The Chastening of Erik Tiller - Part 2 of 2
Rejoice, worm.
If you missed the first part, here’s a link.
In the first few moments, Erik was able to stay upright, feeling the dry rock move under his clothing with increasing speed, as his descent quickly unfurled into stomach-turning vertigo.
Soon, though, the small bumps and divots in the steep slide bounced him into a fast rolling tumble, and he lost all grasp of orientation. Truly, his life had been given into the hands of fate.
Which, he was grateful to discover, had decided to let him live. As the walls of the cave's mouth curved inward, bending deeper into the mountain, the speed of Erik's falling body broke slowly enough that he suffered no serious injury.
Finally, Erik rose to find himself at the lower end of the huge corkscrew entrance, in a tunnel so wide he imagined half of Eldham could be laid out on its floor. Ahead, it continued downward, but at a gentle curve that obscured its end, wherever it may be. At this depth, the howling mountain winds were a whisper from above, and only silence rose from below. Further in, even the whisper disappeared, and he could sense a vibration in the ground that would last for a time, go still, and then resume.
As he pressed through the fatigue of his body and mind to continue walking forward through the vast tunnel, it curved steadily downward, until the pitch was too steep to walk. With a weary sigh, Erik sat, and scooted forward until gravity pulled hard enough to set him sliding downward again.
This time, the slope did not end until Erik plummeted freely through the air, until the tunnel widened in all directions, revealing the ceiling of a cavern vast as the mountain overtop it was large. Diffuse red light was everywhere, and huge pillars of stone carved without hands thrust from the roof and plunged into the floor.
He didn't have time to observe much else before a body of water rushed upward to meet him. In the last instant, he twisted straight to break the water with his outstretched fingers, and cut deep below the surface.
Erik kicked wildly for survival, unwilling to drown at the point of his long-sought and hard won destination. His boots, tatters anyway, sank away as he clawed for the surface. Once he had gasped enough air to satisfy his starving lungs, Erik gulped the water he treaded. It was cool, but not cold, and sweet as honey in his mouth, the miracle of quenched thirst an early resurrection.
The place was vaster and more exotic than anything his wildest imaginings had conjured. Twisted cathedrals of stone, large enough to be the habitation of giants, grew from the cavern floor. Further on, jagged mountain ridges divided the volume of this deep world -- mountains within mountains.
Alive with fresh water and hope, Erik swam for the shore.
Splashing onto the granite embankment, Erik discovered that his hands, his feet, his arms had been healed! New skin grew over the the gashes and cuts bequeathed him by the long days' treacherous climb. For a moment, he wondered if he had died, and entered the afterlife. Opening and closing pink-fleshed hands, he certainly did not feel dead.
A deep breath gave him the scent of wet stone, and charcoal. The place felt clean, and lifeless.
Standing on the smooth shore next to the water, he could feel more strongly the slow, building vibration conducted through the stone under his bare feet. Eager to explore this new world, he made his way to the nearest ridge in the hopes of getting a clearer view of his surroundings.
The dark gray stone of the cavern floor was broken up at the base of the ridge, and it took some care to navigate the fresh edges without gouging the soft soles of his unshod feet.
The ridge itself seemed strange in composition, as though it were of altogether different stuff than the ground around it -- not stone at all, but smooth, interlocking metal plates, tempered to a glimmer. At the crest of the long ridge there were a procession of razor sharp protrusions.
With a start that nearly cost him his balance, recognition pierced Erik's awareness. This was not a ridge, it was a tail, the sheer scale of which had obscured its nature.
As his gaze followed along, the tale widened until it curved left and became the hind quarters of a beast so large it defied comprehension. Erik's eyes struggled to focus, to take in the full shape of Its body, a mountain unto Itself.
And then he saw, or rather felt, It breathe.
It became clear that the deep vibration he noticed earlier was a long, slow inhale. Now, a powerful rush of wind in the distance: an exhale.
This was Na'Tar. For What else could It be?
On legs unsteadied, Erik picked his way down the other side of Na'Tar's great tail, so that he stood within the long curve.
He must decide: Would he wake the dragon?
The stone floor of the cave around Na'Tar appeared to be tilled in preparation for Its sleep. Shattered slabs of rock made the going hard for Erik as he hiked toward the dragon's head, and cost many hours. Finally, though, he stood at the base of Its jaw, staring up at one eye, which, from corner to corner, was the length of two men, at least.
