Chapter 1--The Spearmaker

The Spearmaker moved frantically. The girl was moaning low so she must be between contractions. Where she came from he didn’t know but for once he wished he lived closer to the neighboring village. “There is no time for this”, he thought as he opened random cupboards looking for a clean cup—the girl was thirsty! He needed to be in the sun room to make the final preparations for his spears. The Dragon’s fire would arrive at sunrise and he still had so much to do.

Finally he found a ladle lost in a pile of tools on the table. The house was filthy and stunk of sweat and iron. He had no time to waste on cleaning because he had been putting the finishing touches on his spears to prepare them for the coming of the Dragon’s fire. His house was more a workshop than a home. It sat nestled in at the base of Dragon Mount beside the clear running mountain river unimaginatively named, Coldstream. His home was built over an open crevasse in the earth that constantly bubbled with molten lava. The fumes that spilled forth reeked of sulfur and the deep unknown and probably would have killed most men, but the Spearmaker was not most men. He had built his forge around bubbling crevasse and the heat from the earths’ belly allowed him to shape iron to his will. The river, flowing next to house, provided the pure water in which he tempered his steel. However it was the Dragon’s fire that his weapons needed the most. It came once a year and was the key step to making his renowned weapons. All he did was pound the metal using the basic methods of a gifted smithy. A spear kissed by the Dragon’s fire was a miracle.

“Water!” The girl was insistent. It was the only word she had spoken since she knocked on his door. He had been surprised by the knock. No one came to his home. In fact people seemed to fear his place. He lived a solitary life and had lost himself in his work. He was more at home in the heat of his forge, pounding iron than living among people these days. He seldom ventured to town and only the King visited him once a year and that day was tomorrow.

“I need to get her out of here,” he mumbled as he emptied the contents of the ladle on the floor and dipped it into a fresh bucket of cold river water. He walked quickly to the girl and pressed the ladle to her lips. She drank greedily then sighed. Her body relaxed and the Spearmaker began to gather hope. Maybe this will be quick and easy.

But then the girl opened her eyes and seemed to see the room for the first time. She looked equally confused and horrified. Clearly this house was not where she wanted to give birth to her child.

“Is there anything I can do to help you along?” The Spearmaker asked. He hoped that she would simply ask him to help her leave. He could do that. In fact, he would prefer to do that. Watching a strange woman give birth was not something he felt prepared to do.

At the sound of his voice she looked up and she seemed to see him for the first time. Her eyes scanned over his face and body, taking all of him in. He was a large man and gruff in appearance. His hair was blond but darkened and matted with sweat and oil from long days of hard labor. His eyes were dark and guarded and gave no indication of what he might be feeling. He was a man that had learned to live within himself and rely upon no one. You could stare into his eyes and you would still have no sense of who he was. Most people could handle little more than a passing glance at him, but this girl stared for sometime, nodded to herself, and asked, “What is this place?” She cast her eyes about the room searching then pointed to a white door that stood out like a beacon in the dark filthy room. “Is there a clean room in there? Please, I cannot have my child in this filth.” She hoisted herself up and began hobbling over to the door. The Spearmaker moved swiftly and grabbed her arm firmly. “That room is not available. It has been prepared for my spears.” He said, scrunching his face into his most intimidating look. To his surprise, she brushed his arm off and continued past him, pushing the white door open. People didn’t ever respond to him that way. When he showed anger, even if it was fake anger, people usually shook in terror. Clearly this girl was unusual.

The contrast between the two rooms was startling. The Spearmaker’s living space was dark and filthy. There were no windows in the front room and every inch of it was covered with dirty dishes, tools, and half finished projects. The only light source in this room was a dimly lit lamp and the glow of the forge. The Spearmaker lived in his work-space and gave no thought to the daily comforts one might see in a typical home. The room behind the white door was Spartan, in fact, the room was completely empty of all furniture and it was immaculately clean. The walls had recently been white washed and there was one large window facing east toward Dragon Mount. A dim glow from the fading stars and waxing morning light reflected off the walls and the many spears that lined them. They seemed to be laid out with a purpose and, in spite of the presence of the weapons, the room felt safe and quiet, a place of meditation and sanctuary.

After a brief pause the girl stepped into the white room. “I will have my baby here,” she said, moving deeper into the room to look out the window. The Spearmaker shook his head gently, “This room is for my spears. You should not be in here.” He said, but he did not pull her out of the room. She looked too fragile in her simple dress and besides she had impressed him with her courage. Suddenly, she dropped to her knees and began moaning again. Her pains had come again, hard. She looked up at him, her face white and drawn. “Please get me some clean cloth. Something for my baby.” She was crouched below the window with her hands pressed against the wall for support. She had found her place and there would be no moving her.

The Spearmaker ran back into the main living space to find some clean rags but as he paused in the doorway to the room he knew he had none, none that were clean. He had used all his clean rags to polish his spears and make them ready for the white room. He wondered what would happen if they were still in this room when the Dragon’s fire came, he had never been in the room when it had come. Time was too short now. He would not be able to get the girl and baby out of the room before the sunrise. He could already see brightness illuminating the sky. There was nothing to do but help and hope for the best. He went to the closet tucked in the corner of the room by his cot. He had one clean shirt. He had planned to wear it when the King arrived today. It was soft and clean and was the only thing that would work well for the new baby. He took a deep calming breath to squelch his mounting frustration, then quickly grabbed his only clean shirt. Next, he placed a bucket of fresh water over the fire to warm. They would need warm water to clean the baby. And finally, grabbed the blanket off his cot. The girl would need that to lie down upon; it would ease the discomfort of the cold floor.

