would be my first concern. This fight was different, and I was afraid so was I. I followed Arcadius. Each step like my own via dolorosa, each movement tender and broken.

There he was, a cold wind beginning to blow flecks of snow down upon his face. I knelt down beside him. Although his body was cold, the venom was still colder that pierced through his heart. I grabbed a sword and placed it on his chest. Taking his hands, I fought the rigorous limbs to take hold of the sword.

"In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost" I proclaimed, "I release you to the house of your fathers, and to Christ your Lord".

My crew began to sing a chant of sorrow, "In Paradisium". A cold wind began its dance once more. And although the wind was cold and heavy, the breath vapors of the chanter's song fought back against the wind until there was nothing but silence. Nothing but stillness,

and

death.

Preview for Part Two:

To Live with Honor is To Die Alone

The night my father died, so did my heart. So did the wisdom I had grown so accustomed to hearing. I would have to be the steward now. I would have to be the one to lead Silene. To lift up the banner of Christ and of Rome. This was the day I was waiting for. This was the day he had trained me for my whole life. And yet, at ten moment I had everything I was prepared for and wanted, I wanted little to do with it. All I wanted was to sit in my father's workshop. Smell the smells, and feel my childhood rising up in me again like a warm hug and a soft smile from a dear friend.

To be continued.