The Unfortunate Tale of Crackle the Dragon

The Unfortunate Tale of Crackle the Dragon. Part Three: Judgment

The yellow glow of the sun got larger and larger as we climbed the mountain, too tired to fly. On the way back we found a stream which we used to wipe the remaining blood off, but the smell stuck in my nostrils; a sickly metallic odor. We didn’t talk much on the way up but I’m fairly certain we were all thinking the same thing: We messed up. Badly. Leon was dead. And two ponies were violated. But Leon’s death would surely raise questions from the other dragons. We couldn’t say he went missing, of course. Any dragon that would venture anywhere near the town would quickly be able to smell his blood. Of course Garble’s story would probably hold up, sure, but what then? That was a small village, probably only earth ponies. They couldn’t escape, let alone defend themselves if the elder dragons decided to-. But that was a thought I tried and tried to force out of my head as we ascended. I had seen enough death.

Every dragon was awake by the time we arrived, save a few of the older ones, whose smoke I could see billowing up from around the peak. We agreed it would be best to tell Leon’s parents right away. The Sapphire Clan, which he belonged to, was thankfully already nearby. His parents were intellectual types, scholars even. They had plenty of satchels of scrolls containing all sorts of helpful magic. Most of the Sapphire Clan was of that sort – healers, historians, mages.

They did not receive the news well, as might be expected. What I didn’t expect was his father to destroy some scrolls in a fit of rage. It was a frightening display, as he was at least five times larger than me. What fear I had of being accidentally crushed though, was overridden by the sinking guilt I felt about allowing the events of that night to transpire. Maybe it wasn’t that though. Perhaps I was already feeling the emotions that accompanied what happened later that morning. The display attracted the attention of the other Sapphire Clan members, and soon we were asked to report our story to The Patriarch; a towering mountain of a dragon whose voice seemed to echo off the air. Garble did most of the talking, with the other two supporting him. I stood still, afraid to move a muscle, lest I be questioned as well.

The Patriarch, who was referred to by the others as such, seemed to be thinking deeply about further action by the time Garble was finished. Leon’s mother wasn’t holding herself together well. Though the other dragons tried to console her, she continued to weep and drip gooey flaming blobs from her nostrils. This went on for another half hour or so. His father, on the other claw, was still thoroughly enraged. He demanded justice for his son’s death. Understand, of course, that this wasn’t such a reasonable request, and hardly enough information was present. Since the age of glorified dragon hunting ended, there was always a sort of unspoken agreement that ponies and dragons would mutual tolerate each other. Instances of attacks on either side were exceedingly rare. And the village being as small and mundane as it was, The Patriarch could easily do away with it by himself.

While they spoke (rather, Leon’s father yelled) I waited, occasionally making eye contact with those around me, though trying not to. I’m sure they assumed I was grieving, and not pitying my own blunder, or the lives of those ponies. Maybe I was saddened by his death, and not the event of the taking of life itself. I maintain that there is a difference. To even see the life of a complete stranger taken, and in such a grizzly manner, can be traumatizing, I’ve heard. And that must be it, as I did not appreciate Leon much as a dragon. I’m still so very confused about my emotions, even now. I just have to believe that what I did that night in the hollow was the right thing to do. It had to be done.

My parents had arrived, probably from word of mouth that I was here. My stomach sank. That meant the entire wing probably knew about this by now. Everyone knew the lie. I wanted to melt away. I wanted to become a rock in the mountain and sink to the deepest darkest depths of Tartarus. Any place would be better than here. My mother approached me:

“Dear, is it true what we’ve heard?” she said, with deep concern in her voice.

I had never lied to my parents before. And for this to be the first, what a thing.

“Where’s Fizzle?” I asked. It was the only thing that came to mind.

“He’s with your sister at the camp. Crackle, are you okay?”

“Yes mom” I stammered out, my eyes welling up with tears. “I’m fine. Just a little…shook up.”

