Chapter 6: The Tale of Seer Blackwell

“Seer Aron Blackwell was born two thousand years ago when the hills sang with magic and dragons ruled the land.” Murtagh's voice took on a singsong quality, gentling down, as he relaxed back into his chair and stretched out his feet, crossing them at the ankles. “For many years, Aron's magic was unknown to those outside of the Blackwell household, because the oldest Blackwell son was also magical and the dragon who claimed Aron's brother could not smell the difference between the magic of the oldest son and the magic of the youngest.”

“Dragons can smell magic?” Saoirse asked.

“Yes. Don't interrupt.”

As soon as Murtagh had begun to tell the tale, his aura had gone totally blue. Not a single shade of blue—that would have been boring—no, his aura was all sorts of shades of blue, as if Saoirse was sitting in the sky above an ocean: light blues swirled with green blues and dark blues the color of midnight. Purple blues had her wincing, so arrogant, and even yellow blues almost but not quite green. So, Saoirse knew that she could interrupt. Indeed, by now Saoirse had concluded that Murtagh liked people who had bad manners. As she sat wondering how to make herself burp, Murtagh got on with the story.

“Seer Blackwell's older brother . . . ” Here, Murtagh paused. “Hmm . . . I've forgotten his name.”

“Let's call him Dodger,” Saoirse said. “Father had a dog named Dodger.”

“He wasn't a dog.”

Saoirse almost remembered her good manners and remained silent. But then she saw Murtagh's aura . . .

“We could call him Duncan, or Craven, or Mack. Oisin, Finn, Ryan . . . ”

Murtagh rose and stared down at child sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Do-not-interrupt.” His voice was deadly serious.

Saoirse looked innocently up at him and his bright blue aura. “Oscar, Callum, Tadhg—"

Murtagh sighed and sat down. “I shall call him Brian.”

“I don't like Brian.”

“I don't like children who interrupt.”

But he did, and she knew it.

“And if you interrupt again, I'll lift the lid on the chamber pot.”

Saoirse's face contorted into a grimace, and this time, she didn't say a word.

“Brian and little Aron were never separated. As Aron grew, he often questioned his older brother. 'But why do you have to die?'“

“Brian's going to die?”

Murtagh nodded. “Dragons eat seers.”

“They do?”

“Yes. Magic is a dragon's food. You eat lemon cakes; dragons eat magic.”

“That's not true. Dragons don't eat people.”

Murtagh raised one eyebrow. “Who is the teacher, and who the student?”

Saoirse stood up and pointed her finger at Murtagh. Since she was so short and Murtagh was sitting in his comfy chair, her finger with her arm stretched straight out in front of her was pointing directly at Murtagh's chin. “You're telling lies.”

Murtagh crossed his arms over his chest. And Saoirse, who was convinced that Murtagh was fibbing, peered into his aura. She looked and looked, but there wasn't a single thread of black among the blue. An awful sick feeling swished about in her stomach.

“Do I have your permission to continue?” Murtagh asked.

Quelled, Saoirse sat back down, looking at nothing but the gray stones of the floor. Murtagh's words washed over her like great waves, and the magic within her brought the world of Seer Aron Blackwell to life, as sure as if she had been standing in the wattle and daub house with the thatched roof. She heard the hesitant, struggling cry of the newborn babe. The child was the last of eight and the second son.

Mum's wail was filled with anguish. “No, no.”

Brian turned, seeing his father's face sparkling from the magic the wee babe in his arms had given him.

“Why,” his mother wept, “must I lose two children to that beast?”

Da placed the child in Brian’s arms. As Brian clutched his baby brother, magic flowed from the child to him, and from him to the babe. The child opened his eyes. “He's strong, Mum. He's strong.”

His father pointed with his chin, and Brian took the child outside into the cold winter night, holding him close, using his magic to heat the air around them. It wasn't long before his sister creaked open the door and motioned him back inside. Around his now-sleeping mother the beautiful clear yellow of hope for the child that had filled her aura when the babe was in her womb had faded to a weak grayed beige, dimmed by dread.

The next morning, Mum wouldn't nurse him. “I'll not feed the dragon two sons.” So, Brian brought a wet nurse, and paid her well, daily draining himself of magic to heal, bit by bit, her cauliflower ears.

