Disclaimer:
I do not own Escaflowne or any of its characters. This is just a fanfic written by a fan for fans. So enjoy reading it! HOWEVER, do not steal or plagiarize my story. This is my work and it may suck, but it's still my work. If you need to do anything with my story other than read it, please email me at busyizzy86@hotmail.com and ask for permission. Thank you.
The Dragonslayers By: sHiNiGaMi801
Chapter One - Chesta
"Chesta! Chesta? Are you awake yet?" the shrill woman's voice cut through the quiet morning. Rolling over on his bed, rubbing his eyes sleepily and yawning, Chesta answered the woman with a tired groan. After a feeble attempt getting up, Chesta surrendered to the wonder that is sleep and collapsed into his bed again. "Wake up, Chesta! I have an errand for you," the woman yelled again.
Groaning, Chesta finally sat upright with both of his eyes closed. After another tired sigh, he opened his eyes, blinking as the sunlight glared into them. He looked around at the small, old beds that were stuffed into the small room. In each bed was a boy, all sleeping soundly, oblivious to the screeching of the woman.
"Chesta!!" the shrill voice cried, even louder than before. This time, a small boy lying down in the bed next to Chesta stirred slightly. The boy fidgeted, peeking up at Chesta with one eye.
"Was' da matter?" asked the boy groggily.
Chesta smiled at the boy. "It's nothing," he said. "Go back to sleep. You're tired."
The boy nodded as he yawned loudly. Chesta smiled as he gently patted the boy on the head. "Go to sleep," Chesta repeated. Grabbing his blanket, the boy snuggled into the covers of the bed, sighing softly, nodding off to sleep again.
Chesta jumped off his own bed. He looked around the room affectionately, even though the paint on the walls was peeling, broken nails had scratched up the floor, and dust and cobwebs had dominated most of the room. All around him was what he considered to be his family. This rundown orphanage - it was the only life he had known. He couldn't remember most of his childhood or his parents. All he had left of his past childhood was a picture of his parents.
'The picture,' Chesta thought. He dropped onto his knees and looked for his bag under his bed.
Chesta dusted off the dust that settled onto his bag overnight and pulled out an exquisite picture frame from the bag. 'They sure look like nice people … wish I got to know them …' Chesta sighed as he looked longingly down towards the picture. There was a beautiful woman and a handsome man posing in the picture. The woman was sitting down with her legs crossed and her hands laid delicately in her lap. She wore a beautiful flowery dress and her brown hair was wrapped in a loose bun. Her light blue eyes twinkled with laughter, and her smile was gentle and serene. The colors of roses glowed from her cheeks. The man's brown eyes looked stern but he looked lovingly down at the woman, his hands resting gently on the woman's shoulder. He had slightly tossed his head back, trying to brush his long blonde hair out of his eyes. 'Mom … Dad …' As Chesta stared at the picture, he saw his reflection on the glass of the picture frame from the sunlight that shined through a hole on the ceiling. He had his mother's eyes - everyone always commented on how charming his big blue eyes were - and his father's blonde hair - which …
"Chesta!" the woman's voice cut through Chesta's thoughts. Sighing, Chesta carefully placed the picture frame back into his bag and carefully tossed it under his bed. "Chesta!!!" Holding his hands against his ears to block out the jarring voice of the woman, Chesta noticed that a morning chill had settled in the room. Worried about the boy sleeping in the next bed, he grabbed his own blanket from his bed and gently covered the boy with it. Then, he threw on his cloak and walked out of the room.
Strolling absentmindedly through the hallway, Chesta thought about a dream he had that night. He was dressed in a special blue uniform along with fourteen other boys. It was some sort of … military group, Chesta decided. They trained hard everyday in their Guymelefs, and their captain - their captain was the greatest of all. He had a bright red Guymelef and …
"Chesta! I've been calling for hours! Where were you?" demanded the shrill voice. Chesta looked up, startled at the interruption. The voice belonged to a tall woman, the owner and caretaker of the orphanage. Her long gray hair was in a tight bun. The shawl that was wrapped tightly around her shoulders was the same worn gray as her hair. She pointed her long gnarly fingers accusingly at Chesta. "I was worried about you. Are you sick?" she asked.
