Through My Eyes

by Bill Pate

I am old now.

My fire is no longer feared. My time has come to pass and let others take up the quest, but I want to tell you a small story when I was power. When I was considered good. When life granted us possibilities to be all that which we hold dear to our memories.

I was perhaps fourteen hundred years old at the time. Do not be shocked for we live well beyond mortal thoughts of years, unless some foolhardy hero comes along to try and right things with might. Don’t believe all the fairy tales you read. Humans cannot kill us off as easily as one might think.

But there was one human, a young boy who went by the name Pen, who did not know at the time he was on a journey that would forever change time and space as we know it.

Pen was a young hell-raiser, always getting into things he shouldn’t have, but he always managed to find a way out of trouble. Like his father, the then current King, Pen was a leader. He dared go where others wouldn’t alone, but with him, they would follow.

It was early during the fifth century Pen passed my way. I had been flying back to my mountainside encampment when a rare occurrence came about. Lightning struck me and down I soared, knowing I was in for a very rough landing.

Crashing through many tree limbs, feeling the wood scar my hide, I continued plummeting until with a roaring thud, the ground captured me and dirt, dust, and leaves scattered about.

I lay there dazed by this most quick turn of events. My injury wasn’t life threatening, but it would be weeks before I would fly once more. My concern was my brood. They would worry over my disappearance. At least I landed in a grotto flush with berries and other assorted fruits and a lake nearby, so hunger wouldn’t be a problem.

On my third day I could hear voices coming in my direction. I prepared myself for being attacked and if they did so, I would burst them into flames.

To my surprise there walked into the clearing four young boys. To the front of them stood Pen. Tall, long curly locks, bronzed skin, with the clearest blue eyes.

Now we of olden days knew when we saw one such as Pen, there would be a future for one such as he; what many of you call destiny. This boy was to become a leader of many. A leader as  had never been seen before.

Yet on this day, when he spotted me, his first reaction was to exclaim, “Look, do you see him! What a prize it will be to bring his head back to the village. I will be talked about beyond my living. Stories to be told for sure!”

The others who held fast at first, suddenly crept backward, thinking this time surely Pen had gone too far.

He approached me, a sword in hand, smaller than that of which the soldiers used, but large enough to cut something … namely me.

He moved cautiously, circling me, looking for a way in to strike. Something had to be done to stop this foolhardy, yet brave soul.

Rearing my head up, inhaling strongly, I exhaled a large plume of black smoke that covered the area where I lay, that of Pen, and his friends.

I could see through this smoke and saw Pen moments away from making his first strike.

“Stop, I say.”

Pen froze in his tracks.

“It is true then what they say.”

“What is true, boy.”

“That you can talk as well as do magic.”

“We have always been able to speak. We just don’t speak with just anyone.”

“Then why do you speak so to me?”

“Think of what you are about to do. Killing me will give you but shortened glory. In time, the stories will be less and you will fall off the earth never talked about again. Let me live and I promise you, your life will multiply into far more than even you now imagine. Greatness awaits you. Do not waste this on me.”

“Greatness?”

“You will be a leader of men. Fearless, loyal, honest and true. You will preside over the land as none before you or any to come after.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“I speak truth. Come closer, boy. Look into my eyes and see your future.”

He was hesitant to be certain. He thought it to be a trick I would play and consume him, but he took small steps, and I could see the courage and conviction etched in his face.

“That is close enough. Now look into your future, boy. See your destiny, Pendragon.”

“You … you know my name?”

“I already know many things about you. Now watch, listen, and learn.”

Pen stared into my eyes, and the arm holding the sword aloft eased downward.

He sees into the future whereupon he defeats an entire army practically on his own in heavy combat. He is hailed as a hero for stopping the massive horde of invaders taking over Great Britain. He watches too as a challenge is set to prove who should be the rightful King of England, for a sword the likes he has never seen is melded inside a rock by a sorceress and can only be removed by one who is brave and strong and just. Such are the tales that Merlin had anything to do with Excalibur; yet another secret revealed.

He sees his castle surrounded in Camelot’s throes. He has come far to this point with Knights appointed by him to keep peace and justice far and wide.

He then sees the woman to whom he will be married. Not just any woman, but Guinevere.

I then decided he had seen enough.

“So, young Pendragon, make the mistake of taking my head back with you on this day, and you forfeit a future of greatness people will speak of for thousands of years after your parting; or take my head and be forgotten upon the day you are laid in the ground. The choice is yours. I have decided to place my life in your hands.”

Pen stood there, not at first believing what transformed, then as quickly he spoke to me.

“I then let you live.”

So you see my friends, Arthur came upon greatness. He spawned tales of daring, of a land filled with peace and prosperity.

Yes, he found his way in life. I am sure you all know the story by now, but for this one portion of the tale that has never been uttered until now.

Why?

I am old, and my time draws near. Some secrets should never go to the grave.

Thus, I share one last secret with you.

Dragons still live.

• The End •