He squared his shoulders. With all the air he could take into his puny lungs, and all the courage he could muster in his racing heart, Erik said the words he had revised and rehearsed a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand times.
"Na'Tar. I am here to serve you."
He waited, still as the dead, staring upward at the closed eye. The vibration of that interminable inhale...ceased. For the next moments, Erik's heart drummed so hard it rocked him on his feet.
Until Na'Tar began Its long exhale. The eye remained shut.
"Na'Tar!" Erik said, louder, with more insistence.
Still, the exhale continued, spending itself in an unbroken gust out of nostrils a stone's throw away from where Erik stood, and as large as ponies.
"Na'Tar, Lord Dragon!" Erik shouted with all the power of his voice, "I have come from far! Your servant awaits your bidding!"
The thick scaled lid revealed nothing of the great eye behind, and the exhale continued.
As it finally ebbed to a gentle breeze, Erik filled his lungs to bursting once more to shout, in the brief silence before the next inhale:
"WAKE, DRAGON! WAKE!"
His shout radiated outward, collided softly with the furthest walls, and came back as a dim and dying echo. It was all the strength his voice could command.
Then, silence. Erik waited for the next long inhale to begin, but instead, Na'Tar's scaled lid parted -- just enough to reveal a thin strip of its brilliant golden eye.
Transfixed with sudden terror, Erik forced one more hoarse shout, "I am Erik Tiller! I come to serve!"
Na'Tar began another long inhale.
Erik waited, torn between meeting the gleaming bar of Na'Tar's awesome gaze and casting his own down in deference.
Finally, many heartbeats after the long vibration of the inhale subsided, Na'Tar spoke.
Serve...
The dragon's voice was elemental, geological, filling the enormous cave's capacity completely, leaving no room for an echo. Its depth and resonance reached through the very ground and turned Erik's body into a tuning fork.
Before the all-consuming reverberations of the first word had fully diminished, Na'Tar spoke the next.
...how?
Serve how? This was not a question for which Erik had prepared. He expected that once he had found this dragon god, It would either destroy him, or accept his offer and proceed to issue commands.
"I-I will--" he began, stuttering, "I will bring others! To worship you!"
Na'Tar's great eye closed, silencing the bright sliver of light, and then reopened again.
The worship...of worms...
Erik's mind raced to conclusions he should have drawn before he came. What would a dragon want with the worship of mere humans like himself? What could a whole nation of them do for Na'Tar that He could not do for himself?
Desperate against the sputtering flame of his aspirations, Erik pleaded, "Command me! I am yours! If it is not worshipers you want, then I pray you will reveal your desire so that I may spend myself to fulfill it!"
I...desire...
An eternity of anticipation stretched between that word and the next, as Erik waited for Na'Tar to speak it.
...nothing....
As the grand vibrations of the dragon's voice stilled, it began another long exhale, and the wide, slender opening of its huge golden eye closed again.
Erik stared up at the massive, placid draconic face, and felt hopelessness open before him like a last embrace.
I will die here, he thought. I will die for nothing.
"Please!" he cried. "I have traveled far! I have sacrificed all! I cannot return, I--" his words failed with a gasp, and a sob. He sank to his knees. "I...do not know what to do...."
His body curled into defeated supplication. "Please," he croaked, "please, please, please."
Prone, and broken, Erik sobbed into the craggy shale of the cavern floor for some time, until he noticed the tenor of the dragon's exhale change, so that it produced a subsonic moan.
Erik put his palms on the ground to be sure, and then fell back with a shock as Na'Tar lifted his enormous, serpentine head. Erik, petrified by wonder and fear, watched the dragon bend Its neck, swing back, and turn to face him. Both of Its eyes were open now, brilliant, uniform golden orbs seeing all.
Few are they who have beheld my glory. Fewer still are they who would seek it.
The power of Na'Tar's speech alone threatened to shiver apart the fibers of Erik's very soul, but his reignited hopes held him together.
Rejoice, worm. You shall behold.
The ground shook. Horse-sized talons bit deeply into the stone. Its body lifted from pulverized rocks. Sinuous arms dragged folded wings upward, and worked to move Its lithe and mountainous frame into a sitting, then standing position.
Even if Erik's legs hadn't been rendered useless by paralyzing awe, the volcanic quaking of the cave would have kept him down on the ground, a helpless witness.
