No Kings

"Do not fear what you are about to suffer. Behold, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison, that you may be tested, and for ten days you will have tribulation. Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life."

-Rev. 2:10

PRELUDE

It began with the birth of a son.

And, were that true, The Dragon would have scoured the Earth for the child.

In the beginning, The Dragon wanted only the child's flesh.

The child was a girl.

Now, the Dragon wanted her.

ACTS

The Butcher: Then

"They call him the Butcher," the man said with a cock of his head toward the grimy fellow sitting alone at the bar.

"Looks like scum to me," the second man replied, his eyes memorizing the patron's image to burn it into his brain lest he encounters him alone. "I ain't never seen him before. How's you know his name?"

"He's a fallen man."

The answer produced no immediate response.

When the second man recovered from what he heard, he pressed on. He knew what it meant to be in the presence of a fallen man. In a hushed tone, he allowed his curiosity to best him.

"He kill people then? A hired hand?"

A low whistle announced the next whisper. "I ain't never heard about a man he murdered, but you gotta be a mighty scoundrel to earn that nickname 'round here."

The man identified as the Butcher turned his head at that moment, causing the two compatriots to return to their drinks, muttering syllables disguised as banal conversation under their breath.

The first man continued when they were once again free from conspicuous attention. "He doesn't like to be talked about, I hear. Supposed to be on a mission. An ordered mission."

The second man continued to swirl his drink with interest.

"I don't like the look of 'im. A man like that ain't up to no good nowhere, even if he's just sitting down to his drink. We should tell the lot we saw 'im and get out of here before he takes to noticing us more'n he already has."

Surprised at his partner's instinct for self-preservation, the first man gulped his glass, pouring the liquid down his throat like his mouth was a dark gully. His encouraging nod caused the second man to pantomime his actions, wiping a dirty hand across his mouth to signal the drink was consumed and burning appropriately.

"If he's ordered, I don't want to be here when they come to find 'im."

Together the men rose from their wooden table, pushing their chairs out with a squeal against the uneven, rocky floor. Both men attempted to blend into the wall as they exited, inconspicuous yet hurried. The man they called the Butcher blazingly fired a joint and nodded at the men as they swept out the front door in a blur of dark coats and drawn-down hats.

"Do you reckon 'e knows who we are?" The first man asked, his drink beginning to bubble back to the surface in fear.

"If he does, we'll know soon enough. If he wants to find us, I guarantee he will."

Both men traded furtive glances and walked into the night with the jumpy gait of prey sensing danger on the horizon.

Mira

She was quite small and toddled on the brink of falling into the path of wet foliage underneath her footpaths. Mira had no distinct memory of how she had come to be in the forest or even of what a forest was. It was only an environment to navigate. She was blessedly free from hunger and fear, aware only that she was to walk, albeit toddle, and the reason why would appear, at a time, in a place.

Mira had no conscious memory of her mother or the flight she had taken on the eagle's wings. These memories would come much later.

She made her way without slipping as if being held aloft by something more powerful than nature. She made small noises of awe and pleasure in the manner of a small child that was innocent enough to take delight in the unknown around her.

There was a hollow in the tree. That is what drew Mira's attention. It glimmered, emitting a glow that pulsated from its unnatural origin. She stopped, started, and cooed, eyes widening to doll-sized proportions. She went forward without hesitation, compelled by every sense toward the crown of kaleidoscopic colors.

The Butcher: Now

The Butcher was looking for the child; he could sense her presence. He knew both her danger and what she was to become. His singular focus was to find her before it was too late. He walked hastily, aware that he had not seen his reflection in two months. He had taken to the woods, having spoken to the eagle directly. The Butcher was not coming to save Mira. Events had to play out in a certain way for the sake of the very air. No, it was his job to see her safely delivered.

The Dragon

There was no need for exertion when he smelled her drawing near. She was the wisp of scent on every air particle, which imbued him with pleasure. He had followed her here. He was laughing with the ease of tracking. It had taken time and patience to wait until she was ready to be taken. It was not that he would consume her as food but as a protege. She would be the moon to his night as she grew older and prepared for what was to come. He would raise her as if she were an extension of flesh, ripening her as she came of age. She would pulsate with the energy of evil, and only then would he dare to consume her.

Meeting

The Butcher beheld the girl child as she drew closer to The Dragon. Sleeping. Lazy. Cock sure.

He could have killed The Dragon, then. With the brandishment of his sword, all would have been over in seconds. He felt a slight pang for the girl and what was to come, for the tests she would endure and not fully comprehend. He knew she must veer right, go into the nook of the tree, and sudden blindness. He trusted all that was to come and all that would come to be. She must first go through this.

Mira was not surprised when the Butcher appeared suddenly by her side. He was, for the moment, simply an accompaniment to the woods.

"Mira," the Butcher said, pausing her tracks and coming down to her size. He would never forget the roundness of her innocent eyes.

"You will remember me when it is time."

He touched her hands in his and reached into his denim jacket pocket, removing a hand-written note. He pressed the papyrus into her tiny fingers, knowing it would disintegrate in seconds, absorbed into Mira like mist. He touched her face in earnest faith, leaving the imprint of a future-ordered memory for her to find.

Take this message to Michael.

The Butcher rose, seemingly evaporated, and Mira turned right, directly into the den of The Dragon.