Chesta smiled and said, "No, don't worry. What did you want me to do?" As the oldest boy of the orphanage, fifteen moons old; Chesta did special errands for the orphanage and the woman. Chesta was usually happy to comply with the errands because he felt as if the orphanage was his responsibility, being the oldest boy in the orphanage.
"I need you to go into the city and deliver this message. It's very important - especially to the orphanage. Got that?" the woman told Chesta. The woman handed Chesta a white envelope. She grasped Chesta's hands as she told Chesta, "I'm trusting you." Chesta nodded earnestly. "And," the woman added with a smile, "don't get into trouble!"
Chesta smiled. "Who, me?" he asked innocently. "I would never!" Running out of the orphanage, Chesta looked back. "It's very important to the orphanage," the woman's voice echoed. Chesta looked curiously down at the envelope he clutched in his hands. 'Hmmmm … Wonder what the message is?' Chesta sighed. 'Well, it's none of my business.' And with that thought, he started walking down the road towards the city.
* * *
"Thanks – Chesta, is it?" A man asked as he eyed Chesta's ragged clothes. "Um … Won't you sit down?" the man asked, gesturing to the interior of his house.
Chesta shook his head. He stood on the porch of the large, fancy house as he wiped the sweat off of his forehead; the sun was beating down on the back of his neck. "Thank you, sir, but no. I have to go," Chesta replied politely. Chesta looked down at his feet; he shuffled his feet, glancing longingly towards the general direction of the orphanage.
"Well … Chesta, how old are you?" the man asked curiously.
Chesta looked at the man in surprise. "I'm – I'm fourteen, sir," Chesta mumbled. The man looked thoughtfully at Chesta. Chesta squirmed under his glance. "If it's alright, sir, I think I'll go now, Chesta said as he bowed and started to turn around.
"Umm, yes, you better go now," the man repeated softly. "But wait!" the man called as he grabbed Chesta's shoulder. "Have a silver coin for your hard work." The man held out a small silver coin.
Chesta shook his head. "It was my pleasure, sir. No need to pay me," Chesta said.
"Well," the man looked hesitatingly down at Chesta. The man was considerably taller than Chesta, but then again, perhaps Chesta was just considerably shorter than the man. Everything about the man seemed out of proportion. He was too tall and too thin. His long nose curved towards his lip. His hair was cut short as if attempting to tame the wild and ragged white strands of hair sticking out. One of his eyes seemed to be bigger than the other one, and his mouth puckered out. "There has to be some way I can thank you for delivering that package. Are you sure you don't want anything, Chesta?" the man asked.
Chesta, again, shook his head. "Excuse me, sir, but I had better get going. It's a long walk back to the orphanage, and I want to get back before dark."
"Wise boy," the man said, nodding his head approvingly. "But - uh – Chesta, have you ever looked for a career in …" Chesta leaned in closer. "Never mind, boy," the man said with a wave of his hand. Disappointed, Chesta turned to leave once again when the man suddenly said, "Chesta, can your parents come …"
"My parents are dead," Chesta cut in with a lifeless voice.
"Oh, I see," the man paused, not knowing what to say. He then abruptly asked, "What do you want, Chesta, out of life?"
Chesta stared at him. "Sir?" Chesta asked hesitatingly.
The man waited patiently for Chesta's answer. "What do you want, Chesta?" the man repeated.
"Uhhh – well, nothing, sir," Chesta replied, looking away from the man.
The man laughed. "Come now, you've got to have something that you want. Everybody has something they want …" he paused, continuing in a bitter voice, "Do you want your parents back or do you wish to be rich – do you want a successful career … what is it that you want?" the man asked once more.
