A New Guardian

Flash Fiction Prompt: rivers like veins

Cradock pulled his cloak tight around his body. The mist had settled atop the river in the cold night air. The boatman, with his ashen face and boney hands, navigated the river as if it were the Styx. Small rivers like veins fed the artery they traveled towards the heart of the beast. Cradock gripped his sword in his other hand. He had paid the boatman his coins, but the quiet had made him uneasy. No bugs. No fish. Nothing but the gentle rocking of their boat on the water.

The narrowboat slid ashore and set itself in the beach. Cradock looked at the boatman, who pointed the direction. Gathering his courage, Cradock stepped out of the boat and into the mud. The boatman stepped forward and began pushing his boat back into the water.

“How long will you wait?” Cradock asked. The boatman just smiled and faded into the mist.

Cradock closed his eyes, clearing his mind. The chalice was here, he could feel it. He pulled his boots from the mud and headed in the direction the boatman pointed. It was not long before his path was lost to mist and shadows. It was a walk of faith now. He let his heart guide him as though there were little strings pulling him forward. Finding the chalice was his destiny, his calling. He had known it since he was a boy. While other knights fought for favors, Cradock stood on the shore having followed the string and unable to continue. The Court held no allure for him. Gawain had found it once, but that kingdom fell long ago and the chalice was lost. The other boys joked about finding the king’s sword in the lake. Cradock dreamt of cradling the chalice that held the blood of Christ. He was here now, finally after all those years.

The mud turned to marsh. The marsh to grass. The grass to stone. Cradock climbed the rocks until he reached a small plateau. He pulled himself up and rested. There was a scratching noise in the darkness before him. He reached out his hand and felt smooth rock, a cave opening worn smooth. Whatever it was that passed through here was large and had skin tougher than stone. Cradock drew his sword. He stepped lightly, listening for movement in the cave. There was a whoosh of air and Cradock was slammed against the wall by what felt like a tree trunk. His breath knocked from his lungs, he gasped for breath. He heard the swoosh again and rolled as it slammed into the rock wall. His adjusted to the new darkness and he could make out the faintest form. Shoulders higher than a warhorse. It lifted its head and inhaled. There was a faint glow from beneath it that traveled up it neck. Cradock dove forward, as the beast loosed a torrent of flame. He stood beside it claw and struck with his sword. The great dragon roared and the fight began in earnest. Sword versus claw. Armor versus scale. Man versus dragon.

Cradock drove his sword into a soft spot between the dragon’s arm and belly. It roared in pain slamming Cradock in the chest with its tale as it spun the flee deeper into the mountain. The battle had brought him to the end of himself. He could continue no longer. He laid in the darkness fighting back the fear of failure. He was so close. He could not stop now. He rolled himself onto his hands and knees, coughing and spitting the blood from his mouth. He stood and looked to the mouth of the cave. The sun was beginning to rise. The gentle touch of the sun brought with it peace and renewed conviction. Cradock cradled his sore ribs and followed the dragon deeper into the mountain.

The cave opened to a cavern. It was brighter here. Holes from craggy mountain leaked sunlight. In the middle was a stone table, broken down the middle. Upon it lay the dragon, curled tightly. Having no weapon, Cradock kept his distance. He circled the table until he faced the dragon. It was clutching something tight to its’s chest and wrapped its wings tight around his body. The will to fight had left the dragon yet it had not fled. Instead it lay here in protection of something, something worth dying for.

“Is that the chalice?” The dragon snarled. “Are you it’s guardian?” The dragon ceased it’s snarl and nodded its great horned head once. “Forgive me, I did not know.” Cradock lowered himself to one knee. The penetrating yellow eyes of the dragon inspected Cradock, searching his heart, his intentions. Slowly, it unfurled its wings to reveal the cup of Christ. Cradock fell to both knees, every word caught in his throat, every moment froze. The dragon faltered, nearly dropping the chalice. Cradock startled and reached but stopped at the snarl of the dragon. He looked down where his sword pierced the beast’s side. Sticky blackish red ran steadily from the wound. The dragon pulled the cup to himself and laid his head down. It’s breathing grew shallow, then short, then stopped.

Cradock stepped forward, prying the chalice from it’s claw. He had finally found it. His dreams were realized. Now what did he do? He could not return the chalice to another king to be abused. He couldn’t take it for himself. This treasure was to great. It needed to be protected. Cradock placed a hand on the dragon’s head. It needed a new guardian.

Cradock pulled his sword from body of the dragon and wiped it clean. He set the chalice on the stone table, surrounded by the body of it’s last defender. He walked back to the cave, looked out over the lush river basin below, smiled, then sat down.

******

This flash fiction prompt was courtesy of Scoot on his Gibberish Substack.