"What…what did you just say?"
"Are you deaf now as well as half-blind, boy?"
"But you…you can't be serious…I'm only fourteen…"
"Yes, the earlier it is done the better the fortune. You know that, and I am quite unhappy that you are displaying this shocked demeanor to me, rather than an air of deep appreciation. It is nearly unheard of for a family with as little money as ours to arrange a Marking for their only child."
In a small, chilly room hung with brightly colored fabrics, a father and son sat facing one another across a table laid with a simple meal. The door was closed against the whistling November wind but the wood was thin, and little gusts of freezing air kept finding their way inside. The young boy was staring at his father with wide, frightened eyes, a spoonful of stew suspended over his bowl. His father huffed slightly at his expression.
"Don't give me that look; it's not like we sold your soul!"
The man was nearly as small as his son, but his slender arms were corded with muscle and his hands bore the wear of a working man. He was wrapped in a patched sweater, just as his son was, both of them having to fight the cold even while inside their home. The boy let his spoon sink back into his stew, and his eyes followed it, staring into his bowl as if hoping to find some solution there.
"Don't just sit there, Sable, say something for goodness' sake. And don't play with your food; your mother worked her fingers to the bone to pay for the meat that's in there."
"I've lost my appetite." Sable said quietly. His father ran his fingers through his thinning hair and sighed, leaning back in his chair.
"Must you be so dramatic?"
"And just how do you want me to react?" Sable asked, swallowing a bit.
"Well, I was hoping for a bit more appreciation from you. Your mother and I have been scraping and saving for your Marking from the day you were born. Don't you understand how important this is?"
The boy shivered at his father's words, shrinking into himself slightly as he answered timidly,
"Of course I do, but I just can't believe this; I never thought that this was an option for me! I've had no time to prepare myself for something so…drastic. If ever I did entertain the idea, I always thought I would be older. I thought…I would have more time. It's, it's just so sudden…"
His father leaned forward on the table, a stern look on his face.
"I don't think you understand the weight of the gift we are giving you, Sable. You're almost fifteen, and there's little you can do to make yourself useful here with us any longer. You're not a little child anymore, and you need to start considering your future. Regardless of what trade you chose, a Marking will grantee you success. You act as though this is news for you!"
Sable's breathing had become shallow, his body tense as he considered exactly what was happening. It was all too much, all too quickly…
"Father…you…you are really going to make me do this?"
"Make you do this?" His father repeated, anger heating his voice now, "Didn't you hear a word I just said? Do you know how much we have sacrificed over the years to save enough money for this? Do you know how hard we have worked so that you can make something of yourself beyond being the son of a cloth-dyer? The art isn't in you to begin with, with those eyes of yours! You can't even earn your own keep if you can't see any colors! The time has come for you to pay forward what we have given for your sake; by being Marked. Our business will flood with customers when news of this gets around. At this point it is the only way you can contribute to our family or have any kind of future on your own."
Sable looked devastated, his lips parted slightly as he listened to his father's angry speech. A knot clenched in his stomach, as well as the base of his throat. It choked him, making his throat ache and his breathing more and more strained.
"It's not that I'm not grateful, father. I never even knew you and mom were saving so much but…it's…it's my virginity…"
His father's face softened a bit, but his expression was still determined. His voice, however, was quieter when he spoke again,
"I understand that, Sable, but this is happening. You need to make peace with it and prepare yourself."
Sable swallowed hard, feeling a deep ache in his throat warning him of coming tears. He barely managed to ask, through trembling lips,
"Who...?"
"A dragon of the North. Sarik Eres." The ache in Sable's throat clenched as his head snapped up.
"A dragon?"
"Yes, my boy. Be proud; once marked by a dragon you will be a beacon of success and accomplishment. Any avenue down which you turn will open for you with no restrictions."
"I can't…believe…" Sable closed his mouth against the hoarse croak that rose in his voice. A dragon…it was an unprecedented honor. No one in this village had ever had the means to be marked by such a creature. Dragons were not rare in themselves, they often walked among humans in every city and town in their human forms, but their Markings were incredibly expensive. It was said that a dragon's Marking was special, something that endowed the receiver with good fortune and magical protection.
