Traditions, Michael Sullivan [learn to read activity book .txt] 📗

closed her eyes and like a magician, she conjured the image of Amy in her mind. So small, so gentle, so sweet, she envisioned her dark trusting eyes. They would drag her here. They would chain her to the pillar.
Before she knew it, she took another step, pushing her foot forward across the littered ground. Her feet slid over the chains and bones. She stood even with the pillar, standing where they wanted her; only she was a night early. She took another step and moved to where no girl ever stood. Her foot reached out one more step and guessed no man came this far either. Standing now before the open face of the cave she no longer defied merely her parents, or the elders, she was defying the very order of nature itself.
She heard another rumble, louder than before, and felt a harsh, hot gust blow out of the depths. It stank of sulfur. She waited at the mouth for it to come out. Nothing stirred. Was it asleep? Did it sleep? Hope sparked anew and she took another step, then another. Then dipping her head beneath the vines, she entered the darkness.
Once inside, she heard it breathing, the rhythmic sound echoed off the walls. Her eyes adjusted and she could make out faint shapes, lumps and heaps, but they were not it, only skeletons of cows, and deer...it lay deeper.
She pressed forward.
Spying a human skull upon the ground, she faltered. Ahead more human bones lay shoved against the walls, built up like driftwood upon a beach. How many, she could not count. Somewhere water dripped. The very air quivered and hot gusts struck her, but she wavered only briefly. She stepped around ancient bodies draped with fluttering bits of tattered, rotting clothes. In the faint light, everything looked gray, pale and dead, the air thick with the smell of ash, and decay.
Reaching the bowels of the cave, she entered a vast cavern where, at last, she beheld the beast. The monster filled the cavern with its hulk. A clawed foot lay no more than ten feet away, yet its tail stretched too far into the darkness to see. The behemoth expanded and fell, sucking in harsh breaths that vibrated the stone. Its two great leathery wings stood at its sides reaching nearly to the roof of the chamber—towering tents stretched out on talon-endowed poles. Massive claws griped the earth, its huge head lying between its forefeet as innocent as a sleeping dog—only it was not sleeping. Two eyes glowed yellow in the dark, each one larger than a wagon wheel. They watched her unblinking.
“I am here,” she said to it. She did not know why. Her voice quivered along with the rest of her.
“You are early,” it said. She was certain the voice was a whisper, but it shook the chamber. “Come back tomorrow.”
“I—I will not! I am here to fight you!”
The huge eyes blinked; she could hear them as if they were window blinds.
“Are you a knight?” It asked. “Are you a king? I have erased cities. I have swallowed whole armies and fleets of ships. I have slain emperors who thought they were gods and heroes who forgot they were men. They came at me with swords. They came at me with catapults. They came at me with fire. They called on their gods and conjured magic to slay me—I ate them all.”
The smell of smoke entered her nostrils and made her nauseous. She stood holding the knife before her, struggling to keep the blade still. She would not flee; she would not flinch.
“For more than three thousand years I have lived on this mountain. I have let your people exist on the agreement that they should pay me one virgin maid each year as a tax. The tax is to be paid tomorrow.”
“I—am the tax,” she told it. “But I will not be paid, I am here to collect!”
“You have come to kill me then?” it asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “I—I will try.”
“You hate me so? I only ask for one life a year.”
“It is my life.”
“You could run away, leave the village.”
“Others would die in my place. I am not a coward!”
She set her jaw, narrowed her eyes and took a step forward. The beast snarled. Her heart raced. She took another step. The beast groaned so loud it rattled the bones upon the ground. She found it impossible to breathe, but she took another step. The beast struggled to raise its head. It opened its mouth, as it did she saw only five teeth, each worn to dull nubs. The monster exhaled a breath conjuring nothing but a belch of dark, brimstone-scented smoke. Then the beast coughed violently, and dropped its head back down in exhaustion.
“You’re old,” she stated as much to herself as to the creature, “Too old to fight, too old to defend yourself—even against—me.”
It said nothing for a moment, its eyes shut tight. Then slowly they opened once more and it said in a strained voice. “It takes all my strength once a year to crawl out and eat the meal awaiting me—the meal safely chained to the post.”