Now in full view, and squared before Its single-worm audience, Na'Tar stood on feet as large as mansions, and legs taller and broader than the tallest and broadest trees Erik had ever seen. The dragon's entire body was covered in semi-translucent scales that shimmered darkly in the diffuse red light of the cave.
Standing at full, impossible height, Na'Tar stretched forth Its taloned arms to unfurl wings that could swallow a hurricane.
Erik finally beheld the full glory of Na'Tar, the Chastener, and he wept for the joy and terror of it, the sound obliterated against the apocalyptic rumble and roar of slow, titanic movement. With one downward thrust of those immense wings, Erik would be flung like a mote of dust, sprayed across the rocks. But the dragon would not fly this night, would not leave this cave.
Rather, Na'Tar breathed in deeply, the walls of Its grand abode ringing like a cathedral, and then raised Its opening jaws to pour forth a fountain of heavy red fire.
The blooming, boiling flames smashed into the roof of the cavern, flooding in every direction. The diffuse red light magnified to a ferocious brilliance the color of deep blood. Everywhere the dragon's breath touched glowed with its own ferocity of heat.
In one exhalation, the dragon god had turned the cavern into a furnace. The ceiling dripped the sweat of molten rock, which formed rivulets down the walls and columns, and pooled into fresh acres of glass at the bottom. Water from the lakes exploded into clouds of steam, mingling with every other toxic vapor that filled the chamber.
While Its vast cavern home still burned and sputtered, Na’Tar lay back down, curling into the soft, glowing stone floor, and returned to Its slumber.
Of Erik Tiller, nothing remained.
The end!
I’ve been sitting on this story for quite a while. The first idea came as a simple narrative, almost like a children’s story, in which a young man sought out a dragon to worship, and ended up getting eaten by the dragon. As you can see, I didn’t stray too far from the original concept.
My primary motivation in writing this story, to be totally honest, was to indulge myself in the creation of a dragon worthy of the mythical creature’s reputation. Too many representations undersell it. Tolkien does a pretty good job with Smaug in The Hobbit, but then there are all those modern incarnations that treat dragons like fancy horses, or big crocodiles.
The whole point of a dragon is that its very presence is an expression of the wrathful divine. Coming face to face with a dragon should be an experience as apocalyptic as standing at the mouth of an active volcano.
In the end, Na’Tar shows our foolish protagonist great favor, granting Erik a death in the throes of wonder. The alternative, thanks to his complete lack of an exit strategy, would be to die slowly and horribly at the hands of starvation.
And of course the whole thing is a metaphor for something. I haven’t quite figure out what, specifically, but I’m sure you’ll come up with some good options.
Alright, you know what time it is. It’s commenting time.
Oh, also, it’s sharing time. Use this link, please, it’s delicious:
When you responded to my comment on the last installment of this, I was legit worried the kid was going to uncover like a sad group of people pretending like dragons exist, and it becomes an ultra normal sad revelation (for the Erik and myself)
Then there is this whole scene where they induct him into joining "the club" to help this legend live on. Anyway, glad THAT didn't happen.
In reality, funny enough the older me reading stories like this goes a little to pragmatic. When he loses his shoes while swimming up to the surface for air I couldn't help but think "Well how is this young man going to get back home now?" in a way that echoes my mother's cadence.
I'm so glad you didn't split this up into more parts, but the "He must decide: Would he wake the dragon?" would be SUCH an annoying and powerful reading break. So yeah thanks for not doing that.
(Side note. "as large as ponies" made me laugh - what a delightful and unexpected comparison haha)
I especially like you throwing shade at dragon stories in your epilogue-esque notes. You say "fancy horses" and "big crocodiles" like it's a bad thing! But in reality, I love the ending. I also think it is far better than being eaten, considering the personality you've endowed this particular dragon (I thought Na'Tar would be one of many names he goes by over the centuries, almost like he remembers it, but barely. But instead of monologuing I like how you made Na'Tar a majestic demon of a few words. And a mouthful of fire.)
Thanks again for a great story!
Perhaps the metaphor is putting blind faith into a huge institution can be all consuming, and maybe not in the way you hoped it would be.
It’s really a shame that some people feel the need to be great, to do something great, at the cost of literally anything and everything. People may see following some great movement or some great ideal as easy, but it’s only easy because you are handing someone else the reigns to make decisions for your life.
I suppose this loss of autonomy in the name of something “great” makes me sad because I see so much beauty and happiness in the everyday, the mundane, the familial and familiar.