<i>To reclaim her kingdom from the foes, the red dragon of greed sought the aid of a shadowy force, the dark mist that haunted in the forest.</i>
<i>The red dragon breathed the fire of death, while the dark mist herded their foes into the blazing flames. Thus, the battle was won and the kingdom was hers. The thorn-choked fields began to stir with life once again.</i>
<i>Yet the deadly fire still crept across the land. The fields withered; the living faltered. The newborn perished before they could bloom, while the passing lingered, bound to this land.</i>
<i>The red dragon would not abide the death going unrestrained. Her wish was firm: life to life, death to death. Resolute in her purpose, she sought to cease the spreading fire. As Samhain drew near, she gathered those touched by the tainted flames into her lair.</i>
And yet it is for an altogether different reason that you hide yourself in this dilapidated pub after publishing your work. How ridiculous.
Writer
A lot of things are ridiculous.
Mysterious Woman
Do you simply enjoy keeping people in suspense? Is your spirit soothed by tales of readers desperate to know the ending?
Writer
Some overly enthusiastic Messengers did manage to find me to deliver some fan mail.
Mysterious Woman
You must have been rather pleased.
Writer
Pleased? I didn't even read them. Just tossed them into that fireplace.
Mysterious Woman
How impertinent.
Mysterious Woman
Moreover, not a single story in your collection doesn't cut off unceremoniously. Truly impertinent.
Writer
It's simple, really. I can't write an ending to save my life.
Writer
You'd best head home now, miss. You're clearly well-educated, and a ramshackle pub like this doesn't suit you. Don't fret yourself over those half-finished stories.
Mysterious Woman
Why the hurry to show me the door? Perhaps I can help you.
The author takes measure of the woman once more. Even with a hood over her head, he can see how pale her face is. She must be very sickly, he thinks.
The moment she arrived in this abandoned village, she went straight for the pub. She had clearly done her research, and seems unlikely to give up anytime soon.
After ruminating, he picks up a sticky mug left among the cards and chips strewn across the table and downs a mouthful of rancid beer.
Writer
Alright then. So what kind of ending were you thinking?
Mysterious Woman
Why should I be the one to come up with it?
Mysterious Woman
You're the writer, not me. I simply wished to offer my own story, to spark your imagination.
Writer
Your own story?
Writer
Wait, are you another survivor? Did you also narrowly escape death in that city last autumn?
Mysterious Woman
Only those who've experienced the truth for themselves would recognize what your stories are based on.
Writer
...
Writer
Well, go ahead then. I'm all ears.
Mysterious Woman
Very well. Deep in the ruins of the former royal capital of Tara, long since destroyed by Catastrophe...
Deep in the ruins of the former royal capital of Tara, long since destroyed by Catastrophe, on one uneventful yet peaceful day, the flame burning in a metal stove was snuffed out.
This was no urgent matter, but the red dragon came all the same.
The Red Dragon
Does it resist being lit?
The Red Dragon
Or is it that not even an ominous outsider—newly come after centuries of silence—can relight old longings and resentments, near worn away by time?
The Red Dragon
Or... perhaps I simply need to be less reserved.
A purple flame dances around the stove.
Under its light, the red dragon's face looks even paler than before.
???
...
The Red Dragon
Are you awake?
The Red Dragon
Or must I remind you who you are?
The Red Dragon
The pathetic red dragon who cast aside his crown and wandered the wilderness for twenty years, only to be murdered by his closest kin on his return. Labhréathach the Exiled King, correct?
The Exiled King
...
The Red Dragon
It truly is a pity, seeing someone still in shock at his own bloody death, six hundred years after the fact.
The Exiled King
Six hundred years?
The Red Dragon
Give or take. The true date of your death has long been forgotten.
The Exiled King
I'm shocked, yes, but not at my death. More at the fact that, after six hundred years, the Dracos have once again produced an aberration spewing the flames of death.
The Exiled King
They even let you grow to adulthood without strangling you in the crib.
The Exiled King
Did the Victorians bid you rouse me from death's slumber? Or did you hide that ridiculous crown from them beneath your bed?