As he rushed back into the room he heard the girl gasp desperately, she was now sitting with her back to the wall and with one final push she gave birth onto the bare dirt floor. The child flopped limply and did not move or make a cry. The Spearmaker could see that something was very wrong. The child was a deep purple color and did not make a sound. He quickly noticed the mother’s umbilical cord wrapped tightly around the child’s neck. It was a little boy. He was well formed with powerful arms and legs, big hands and a beautiful face. But his life had been strangled from him before he even had a chance to live it. The girl had noticed this too and even in her exhausted state she began to sob. Slowly the Spearmaker knelt beside the small babe and pulled out his knife. He rested his hand gently on the baby’s small chest then cut the cord from around his little neck. Gently, he lifted the boy into his arms and pressed his ear to the baby’s little chest. “This child still lives.” He said. “I can feel his heart beating within him.” The girl, now a mother, found new energy and hoisted her exhausted body up off the floor to look at her new child. She had thought he was lost and now she clung to a weak strand of hope. “He can’t be alive.” She said, but her voice carried no conviction. She had heard what she wanted most to hear and her heart would not let it go even though her new baby still hung blue and lifeless in the Spearmaker’s arms. “Let me see him.” She struggled forward but was too exhausted from the ordeal so she reached feebly. The Spearmaker moved closer to her and placed the baby in her outstretched arms. They watched him together, praying. The baby’s small chest did not rise and fall with breath but still they watched. With a great longing and desperate hope in her eyes, the mother asked, “Why won’t he breathe?”

And as the Spearmaker made to reply, the Dragon’s Fire came.

The red light of dawn broke through the window into the white sun room, kissing the baby on the crown of his head. His small body glowed with the Dragon’s Fire, then; he startled, as though he had been awakened from a sleep, took a deep breath, and cried out loud and clear. The smell of forge, sulfur and a great cleansing heat filled the room; it was the smell of dragon. Humans typically flew into uncontrollable terror at this scent but the child seemed calmed by it. The mother’s eyes widened and she cried out as she pulled the child close to her. However, she too seemed largely unaffected by the overpowering scent of dragon. The Spearmaker marveled at this. The only other man he knew that could resist a dragon’s fear scent was the King.

The Spearmaker felt tears come to his eyes as he remembered the ancient legends that spoke of a child that would come into this world dead but be brought to life by the fire of Dragons. Softly he spoke the words of the legend to himself, “He shall be called names of fear and terror, kindness and peace; but all will know him as Mighty.”

He looked at the girl with a feeling of reverence. She had just given birth to a legend. He had given no thought to who she was or where she had come from, since she had knocked on his door. He had been so busy getting ready for the arrival of the King and trying to help with come arrival of the new baby that he hadn’t really thought about her. Even in her exhausted state she was beautiful. Her features where delicate and her frame was surprisingly small. Her body was lean and well muscled and her palms were callused. She had a scar on her left cheek. It was a clean thin line that had healed nicely leaving only a slightly red scar. The scar did not diminish the girl’s beauty but added a hardness to her face, as though her innocence had been lost. He wondered how she had earned it. While he was staring at her full of questions, he remembered the pending arrival of the King and panicked.

“I must get you out of this room.”

His voice must have carried the urgency that he felt for the girl looked up at him immediately. However, now that her baby was safely nuzzled to her breast she had lost all her drive. “Why hurry?” she asked, not moving from her place. As she spoke she looked around the room again and noticed, for the first time, the spears lining the walls of the white room. “What is this place anyway?” She stared intently into the Spearmaker’s eyes. The spears had caught her attention. Few were aloud to touch spears and the penalty for touching one without the Kings’ permission was usually death. Being so close to so many spears was clearly making the girl uncomfortable. The Spearmaker took note of her reaction. She did not react to the overpowering stench of dragon (something that caused even the bravest of men to lose their wits), but she did responded to the culturally imposed fear of spears. He shook his head and muttered to himself, “Unusual, highly unusual.”

The Spearmaker was impressed by the girl and decided to explain to her: “I am the King’s spear maker. Each year I make several new spears for the King using only the best materials and craft available. I line them in this room and wait for the coming of the Dragon’s fire. That day is today. Once the spears are touched they become the weapons of choice for all the Dragon Slayers in the kingdom. These spears will never melt under the heat of a dragon’s breath, never lose their edge, and they are the only weapons that can pierce a dragon’s hide. Today the King comes to view the spears and take one back to present at the Dragon’s fire festival.”

At the mention of the King, the girl’s face drained of all color and she clutched her baby to her chest and asked, “That is today?” The Spearmaker nodded absently, looking over his weapons. “You must hide us,” she sounded frantic now and looked down at her baby as she spoke, “Tell me where to go. I will do whatever you ask.” Her body trembled and her voice carried a strong undercurrent of emotion. Her eyes had lost their brave spark and she looked lost. Since she had walked into the Spearmaker’s home, it was the first time that she had reacted properly.

Everyone feared the King.