Chapter 22: Regret and Redemption

As I approached the gigantic, sleeping Dragon, part of me wanted to reach out and touch it. Though I was no longer a child, that childlike need to touch stayed with me for a long time. I wish I could say that I still view the universe with a sense of wonder, but all I can see now are my mistakes.

Ryan said nothing. Tork remained motionless, kneeling on the floor with his head bowed as if offering his neck to the guillotine. The silence only lasted a few moments, but it seemed to drag on for hours. Tork had consigned his fate; he would either spend his life in service to Ryan … or let himself die. As Ryan stared down at the brave and noble beast, he saw all the pain and shame that had accumulated over the past five years.

            Slowly, Ryan got up out of his bed and let out a few groans that were far from voluntary.

            “No, you mustn’t do that!” cried Tork. “Your wounds were serious and it will take at least a day before you can move!”

            But Ryan had already gotten up and stood to his feet as Tork watched in astonishment. Ryan slowly made his way towards Tork, the Dragon bowed his head again as if in the presence of a king. Ryan now stood directly over Tork who awaited his sentence with silent detachment. Ryan gently put his hand on Tork’s shoulder. With the other hand, he brought Tork’s head up to face him. The young Dragon cried softly, his fierce face trembling in Ryan's hand

            Ryan finally managed to say, “I think I know why dad sent you to me.” Ryan took in a breath to steady himself. “In an instant, he was able to see your heart. I should feel ashamed of myself. It took me a whole week before I saw the kind of person you really are, only I didn't want to see it because of my ego.

“In that instant, my father saw you grieving over the death of a nameless Elven girl; he knew that there was something different about you. I think that he sent you to me not so that I could forgive you, but so that you could forgive yourself.”

            Tork was dumbstruck. “What? But …”

            Ryan smiled reassuringly. “You made a mistake, yes, but you've atoned for it. I think dad knew that somehow. All the time that I was with him, he seemed to know everything that was going on, like some kind of mystical power. It could have been Elemency, but somehow, I get the feeling that it goes deeper than even that. The point is that you don’t have to feel burdened with your guilt any longer, for I am releasing you from your vow.”

            Tork seemed like he wanted to object but couldn’t find the words to do so as he stuttered incoherently. 

“If there is anyone at fault here, it’s me. I almost killed you because I was too blind to see what a cool guy you are.” Now, tears came to Ryan’s eyes as he remembered his cruelty. “For five years, I convinced myself that all Dragons were evil demons spawned from hell, but I never considered that they thought and felt just like me. I am an ignorant brat. I beg you to forgive me.”

            “No! It's not my place … I am unworthy!” cried Tork.

            Ryan laughed. “Don’t you see? That's exactly the kind of thinking that drives people to evil in the first place.”

            Tork’s reptilian features became perplexed. “You really think so?”

            Ryan wasn’t exactly sure how he had come to such a conclusion, but the more he thought about it, the more he figured that it must be true. “Of course! When people think of themselves as unworthy, they try to accumulate more power to make themselves feel better, sometimes in the worst methods possible like the way Hamma Steel did. If everyone would just be comfortable with themselves, there wouldn’t be any need for war, feuds, or hatred. Everyone would be content just being themselves.”

            Ryan got the feeling that he had heard something similar from the old man, Zand, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was on a roll! “People who think of themselves as unworthy and don’t get power will just be victims for those that do. You need to have some sense of self-worth, otherwise, bad people will trample all over you without consequence, and you’ll become an accomplice for evil. I’m not saying you should be a narcissistic jerk, or anything like that, but you need to have enough sense of your own identity, or others will try to take that identity from you and use it for their own selfish purposes.” 

            Tork rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I never thought of it that way. From the moment I met you, you seemed to be the simple, earnest type … but really, you’re quite philosophical.”

            Ryan almost started turning purple. “Cut it out, you’re embarrassing me, already.”

            Tork smiled knowingly. “You still turn purple when you get embarrassed, don’t you?”

            “How did you know?” asked Ryan, astounded by the Dragon's insight.

            “It happens to all the Dragon races. You know what that means, Ryan Uruks? You are not just a human. You are officially a part of the Dragon people. We are brothers, you and I.”

            Ryan considered that proposal. “Does that make Grafael our brother too?”

            “Hmmm. I would say more like the eccentric cousin, but close enough I suppose.” Tork’s usual chipper accent had returned. With one claw, he wiped away the tears and mucus from his face. “Well, enough of that sorry business, what, what! Yes drama, tears, all very entertaining.

“But I think that our little Pyro Hands has had enough of that sorry business for one day. Yes, a good night’s rest and pleasant dreams should put you back into your usual, charming self. And by charming, I mean idiotic and strangely endearing at the same time.”

            Something that Tork said stood out to Ryan. “Pyro Hands?”

            “What?” stammered Tork, playing dumb. “I never said anything of the kind. Your delirium is interfering with the electrical messages in your tiny brain. More so than usual I mean. Enough of these hallucinations, Off to bed with you, or I shan’t bring you breakfast.”