The Red Dragon
Victoria no longer yokes the Red Dragon. The Tara of today heeds no foreign master.
The Exiled King
Hah, not bad.
The Exiled King
Tell me then, is it popular to wake the dead to deliver good news these days? But sorry, I've nothing to reward you with. Now if that's all, you'd best be on your way.
The Red Dragon
With my flames burning within you, you won't be ending this after a few trifling pleasantries, Labhréathach.
The Exiled King
Ending? My ending came long, long ago. You're the one with unfinished business, yeah?
The Red Dragon
...
The Exiled King
Look, I get it. They're the flames of death, after all. They'll get you into all kinds of trouble. Life and death getting jumbled up, herds of undying beasts, newborn cubs having their lives snuffed out before you know it, the works.
The Exiled King
So, how big a mess are we talking here? A field? A city? A countryside?
The Red Dragon
I set all of Tara alight to free her from Victoria's heel.
The Exiled King
You WHAT?!
The Red Dragon
Let her be razed to the ground. Let Tara become a nation of the dead. Either way, the flames of death will seek out new kindling. Or so I thought, at first.
The Red Dragon
But allowing so many lives to fade away simply because I am out of ideas, well, that would be awfully imprudent of me.
The Red Dragon
And so I came to you. Tell me, what should I do to cleanse these deathly flames from the fields of Tara?
The Exiled King
...If only that were empty bluster.
The Red Dragon
Go ahead, use your imagination.
The Exiled King
I've heard enough. What I'm about to say isn't for you, but for all the people still willing to call themselves Tarans.
The Exiled King
Those tainted by your flame and marching towards death have been renounced by life itself. It will never return to them.
The Exiled King
This goes without saying for the corpses marching behind you, obviously, but the same holds for those who still live yet walk like the dead. There's no medicine that can save them.
The Exiled King
Gather them together, so that their fires do not taint others.
The Red Dragon
Appeasement. Is that all you can suggest?
The Exiled King
Hah... Of course not.
The Exiled King
Next, find another red dragon. Assuming you haven't already slaughtered your kin, of course.
The Exiled King
Find a real red dragon, one whose flames warm others' lives. Let things return to as they once were. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, life to life, death to death.
The red dragon does not even bother to sneer at him. She simply turns and leaves.
She passes by a ruined home, faint yellow candlelight seeping through the cracks.
This is the wilderness where the dead roam. No one should be living here. And so, she knocks on the door.
Decrepit Old Man
Who're you?
The Red Dragon
Who I am is unimportant. What's important is, why are you living out here?
Decrepit Old Man
I came because there aren't any Victorians here to knock at my door and rob the food I dug up myself, along with my savings...
Decrepit Old Man
Five years ago, on a night like this, a wicked caster came by, killing the Victorians as they closed in, step by step.
Decrepit Old Man
I offered him beastmeat, grains, and freshly-brewed wine, but he told me he didn't need any of it. What he needed was fire, a fire fueled by those who would happily burn themselves away.
Decrepit Old Man
And so my only son, Keith, left home and followed him.
The Red Dragon
What a noble soul.
Decrepit Old Man
Then, three years ago, someone knocked on my door in the middle of the night again. It was Keith.
Decrepit Old Man
My Keith. He no longer spoke, or wept, or even breathed. He just stood there, his body covered in purple flames.
The Red Dragon
How tragic.
Decrepit Old Man
It gets worse. I buried him, but he refused to rot away in the earth. Instead, he dug himself out, and now his corpse is wandering endlessly the wilds.
Decrepit Old Man
Which is why I'm still living here.
Decrepit Old Man
Are you one of that caster's friends? Are you here to lay Keith to rest?
The Red Dragon
I am.
The Red Dragon
Ah, here he comes.
A walking corpse, wreathed in purple flame for all to see, shambles towards the two.
The red dragon presses the point of her spear against the corpse's chest. The fire rages so hot that it sears away its flesh in an instant, leaving nothing more than ash.
But an idle thought crosses the old man's mind: the fire did not seem to burn out, but instead went up along the spear to return to the red dragon's body.
