Chapter 8: The Dragon Witch (Beginning)

“Whoa! This is France? How lovely!” Beatrice exclaims as we set our first steps on Le Havre – France’s largest port city, even in this restrained world. According to our history books, maintaining international relations is still vital, albeit more so for the Angels than ourselves, for they can tighten their grip on us with their vast network of information. Nevertheless, for me, who has never been outside of our small town in Reading, this bustling crowd is truly a spectacle to behold: ships from all across the lands sail to this city for various purposes, from trading to traveling, and aboard those ships are people of different ethics that I have only seen for the first time in our lives: from muscular men with a particular shade of black to flimsy small-eyed individuals and even those with skin bright red as newly-made bricks. And to top it all off, those people don the most exotic clothes and goods, things that you could not hope to see on a regular basis: from strange and colorful feather hats and robes to statues and idols of odd shapes and sizes. Mixed in are ordinary goods as well, like fruits and fabric. A truly wonderful explosion of culture; the port almost looks like a festival.

“Yeah, I can’t believe such a scene existed.” I agree as I turn around all over the place to check out every little thing I can, while my face flushes with joy and excitement. However, I don’t get to be happy for too long, as Bea’s teasing smile soon reminds me of our week-long journey before to get here:

“And who do you have to thank for that?”

“Yes, yes. You’ve been a great help, Your Highness.” I reply without much enthusiasm as my mind drifts back to the events from one week ago…

“What do you mean by that?” Bea asked with a confused look before the sudden request.

“I can’t really explain it properly,” I scratched my head, trying my best to put together the pieces of information I had into something easy to understand. “Long story short, there’s someone similar to me to the southeast of us. In France, to be precise.”

“France? How do you know that? And why?”

“Well… He told me so.” I had no choice left but to bring out the cross on my neck, holding it out as proof to show I wasn’t insane. However, the action did nothing but prove the exact opposite of that, as Bea only stared at me with a weird look on her face:

“He… told you. The… cross?”

“Well, the one inside the cross.” I tried to explain. “You’ve read Arthur’s diary, right? He’s one of the Demons mentioned in there.”

“Arthur’s diary?” Bea’s face turned more confused by the second.

“You know, that book you showed to us.”

“Oh, that. That’s Arthur’s diary?” Bea asked once more, still not satisfied with my answer. “For something that has existed for thousands of years, it sure looked new.”

“Must have been a copy.” I gave out my guess on the matter. “The original diary is still in my house. But anyway, do you have any suggestions on getting to France?”

“That’s easy.” Bea chuckled at my concern. “Just go by boat. Unfortunately, there’s no port or harbor here in Reading, so we would have to make a detour down to Portsmouth. But getting there is only a few days on horseback, so it’s not that much of a worry.”

“And where do you plan on getting some horses? Also, surely you don’t mean to say you can ride one, do you?”

“Have you forgotten who I am already?” Bea let out a radiant smile, flipping her hair to show a sign of confidence. “As the First Princess, I was drilled in all kinds of etiquettes and activities. Equestrian is only natural.”

As we made our detour to the Knight’s station in town, Bea took no time to convince the guards to lend us a horse. Being a princess sure has its merits, I’d say. And her words weren’t just for show, it seemed, as she got up on the saddle as quickly and as easily as sitting in her classroom chair, while I embarrassingly fell off no less than three times just trying to keep myself still on the damn creature. From there, our ride to Portsmouth was smooth sailing. The knights in Reading had apparently sent the message to the guards in the next few stations, so we didn’t break a sweat in our three-day ride to one of England’s prized harbors, Portsmouth. There, all it took was some persuasion and princess money from Bea and we’re all set to travel on the best ship available, making our way to France in a mere four days.

“Hey, are you listening to me?” Bea’s voice and her constant waving in front of my face drag me back to reality.

“Uh… what are we talking about again?” I ask, blushing hard in embarrassment.

“Well, it’s your idea on going to France. Do you know where this other Peter is?”

“I don’t.” I shrug at the question. “But I know someone who does.” In my head, I continue. “Isn’t that right, Balam?”

“Hey, don’t ask me.” His voice echoes in my head, but with an answer that I do not want to hear at all.

