by Steve McCardell

 

The springtime morn stinks of sulfur and of posies: of posies, for they cover the hills; of sulfur, for the smoke drifting carelessly from the newly risen breed of buildings: man's triumph over nature, his factories allow for comfort as never once believed. The miners feed these chugging monsters with the product of their labor; they clop down jagged hallways which create their dark and daytime abode. Tired shoulders carry ancient tools, used to beat and split encasing stone walls. Torches are lit as a stream of soiled boots pass along sloping corridors, and an ocean begins to splash, then roar, of a hundred sharpened blades crashing onto somniferous stone.

 

What begins as near unison -- a barrage of metal on stone, of dulling and racing echoes - becomes in time a continual but lesser sound. Beefy arms work out a regular pace; wiry limbs do not match this standard. But all are equal in this: that a portion of the body works for a time and grows tired, and all pores sweat, and all breathing labors under the stress of a lengthy toil.

 

As with every task, a few produce more than others dream to match. And in this mine, yet one stands above even these, and they can not compare. A single miner, long ago given control of this mine's operation for his unmatched production, and his perfect knowledge of the mining trade's process. This one leads his workers down fruitful halls of soot-black lodes, but keeps to himself the knowledge of one shining brilliance in this hell-black dungeon mine.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Above the clamor of ubiquitous picks smashing themselves into walls, Baran perceived a distant holler down a distant hall. As he ceased his work to determine the meaning, more voices arose, more mine tools fell silent. At last stopped the chiseling even in Baran's passage, and he knew that a thing of interest was found -- and no common find this, that would halt his workers in his presence.

 

He threw his pick across his shoulder and strode toward the initiate of silence -- down this branch to the primary hall, he walked that passage long while, turning at last to enter the second eldest and most extended passage of the mine. There was no hurry in his stride, neither was there fury; there was an ethic of these workers that so long as Baran worked, so too would they. He trusted their efforts, and knew a halt as this demanded his attention; but no panic of workers meant no hurry for Baran -- to run lost presence, and the respect of his men.

 

"What find?" he called down the passage. His echo responded before the voices of men. He walked on slowly as the murmurs ahead decided how best to explain.

 

"Broke a hole, like the one back a while," said one. "Broke a hole in the rock, and somethin' in there."

 

"Something what?" His patience accepted their uneducation, but superstition and the irrational wore his good humor thin. He knew as they spoke of something behind the wall, they didn't speak of the coal they sought. And yet, he also knew. ... "You tell me, and use your brains, what's behind that wall of yours."

 

"Mr. Baran, sir, it's just a sound is all -- an in and out kind of sound, that's all." The overseer nodded, silent. He heard their fears before, tried to break them of the habit. Now he saw them attempting bravery, knowing they each held fear.

 

He took his pick from his shoulder and dropped the head lightly to the ground, scraping it behind him while approaching the hole. This was no mere pocket within the stone, for he slid his pick handle fully into the hole, stopping only when the pick head would not fit through. This was not unheard of, for underground caverns were often discovered in mining, made naturally through many a process. He withdrew his pick and considered. "Right then, suppose you all shut up so I can hear your little wind." They were quick to comply, and the foreman brought his ear beside the hole.

 

His hearing was keen, and took fast hold to the sound they had heard. He listened without emotion, and his face showed no decision. His mind raced for an answer, but told of only one. He twisted the answer however he could, but experience insisted he acknowledge. And he did, but the men would never know.

 

"Sharp hearing my boys. Sounds like some sort of steam vent, and it's something I'll check out. So listen up: no one's to come down this passageway. Might not be much to it, but some of these'll spit hot water your way, and I'm not having that happen." The men nodded, wondering. "You hear me? You guys, out of this passage now. Let's get half of you on hall five, the other half down to eight. We'll set to work on a new passage next week after I figure out where." The men turned from him, following orders, and walked up the sloping floorway to their appointed labors. Baran took up his pick.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Forcing his lighted torch through the widened hole, the lead miner attempted his sight beyond the wall and into the darkness. Confirming his ear's decision, he discovered a room too vast for the torch to illumine. A floor he saw, but no walls, no ceiling; he needed yet to widen the hole and climb through -- it was the only way to discover what truly lay within.