The Red Dragon
And what of you? You're also tainted by the purple flames of death, are you not?
The old man looks himself over, but sees no flames licking his body like they did with his only son. But to the dragon, the flame consuming him was even brighter than that of the dead.
Decrepit Old Man
...If you mean sorrow, anger and hatred, then you're right, witch.
Decrepit Old Man
The Victorians taxed me in coin, while you and your ilk taxed me in blood. Together, you've taken all I have.
Decrepit Old Man
I've been empty inside for a while now. The only thing keeping me standing are those so-called flames of yours.
The Red Dragon
Then what if I were to take them back? What would you say to that?
Decrepit Old Man
I'd say 'you're late.'
The old man closes his eyes, facing the point of the red dragon's spear.
He can feel the fires of anger and sorrow propping him up burble as they flow into her hand. As they leave his body, his muddled consciousness leaves with them.
He can sense that death is near, but considering how stagnant his life has become, he no longer fears it.
But the fires suddenly stop flowing.
Decrepit Old Man
Why? Why won't you kill me?
The Red Dragon
Because you no longer need to be killed.
The Red Dragon
A spirit once told me that life will never again grace those tainted by the flames of death. Now I see that he was right.
'Now I see that he was right,' the red dragon answered coldly.
Mysterious Woman
How is that for an ending? I took what I heard from the old man and added a bit of spice. It shouldn't be too jarring an addition to your story, I would think.
Writer
Throwing in the ghost of the legendary Exiled King, are we?
Writer
It'll do, but do you really need the ending to my story at this point?
Mysterious Woman
What you've seen clearly differs from what I saw. I must see it through your eyes, hear it through your ears.
Writer
You're not one of those bored toffs who's into 'piecing together the truth', are you?
Mysterious Woman
I have never once considered the truth boring.
Writer
Hah. Well, seeing as we both managed to make it out of that hellhole alive, I can pass you all the drafts I abandoned in the process of observing, thinking and writing.
Writer
But as for how those stories actually end, I couldn't say.
Writer
Since you were talking about the Red Dragon... how about I start there, too?
The writer pours another half-mug of beer directly into his belly, glances at the woman with a hint of provocation, then begins to tell his tale.
If you have ever made the journey to the Red Dragon's Lair we call Na Saoirsí, no matter how briefly, you will never forget the Dark Woods along the way.
They are dismal and damp, filled with a gloomy mist and fae who love playing tricks on men. A labyrinth of darkest black.
It is said that, of all the people who have entered, not a one has ever left without the forest's permission.
Even if it does open its boughs to allow you passage, the mischievous fae will still lead you astray, jeering at your clumsy movements all the while. But once they finally leave you be...
Someone will be coming to help us. Once they're here—
Loughshinny spots a figure slowly walking over from the city.
It must be the man here to greet them, but the last time they met, he had wanted to kill her.
She subconsciously puts her arms out to shield Moran at her side.
Loughshinny
...Why are you here?
'The Brigadier'
I have come to welcome you.
Loughshinny
What?
'The Brigadier'
I'll be escorting you into Na Saoirsí to meet with Her Highness Eblana.
'The Brigadier'
Don't worry, you'll never have to see me again. Not unless absolutely necessary.
Loughshinny
Indeed. The issues we could resolve without meeting, she and I already resolved on the Gastrell.
'The Brigadier'
Then please, follow me. As for your entourage... Due to security concerns, I will make other arrangements for them.
Loughshinny
No. They are Tarans, too. They must enter with me. I promised them.
'The Brigadier'
While I would love to acquiesce, truth be told, the majority of our citizens are unaware that there is a second red dragon. Namely, you.
Loughshinny
I can guarantee that they will keep it secret.
'The Brigadier'
This is where you and Her Highness disagree.
Loughshinny
Then do you mean to say that my sister will 'ensure' they do?
'The Brigadier'
...
Loughshinny
This is precisely why I must bring them into Na Saoirsí.
???
Err... I may have an idea that would satisfy both parties, if you'd care to hear it?