            “Breakfast?” I don’t remember Tork ever feeling comfortable enough around me to insult me or scold me.

            The Dragon then scoped Ryan up and plopped him in bed with surprising fluidity and grace. Ryan wanted to say more, but just being back in the bed made him realize how tired he felt, and he slowly drifted off into sleep.

            Before Tork left, he said, “I’ve talked with Eramar, and I'm going to help you pass the exam in any way I can. You will be at a disadvantage in that most Grunts usually wait until they are a good deal older to take it, but since you are also a part of Squad 99 and will be required to go on missions, we simply don't have the time to wait that long.”

            Tork paused for a moment. As Ryan’s eyes fluttered wearily, he thought he heard Tork say something else.

            “Thank you, Pyro Hands. You have released me from my prison. I only hope that one day, I may repay the favor … and do the same for you.”

A few days later, Ryan was in the arena training with Eramar and Tork. Surprisingly, Thomas hadn’t remembered a thing of what transpired.

Or maybe not so surprisingly. I forgot that some forms of Elemency can make people forget. Ha! Wait. What if they did something like that to me so that I wouldn’t remember something I wasn’t supposed to? If they did, I wouldn’t remember what it was because I would forget what it was I was supposed to remember, or forget, or … Ack! Thinking is hard!

“Would you stop daydreaming and pay attention,” called the irritated voice of Eramar.

            Ryan immediately came to attention. “Yes, sir.”

            “Alright, Ryan. Now I want you to demonstrate everything you have learned from withdrawing your psions from High Oak, and pouring them back in,” commanded Eramar as he handed Ryan a piece of the fabled plant.

            Ryan thought it would be easy to do since he had already done it with Hamma Steel. However, he still had to concentrate so that the wood wouldn't catch on fire as he poured his psions into the small stick. When it started glowing pink, Ryan withdrew his psions, but more slowly than before.

            Eramar nodded. “That's about the level I expected you to be at. You still have a long way to go before you can control your psions effectively. If you wish to pass the exam, then you have to work hard to improve your skills.”

            Ryan just thought of something he had forgotten to ask Eramar about his confrontation with Hamma. “In my fight with the Mystic, the High Oak that I carved into a knife grew in my hands. It caught on fire, but not in the way that made it burn up, and it had enough power to destroy Hamma’s Psionic Knife.”

            Eramar nodded. “I know.”

            “What does it all mean?” asked Ryan, ignoring the fact that Eramar had chosen to keep it from him.

            “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that question,” started Eramar in approval, happy that Ryan finally asked a good question. “Now you know partially why High Oak is so coveted. It not only has the ability to store psions, but it can absorb those psions and amplify their power, at least for a little while.

“The reason that the wood burned in your hands when you tried to store psions in it before was because it was taking on traits of your natural element. It would have become soaked if a Water Elemental used it, hardened with a shell of rock if an Earth Elemental used it, or generated wind if an Air Elemental used it.

“The only difference between the time you fought the Mystic and the first time you trained with the High Oak was that you weren't properly controlling your psions. You lacked the experience. This caused the plant to become unstable and explode, and as a result, it became useless as a weapon.

“However, when you faced Hamma Steel, the intensity of the situation must've forced you to properly focus your psions so that the High Oak accepted your energy and took on your Elemental traits to do your bidding. This is a very unique skill. Often it is the opposite; a student may do well in practice, but when it comes to the real thing, they freeze up. But as always, you get everything backwards.”

            As Ryan listened, Eramar gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Very impressive. But then, you're not just a human. You are of the blood of the Dragons after all. The ways of war come naturally for you as they did for your father.”

One day, I will know all the secrets that mom and dad hid from me, but not until I have become a full-fledged Elemental, thought Ryan, Eramar's words bringing on a burst of nostalgia.

            “So why did the sword grow in my hand and become powerful enough to break Hamma’s blade.”

            “I had considered that very question when Leon told me of the incident, and I have hypothesized a reasonable theory. The strength of an Elemental’s weapon depends solely on the strength of the Elemental himself. Simply put, it was the level of your psions that did the job. Each and every being in this universe is born with various levels of psions, whether they can use Elemency or not.

“You, having been born of a strong human line and an even stronger Saurian line, will no doubt have a considerably larger amount of psionic energy than is considered normal. Hamma was low on psions when you attacked him, meaning that his weapon was less powerful. Also, the weapon that Hamma used wasn't his usual weapon of choice, so he didn't have the same strength while wielding it. I believe that these were the factors that caused his blade to shatter.”

            Ryan considered Eramar’s words for a few moments as a triumphant grin came to his face. “So, you’re telling me that my psions are that powerful. Man, I really am awesome, aren’t I? Ow!” 

            As quick as a cheetah, Eramar swatted Ryan on the head like he might a fly. Eramar then rubbed his index finger in the middle of Ryan’s forehead and poked him mercilessly.