“Can't you be healing them all at once?” the girl asked.

“I'm not that strong.”

“So I've got to nurse the babe for weeks, because you're a wee seer?”

“No, you've got to nurse the babe for a full three months because otherwise he'll die. That is the price for healing your ears whether I do it fast or slow.”

She rolled her eyes and managed to look quite offended as if she were a grand lady, rather than the barkeeper's abused and oft-beaten daughter. “Don't be shouting. It ain't good for the milk.”

When the babe was weaned, Brian took the child, swaddled and sleeping, to his Da.

“He's stronger than I am. Perhaps he can get away.”

His father didn't look at his infant son. “When the dragon comes and claims him, I'll take him into the forest and leave him to die. We'll say he caught fever.”

Day after day, week after week, month after month, the dragon did not come. The beast had arrived the very night Brian was born. Almost a year after Aron's birth, on a snowy winter's day, the beast swooped low and landed, sniffing the air. The earth rumbled as its feet smashed to the ground, in a far from graceful landing. It stumbled and fell and didn't get up, content to lie like a fat snake on its belly. “Come See . . . er,” it said, slurring its words as its great head wobbled from side to side. “I wish to smell you.”

As Brian would have gone forward, Aron cried. So Brian picked him up and walked to the beast with the babe in his arms.

It sniffed.  “Mmmm . . .  your scent is even more delightful than I remember.” Its long tongue uncurled, tasting the air around Brian. “I plan to enjoy your 25th birthday.”

Brian's tone lacked any sort of respect. “You're drunk on magic.”

The cold day grew warm with the breath of the dragon.

Brian's tone went from disgusted to downright surly. “Do you think Da doesn't remember? Or that you can fool the whole village?”

“Grrr  . . . ” Smoke polluted the air.

The low growl only made Brian mad. How many years had he spent trembling before the beast? Somehow little Aron, with his arms tight around Brian's neck, gave him courage. “We know our rights. I am the first-born son. Before this family and the midwife, you promised Da that I would be allowed thirty years. Tell me, should we report to the dragon king that you do not respect the ancient laws, that you lie?”

Like the rumbling of an earthquake, the growl in the beast's throat grew deafening. The low roar resonated in Brian's ears. Still holding his brother, he fell to his knees. Little Aron screamed from the pain.

“Thirty years,” the dragon snarled, “and not a day more.” With a downward whoosh of its wings, it took flight. All day Brian sat pondering.

Not a word, the beast said not a word about Aron.

The moon was high when Brian shook Da awake. “I'm sure of it—the beast didn't smell Aron. It didn't know that Aron was magic.”

“What?”

“Da, it only smelled me. Or it thought it was me. I was holding Aron. That's how we hide him, Da. We hide him, by keeping him next to me. The beast has promised that I will not be taken before I am thirty. He'll be fourteen. Da, he'll be old enough to run then.”

“Don't tell your mum until we're sure.” As Brian would have turned away, Da clutched at his nightshirt. “Keep him beside you, son. Day and night.”So Aron grew, learning to walk by holding Brian's hand. In the autumn, he'd stand on Brian's shoulders to pick the apples from the tree. And in the night, when the dreams came, the terrible dreams of the dragon, he held tight to Brian. The family kept the secret, telling not a soul. Brian taught his little brother the ways of magic that were known to him: how to light a fire, how to stretch leather gently without tearing it, and most of all, how to heal. Aron excelled. By the time he was six, the family burned wood only to fool any neighbors when they came to visit. Otherwise, Aron simply heated the large stones his father and Brian stacked in the fireplace. When Brian was called to the bedside of a sick or injured person, Aron stood behind him and sent his magic to his brother, who manipulated it with great effect.

When Aron was eight years of age, a three-year-old girl took ill with the pox. It was a poor house, with a single pot hanging from a hook over the fire and straw on the dirt floor for beds. Brian labored, growing weak from his effort to bring down her fever. His strength left him. He was so hungry he couldn’t think. His magic was all but gone, and the child was still burning up.