While Sable knew all this, he was far from being excited or even grateful. The idea of being Marked by anyone, let alone a dragon, had always been beyond his reach, or so he thought. He had always assumed that he would grow up, find his own trade, and marry according to his own time and desires. Now, to be told that his virginity would be taken by a complete stranger…a dragon…just to improve his fortune…it seemed downright cruel.
"You had better at least try to finish that stew before it gets cold." His father's voice brought him out of his dark musings, and he shook his head, feeling the itch of tears in the corners of his eyes.
"I'm sorry father…I just can't finish it…I'll save it for tomorrow, I..." He felt the tears slip past his eyelids and roll down his cheeks.
"Go on then to your room," His father said, not unkindly, "go have a good cry and all, but this is happening, and you will thank us someday."
Without another word, Sable rose and headed for the doorway to the hall.
"And you should begin packing as well," His father called after him, "your emissary will be coming to pick you up later tomorrow."
Sable stopped in the doorway, feeling yet another stab through his heart. Tomorrow. So very, very soon. He left the doorway quickly, feeling the urgency to get to the privacy of his room. He slid his door open and shut quickly, leaning back against it and sliding down to the floor, letting the sobs take him and wrack his small body. Anxiety and panic were flooding him, tightening his throat to the point that he could hardly breathe. He had to weep all the more to relieve the tension.
The worst part of all his sorrow was knowing that however unfair his father may seem, everything he spoke was true. Sable had been born a colorblind child to a couple who dyed cloth for a living. Their income depended on creating the right colors, something that Sable could never do. In order for him to help his parents with the work load at all he had to be directed action for action, which ended up being more troublesome in the long run. The most he could do was prepping the cloth to be dyed. He was good at selecting quality cloths from the shops, and bargaining with the sellers. Beyond this, however, he could do nothing to help his parents in their trade. He could not even learn it. He attended the local school, but the village was so small that there were very few children there his own age. Past the age of sixteen most male children either took on their own trade or found their own place in the family business, so Sable was one of the oldest in the school. The other few who were there were all much younger than him. Many times he would skip lessons and spend his time out on the grassy hills or forests that surrounded the village. The teachers could have cared less, having considered him something of a lost cause anyway on account of his inability to even help his parents.
Supporting one's elders was the cornerstone of village life, and being unable to do so made Sable feel like he was breaking an ancient rite. While there was little he could do about it, Sable had never thought much about his future.
But now…He let out a long, halting breath as he gained some measure of control over his sporadic gasps. He leaned his head back against his door and ran his fingers at random through his raven black hair, tossing away the long strands that hung over his ice-grey eyes. He had had his 'cry', just as his father had known he would, and now he felt numb all over. The tears dried up and he found himself staring across his room at nothing. It was a small room, with a small but thickly blanketed mattress on the floor, a small table, and a set of drawers. There was one window, but it was nothing more than a slit in the wall, just big enough for Sable to stick his slender arm through if the glass actually opened somehow. The faint light of the setting sun was glinting against it now, and Sable mechanically reached above his head to flip the switch on the wall. Light brightened the room from the single bulb that was set in the side of the wall.
Sable sighed and dragged himself up just long enough to stumble the two or three steps to his mattress and then he dropped down onto it. He burrowed beneath the pile of blankets and rested his head against his pillow. He felt like letting the night take him, drown him from all the fear that was plaguing him. He was fourteen. He had never so much as kissed anyone, girl or boy, and now a dragon was going to take his body. He shook as he thought of it, the shock still encompassing his entire being.
A small knock at his door made him jump slightly. He did not answer, for he knew who it was. He heard the door slide open quietly, and then soft footsteps made their way to the side of his mattress. He felt a gentle hand touch the top his head, the only part of him that was visible above the pile of blankets. He lifted back the top layer to poke his face out.
"I'm scared." He said brokenly, as his mother's face gazed down at him. She knelt beside him and stroked his hair, saying nothing. She never did.
"I don't know how I am going to do this." He said, closing his eyes, "What in the world does he want me to say?"
She hummed gently, continuing to pet his hair soothingly. It was all she could do to comfort him; she had not spoken a word since his little sister had died two years ago. So they sat there in silence, his mother stroking his hair, and Sable trembling beneath his blankets from a force that had nothing to do with the frigid wind moaning outside.