“But—I don’t understand. Why have the elders continued to sacrifice? You are no threat to anyone.”
“It’s all they know. They have done it for centuries. Humans are creatures of habit; they know that if they do as their fathers did, all will be well. ”
“But—all those girls—my friends, for—nothing?”
“That depends on you doesn’t it?” The beast’s oblong pupil narrowed to a thin line. “Kill me—reveal the truth and yes they will have died for nothing, but feed me and their memories will be preserved for all time as brave sacrifices for the betterment of your people.”
“If I don’t kill you, more will die!” she challenged.
“True, but only one per year, disease takes more than that doesn’t it? Childbirth takes more than that. How many of your neighbors die each year merely by choking on a bone or falling from a tree? And have you considered the harm you will do to your village by killing me?”
“Harm?”
Its huge lips stretched into a grim smile.
“Think of the elders, think of the guilt that will consume them. Think of the parents who willingly sent their innocent children to a horrible death believing their sacrifice saved everyone. How will they receive the wonderful news that it was all a mistake? The families of the dead will demand justice and compensation. Fights will break out. The harmony of your town will end; people will kill out of despair, regret and hatred.
“But to let you live would be worse, it would allow a lie to continue—”
“I AM NO LIE!” it hissed so loudly it broke into a series of coughs. “I exist! And in my day I could have crushed you and your world just as you swat flies. I deserve respect!”
“Not at the cost of lives! I cannot sacrifice the future to hide the mistakes of the past!”
“No? It is because of me that you and yours have lived so well. No army has come to your door, no war, no band of killers, because of me. They fear the dragon in the cave. If an army arrived on your doorstep tomorrow, if it was to be war between your people and theirs, would you not offer up your life to spare all that bloodshed, all that misery? One life for many, isn’t that worth it? For the life of one child a year, I have saved you the choice. I ask only for females and only virgins, those without companion or child to minimize the sacrifice.”
“It just seems so—”
“There’s more, so much more,” the beast hissed, “so much built on expectations and belief. For thousands of years—generations upon generations—I have been as constant as the rising of the sun, as certain as death. Destroy me and you will shake the foundation upon which you stand. Reveal me to be a myth, and all else will be questioned. Should we bother planting? Can the seasons be counted on? Is love real? Is life? Confidence lost, breaks everything down. Without me, there will be bloodshed, anarchy and atrocities far beyond the death of a single girl. You will return to a world of hate, fear and jealousy. Destroy me and you will destroy innocence, faith, and serenity—paradise lost for the want of a child!”
“But that’s so hopeless; it doesn’t have to be so bleak. Why say it must? You don’t know!”
“You’re childish mind cannot see it all. You have only lived a few years. I have lived centuries. I have seen humans and the evils they do. I know the pattern of your works and the methods of your desires. You see,” it told her almost comfortingly, “you need me. Your people need me. I ask only for one meal a year, on that I can subsist for centuries to come. I can no longer fly and I can no longer breathe fire, but I can still ravage your village. Slay me and your village will burn just as surly as from dragon’s breath. Neighbor will turn on neighbor and all those future sacrifices you wish to avoid will never be born to appreciate your heroics—or is it cowardice?”
The big wagon wheel eye glared at her accusingly.
“Do you seek my death out of fear for your own life? Would you doom your people so that you can live a few more short years? Is that bravery? Your forbears understood sacrifice, but you are spoiled and selfish. Surly there are those in your village who would sacrifice themselves to save you!”
She stared at the great eyes until she could not look at them anymore. Her sight fell on the blade of the knife. It blurred before her as tears welled in her eyes. Her lips trembled.
“I am right aren’t I?” the beast asked.
“Yes,” she said nodding. “You are right; there is someone who would sacrifice herself.”
Taking a step forward she thrust the knife under the scale at the beast’s throat and plunged it deep. Dark blood poured from the wound, it spilled out over her hands and down arms. The beast groaned and shook. She twisted the blade, drew it out and thrust it in again driving deeper. More blood, hot and slick sprayed across her face