“Don’t get a big head. What do I keep telling you? Power is useless without the knowledge and wisdom of how to use it.”

            “Aye,” said a familiar voice. “Is that little rascal giving you trouble, Eramar, me old mate?”

The brown and bulbous form of Thisimius the Ogre stomped into view. Eramar grinned in a way that Ryan had never seen before.

“Thisy, you old pirate. Come to give me that money you owe me.”

            The Ogre smiled with a huge head full of rotting fangs and tusks. “As I recall, it’s you who owes me, ya blighter!”

            Eramar jumped up, and to Ryan’s astonishment, started wrestling with the oversized tub of lard. Eramar climbed all over the giant brown monster and the two laughed like they were old chums.

            “Alright. Knock it off, ya old codger, before I sit on ya,” said Thisimius as they continued to wrestle.

            The Ogre finally threw Eramar into the wall, who fell to the ground, leaving cracked bricks and crumbling plaster on the wall behind him. Despite this, Eramar still grinned and chuckled like a little boy. The two just laughed for a while and Ryan turned to Tork for some kind of explanation.

“Oh, they're old war buddies, what, what. Pay no heed, they do this all the time. Just be happy they settled for a simple brawl and not something more elaborate.” Ryan didn't want to know what “more elaborate” meant.

            Finally, the old Ogre seemed to notice Ryan for the first time. “Oy, laddie. I hear ya had a run-in with a Mystic. Nasty devils, the lot of them. Worse kind of scum there is.”

The half-naked Ogre towered over Ryan as he managed a weak nod in reply.

“Well done, lad. Those snakes are dangerous in the best of times. Maybe yer not such a sissy after all, eh?”

The Ogre gave Ryan a playful nudge, but it felt like a ton of bricks hitting Ryan in the stomach, causing him to topple over in pain.

“Ha! That’s what I like about ya, lad. Always full of jokes!”

Trust me, this isn’t a joke, thought Ryan as he held his bruised stomach.

            “Now, on to business.” The Ogre reached behind him and pulled out a giant sack. He set it on the floor with a heavy thud. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about yer weapon situation, lad,” explained Thisimius as he rummaged through the big leather sack.

“I think I finally figured why we haven’t been able to find the right match for ye. It’s all about balance ya see, and it be different for each man. Most people use one weapon, some use dual weapons such as dual knives or pistols. But for ye, I think it be something particularly interesting.”

Thisimius finally pulled out a short sword and a strange gauntlet with metal knives in the knuckles that made it look like claws. The short sword was about the length of Ryan’s arm, double-bladed, with a cross guard between the hilt and the handle. The blade’s handle had been encrusted with gold with the figure of a lion’s head etched into the metal that had red rubies for eyes. Along the blade were orange glowing symbols in two lines that went all the way down to the tip.

The gauntlet was gold with the depiction of a dragon that also had red ruby eyes. Leather straps stuck out of the bottom to attach the gauntlet to the arm. Two claw-like blades had been forged into the knuckles with glowing orange runes just like the sword.

“After hearing a few details about yer fight, I realized what the problem was. Yer not well balanced with just one weapon, yer geared for two. However, yer a dynamic sort of fighter. Ya need a weapon for long-ranged combat, and a different weapon for hand-to-hand battle as well. But you’re more of an offensive fighter than a defensive one, so that ruled out a shield. That’s ‘ow I came up wi’ this beauty, here.”

            Thisimius handed Ryan the sword, and then strapped the gauntlet to his other hand. The golden gauntlet went all the way to Ryan’s elbow.

“Ye will use the sword for long-range and mid-range combat, and the gauntlet, or iron claws, for short-range battle.”

            Ryan tried not to be disappointed. He wanted something dashing like a long double-edged great sword, but instead he got a small, short sword in one hand, and iron claws in the other. He wondered if the claws made him look like a psychopath.

            “As much as I like this ‘Wolverine’ thing you’ve got going for me, what gave you this idea?”

            Thisimius rubbed his half-shaved stubble on his chin as he considered Ryan’s question. “Well, it’s complicated. It was a number of things to be perfectly honest. Eramar described ye using the High Oak stick like a sword while you tried to bat Hamma away with your fiery fist at the same time.

“If Hamma had struck at your fist with his knife, you would be one hand short right now.” The Ogre seemed to consider something for the first time as he put his fist in his hand. “Oh, I guess it wasn’t that complicated. But still, I stand by what I say. Either these are the weapons for ye, or nothing is. I stake me reputation as a blacksmith on it.”

            “You don’t have to do that,” said Ryan, hoping to dissuade him. “If this doesn’t work out, I’ll just get a sword or knife and only use psions as a last resort.”

            “Do ya lack the courage to test me choice?” asked Thisimius with the hint of challenge in his voice as he turned to Eramar with a silent signal.

            Eramar nodded knowingly, and with a snap of his fingers, several training droids appeared out of the ground of the arena.