Abruptly, the child's mother, mumbling, left the room. Aron released his magic. A thousand colored stars twinkled above the weak, barely breathing child. As Brian had taught him, Aron brought to his mind the image he wanted the magic to create. He saw the child, her brown hair flowing out behind her, laughing, running into her mother's arms. Red sparkles settled on her lips and cheeks, jeweled lights of blue and emerald green wove themselves into her hair. Royal purple stars twinkled on her eye lids and disappeared into her ears and her nose. Golden brown lights the color of bread crusts alighted on her skin. At once the spots disappeared; she quieted and slept.

“Aron,” his brother whispered. “You've done it.”

A huge grin burst upon Aron's face. Never had he felt like this, like dancing and shouting, like singing, though his singing made the dog howl. Most of all, Aron wanted to take the terrible gray dread from Mum's aura. He'd whisper, “I'm strong, Mum. I'll live, Mum. Don't you worry. The dragon will never get me.”

“You've healed her.”

Turning, the two Blackwell sons saw Hannah's mother in the doorway, her hands trembling. “I thought to find her dead. I left because I couldn't bear to see her breathe her last.” She reached forward to clasp Brian’s hands in hers. “You've healed her.” She fell to her knees. “Thank you. Thank you.”

News of the healing spread quickly. The baker, always coming to have a look when tragedy struck, had quickly broadcast the miracle. As Brian sat trying to recover enough strength in his legs to walk home, the butcher arrived pressing upon them bones. “They be only soup bones, but they've still a good portion of meat on them and marrow, too.” Others arrived until the whole village stood at the door, rejoicing. Aron and Brian returned home ladened with cider and apples and a promise from the blacksmith. “I hear your father needs a new axe. I'll have one for him by the next eventide and one.”

Aron ran ahead. “I healed little Hannah, Mum. I healed her.”

“So we've heard.” Never had Aron seen his mother's aura so grayed, so dim. “Your sister arrived before you with the news.”

Da drew Brian aside. “You must be more careful, son.”

“Careful?” Brian kicked the dirt. “Little Hannah was near death.”

“Do I need to remind you? Aron is the second son, and the second magicked. The dragon can eat him any time he wants. Aron has no protection under the ancient laws. And all our neighbors . . . ” He grabbed one of the loaves, “Our neighbors who are giving us gifts will tie up Aron, they will force him to walk into that dragon's mouth. They would sacrifice my son for their children. Tell me why we should we risk him to save one of them?”

“Is that who we are?” Brian pointed to the village and shouted. “I'll not be like them!”In the fall of his twelfth year, before the days had turned bitterly cold, Aron begged Da, “Let Brian and me go up the mountainside. I want to listen to the wind.”

A look passed between Da and his oldest son. Da nodded. So taking food and water, the two brothers set off.  The way was rocky, and without a path, they were forced to blaze their own trail to the top. Often frustrated by impassable rocks, they were a full day climbing to the summit. From the top they looked down on the village. The river snaked through it like a big “S” and in the two curves of the “S” sat two clusters of houses, a bridge connecting them. To the north of the village with the mountain at its back was the Blackwell farm. Where once there had only been the small waddle and dab house now beside it stood a large barn that Brian, Da, and the men of the village had raised, a huge “B” tiled into the roof. As Brian's fame as a healer had spread, as more neighbors had been cured not only of fevers, but of swollen joints, of terrible headaches, of limbs that once broken had failed to heal, the gifts had poured in, culminating in the building of the barn last year.

Aron sat on a large rock, listening to the whispers of the wind. Far below, he could see Da—he knew him by his hat—chopping wood.

“I'll start the fire,” Brian said.

“Shhh,” whispered Aron.

As Brian turned away, Aron listened. The axe fell. Aron pushed out stars of blue, a light blue the color of a robin's egg—and listened. Softly the sound came to him carried on the breeze. Th-wack. Again, he pushed his magic upon the wind. Louder came the sound, Th-wack.

Mum—or was it Elena, his oldest sister—approached Da. Again, he pushed the blue sparkling lights upon the wind.

“He should be preparing to leave. Not listening to the wind.”

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It was Mum.

“Brian says he’s obsessed with the wind. He's trying to talk on it.”

“And you let him dawdle?” She raised frustrated hands into the air.

“Ah, love.” Da's voice was as gentle as the bleating of a newborn lamb. The flax of Da's shirt made a soft, swishing sound as he slid his arms around Mum and hugged her against his chest.

