The Faces of the Dragonman
© Jamie K. Schmidt

Tamarrah didn't mean to kill Ian Black. Wait, that's not true. Yes, she meant to kill him, but she didn't want to. Well, even that isn't the total truth. He deserved to die. Yet, Tamarrah wished she wasn't the one that stabbed him. Yes, that was the best answer. That is what she would say to the Dragonman when he asked her what had happened.

Picking up her torn skirt so the muddy road wouldn't completely ruin her dress, Tamarrah trudged towards the Lying Bard's Inn. That was where Benjy told her she could find the Dragonman. She was beginning to wonder if it was good luck after all, that Benjy had found her on the road coming back home that night.

Tamarrah had still been holding the dagger Marta had given her to protect herself. Benjy somehow got the story out of her and gently brought her back to Marta. Marta had taken one look at Tamarrah's face and brought her upstairs.

This morning, it had been disorientating to wake up in a strange bed. Marta's bedroom was the only one with a fire, and she insisted Tamarrah stay there. Tamarrah had cried until she was sick to her stomach, but afterward she had slept deeply. She had fully expected to be taken away by the city watch. But when that didn't happen, she found the strength to get dressed and make it downstairs to the kitchen.

Marta had been busy scrubbing the breakfast dishes and a pot of stew was bubbling for the lunch crowd.

“I'm so sorry, I'm late,” Tamarrah had told her. “I must have . . . must have overslept.” For one wild moment, Tamarrah thought she dreamed the terrible events of last night. But when Marta came over to her and gave her a brief hug, Tamarrah knew it had been real.

“It's all right, Child,” Marta had replied, blinking back tears. “Don't you worry about nuthin'. Benjy has taken care of . . . it. None of us has to worry about Ian Black again.”

“I know, um, Marta . . . I . . . “ Tamarrah was unsure how to finish. Marta had seen the state of her clothing, ripped and bloodstained. She had been the one to fetch her other gown and put her to bed. “ . . . killed him,” she whispered.

Tamarrah drew back in surprise when Marta's hand clamped down on her mouth like a slap. “Child, no you didn't.”

When Tamarrah tried to nod, Marta used her other hand to hold her head in place.

“Do you want to go to jail?”

Tamarrah shook her head from side to side, her mouth too forcefully held to respond.

“Neither do I. I gave you that knife and taught you to use it. Dat would make me part of the crime.”

Tamarrah shook her head again.

“Yes, it would. And the fact dat he and I had a big fight in the middle of the common room yesterday eve is gonna stick in a lotta people's heads. Heck, I'm probably the one who riled him up enough to follow you last night.” She cautiously took her hands away from Tamarrah.

“But, what's going to happen?”

“Nuthin'. Ian Black left on his horse last night. You saw him leave when you were feeding the horses. Won't be a soul who'll miss him either.”

“What about . . .” Tamarrah looked around and muttered, “the body?”

“Benjy has taken care of everything. Why don't you take the rest of the day off? I won't be needin' you until supper. I'll check in on Carrie.”

Tamarrah got the impression that Marta was trying to get rid of her. But in fact, Tamarrah needed some time to herself, so she didn't argue. Grabbing a roll from the bread platter, Tamarrah left the kitchen.

“Child, wait!” Marta scurried up after her. “Take this.” She tried to press the dagger into her hand.

Tamarrah shook her head violently and backed up. “I don't want it. I never want to see that again.”

Marta rolled her eyes. “Suit yerself, but there's more Ian Blacks in this world.” She turned to go back in the kitchen. “Since you have some free time, do you mind bringing this over to Benjy? It's his washing and I made him some breakfast too.”

Normally, Tamarrah would've balked. Benjy lived alone in a shack in the swamps. But after last night, Tamarrah had felt she owed him at least a thank you. She accepted the basket and hurried out of Marta's inn. She took only a few bites of the roll before tossing it to the dogs. It tasted like ashes and her stomach was churning.

The path to the swamps was mucky and bug infested. Each squish of her slipper sent cold shudders through her and Tamarrah wondered if she should take them off and go barefoot. She hurried instead, hoping that she wouldn't step on any snakes.

Benjy had been sitting on his porch mending a long, black cloak. Tamarrah remembered that he used to be a tailor for the Duchess, but some scandal or another landed him here.

“I brought you your clothes and Marta's fresh baked bread,” Tamarrah shifted from one foot to the other.

“Put it here by me. Sit down and stay for a spell.”

Reluctantly, Tamarrah had gone up the splintered and rotting steps and sat down on the porch. She pushed the basket aside and looked at the long and silky cloak Benjy was working on. It was black as Marta's teeth and the inky finish looked like polished ebony. She reached out to smooth her fingers down the luxurious length of it.