“What do you mean ‘don’t ask me’? I thought you guys can sense each other’s presence?” If we were conversing in the real world, I would have been shouting my lungs out. Yet, Balam remains calm as a still river as he answers:

“That’s precisely it. We can’t pinpoint our location unless we’re very close to one another. All I know is that one of my kin showed a vague signal in this country. It might be this city, it might be another, we just have to meet them in person if we want to know who they are.”

His voice then stops, seemingly telling me that the conversation is over.  With no info left, I have no choice but to once again tell Bea with a disappointed look on my face:

“Yeah, about that…”

“He doesn’t know?”

“He doesn’t know.” I slowly nod in shame. But I’m not the type to give up that easily. It only takes a second for a new idea to come across, as I hit my fist onto my hand in joy. “But I think we can get some kind of information if we stay here! This is a port city, after all, information is the one thing that’s plentiful around here.”

“Good point.” Bea nods in agreement as well, looking out towards the horizon as the sky is dyed red. “Besides, the sun is setting already. We need somewhere to stay anyway.”

“Where do you plan on staying?”

“I think that’s an inn over there.” She points to a rather large house just outside the harbor, on top of a small slope leading to the town. A seaside cottage, one would call.

Stepping into the inn, the strong smell of booze invades our noses, making my head dizzy after just a second. Bea, meanwhile, seems relatively fine, although I can still see her face blush just a tiny bit as the drunken men all turn their gazes on us. Trying my best to keep my balance, I hold onto her hand and quickly come towards the desk, where a bald, middle-aged man is sitting in wait for new customers.

“Excuse me, Sir. Can I get two rooms to stay for the night?” I ask in the politest tone I can think of.

Contrary to my expectations, the man looks at me with a gaze mixing between disgust and annoyance, and replies:

“Si vous voulez rester ici, parler français.” If you wish to stay, speak French.

I have no idea why he’s so angry all of a sudden. Was it my attitude? My posture? My question itself? I still wish to try again as I continue, showing my most sincere face, almost to the point of flattery:

“Um, Sir, please…”

Bea, however, realizes my grave mistake, as she drags me away from the counter before I could make another move and whispers in anger:

“You dummy! French people hate those that don’t use their language!”

“Do they now?” I ask with my eyes wide open in shock. “I never knew.”

“It’s in… never mind. I must have mixed up our school’s education with my etiquette training when I was small. Anyway, let me handle this.”

And, to my utmost shock, she quickly approaches the counter and speaks in the most fluent French I’ve heard in my entire life, maybe even better than the locals themselves:

“Excusez-moi monsieur…”

Their conversation goes on at a breakneck pace, so much that I can’t possibly keep up with my zero experience in French. The only thing I can tell is that after a short while, Bea turns to me with a single key in her hand:

“There you go. Our room will be on the second floor.”

“Oh, that’s… wait, our room?” I ask in disbelief, not sure if I have heard the right thing just now. Does she not realize who we are?

“Yeah, of course. I can’t be wasting all of my money here.” Bea gives out a nonchalant nod as if nothing has happened.

“Are you sure? I mean, we…”

It seems like seeing my completely flushed face has finally made her realize my point, as she soon burst out into laughter, leaving me confused and embarrassed. Wiping the tears off her face, she answers:

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“Of course, there will be a mattress for you to sleep on the floor. What, you think we’re going to be sharing the same bed?” She says with a teasing grin.

“I… well, that’s good to hear.” Not finding any other way for a comeback, I can only reply so much before taking the key off her hand and going straight to our temporary house for the time being. “At least you’re not as easygoing as you look.”

 

Aside from the little squabble we had when we checked in, the past few days have been peaceful and quiet. Maybe too peaceful and quiet for me, as I’m currently stuck in our little room doing nothing since conversing with the locals is beyond my reach. Bea now handles the task of finding more information regarding the Peter that’s supposed to have shown up in the country, but she could only do so well in a city like this, with people coming and going on a daily basis. As for me, with nothing better to do, I’ve developed somewhat of a routine, as I hold my cross in my hand and close my eyes, ready to venture towards the vast dreamscape once more.