“I'm afraid for him,” she said. “Night and day.”

Reaching out his hand, Aron pushed orange, red, and yellow points of light in the wind. He taxed his strength, pouring out his magic. “I love you, Mum,” he whispered. “I love you.”

They jerked apart as if burned.

“Did you hear that?”

“Aron? Are you home?” she cried.

“Look up, Mum,” his head swam with dizziness. “We've reached the top. I can see you, and I'm whispering to you on the wind.” Aron stood, tried to wave, and stumbled. “Brian!”

At once Brian caught him. Safe in his brother's arms Aron thrust his magic into the wind, depleting himself. “This is how I'll elude the dragon, Mum. I’ll send my scent on wind. I’ll confuse the beast. If one gets too close. I'll sail away in a ship. I'll call the wind into the sails. The beasts will never find me, Mum. Never.”

“You're talking to them?” Brian asked.

Below Mum and Da pointed and waved.

“Damn!” Brian looked with awe at his brother's ashen face. Aron fainted; Brian caught him. Later when Aron opened his eyes, Brian fed him, tearing small pieces from the brown crusty loaf Mum had baked. Never had Aron been so drained and so hungry. He couldn't think. “Eat,” Brian whispered. “Eat. Let your magic replenish itself.”

*

For a year and a half, Brian and Aron traveled, healing, always demanding pay for their services. The neighbors chided Da, looked down their noses at him. “Bringing in the coin while he's alive, are ya?”

“Why do you care? He's healed you and your kin already.”

In secret, Da sent his six daughters in pairs to the far reaches of the kingdom, to relatives. “Say you don't wish to see your brother eaten,” he told them. “And never return. If the dragon discovers that we've hidden Aron, it will burn us out.” They left somber, hugging Brian until Da forced them apart. “Be gone, now. Where you'll be safe.”

Da and Mum took the horse and wagon to the port of Tirikan and purchased a ship, half built already and promised finished before the summer when Brian would turn thirty. When they returned home, Mum's aura shone a glorious sunflower yellow with hope. From Aron's healings, they had the gold to pay for the ship, and more to provision her, and to see Aron safely settled in a distant land. Aron, who had spent not a small sum on books, sat reading most nights, pausing to tell them of the wonders he hoped to see. “This beast has a neck as long as a man.”

As spring drifted into summer, the four sat outside the small house, around a fire. Da stood and wrapped his arms around Brian. “It is you who have saved him, though we canna save you.”

“Ah, Da.” Brian, reaching around lovingly, slapped Da's head. “You going to spoil this? I go happy into that beast's mouth.” Aron saw the truth of Brian's words not only in his smile, and in the sound of his laughter, but also in his aura, shining a deep clear blue with love. “We four have bested a dragon. We have beat that heinous creature at its own game.”

Mum reached out a hand to touch Aron's arm. “Are you sure that you can confuse your scent? That the dragon won't know?”

Aron nodded. Although in truth he had never tested his skills. Once when the dragon came, Brian and Aron had planned to stand some distance apart, but as the dragon approached Brian had run to his brother. “It's stupid to take such a chance, now. Best you practice more.”

“I'll swirl the wind, Mum. The beast will think he's still smelling Brian. When he leaves, I'll keep the wind high, taking my scent in many directions, thinning it out. We're lucky. We are farmed by a particularly dumb dragon. Before it realizes that I'm here, I'll be gone.”On Brian's thirtieth birthday, Aron's stallion was standing by, fed, watered, and saddled; Mum, Da, Brian and Aron stood together holding hands.

A neighbor, the baker, approached. “What the hell,” Da mumbled then raising his fist in the air, shouted. “Are you here to gawk and make sure he dies?”

The man looked shocked. “Nay. I thought to stand with you as your son was taken.”

“You did, did you? But I know you. Oh, how well I know you! You like to be telling tales and thought to watch and then act it out to the whole village. You’ve come to see how my son gets eaten. Does he beg? Does he cry? Get out! You’re nothing but puffed up pride; and having to be the center of attention. Get out! Get out!” Da picked up his axe and ran toward the man. At that moment the beast, wings outstretched, sailed down through the clouds, its clawed feet touching lightly on the ground.

