Falk Clan Tales - Chapter 55: Chapter 55

Frrrreeeeeeeeeeeeddddooooooommmm!
That part of him he’d been denied so long roared inside his mind’s eye. Castor had been denied so much of what life really was to a Dragon Shifter. At first, Dragomir had granted him some freedoms. He was confined to his cell, but he was given books, paper, and coal to learn to read, write, and draw.
The second he’d begun to show signs of his beast, the ruthless and evil Chief had iron chains forged to hold him at bay. The stronger he became, the more chains were added. Only once in five centuries had Castor ever successfully shifted into his Dragon.
He'd never forgotten the feeling. And it was the same as he felt now. Older, angrier, but powerful and hungry. The great beast with his diamond shaped scales, dark blue and edged in red and purple, burst free from his mind and skin.
Those same scales seemed incandescent as he watched inside his mind’s eye. Castor tossed his head from side to side, unsure of the terrible strength that seemed to fill him. The Dragon inside him charged forward, suffering from no such trepidation. The creature took shape inside his mind until it stretched outward, transforming his very person.
Castor struggled against the pain that filled him as he fought his shift. He was too weak, too far gone to hold the beast back. The shouts of the men who’d come to the dungeons and freed him reached his ears as if he were underwater.
“He’s shifting, but fuck, what is he?”
“It is not right! Look how his scales glow blue and red both! Fucking hell. Back up, now!”
“Tis a Demon!”
“Worse. He is a Change dragon!”
“No, it can’t be!”
“He should have been killed at birth.”
“Death is his only future.”
“Let us end him before he leaves,” Devine snarled.
His voice was trembling with either fear or rage, Castor could not tell for certain. He was too busy trying to stem the pain coursing through him to give it much thought.
“Nay! We are not murderers. Pray he finds his kin, the Falk brothers, so they can end this blight on their names!”
Molten lava replaced his blood, or so it seemed. Was he dying? Castor sure felt like he was. As if he were being burned on the stake like the Witches of old in tales heard from the servants who sometimes came down to his cell.
And what of his brothers? Was it possible his kin, four half-brothers Dragomir had taunted him with, were alive? He’d heard the older two were warriors. The younger brothers had other talents. They worked with modern day computers and science. Things Castor had no inkling of other than the words.
Were they alive? He did not know, but had always dared to hope. It gave him solace in times when he was very low to think of them living outside of this terrible place?
An idea began to take shape in his mind even as he lay prone and huddled against the flames inside of him that were trying to burn him alive. The two Dragons bickered about what to do, but neither came any closer. Good. he would not like having to fight the men who freed him.
Maybe he could find them. Maybe his Dragon would know the way.
Without any other recourse, Castor stopped fighting his shift. He relinquished full control to his beast. His human side was far too weak to endure much longer. His Dragon trumpeted into the night air, opening his maw he sent a stream of blue and red flames shooting out into the sky.
Fuck! That felt good. He’d never had a chance to revel in his other form, and though weak and tired, he took stock of his new physique as he shed his human skin like water off a duck’s back. Strong, leathery wings protruded from his back. His arms and legs were no more, having shifted into the thick, powerful quarters of his Dragon.
He was enormous, towering over the two males still in human form, but he paid them no mind. He was almost free of his torment. Castor growled and turned, using the spade at the end of his tail to bust through the brick and mortar of that terrible dungeon.
The icy air surrounding the Isle of Pain felt good along his fiery blue scales. He took in the raging sea with its ice floes and the wild storm brewing over the still burning castle. He needed to leave before his saviors turned enemy.
But Castor stood for a moment, looking out at the abyss that was the sky above him. He’d never flown before, had never had the chance. Would he freeze up there? Would he be lost?
Nay.
His Dragon seemed to reassure him, and Castor realized his fire would keep him warm from the inside out.
“He’s leaving! This is our last chance to end the monster!”
The shouts of Devine reached his ears, but his beast merely turned using his tail to knock down the rest of the wall. He did not mean to harm the men, merely slow them down.
