Black Blood

My hair floats in the rustling wind. My eyes glide over the overgrown landscape. Forests seem to grow like blades of grass over the hills. The trees are overgrown, not allowing a glimpse of what they are hiding. The greenery makes a blanket above the ground. Despite the wall of green, it gives a sense of life. Nature is fertile, water flows abundantly.

Slowly, the trees give way to hills that turn into mountains. The white stones push up the landscape, hiding nothing. Everything is exposed. Every stone, plant or animal is visible to the naked eye. The quiet streams give way to hard currents and waterfalls. The occasional lonely house reflects the vastness of the landscape. People are invisible as far as the eye can see. The sky is as lonely as the ground. I hope for a sign of life. A village or a city.

Rave’s wings move like two knives in the wind, cutting through the air. The black scales are the fastest means of transport possible, allowing me to cross different landscapes in no time. My destination is unknown. The only guideline is help.

I try with all my might to avoid the big cities and strategic points of the army. It is a contradiction. I do not want to be seen, but I do want help. A gigantic black dragon is hard to hide, despite its speed and the height we are at.

The flight seems endless. Novak’s weakening breathing does not help me keep my calm. The wind is cold. The clothes I wear are poorly meant and wind-permeable. It is that I was once used to being at this altitude. To face this wind. Despite the cutting situation, the wind gives me comfort. It is a part of me. It is my home and always will be.

The white rocks give way to green open plains full of water. Lakes and streams seem to spring up behind the rocks. The plants become more colourful, nature richer. The air gets warmer, the cold disappears behind me. The earlier trees that formed a roof of green make way for height and colour. What was once green is now pink, purple and light orange. The green finds its way here and there between the other colours, but less present than before. Deer jump over the fields and birds whistle in the sun. You could almost say that I have landed in a fairy tale. However, Novak’s unconscious body tells me a different story.

You would think that this fertile landscape would be a perfect place for a village or town. At first there is nothing to see until houses suddenly appear among the trees. At first glance, you would look past them. The wooden houses are built against the trunks of the metres-high trees. With the same colour as the tree, they are hardly visible.

The only difference in colour are the green-orange roofs, the windows painted in dozens of colours and the bridges hanging here and there between the trees. This is the first village I have passed through that I don’t know my father trades with. A gut feeling tells me to fly on, but after the hour-long flight and Novak’s deteriorating condition, this seems my best option.

I slowly lower Rave into the only open space I can see, a few metres from the village. As soon as his paws are in the grass, I take a quick look around. I have landed in a deeply overgrown forest. Compared to the previous forest, this one has paths. Grass seems to have been removed and covered with large white stones. The whistling of the birds is even louder than above the trees.

Here and there you can hear talking and even music. The whistling of the birds is complemented by the sound of human whistling and violin sounds. The sounds are peaceful, make my head clear and floating. It makes me close my eyes for a moment.

As soon as my eyes open, I see the last thing I expected. In front of me is a group of men and women with bows and arrows in their hands, the arrows aimed at me. All of them are wearing a green cloak. Their heads are covered with a hood. Under the cloak, the men have brown trousers with silver pieces on their knees. Their shirt is white and covered with several silver chains full of precious stones.

The women wear a white dress with a brown corset full of belts around their waists. The women wear the necklaces around their heads, bound with the same gemstones. They both have their arms covered with a green material that seems to be tied together by branches. I can only draw one conclusion. I have come to the elves.

Rave makes a growling sound at the group of elves, flapping his wings. I am petrified. Although elves are known to my father as robbers, in children’s books they are always portrayed as lovely forest dwellers. Their posture and facial expression make me think that my father was right, even if he was wrong about vampires and werewolves.

‘Get off of the dragon, now,’ shouts one of the leading men. Maybe I should have followed my gut feeling. Slowly I get up and walk away from Rave’s wing with my arms in the air, leaving Novak behind.

As soon as my feet touch the ground, I want to open my mouth to tell him I need help. But I don’t get the chance. Immediately I am grabbed by two men, my arms tied behind my back and pushed away from Rave.

‘Take her to the dungeons,’ says the same man who told me to get rid of Rave. I’m so out of sorts from the heavy-handed reception that I let myself be pulled along.

‘Help him! He needs help,’ I shout after I am pulled onto the stone path. From the trees the village seemed to have settled in the sky only. Now that I am on the ground I see that not everything is in the trees. Here and there are houses of partly white stone and wood. Smoke comes out of some chimneys. The elves that have just left their houses or look up at me are looking at me with a hateful expression.

I don’t have much time to look around, however, before I am pushed towards a small round stone building. The wooden door is opened by one of the men and immediately I am pushed inside. I end up on a stone staircase where I almost lose my balance. The men hold me upright while they push me into the dark.

‘The boy on the back of the dragon. He needs help,’ I repeat as I turn my head and look at one of the men. His face is emotionless, no reaction visible.

‘Keep going,’ says the other man as he pushes me down the stairs harder. The stairs seem to go down endlessly. The sounds from above are inaudible. I am glad when the stairs end and turn into a path. I end up in a narrow dark corridor. On my left is a wall lit here and there by an oil lamp. To my right are rooms barely two square metres in size. The rooms are separated from the corridor by wooden bars.

We pass through some rooms without prisoners until I lean back. In the one last room we pass, a corpse hangs in the bars. His body is full of wounds and pierced with tasks growing out of the bars. He has not been dead long, judging by the colour of the blood.

The men push through to the last room at the end of the corridor. One of the men takes a knife from the halter around his waist. He cuts off the branches in a rectangle. Immediately I am pushed inside and fall on the cold ground. The last thing I see when I turn around.