My sight was getting blurry now but I didn’t want to cause a scene. I wanted to leave, leave, leave. I wanted to see Fizzle. He always made me feel better. That stupid grin of his made me happier than you can ever know. I thought back to last night, how he played with his leaves, perfectly content. I saw the bright purple and yellow and red and green mixing about in the air and he blew them about with his nose. I should have stayed there; should have played with the leaves.

“Come on son” my father insisted “Let’s go back to the den.”

I wanted to go back, but not to eat, not to talk, not to do anything. Fizzle came to mind again. Unfortunately the Sapphire Clan had other plans.

“I have made a decision” The Patriarch bellowed “the ponies of the Coltfield have done a great injustice against us, in the slaying of one of our own. After much deliberation, I have decided that the just cause of action is to put the inhabitants of the entire village to death, by dragon fire.”

I would like to say that was the moment when what we had done had finally come to terms with me, but it was not.

“We must show that these acts against our kind will not be tolerated by any means. We have done no harm to them, and yet they persist, as they have in ages past. And since it was these three who have lost their dear friend, they shall accompany me to the burning.”

This was not that moment either. My parents were taken back by this, naturally. I think everyone was, actually. Did they know these dragons were hardly my friends? Maybe. But it wasn’t their place to say anything at the moment. They weren’t as highly regarded in our own clan, let alone the Sapphire. So we went with him. We had to fly considerably faster than normal, of course, as his wings were like tree canopies, but we managed.

Now we overlooked the town. It seemed that most of the ponies were gathered around a central building, probably talking about last night, deciding on a course of action, if any. The food store was burned but not completely down. I doubt The Patriarch noticed. Though powerful, old dragon’s vision does fade in time. Their power, however, only grows until the day they pass. He wasted no time in exemplifying this. One of his kin was cut down, and there would be blood.

Swooping down upon them, he let out a massive torrent of fire, stronger than any I’ve ever seen, and let ablaze the entire right half of the town. It was organized into two sections, divided by a road, of which now panicking ponies scurried about, screaming. Circling back around, he let out another blast, this time on the other side and two fire balls on either end, trapping the creatures inside the inferno. Ponies ran out from their home, some holding infants. The pegasi and unicorns seemed to know that fighting would be futile, so they did their best to help others to safety. A few pegasi were carrying ponies to safety in the forest while the unicorns attempted to stoke the fires allowing for a path out. Even from where I hovered, I could feel the heat.

Finally, he let out a stream right down the middle. The fire knocked a Pegasus out of the air, causing the burning ball of flesh to crash into the crowd. Now everything was on fire. Most of them fell to the ground, flailing furiously to remove the fire themselves. Some continued to run until the fire exposed their bones and snapped their tendons. The screaming sounded two fold now. It was an ear shattering cry from everypony in the town. I could hear the weeping, the moaning, and each terrible noise that only a creature being burned to death could muster. The air was thick with the smell of burning flesh and hair; something no amount of bathing can remove from one’s mind.

I saw fillies and foals and mares and colts all burning to death, together. From their lack of movement, I could only assume the three dragons to my side felt the same abject horror I did. The worst part, however, came near the end. The fires burned out quickly, it seemed, and the ground was black with charred corpses and burnt buildings. But there was movement still. At the edge of the town, on the road, I saw a light green filly with a yellow mane, struggling to move. Her hind legs and tail were burnt completely off, leaving only a mangled stub of charred torso. She used her front legs to struggle forward. I could barely make out a pink bow in her hair. It seemed like hours I watched her crawl, though it was probably only a few seconds. She crawled the way Fizzle did. The way he did, but without joy. Without hope. How the universe taunted me.

I felt a sense of sickening relief when The Patriarch swooped down and crushed her with a single claw. She didn’t have to suffer anymore, and neither did I. Not as much. But it was that image, seeing her crawling, the way Fizzle did, that burned itself into my mind. The pitchfork and the rape, though terrible, somehow paled in comparison. This is what drove me to do what I did.