“We don’t have to kill him. A ChangeDragon’s fate is death! He will be gone sooner than he knows it,” Nicholas shouted back to his brother.
Was Castor’s Dragon really such a terrible thing? He wondered. Was he the demonic being that Dragomir had claimed? Born of the traitorous love affair between his parents. But if death was to be his fate, he wanted to at least see his brothers once in life.
Rooooaaaarrrr!
His Dragon spat fire into the night air once more, the beast none too thrilled with any talk of death. But if those men were right, then he was dying. The pain he’d felt had surely been great. And if a ChangeDragon’s fate was death, there really was nothing he could do.
Yes, there is, he thought. Castor had a journey to begin. A clear mission began to take shape in his Dragon’s mind and heart. He had to find his kin, the four brothers Falk. He had to meet them, to let them know he existed, and to express how very sorry he was to be the cause of their misery for so very long.
He knew the tale from a servant, untainted by the evil Chief’s lies. His mother was to be Dragomir’s prize, but his father had fallen in love first. The two mated and wed in secret, and she was swollen with him by the time they were discovered.
Dragomir had taunted him with the way his father and mother’s sins had caused not only his unfortunate birth and their immediate death. But also the imprisonment of his kin. The four brothers had suffered 500 years of servitude to that monster.
It was almost too terrible to think of. Just as terrible perhaps as 500 years of being chained to his dungeons. Sorrow and hope warred within Castor as he took to the white gray skies above the Isle of Pain.
Plumes of black smoke from the still burning Castle Blackthorne filled the air, but Castor could only celebrate its demise. His beast roared, the sound splitting the sky like lightning.
The words of Nicholas and Devine, the Dragons who’d freed him, echoed in his mind. He might be a demon doomed to die, a ChangeDragon they’d said, but he was free.
Finally, I am free. And I will die free.
Pity he would never get the chance to live free. Castor did not know what good, if any, could come of his new and brief freedom. But maybe there was this one thing. Maybe he could find his brothers. And maybe, just maybe, they could offer him forgiveness before his death.
As if on cue, a sharp pain struck him over his chest, a sharp tug from beneath the symbol of his rose. Each Dragon had his own rose and Castor’s was called his garnet rose. It was his Dragon’s true and only treasure, or so one kind guard had told him when he was very young.
If his rose was burning so, he must be dying indeed. Accepting it was hard, but maybe once he found his kin, they could send him off to the next world with their blessings. He could not tell whether they would truly forgive him or not, he could only hope.
But how was he to find them? He flapped his great wings, battling against the stormy skies and searched his mind for any bit of information from the rare tomes Castor had read or anything he might have overheard during his imprisonment.
He recalled hearing of bonds, those ties that connected one Dragon to another. If that bond was strong, they could seek one another out over vast distances. If there was a blood tie, that created a particularly strong bond.
His brothers might not know of him, but he knew of them. The bond had been forged with his birth. So, he decided to take a chance and searched deep within himself. It seemed far easier now to do so, unencumbered by chains and the hate that smothered him in that dungeon.
No more of that, he told himself.
He had no time to revel in his newfound freedom. Time was too precious for such a selfish endeavor. Instead, Castor searched for that spark, that inkling that would lead him to his kin.
Castor took to the open skies, flying higher and higher, soaring with the wind instead of against it. Once he began to glide, Castor looked hard within his own mind’s eye, searching that magical, metaphysical plane where he waited for his beast to swap scales for skin.
Then, as if on demand, he found it. In that mystical place, he found a faint glowing thread. Small and thin, but there. Could this really be it? The bond between him and his kin? Ignoring his physical pain and bone deep hunger, Castor dug deep inside himself for the answer.
Yes.
He roared his triumph, opening his Dragon’s eyes and, like a homing pigeon, he set course for his final destination. His blood was being called from very far away. Without hesitation, Castor sped off in that direction.
I am coming, my brothers, and may the creator allow you to forgive my trespasses, he thought.
Castor Falk might be dying, but he would see them first. His brothers. The only beings he could lay claim to in the entire world.
Yes, he thought.
I will taste home and family before my end.
Rooooaaaarrrrr!