Chesta looked at the man, dazed. 'What … what I want? What do I want?' Suddenly engulfed by his past fantasies and dreams, Chesta's head seemed to spin. 'A family? My parents? To know my parents … or to get my parents to know me? What do I want?' A drop of sweat rolled down Chesta's forehead.
"Chesta?" the man asked, somewhat irritated at Chesta's lack of response and interest.
Chesta, out of his trance, jumped slightly. "Y-yes??" he asked.
"Are you feeling okay?" the man asked.
"Um – yes! I am – I'm okay!" Chesta paused. "Yes … I am okay," he repeated in a steady voice. Chesta quickly stepped out of the house. "Thank you for everything, sir," Chesta said as he bit his lip.
The man sighed as he asked, "Are you sure you don't want anything? Perhaps a silver coin is too small of a payment? How about a gold one?
Chesta looked down at his feet. "Thank you but no thank you," he said once again. He sighed and wondered if this conversation was just going in circles. Couldn't the man just bluntly say what he wanted? Did they have to play this guessing game?
The man smiled down at the top of Chesta's head. "You have a heart of gold," the man told Chesta. "You'd do well in the military … with some training, of course," the man added.
Chesta felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. After what felt like forever, Chesta finally started towards the orphanage. It was well into the afternoon. 'I better hurry up before it gets too dark or I'll have to …' Chesta looked around at the busy town. Men were hurrying to get home to spend the rest of their night with their families. Slave boys were running errands, lazily loitering in the sun – in no rush to go back home to their masters. A little farther up north was the market where the women were haggling for various things, including food for dinner. The infant children ran around, splashing mud without a care in the world. When their mothers called, the children ran off, leaving Chesta staring longingly after them. Chesta sighed. He started walking towards the orphanage again – his home.
* * *
"What do you want?" the man's voice echoed in Chesta's head. Chesta bit his lip. 'What do I want? A home, a family – or maybe …' Chesta thought '… maybe something completely different?' He recalled the many dreams he had when he would fantasize that his parents weren't really dead, and they would come and take Chesta away and … we'd live happily ever after. Chesta scoffed. "Yeah, like that's going to happen," he said to himself. He sighed. Then, he remembered his dream last night. 'A Guymelef?' Chesta stopped walking. He had wandered onto the road, lost in his thoughts. 'A Guymelef pilot,' mused Chesta. 'That's what …'
"Watch it, boy!" A man shouted at Chesta from inside a wagon. Chesta leaped out of the way. I'd better hurry up, or I'll have to walk through the woods in the dark. Nobody with any sense would walk through the woods at night.
* * *
Long after night had settled, Chesta had finally reached the edge of the woods, Chesta realized that he had traveled in safety's hands up till that point. 'What danger would the woods at night present?' Chesta asked himself. It was rumored that wild animals and thieves who lived in the woods, attacking travelers during the night. Chesta took a nervous deep breath and took a small step towards the woods when he heard a wolf's howl. Chesta stopped and shivered - whether it was from the cool wind of the chilly night or fear, he could not tell. Taking another deep breath, he took another step towards the woods when he unexpectedly got a strange feeling that someone was watching him. Chesta could imagine their cold eyes staring intensely at him. 'It's only my imagination,' Chesta told himself. 'Get a grip.' He shook his head, hoping he would shake off his fear.
Finally, gathering his courage, Chesta took a giant bold step into the woods. Sighing, he continued into the woods with small rapid steps down the path of the woods, trying to block out all sounds such as the occasional rustle in the bushes. After a while, his fear of thieves and wild animals diminished, and Chesta was confidently walking through the woods. But there was still that feeling – that feeling that there were eyes staring intensively at him, focused on him, catching his every movement. Still, there was no turning back now, and he had to get to the orphanage before the night ended. Chesta was sure that everyone at the orphanage was worried. After all, he had promised to be back by afternoon that day, and it was already night. Lost in his thoughts, he wandered down the path almost aimlessly, when a cold hand tightly grasped his shoulder.
