Zeena Fuleihan ’18
This month we are ecstatic to feature a short story by Brian Fox ‘18. Brian is a senior Creative Writing and History double major, born and raised in Helena, Montana. He prefers to write fantastical or speculative stories, sometimes with a historical twist. Enjoy his story, “The Chevalier and the Wyrm,” which he is currently working on for Professor Matt Burgess’s How To Be A Person In The World class.
The Chevalier and the Wyrm
The Wyrm came to the village for the first time on the eve of the completion of the stone Kirk on the hill. The hill loomed over the village, and an old stone ring still stood surrounding the top. Long an important site drawing those in need to come and appeal to those buried years and years before, not everyone initially favored building the Kirk. That is, until the Chevalier persuaded them.
The discontents stood or sat on the stones on the crown of the hill. The crier had offered them a chance to voice their decision, promising the Count would listen to their wishes. They gathered early, each ready to voice their love for the bare hill, their closeness to those who came before, or their concerns of desecrating such an ancient site of power. The Cooper, the Wainwright, the Smith, and the Old Shepherd all wished for the hill to remain as it was.
They pled their case to the Count, and it appeared that they might’ve convinced him when the Chevalier rose.
“My friends, you speak well, and each of you possesses a love for where we stand that moves the Count greatly I’m sure. We have no wish to disappoint or madden you with any choice that goes against your most deeply held belief,” the Chevalier began. “But I feel as though you have not yet fathomed the depths of what we wish to do. We do not hope to desecrate or destroy this site. We desire to build here a monument to this hill more in keeping with the majesty that this site strikes us with. The ring of stone served another day, another time. It has served us well, but it is time we assert ourselves, our abilities, and reveal what we can all do. And I hope you believe me, only together can we succeed. It takes more than the Mason and the Glazier to build a Kirk. We need you Cooper, for how will we store the mortar for the stones? We need you Wainwright, for how will we carry the stones? We need you Smith, for where shall we find tools? And we need you Shepherd, for what shall our builders eat?” The Chevalier addressed each villager individually, and each pondered what he said. “We build this Kirk not for the Count or I, but for all. To strive together in creation, to bring the strength of arm and heart and mind to bear on a grand endeavor, that is how we make our mark, how we make our names known, and each of us shall be remembered. My friends, shall we not contend together to find what we are capable of?” A fire roared within the Chevalier, and the discontents could not resist its spark.
All were brought together in the building of the Kirk, and each member of the village contributed as they could. The months passed and the stones and beams reached higher and higher. All that remained was the Count’s shield to hang above the door, and the cap to the spire.
That morning the Smith, Carpenter, and Roper prepared the scaffold and crane, excited for the culmination of their exertion when a dark cloud appeared on the horizon. It rose quickly, billowing and buffeting and approaching faster than any cloud ought to. It pulsed and as it plowed on, lightning bolts burst forth and skipped across the surface of the cloud. Explosions of thunder louder than any heard before shook the village, and new sound broke out from the cloud. The sound of stone grinding against stone, of waves crashing on cliffs, of earth being split asunder drowned out the thunder.
The Wyrm, old, onyx and ashen and roaring, broke from the clouds, wings blasting the village with gales. It blotted out the sun as it loomed over the village. Its voice broke out, reaching deep into each villager. “You follow blindly. You accept their words and question none. You are but pawns and tools, simple hirelings cheated of your due,” the Wyrm spoke. “Only one will be remembered and it is not you. Look to your own lot or die with nothing.” The Wyrm swept towards the Kirk, unleashing a deluge of flame of orange and blue and white that engulfed the stone and beams. The stones held briefly while the timbers burned, but soon they began to glow and melt. The Kirk fell in upon itself, and the Wyrm burned a path through the village, across the river and into the wheat fields as it shot away over the horizon.