“Don't touch!” Benjy said harshly. “Somethings on Earth aren't meant for human hands.”

Tamarrah looked at him, confused.

“This is the Dragonman's cloak. It's made out of bat wings."

She drew back her hand in horror.

"Has he visited you yet?”

"No." Tamarrah inched away from the cloak.

“You betta go see him, then. It's a lot worse when he comes to you.”

“Who is the Dragonman?” Tamarrah asked, getting an even sicker feeling in her stomach.

The cloak seemed to rise off the floor and make a little squeaking sound. Tamarrah jumped off the steps and was halfway down the path before she turned around. Benjy was sitting in the same position, pulling a needle and thread through the garment. From back there it had looked just like a normal cloak.

“The Dragonman knows what you did. He's in charge of that kinda stuff.” Benjy looked at her with sad eyes. “You should talk to him about it, seeing how your circumstances were a bit different. He might give you some leeway, about the murder and all.”

Tamarrah held her stomach, sure she would be sick. “I don't want to talk to anyone. I just want to forget.”

“You won't forget,” Benjy said. “But, I dumped Ian in the swamp out back. He'll be gone soon enough.”

“What do you mean gone?”

“Scavengers will eat him.”

“Aren't you going to bury him?”

“Waste of a good hole. Too bad I got to sell his horse. It's a mighty fine one. I'll be taking the money for myself, you understand, as a payment for my services.”

This time, Tamarrah couldn't stop the bile in her throat and she dry heaved the little that was in her stomach onto the reeds. Hunched over, she hiccuped and scrubbed her mouth with the sleeve of her dress. “I don't care,” she finally said. “Do what you want.” Tamarrah got up slowly and brushed the hair out of her eyes.

“You'll find the Dragonman tonight at the Lying Bard's Inn. He likes his ale.”

“I'm not going there to see him.”

“If you don't go to him, he'll come to you. It'll start late at night when you are in bed.”

“What will start?”

“The nightmares,” Benjy said and he put his mending down. “You'll relive the scene over and over in your mind until you think you'll go mad. Then Ian will start talking to you. He'll say he's going to get you. Pretty soon, you'll hear him while you are awake. You'll jump at every noise and you'll be too afraid to go anywhere or to be alone.”

Tamarrah blinked back tears. She thought that was happening already. “How will I know who the Dragonman is?”

“He'll know you,” Benjy said and leaned back in his chair. He stared off into the swamp. “He'll know you.”

Tamarrah ran out of the swamp, each vine and twig that snapped around her ankles was Ian Black's cold hands. She rubbed her shoulders when she was back on the main road, chilled, even though it was daylight. She hurried to the orchard, trying not to feel sorry for herself and telling herself she shouldn't feel so guilty. It was just that it shouldn't have been that easy to kill a man.

The orchard was the only place that she could ever name as hers. The fruit had long since shriveled up and died, but her favorite apple tree was still there. Hunched over with age, its branches could still support her weight. She climbed it with the ease of many years' practice and leaned her head against the raspy trunk. It was here, in the tree last night, that Ian Black had found her. Had it been only yesterday? Tamarrah climbed the tree every night to watch the stars and let the night air cleanse her from the sweat and ale stench that always seemed to cling to her clothes. Sometimes, she would look at the sky and reach up to touch it. The stars seemed so close.

Yesterday night, Ian had caught her daydreaming and yanked her from the tree by her ankle. She must've blacked out when she had hit the ground, for the next thing she remembered was him swaying over her, holding his bleeding and bruised head. At first, Tamarrah thought the thick, heavy branch she had been sitting on had fallen on his head. But her perch was still there. His face looked like it had been whipped. Perhaps, she had landed on him first and raked her nails across his cheek. The whole night confused her. Details, even now, were sketchy. She remembered that he then lunged on top of her and knocked the breath out of her body.
When she could breathe again, Tamarrah was able to twist her arm away and grab at the dagger that she kept in a sheath on her belt. The fuel of anger had given her the strength to thrust the dagger into Ian Black's shoulder. He had looked amused until the pain slipped past drunken senses. Then he had become angry. They had struggled more, which pushed the dagger deeper. Ian had rolled away from her to remove it. Tamarrah had groped around on the ground for a tree branch. She hit him with it and scurried free. He hadn't died right away. Ian Black had tried to talk, tried to stand. When he did, the blood gushed faster and his last words were a curse directed at her. But by that time, Tamarrah had been running down the road. She didn't care where she was going, she just had to get away from him. She ran straight into Benjy and knocked him off his feet. She would have kept going, but he too, grabbed her ankle. That's when she had
started shrieking and didn't stop for a long time.