"Ahhhh!" Chesta cried out in surprise. He spun around, only to face a short pudgy man. "What … what do you want?" Chesta demanded. Chesta gulped, hoping he sounded tough, knowing he was just a scared little boy inside. The man only leered at Chesta. Chesta bit his lip nervously, asking himself, 'Could this person be the one who was watching me?' The man only continued to stare at Chesta with a hungry smirk. Chesta carefully studied the man. 'No, these eyes weren't the ones – they can't be. Those eyes were dark and cold. This man - he's a joke compared to those eyes,' Chesta told himself.
The man continued to stare at Chesta. "Where ya from, boy?" the man asked.
"An … an orphanage in the country." Chesta relied hastily.
The man pouted. "An orphanage?" the man repeated, frowning. His eyebrows burrowed into his face, as if deep in thought. Then, as if he had thought of a brilliant idea, he clasped his two pudgy hands and smiled his crooked smile again. Most of his teeth were black and dull. "Ha … yeah, right. That's what they all say," the man said. "Now, what do I have to do to make ya tell me the truth?" The man paused, "That's okay. I don't give a damn where ya came from, actually." The man looked threatening at Chesta as he demanded menacingly, "What do I hafta do to make ya give me all yur money?"
Chesta looked down at the ground. Leaves and pebbles scattered the dirt path. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"What'd ya find?" a voice behind Chesta asked. Happy and quite amazed at the sound of another voice, Chesta turned around and stared at the owner of the new voice. The voice belonged to a tall man whose most visible facet was a large scar down his cheek. His eyes were cold but they were still not the eyes that had been stalking him. The tall man's face was long and bony, like his body. The man looked down at Chesta. "Well, well! A little rascal. Good job," the second man complimented the first one.
Chesta choked, "Who? Me?"
"Who else is there?" the man asked sarcastically.
Chesta looked nervously around him - hoping to see anyone … anything else but the two thieves. He was so nervous; he couldn't think straight. His head was spinning when his eyes caught sight of a sword that hung from the tall man's hip. Biting his lip, he tried to devise a plan but everything seemed to swirl around him. Adding to the tension was the fact that Chesta still thought that a third pair of eyes, including the two thieves', was still watching him.
"Awww … come on. Just take his money and let's go. Why do we need to kill him?" the fat thief whined.
The tall one rolled his eyes. "Let's just take his money and go …" he mocked, imitating the fat thief. "What the hell is the matter with you? We can't just leave him."
"Wh - why not?" asked the fat man, confused and bewildered by this suggestion.
The tall one sighed, "First of all, this little rogue could go off and tell people 'bout us. That ain't gonna do us any good, now is it? Nobody gonna wanna travel here night and if they do, they'll all be traveling in those big crowds."
The short one sighed and shook his head in confusion. "Damn, you thick-headed lump of …" the tall man started to yell.
"But …" the short man whined and the two thieves continued to argue. Meanwhile, Chesta was oblivious to the argument. His eyes were focused on the sword. He slowly reached out towards the sword, his hand shaking slightly with fear. Chesta kept silent. 'They mustn't notice him,' he told himself. His hand slowly ascended towards the sword.
Suddenly, the tall thief grabbed the hilt of his sword, and Chesta quickly pulled his hand back. The tall thief started yelling, "Ya wanna fight? Is that it? Wanna fight? Damn ya, I'll take ya on any day! You fat lousy piece of …"
The short thief grunted, "No."
The tall thief took his hand off of the hilt and said, "Don't mess with me, I ain't even need a sword to beat ya. All I need is …" the tall thief paused as he looked around. He bent over and picked up a long thin branch. "All I need is this, here, branch," the tall thief started to say, "so I can stick it up your …"
Chesta moved behind the tall man. The two thieves did not notice him. He again started to inch his hand towards the sword. 'Almost,' he thought. 'A little bit more, and …' When his hand pulled the sword out from its sheath and away from the tall thief, Chesta shouted, "I got it!" Chesta drew in a quick breath as he poised the sword towards the two thieves.