For the first time in his life, Aron heard his mother curse. “Damn, could not that beast have been drunk on magic? Why this day must it have its wits about it!”

Aron gently swirled the wind. He knew better than to call forth a gale, even such a dumb beast would suspect magic. The wind brought to Mum and Brian and Aron, still standing together, still holding hands, the smell of sulfur and death.

In the field, Da threw the axe. It landed at the baker's feet. “Leave, or I swear I'll kill ya.”

The beast chuckled, spewing into the air billows of smoke. “Such turmoil. And for what? All magical people are born with a dark destiny. They bring only misery to those he loved. He is doomed, doomed to a bitter end.”

Mum raised a clenched fist to the beast. “We are more than your dinner.”

Stretching out on its belly, the beast opened its huge black mouth. Inside, its teeth were black, formed from obsidian, its tongue was black, its throat was black. “Feed me,” it growled.

Brian shook. Aron hadn't expected that. Brian had never seemed upset or afraid. The wind petered out. Mum clutched her belly. “No.”

The sound brought Da running. He held her, turning her face away from the beast. Brian bent close to Aron. “The wind,” he whispered. Aron tried, but he couldn't make the wind swirl. He couldn't do anything. Why was this happening? His brother was dying. Why wasn't the village here, fighting the beast? But, no, they were all safe in their homes. “Brian Blackwell dies today. Oh, well. Pity, he was a fine healer.”

As Brian took a hesitant step forward, Aron threw his arms around his brother. “We could fight him,” he whispered. “I'll swirl the wind; I'll deflect the flames.”

Aron's aura swirled blue with love and red with rage. Brian hugged his little brother, tightening his arms about him, smelling his hair, caressing his head. “I have loved you since the first moment I held you. If my dying saves your life, then I die well. Live, little brother. Live.” He looked over Aron's head, his eyes catching Da's. At once Da released Mum, clutching Aron, pulling him off his brother. When he was free, Brian walked calmly into the dragon's mouth. The beast flicked up its great tongue and Brian, losing his footing, slid down the throat of the beast.

“The wind,” whispered Da.

“Mmmm . . . ” moaned the dragon. “Delicious.”

“The wind,” whispered Da.

Mum, her hand on either side of Aron's face, spoke, “Has he died for nothing?”

Around them, swirled the wind, confusing scent and beast. The dragon flapped its huge wings, kicking up sand and dust, and flew into the dawn. When it was gone, Da dragged Aron to the waiting stallion. “Damn, it has flown south, but that can't be helped. Keep the wind up, son. Go!” He swatted the horse's rump. With the wind swirling around him, Aron took the southern road toward Tirikan, skirting the village. On and on he rode, through the night, not pausing to rest, changing horses as planned at dawn, and again at the close of the second day.

It didn't seem real. 

How could Brian be gone? How could I have been so selfish? My whole life Brian has lived to protect me, to help me escape. No one ever planned for him to escape. He was simply doomed.

As Aron rode, thoughts thundered in his brain like the hoofbeats thundered beneath him. Strands of Aron's hair turned gray. Lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. On the road to Tirikan, as he thought of his brother, Aron aged ten years.

Brian never married. He never took a wife, never lay with a woman, because I was always at his side. He never had children.

And when Aron stopped to quench his thirst at a stream. The final agonizing thought came.

I was his child.

“Ahhh” The cry was ripped from his throat. Exhaustion overtook him. He'd been riding for well-nigh fifty hours, pumping out magic, swirling the wind, thinning the wind, sending his scent upon it to distant hilltops. Sobs, gut-wrenching sobs, screamed from his throat. His chest threatened to tear apart. He collapsed onto the ground. His aching muscles—the loss, the terrible loss—Mum, clutching her belly, her cry, “No,” it all crashed down upon his fourteen-year-old shoulders, and he fell, bone-weary, completely drained, into a deep sleep.

Though the horse, knowing something was amiss, nuzzled his face and licked his ear with its wet tongue, the worn-out boy slept on. His body, so young, so strong, an athlete of magic, renewed the magic within him. It built back up his magical reserves and as it did, his sweet scent, carried upon the wind, came to the dragon's snout.