Tamarrah rested her head against the tree bark, ignoring its raspy texture. She stayed that way a long time before jumping down and going back to Marta's Inn. It was a slow night and after she finished up her tables, Tamarrah found herself on the road to the Lying Bard sooner than she wanted. The Lying Bard was famous for it's entertainment and spirits, whereas Marta's Inn was the more respectable place to stay and have dinner. Tamarrah had been there once or twice to listen to the bard's sing or tell a story. She had always looked forward to going there as a treat, but now the jovial little place reminded her of a wake. Shuddering, she walked through the door.

The bard was a tall thin man who sang about lost loves and ill fated adventures. He wasn't as good as most, but at least he could hold a tune. Tamarrah swung her eyes over the after dinner crowd. Fishermen and farmers drank with the merchants, while noblemen played games of chance in the corner. Then she caught his eye. He had been looking at her all along. She'd never seen him before, but he drank his ale at the table like he was a regular. His wavy, brown hair had all the colors of an autumn sunset and his eyes were the rich color of good soil. When he smiled at her, she knew she had found the Dragonman. It was his teeth that gave him away. They were long and pointed at the ends. He tossed his hair back from his eyes and deepened his smile, revealing a gaping maw of dagger like teeth.

Tamarrah felt her feet move forward, her eyes locked to his. She could see ages of lives spanning eternity in them, births and deaths, the rising of nations and the fall of empires. Entranced, she moved closer.

“Tam!”

On the edge of her consciousness, Tamarrah heard a reedy thin voice. She ignored it, to explore the wonders in the Dragonman's eyes.

“Tamarrah Lee Miller!”

Tamarrah blinked and stopped in front of the Dragonman's table. That had been her mother's voice. She had been dead five years. Whipping her head around, Tamarrah looked for her. She wasn't there.

“Sit down,” the Dragonman said.

Tamarrah averted her eyes, staring instead at the sweating ale mug on the table. She sat down at the table and cleared her throat. “I . . . I was told I would find you here.”

“What have you to barter?”

Tamarrah looked up at him in surprise. She was glad his eyes were normal now. If it wasn't for his teeth, she might have even thought he was handsome. “Barter? Barter for what?”

“Your soul of course,” he said impatiently. “That is why you've come, isn't it? After you sent Ian Black to an early grave, your immortal soul became imperiled. I can own it, now. You're here to trade something to me that I would erase your mortal sin so you may regain your soul in the afterlife.”

“I have nothing to offer you,” she said. Tamarrah glanced around to see if they had attracted anyone's attention, but no one seemed to even notice they were there.

“Nothing? Surely, everyone has something.”

For a brief moment, Tamarrah entertained the idea of buying him a drink at Marta's, but the thought of her buying the Dragonman, an ale became to much for her and she grinned. He seemed to read her thoughts because he smiled too.

“If you haven't come to bribe me, why have you come at all?”

Tamarrah was beginning to feel a little foolish. “I don't know. Benjy told me that it would be easier to face you now than later.”

“Did he? Hmmm, that depends on your point of view, I suppose. Benjy killed his wife when he was drunk. He offered to be my tailor, now, so that when he comes to be judged in the afterlife he has a chance not to be sent directly to me.”

“Your tailor?” Tamarrah frowned. “That's all he has to do to be absolved?”

“I didn't say he would be absolved. That's not my line of work, you see.”

“Then what have you granted him?”

“Penance, an easing of his mind while he is still alive.”

“And when he is dead?”

“Well, then, my dear, all bets are off!” He smiled at her again, baring his fanglike teeth.

“So after years of being your tailor on Earth, he still might go to . . . “ Tamarrah looked down at the floor and back up at him.

“Precisely.”

“I'm afraid I still don't understand.”

“Without his penance to me, I would take him immediately. By being my tailor, he has sufficiently bribed me so I may not ask for his soul.”

“But you still may?”
“
That's correct.” The Dragonman sipped deeply from his mug.

“That doesn't seem to be a good bargain.”

“I never said it was.”

“Why didn't he . . . I mean, don't take this the wrong way . . . Why didn't he ask for penance with the clerics or the priests?”

“Do you think you'll get a better bargain with the priests? Do you have that much money?” He leaned in closer. “Do you trust them with your secret? There aren't many men out there who would hear your confession and not want to see you hanged, even after you tithed all of your gold away.”

“I do not want to serve you, now or later.” Tamarrah looked at him with huge sad eyes.

“Now or later, it's your choice. You did take a life. Are you sorry?”

“I'm sorry I was the one who had to do it. But he needed to die.”

“So now you are judging who is to live and who is to die? Why?”