 

He broke from his labors as the miners ended their day. He exited his tunnel and saluted them each as they left, and dark encroached even at the mine's gaping mouth to the world. The men would return as the sun rose once more, but in the night would they deeply sleep, wearied from the day's exhausting hours. Baran was always the last to leave, but today this was more the matter; regarding the final departure of men, he returned to the depths, to his tunnel. Many torches he set ablaze, for their light, for their movement. Without the sound of opposing picks, smashing out coal from neighbor tunnels, his own work was lonely at best -- but his mind ran along, and he feared more than any man did that day; loneliness was not his concern.

 

But he needed hold the knowledge that his men were safe, so his labors were born not of curiosity, but of need. The hole neared good size for a mass as his, and thoughts offered visions of the secret beyond. A blast of steam and boiling water to scald his face; a mere sinkhole from far above, breathing air from the outer world; even perhaps a clan of bears within a cave unknown. All folly, he knew; these thoughts were forced, and ever returned to a single image: that of a beast, standing alone, darker than the blackest coal.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

The monolith breathing was a great hollow sound, and shuddered the flame of Baran's risen torch. The miner was wary of this hot, damp wind -- the sound, the breath, arose from every wall, redirected from a single source. Lifted high, the torch in his gripping left hand; and his right held his pick onto shoulder. The tip of the blade quivered almost imperceptibly as fingers decided their best grip of the tool. Baran stepped cautiously forth, examined the floor itself and the room all around; in a cavern this size -- as that of a massive cathedral -- even a beast this grand found discretion in the shadows. Baran stepped forth, and forth. ...

 

A flash disrupted, reflected flame versus steely claw, and Baran's drop to the cavern floor was to Death a prize denied. Echoes thundered of the beast's escape; sleek, vicious, furious in speed, its mass and movement extinguished the torch. The miner saw the terrible head but a moment before his light was gone, and a violent limb nearly crushed him in passing. An explosion of rock told Baran the tale, and as fast as reaction allowed, he took his knees and flung his pick towards the beast in its escape. He remained yet kneeling, unmoved, listened aghast as the monster and its fury faded down distant hallways.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

The mine was closed, and the people's will; they cowered in homes to a sudden destruction, arisen they knew not where. Wings outstretched, it soared overhead and dipped towards the town. Men fled from fields, women to their children, all people to their homes. But the homes and comforts were the first to go; the beast sprayed sulfur on the living town, smashed homes with its crushing tail, tore apart markets with its deadly, razor claws. A great lizard from the heavens, it worked its destruction serenely, consuming humans at its will. But one portion of the town stood clear, the mammoths of creation and of coal consumption. The people shook for terror, in hiding, but the one who emerged from the tunnels.

 

Until this time his life, the mines entombed Baran all night; he lay suffering through the black, black hours, lay battered from the crushing tail. At last as the dawn spoke its arrival, Baran brought himself painfully to his knees once more, and there he stayed for a time. Then, with courage, to his feet, and blindly he felt for the expanded hole of the beast's escape -- there he found his fallen tool, took it up once more, and without light walked the underground tunnels that he knew so well. Into the artery of the mine's great halls, at last there was a spot of distant light, and towards that he tread. When at last he emerged, full into the day, he saw the beast's destruction, and knew the task before him. Taking a torch from the mine's reserve, he returned to the halls below.

 

Broke a hole, like the one back a while, Baran remembered them saying. For the most part he did not allow a mention of this; the reference was indeed to a break like yesterday's, one discovered by Baran himself. Before he knew to hide the find, the men's interest had discovered the whispered breath within -- one their foreman later insisted was the hissing of a heated spring. None of them was allowed inside.

 

Only Baran knew what dwelt within, and it was not so different from the beast destroying the town -- yet, there was nothing alike between them. Lighted torch in one hand, pick in the other, he took these thoughts in a moment, and walked to the blockaded passage down which no man was allowed. Raising his pick, he began to clear the rubble meant to deter any curiosity. For Baran, the matter was of relative ease, and soon he crawled past the obstruction. If only his pick could remove all rock so easily. ...

 

"Dragon!" called the sturdy man, and his echo returned from the dark ahead. Baran approached the abandoned hole and leaned his head within. "Dragon!" he called once more, praying he was well received. He climbed through the hole, his only known chance for success.

 

The blackness swallowed man and torch, and he addressed the dark with respect. "Dragon, we have a problem. The other has escaped."

 

The breathing of a beast was ever-present, surrounding him like the shadows. A massive shift described the dragon, and a deep patience spoke at last. "Human, I am weary of your slow corrections. I warned you of your progress, cautioned you with particular care that you must slow down. Did you bother?" Baran shook his head in the dark. "I thought not," said the ancient. "When you discovered the chamber, why did you set it free?"