It wasn't a particularly smart dragon. “I thought I ate the Blackwell brat.” Being a greedy dragon, a dragon that demanded everything owed to it, a dragon that never let a debt go unpaid, it took wing and returned to the waddle and dab house where Mum and Da, grown old in a single day, sat doing nothing. Barely could they rouse themselves to eat.

It settled in the dirt in front of them, sniffing the air. Anger churned inside Da. In his fist he clutched his axe.

The dragon, seeing Da hold himself back, laughed. “Come, little man. Swing your axe.” It held out its clawed foot.

Mum clutched Da's shirt, shaking her head. “No.”

“You've had your dinner,” she said. “Leave.”

Again, the beast sniffed. Indeed, the scent was weak, almost nothing. Da's grip tightened. The tip of the beast's snout, the part it wiggled about, that it lifted to the wind, wasn't obsidian. No, it was soft, squishy, flexible flesh. As the dragon lifted its eyes to the mountain side, as it sniffed the wind, and turned its head toward the road . . .

Da launched himself forward, leaping, the axe raised. With a single swipe he cut off the soft tip of the dragon's nose, splattering black blood into the dust.

Magic amplified the howl of the beast. Its scream echoed off the mountain, shaking rocks loose. In the village, horses bolted. Oxen, yoked and plowing in the fields, ran from their masters, terrorized. By the stream, Aron woke.

Da laughed. Clutching his belly, he doubled over with guffawing. Mum joined him, falling out of her chair with laughter. They never even screamed. In an instant, they were dead. So fierce was the heat of the dragon's breath that the house was also consumed and the barn with it. 

Aron pulled the wind to himself and smelled on the breeze the scent of the holocaust. He couldn't know, couldn't be sure . . . but he knew; he was sure. Mum and Da were gone. It wasn't the scent on the wind that told him; it was the emptiness in his soul. He mounted and rode on. He swirled the wind. And the dragon, hiding in his cave with embarrassment that a dragon should have been bested by an axe, lost Aron's trail. So it was that seer Aron Blackwell escaped.

To each dragon, the dragon king had allotted a “farm.” These were vast tracts of land, farm abutting farm, from which each dragon could harvest seers to feed itself. Though it pained Aron, though it meant that he never married, that he never watched a child grow into adulthood, he never stayed within the “farm” of any one dragon for more than several months. He never gave the beasts time to solve the mystery of the wafting scents of magic that drifted by their noses. Instead, he sailed the globe searching for a land free of dragons. Yet even in the coldest reaches of the Earth, where snow covered the ground year around, dragons darkened the sky. Day followed day, and night followed night, and Aron vowed revenge upon the dragon that had taken Mum, Da, and Brian. His was a cold anger born in long, lonely hours at sea, a single question permeating his brain: How do I kill a dragon? It took sixty years, until his hair had gone white, for him to puzzle out the answer.

“Did he kill the dragon?” Saoirse asked.

“Yes—thus the saying.”

“What saying?”

“It takes a seer to kill a dragon.” Murtagh leaned forward. “But Aron was terribly burned.”

“Why didn't he heal himself?” she asked.

In the small turret room, the fire was only embers. Murtagh rose to light a candle—eventide was upon them. He added a log to the fire. Saoirse added one as well, a very small one. As Murtagh knelt, prodding the logs with the poker, Saoirse tapped on his shoulder. “Why didn't he heal himself?”

“Seers cannot heal themselves. Seers could however heal each other. They also cannot see their own auras.”

She thought for a moment. “That's right, I can't see—” Quickly she said, “So, how did he kill the dragon?”

“No one knows. When the villagers found him and the dead dragon, Aron was terribly burned and too weak to speak. He couldn't move. They had to pour broth down his throat and when they did, he screamed from the pain. The villagers took care of him, all of course but the baker.”

“I don't like that baker,” Saoirse said, shaking her head. “He's mean.”

“He ran to the dragon king and told him that Aron had killed the village's dragon overlord. The Baker thought the dragon king would reward him.”

“Did the dragon king reward him?”

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. “Yes. It burned the baker to a crisp. Then to prevent anyone from ever learning how to kill a dragon, the dragon king flew to the little village nestled in the curves of a river and burned every building to the ground. Aron and everyone else were killed.”

 

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