It seems like I’m getting the hang of this, as I’m once again welcomed by the beautiful scenery of the glimmering lakeside field as soon as I open my eyes. Standing on the shore with his gaze towards the ever-so-tall tower in the middle of the lake, Balam welcomes me with a warm and soothing tone:

“I see you’re back with your training, my King.”

“Well, sure beats being stuck in that small room,” I reply, drawing out my sword. “Same thing today?”

“Naturally.” Balam nods in agreement, before immediately flying towards me with his staff in hand, ready for a strike.

Remember what you’ve learned these past few days. Observe the opponent’s movements. Balam is right-handed, and he usually opens up with an upper swing, meaning that…

I hold my sword up to my forehead just in time as Balam swings his staff from the right, aiming at my head. However, blocking is only part of the issue, as the force of his attack is already enough to send a shock throughout my body. Retracting his staff immediately when he sees my arm shaking, Balam shakes his head in disappointment:

“Firmer grip, my King. I must say, I’m quite surprised that you lack this much experience handling a sword.”

“Well, I’m not a knight, aren’t I? It’s only natural that I received little to no combat training.”

“It seems like I need a lot more work with you.” He lets out a sigh, but before I know it, instantly jumps forward again, ready for the second wave of attacks. For someone who looks like a wizard, Balam’s swings are ridiculously strong and fast. It’s like in his hand is not an oversized staff anymore, but a blade ready to cut through his enemies. I can only barely keep up with his strikes by utilizing the blade’s length to cover a wider area, but by doing so, I’m being put in a completely passive position. It’s already five minutes, but I can’t even get a single attack off, let alone land one. Seeing the situation, Balam gives a bit of new advice with each swing, regardless of whether or not I can put it to mind with my head constantly having to react to his next move:

“Don’t just focus on blocking!”

“Find a chance to dodge, then counter!”

Tch, easy for you to say. I’m already busy enough with parrying your attacks. Telling me to find a chance to counter in this pace? But still, I have to admit, only defending is hardly a good option, as I learn that the hard way by letting a hit slip by as my mind drifted for a mere second. It’s like my head is split in half, Balam’s strike from above cleanly hits the top of my head, causing me to cry out in pain and fall flat to the ground. Holding my head, I complain:

“Can’t you hit a little less hard? Ouch!”

“If I didn’t go at you at least somewhat seriously, you’d never learned.” Balam snickers, shaking his head. “Although, I have to give credit where credit’s due, for a beginner, you put up a much better defense than I expected. Even Arthur in his first few weeks of training can’t last a minute without getting hit.”

“Really?”

“Of course. But then he only knew how to charge forward, so in the end, both of us were covered in bruises.” Balam lets out a light smile, reminiscing his old times.

“Well, back to the matter at hand.” He continues, turning back towards me. “You can parry most of my attacks, meaning that you can see where I would strike at and when to block. However, I believe you’re focusing too much on that sword.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, curious and confused.

“You’re too much… ‘by the book’, I’d say. Quite surprising, really. Since I said this was sword training when we started, you’ve only been focusing on how to handle your sword: how to swing, how to thrust, how to parry, and so on. But a real battle is not just about swordplay. Movements, tactics, weaponry, … all are necessary for a fighter to learn. Next time, focus more on commanding your entire body, not just the blade in your hands.”

“I’ll take note of that.” I nod, standing up once more, and raise my sword forward. “Shall we begin the next round?”

“With pleasure, my King.” Balam raises his staff in return. However, before we can continue our sparring session, a voice echoes through the realm, shaking even the still water and tree:

“Hey, Petey! Wake up! I have news!”

“Looks like I have to go.” I put back my sword and bow goodbye to Balam.

“Until next time, my King.” With a returning bow, Balam answers. I then hold out the cross and close my eyes again, ready to return to the real world.

Waking up in our room once more only to see Bea already staring at me straight in the eyes, I almost jump out of the mattress I was lying on. “What happened?” I ask, trying my best to control the sound of my heartbeat.

“I’ve just heard on the street.” Bea, with an urgent and nervous look on her face, answers. “Someone was captured just a few days ago, and is now being transported to the Bastille through this city!”

“Bastille? You mean the giant prison fortress in France?” I ask, remembering back the little knowledge I’ve learned in world history.