 

"Had to see that the men were safe," the foreman replied lamely. "Had to know it would not attack while they mined."

 

A snort from the dark misted the human, and the dragon spoke once more. "Are they quite safe now?" He paused, knowing his question would remain unanswered. Then: "Well, human, what are you to do now?"

 

"That is why I came to you, old one. You are the one who knows."

 

"Do I?" He considered, himself, whether he did. "No, I can tell you the solution, but I never know what you will do. As best as I can predict, you will ignore whatever I suggest. That is the nature of humans."

 

"Look, old one, I know you speak truth. But we are in a rush now. Can't you see?"

 

"I know you are always in a rush, and that is why you face this very problem." The dragon sighed, disturbed by his age and neglect. "What would you, human? Would you kill the dragon you've released? Is that your response?"

 

"I am here for your advice, though one would suppose. ..."

 

"Kill it if you like. It will just put off the end."

 

"The end of what?" queried the miner.

 

"You. Your town. Everyone. You cannot keep releasing dragons and hope to live. Besides, this one is a shape-shifter, and to kill it is illusion. Try, if you like. It will always return."

 

"How can we finish it for good?"

 

The dragon shook its weary head. "I have told you many times, why do I suppose you would listen now? Have I not said I am the one solution to your problem? I am the one weapon that might destroy the dragon of black?" Baran remembered. "I have said, and you have ignored."

 

"So, too, have I answered you, old one. Many times I've said I would set you free, but my pick won't dig into this stone. The rock is too hard, the task impossible."

 

"Yes, for a mind decided it is. So you continue mining rather than finding a way for my release. I thank you deeply." Another snort, of rather disgust. "You would kill this dreaded beast? Look for the missing scale. All dragons of the darkness have one scale misplaced, so one bit of flesh exposed. Find that, and strike." Baran bowed deeply, and humbly took his leave.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

A master stands atop a hill of grass and posies -- master not of beasts or weapons, but of the mines beneath the earth. He stands erect and motionless, a pick-head sturdy on the ground, wooden handle gripped firmly with the precision of an artist. A black form graces the sky some distance off, and the blue eyes of this miner flash to anticipate the coming scene. He is anxious to match his skill with that of a midnight dragon -- and this day the dark of hidden caves will not intrude. Today the dragon will be matched.

 

A growing wave of flesh and scales becomes a great cloud of black in its approach, and the dragon discovers with pleasure a single man atop a lowly hill. It's been so long since the dragon saw a human not running; it extends itself, no more dancing through the sunlit sky, but evolving sleek and narrow. Miner and dragon are focused, and dragon drops down from the sky, a single black arrow upon a prey undefended. Descending fast, at once the dragon spreads its mighty wings and slows, to best consume with sulfur -- a massive cloud shrouds the miner, but as the dragon muscles its way to the sky once more, the man and pick stand unmoved. Too long this man has mastered the lower world, breathing the dust of coal. He unearthed this very dragon, and now stands sure through the poison breath. And he sees what he needs at the dragon's pass.

 

The miner turns to face the dragon once more, and the surprised beast itself turns and hovers in confusion. No human withstood his fury long, and it would not repeat a failed attack. The beast of darkness dives once more to its prey, and is incensed to find the target merely standing, a fool for his unfounded confidence. The stance will be short-lived.

 

No pause for breathing death on the man, the dragon draws back one awesome limb, slides from the sky, and slashes with anger and power. But the miner tumbles at last from his place, and as the piercing claw misses its mark and the dragon climbs the air once more, the master of mines takes his knees at once, and flings his ancient pick.

 

A roar erupts from the sunlit skies and a cloud of black grows wild. Two massive wings work, frantic and furied, to keep aloft this midnight beast. With a great and sinewed, shaking neck, the dragon regards its belly. It sees the pick, buried deep, in its only flesh unprotected, and it knows its time is through. A fumbling mass, the terrible beast falls from the sky and shakes the earth with its collapse. It breathes yet a moment as the miner shudders, and then the beast is gone. Body only remains on the ground, for the spirit is slipped away, ready for new form when mankind calls.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

A master stands atop a hill of grass and posies and regards his fallen prey. He pulls his pick from a mass of flesh and scales; considers the head with those beastly teeth, examines those deadly, claws. Those which shredded the town without hesitation, without struggle, and the master regards these weapons with thought. Dawn breaks on his mind and slowly he looks to his ancient tool.

 

The rock is too hard, the task impossible.

 

If only his pick could remove all rock so easily. ...