"Don't move." Chesta stammered. "I've got a sword ..." Chesta stumbled as he backed away from the thieves, facing the two thieves with the sword held out in front of him. Chesta bit his lip as he nervously thought, 'And I don't know how to use it.'
The tall thief scoffed at Chesta. The short thief, however, was shaking even harder. He was on the ground, kneeling and begging Chesta, "Please don't kill me. Don't kill me. I never meant to do ya any harm. I only wanted to rob ya." The fat thief pointed a shaky finger at the tall one. "It was him who wanted to kill ya! I never wanted to do that!" He babbled on but Chesta paid no attention to him. It was the tall one he was worried about.
The tall thief was standing, laughing confidently. "Tricky lil' fellow, aren't ya? Nice try, but that won't get ya anywhere," he said. The tall thief held out his hand. Chesta could see scars on the man's bony hand in the dim moonlight. "Give it back to me," the man demanded.
Chesta, tightening his hold on the sword with both hands, shook his head. The tall thief threw Chesta a disgusted look. "Give it to me," he ordered Chesta in a stern voice.
Chesta, again, shook his head. "No, I won't." Chesta's hands were pale from gripping the sword so tightly. 'What am I doing? Even with the sword, I'll probably lose. Am I being suicidal, or something?' Chesta asked himself, unsure of what to do next or what will happen next.
The tall thief spit out the tobacco he was chewing. "Ya want trouble? I'll give it to ya," the thief yelled as he started to walk menacingly towards Chesta.
Chesta held his ground, still holding the sword in front of him. "I'm warning you, don't come any closer," Chesta threatened, his voice growing confidant.
"Ya? Warning me? Ha, that's a laugh," the man snorted as he continued to walk towards Chesta.
Chesta looked at the tall thief straight in the eye. "Okay, I warned you," he whispered softly. With a deep breathe, Chesta suddenly started running towards the thief, yelling wildly.
The thief looked surprisingly at Chesta. "What the …" the thief started to say as tried to back up, but it was too late. Chesta slammed the sword blindly towards the thief. The thief screamed in agony as the sword cut into his arm. Chesta closed his eyes as blood splattered his face and his clothes. The thief dropped to the ground, cradling his injured arm, gasping for air. "Fu-fuck …. A little kid … what the hell … did he … do?" the tall thief panted. The pudgy thief ran away, screaming in hysteria. Chesta looked away, wiping the blood from his face. A tear rolled down his face as he listened to the pain-racked screaming.
Chesta picked up the bag he had dropped, and started walking away. He tried to be indifferent to the man screaming but his stomach churned and his hands trembled - not from fear or the cold but … 'from what?' Chesta asked himself. He did not look back at the tall thief who was still whimpering over his wound. Instead, Chesta looked down at his clothes. They were splattered with blood. Chesta felt another tear roll down his face. Looking up at the sky, he noticed it wasn't a tear. It was a drop of rain ... the world was weeping. And for some reason, he felt like crying too. Chesta stood alone in the rain as it started to fall harder and harder. It was silent except for the rain splattering against the dirt road of the forest. Chesta held up his hands towards the sky as he felt the rain wash out the blood. He just stood there quietly, listening to the rain.
The rain suddenly ceased. The forest was still silent; not even the occasional rustle in the bushes or the squeak of an animal could be heard. The forest was silent … except for the sound of water dripping down from the leaves of the trees. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
Chesta blinked. He was soaked but he felt refreshed by the rain. Looking down, Chesta noticed that the rain had washed away the bloodstains on his clothes. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
Chesta took a deep breath. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
He took one step, then another step. He started taking slow and steady steps towards the orphanage again - towards home where he would be safe. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
* * *
From the forest, a silver-haired man stepped out. His cold, red eyes narrowed as he watched Chesta, his intense stare following every one of Chesta's movements. He crossed his arms, satisfied with what he had seen. "You have lots of potential, lots of it," the man said curtly, to no one in particular. Nodding his head, he turned to leave. Hidden at the edge of the forest was a bright red Guymelef. The man climbed into the Guymelef and left.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
TO BE CONTINUED.