“Yes, that one.” Bea nods to confirm. “Now it’s only used to house the most dangerous, heinous criminals in the nation. And what’s a more severe crime than to defy the Angels?”

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, unable to contain the excitement in my voice. If this news is true, that means our target is just another step from us.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the men in the tavern talk.” Bea nods once more. “It seems like that person fled from somewhere to here and fought off a bunch of Angels before being caught…”

The sounds of people shouting incomprehensible phrases from outside interrupt our conversation. As I pause, clueless about the situation, Bea’s face soon turns pale, while her voice shifts to urgency. “Hurry! They must be right outside right now!”

“Okay.” With a quick nod in agreement, I immediately get out of bed and the two of us dash out of the inn, making our way to the busy street.

The scene outside is a ruckus. Everyone is yelling and throwing various items, from rotten tomatoes and eggs to stones sharp enough to cut through one’s flesh if handled correctly. Surrounding us is a mishmash of different sounds and voices, creating an absolutely chaotic display. Even though the chaos should be less than a minute’s walk from where we’re staying, it still takes us no less than ten minutes to navigate through the sea of people and actually see what exactly is going on.

On the cart is a large steel cage, and inside it lies a teenage girl wearing only a dirty and torn cloth. Her golden hair is messy and ragged, while her face, arms, and legs are all covered in bruises. With her beaten state, one could hardly tell if she’s still conscious or not until they take a glance at her eyes. While her body might be almost dead, her golden eyes still burn a fire, flickering as it might be, as she glares at the people giving her hell. What I want to confirm more, however, is tied to her right hand like a bracelet. The crimson-red color of the cross makes it stand out even more on her pale, snow-white skin, like a blood sign of a heretic. Body trembling, I utter:

“That’s… her.”

Seeing my clenching fist, Bea holds back my hand to stop me from doing anything crazy, then whispers:

“Don’t make any move. We don’t want to be found out.”

I look again to see what she was referring to and immediately noticed: the four people guarding the four corners of the cage are all wearing white robes, each with a pair of white, avian wings sprouting behind their backs. Angels. They shout and gesture towards the crowd, but I still can’t figure out a word they were saying. One thing I can tell, though, is that whatever it is, it doesn’t have an effect on the angry mob at all.

“What are they saying?” I whisper towards Bea.

“I think they’re trying to dissuade people from throwing things at her,” Bea answers, but without much certainty. It seems like she couldn’t quite catch the angels’ words as well, probably due to the excess noise around us.

“Empty words, then.” I click my tongue in annoyance while gesturing towards the scene. “Look at their faces. Not a single shred of compassion, like I’m staring at a bunch of statues or something. Bunch of hypocrites.”

Right at that moment, as if our fates were destined to intertwine, the caged girl’s eyes and my own meet.

As if the dying flames within her have erupted once more, the girl stands up with all her might, disregarding the fact that her ankle is still chained to the cage. Before I can react to anything, from her spot in the cage, a blinding light and an intense heat burst free, engulfing the entire area in front of me and the crowd along with it. A thundering explosion rips through the air, blasting out shards of burning wood and piping hot iron chunks all over the place. In just a split second, everyone present goes into a crazed panic, frantically making their way out of the danger zone. This scenery of people practically trampling over one another while everything else is covered in smoke and flames is nothing short of a painting from hell. The four guarding angels, meanwhile, have already perished long ago; each had the same stab wound on the chest by a long, black spear. The cage is already broken to pieces and its bars have already long melted due to the extreme heat coming from all directions, leaving a few burning holes in the liquified iron. On the cart now stands the teenage prisoner, with the light from the fire reflected on her eyes creating a demonic feeling that sends chills down my spine. As we stand speechless and afraid, she lets out a cry filled with hatred and malice that echoes through the streets, as if tearing through space itself.

With her arms raised forward, the girl then mumbles something. As she finishes her chant, a fire suddenly appears in her palm, burning bright in the shape of a small dragon for just a second before disappearing as quickly as it starts when she crushes the image with her hand, leaving behind not a fire dragon, but a black spear similar to the ones that stabbed the Angels. She then points the spear at me, and, with a scornful look in her blazing gaze, she shouts at me at the top of her lungs:

“You! Finally, I’ve found you! Now prepare to go to Hell!”

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