'The Brigadier'
I brought you here, Wakewoman, not simply as an overseer for settling citizens, but also for your discretion in sensitive matters.
'The Brigadier'
I hope this idea of yours isn't mere wishful thinking. If so, know that even you will no longer be welcome in Na Saoirsí.
The Wakewoman
Of course, of course.
The Wakewoman
As you so eloquently put it, Na Saoirsí is indeed unable to so readily open its gates to our errant countrymen.
The Wakewoman
But I'm headed to the village of the wakemen tomorrow to ask for some sacred instruments. Seeing how these people have nowhere else to go, I can have them stay at the village for now.
Loughshinny
'Wakemen'? Isn't that some sort of codename plucked straight from the old legends?
The Wakewoman
My people have been relegated to song and story for many, many years, true. Those of us who live around the ruins rarely ever leave. I'm just an oddball.
The Wakewoman
Which is why I can promise you that...
The Wakewoman
well, no word of the red dragon will leave the village.
Loughshinny
I really want to trust you, but...
Moran
Are you really one of them? The wakemen?
Loughshinny
Moran?
Moran
Before my great-grandma passed, she asked for a traditional burial held by a wakeman. Our family searched all over as best we could, but never found one. All we could do was pass it off as the ramblings of a dying woman.
Moran
But she was a woman with her head on straight, not the type to mix things up with legends. If she said something's real, it's as real as can be. Besides, I've heard many stories about your kind.
Sorry for making trouble for you even after I left.
The Wakewoman
They're Tarans with no place to call home. Na Saoirsí can't take them in at the moment, so I thought, maybe...
Solemn Wakewoman
We made an exception many years ago by not forbidding you from leaving. We have even less reason to admit these strangers we know nothing about.
Moran
What if we're not here to be admitted to the wakemen, ma'am?
The Wakewoman
Moran?
Moran
Once, when I still dreamt of being a wandering bard, I collected the legends of the wakemen, sought out your people, and told your tales.
Moran
But in the end, my dreams of both bardhood and wakemen were shattered to pieces. Only now, when all I want is to go home, do I run into you.
Moran
If the legends are true, your people live ascetic lives. You only come into contact with outsiders to hold funerals, letting the souls of the departed find rest in fire.
Solemn Wakewoman
...Correct.
Moran
We came here with... No, we're just folks from all across Tara seeking refuge. Not a one of us is qualified to join you. We're just looking for a place to stay for a day or two.
Solemn Wakewoman
...
Moran
I promise you, we'll follow your laws and customs as best we can. We won't trouble you any more than we already have.
Moran
Winter's just around the corner, too. I'm not too sure if your people hold harvest festivals, but if you need any help, please, feel free to ask.
Solemn Wakewoman
...Samhain. That is the true name of what you call the 'harvest festival'.
Solemn Wakewoman
It would seem you really are different from the cityfolk.
Solemn Wakewoman
There are some abandoned huts outside the ruins. You may clean them and stay there.
Moran
Thank you. Or rather, 'go raibh maith agat.'
Solemn Wakewoman
Is there anything else, Nemos?
The Wakewoman
The Dublinners in the city want to hold a victory party to celebrate Tara's liberation.
The Wakewoman
I promised them I'd ask you for some of the sacred instruments. They'd show Taran unity, and represent the importance of tradition to the nation.
Solemn Wakewoman
With Samhain almost upon us, we have none to spare. Have you forgotten? But even if we did, we would not give them away.
The Wakewoman
They're only requesting them because of how much they value the old ways...
Solemn Wakewoman
Then why is it that not a single denizen of Na Saoirsí has come to us to request a funeral since the city became independent?
Solemn Wakewoman
We can tell the difference between remembering a name once forgotten, and dressing yourself up in a name you've read in a history book.
Solemn Wakewoman
But if you cannot return empty-handed, then take this whistle and go.
The Wakewoman
This is... just an ordinary whistle...
Solemn Wakewoman
It is the highest honor we can give them.
Solemn Wakewoman
The wakemen do not stand with the living, nor do we require their reverence. Until, of course, they are dead.