“Because he tried to . . . hurt me.” Tamarrah's voice was soft, but steady. “He thinks every serving girl's childhood is his for the taking. Not that I was saving myself for anyone special, that is, no one I've met yet.” She looked up at him and the Dragonman nodded at her to continue. “But I felt that I should be the one to decide who will be the first.”

“What's the real reason?” The Dragonman said and leaned in with his chin on his palm.

Tamarrah tried to look insulted, but then realized he had seen through her ruse. She sighed and looked away from him. “Ian Black liked to touch young girls in places that gives them nightmares.”

“Like your baby sister, Carrie?”

“You don't know Carrie!” Tamarrah shouted and jumped up from the table. “You can't know who she is! She's a little girl! She's still an innocent.”

“How very tempting,” the Dragonman said. “Bring her here to meet me and I will consider our deal made.”

“No,” Tamarrah said and backed away. “Never.”

The Dragonman shrugged, “Then I will see you later.”

“I hope not,” she said.

He merely smiled his maw like grin.

Tamarrah hurried out of the Inn, nearly knocking over a waitress with a platter of ale. She didn't stop running until she got to the orchard. This time, she was careful to keep her ankles tucked beneath her. Tamarrah looked up into the sky. The stars never seemed so far away before.

“The Dragonman has many faces.”

Tamarrah curled into the tree and furtively looked around. “Who's there?'

Only the leaves of the trees answered her as a cool breeze passed over.

The night stars started to swirl overhead and Tamarrah began to get dizzy. She clutched the tree for support. The Dragonman's face appeared in the sky.

“Go away!” She shrieked.

“These are only visions,” the voice said.

His faces swirled away to be replaced with Benjy's, then Ian Black's.

“W-What's happening?”

The night was silent. The faces appeared again. Ian Black's shifted and became the large doltish features of Benjy's profile. Then it elogated and returned to the face of the Dragonman.

"Be wary of those who would prey upon your innocence."

“Ma?” She was sure it was the same voice that spoke to her in the Lying Bard.

Tamarrah scampered down from the branch and looked around the tree. There wasn't anyone there. But as she came back around the front of it, a perfect red apple lay on the ground.

She picked it up and hid it in the pocket of her apron. Then she went back home to Marta's Inn. Marta was still up and was humming to herself in the kitchen, while cooking tomorrow's dinner.

“I was worried about you, Child.” She said, tossing cut up turnips and carrots into a pot.

“I've been thinking.” Tamarrah said and sat down to peel some potatoes for Marta.

“Don't let that man disturb you no more. He was wicked, evil. I'm sorry it wasn't me that knocked his brains out, ‘stead of that big old tree branch.”

Tamarrah almost fell off the stool she had been sitting on. She caught Marta's eye. “What do you mean? I thought he died from . . . from . . .” Tamarrah thrust the paring knife in front of her a few times.

Marta wiped her hands on a dishtowel and took the knife and potato out of Tamarrah's hands and placed them on the counter. She took Tamarrah's hands inside her own and squeezed them gently. “How many times do I have to tell you? You didn't kill Mistah Ian Black. Sure, you stuck him pretty good. But you didn't hit any of his vitals, like I taught you. Now, did you?”

Tamarrah thought back, “It's a blur. I don't know. There was a lot of blood.”

“Yes, fleshy wound like that always bleed a ton. Remember when you cut your finger that one time? Lawds! I thought we had a fountain in here.”

Tamarrah giggled wetly and sniffed in her tears.

“Benjy told me dat when he found him, he was underneath that apple tree that you always sit in. His head was caved in. Not by you, Child, but by one of that rotted old tree's limbs. A real heavy one. Benjy had to tie up Ian Black's horse to it, to move it off him.”

“Then I didn't kill him,” Tamarrah said.

"No, you silly goose you didn't. Now why don't you go to bed? I'm going to need you early. Carrie's been asking about you all day. If she's still awake, I promised her that you would tell her a story.”

“I will,” Tamarrah slowly climbed the stairs to the room that she shared with her sister.

Carrie was sleeping, her sweet, little face puckered up in a snore. Tamarrah kissed her gently on her apple blossom cheeks, being careful not to wake her.

She looked out the window that overlooked the orchard and the stars lit up the apple tree in a warm, radiant glow. She took the apple from her pocket and kissed it. The skin of the fruit was warm. From that day on, Tamarrah kept the apple on the table between Carrie's and her bed. It never rotted or wilted. Instead it gave off a sweet, mild fragrance that comforted them both, especially on dark and cold nights. Weather permitting, Tamarrah still went out each night and sat in the bower of her favorite apple tree. She was never attacked there again and always felt as if she was as safe there as if she was in the arms of her own mother.