Drakon Omnibus

by C. A. Caskabel

  “But you heard the news today.”

  “He has crossed. I heard.”

  “Yes, the Khun crossed the river this morning. They say he won’t stop. He keeps riding north.”

  “Can he ride?”

  “Even if he can’t, he is trying. Else the men will fear.”

  “Sani came this morning, before you. He brought me tidings. Those Crossers of the West are opening paths through the northern forest. The Khun rides north to stop them.”

  “Do you trust Sani?”

  “He has served us well those last six winters since we came back from the lands of Kapoukia. He is loyal, though only to Enaka and me. And he commanded Sirol all this time when we were away. We need loyal blades and bows, Asimea. My boy, Malan, he doesn’t listen to us anymore. Not even to you, the one he beds every moon.”

  Your son doesn’t bed anyone.

  “Shouldn’t we be afraid, First Witch? What if they find out?”

  “Praise Enaka for the deaf Rods I chose. Took me four winters to gather them one by one. They can’t steal any of our secrets. But you did nothing wrong.”

  “I don’t know. I am no healer. I failed him.”

  “Never say that again. A Witch is always a healer, but even this power has its limits. That hunting accident was not our fault. The Khun’s leg had rotted black and blue with puss. We had to cut it off else he’d be dead now. It is the wine and the spirits and the powders that poisoned his flesh. His mind is weary; he has become sick up here.” Sah-Ouna touched my temple softly with her fingers. Cold. “Sickness. Wine. Mind rots then the flesh rots. We had to cut the leg.”

  “He’ll never forgive us. None of us.”

  “Another one who doesn’t know forgiveness.”

  “He banished all Ouna-Mas from his presence. He was screaming: ‘Stupid bitches. Good for nothing,’” I said. “He brought othertriber doctors at his service. They say he won’t trust anyone else.”

  “And they give him more of that wine to heal him. The wine is killing him. He was always pale and of a thin frame but now he doesn’t even look like one of the Tribe. He has lost the virality of a Khun. Did those doctors make the wooden leg?”

  “They ordered craftsmen to make it. I saw it. It starts below the knee and ties on with leather straps. It’s bronze outside and wood inside they say, but all one sees is the horse leather that covers it. It has painted toes to look real, but he has to walk very slowly. He doesn’t want to go out anymore in the sun unless he has to ride. He refuses to use a carriage.”

  Sah-Ouna clenched her jaw and wiped her cheek with her palm, trying to stop a tear.

  “That explains the pale skin on his face. A heavy price for my son to pay for this senseless campaign. Asimea, we must convince him to stay in Sirol. Defend the northern path through the Forest. Seal it. Build a wall if needed. The warriors are tired, and their spirit is waning. Thirteen winters of campaigning, with only a brief respite. The lore of the Ouna-Mas spoken less and less. Othertriber mercenaries. They don’t even know what they fight for anymore. My son should have watered down his wine. But he chose to water down the Tribe itself. Our spirit.”

  “At least your grandson, my son, is not pale of skin,” I said.

  “You were always darker skinned. Unlike his father,” Sah-Ouna interrupted.

  You’ll never know his birth father.

  “But even at this young age, he still looks different than the other boys. His eyes. I shiver that the Reghen, the others may guess. Even though we banded his head early on.”

  “They’ll never. He is raised with the other future Ssons. Nobody would ever mistake a longskull for an othertriber. They don’t even doubt you anymore.” Sah-Ouna remained silent for a few moments and then touched the skin on the side of my neck and down my back. “Nobody doubts you. So beautiful.”

  I was. I had painted the shaved skin of my head a soft silver, except for some patterns of short hair that formed a half-moon and a few stars painted shiny gold. A silver metallic hair net started above my eyebrows, covered my head, and dropped all the way to my shoulders. A stream of silver stardust ran down my forehead, along my nose and on my right cheek, ending at the soft of my neck. Three rows of shiny pearls, spoils of the campaign, around my neck, wrought silver armlets studded with rubies from my wrists all the way to the elbows. I wore the short-sleeved robe that ended in tattered ribbons below the knee but would let the flesh of the thigh show with each stride. Suitable for the summer days, and more. I was more beautiful than ever. Beauty was my spear, intelligence my shield.

  The Rod guards might have been deaf, but they were not blind; their eyes had opened wide with awe when I dismounted and walked to Sah-Ouna’s carriage earlier that evening.

  “I must get you something to eat. Porridge?” asked Sah-Ouna. “Apples?”

  I nodded, faking a smile of gratitude.

  They brought wooden plates of fruit and bowls of porridge for both of us. She didn’t touch her food. I had noticed lately that she did not care to eat. She was always crouched forward, like a wild cat ready to attack, never relaxed not even in her abode.

  I munched the apple slices slowly; it gave me an excuse to stay quiet.

  Sah-Ouna spoke once more:

  “Sani talked of an iron-shielded army assembling in the west. War machines like he’s never seen before. He put spies there and in the Forest long ago as I told him to do. That man may not be a Leader, but he’s determined, and he’ll never disobey me. We must defend before they deploy on our side of the valley. Do you believe this? An iron army from the West cutting through the Forest like a knife through fat meat. And all those winters we knew nothing.”

  “You assume I am knowledgeable in matters of war. I have not even seen the Forest, Mother. I don’t even know Sirol. We spent a few moons there, six winters ago, but I don’t remember much.”

  Night was falling on the southern coast of the Blackvein, but its darkness was broken by hundreds of campfires on both sides of the river. Malan has crossed with most of the Archers over to the north bank, but most of the Ouna-Mas and a few Rods were still in the south. The Ouna-Mas chanted the songs that the First Witch had taught them. Many of the younger ones, like myself had no memories of Sirol.

  I reminded her that.

  Sah-Ouna bit her lower lip, shaking her head before she spoke again.

  “This is bad, very bad. They cut the cord of Genesis. A Tribe of mixed-bloods and Witches without Stories. The Ouna-Mas don’t remember, half of them were kids when they left Sirol, and the warriors don’t listen. Slave doctors around our Khun.”

  “Mixed-bloods, you say?”

  Weren’t we both othertriber mothers who have given birth to the mixed-bloods?

  “Mixed-bloods I say, my child, but I am not talking of the blood that runs in the veins. Faith is the true blood, and lore and Story. The only true-bloods we are left with is Sani and the two thousand Guardians he assembled. All others have been tainted and poisoned by gold, greed, and living away from our homeland too long. They don’t belong anywhere anymore. It happened so fast.”

  “Are we to follow Khun-Malan north, past Sirol?” I asked.

  “We must. Else we’ll never matter anymore; we’ll be forgotten. Everyone’s fate will unravel within this moon. Come dawn, we’ll ride faster; catch up with him. I’ll walk into his war council. If he dares, he can have the Ssons drag me out. It is all that ninestar’s fault. He still haunts me, ever since he was born.”

  “Who do you mean?” I tried to fake ignorance and slight indifference as my heart fluttered at her words.

  “Da-Ren, who else?”

  “Da-Ren? Is that man still alive?”

  “Sani’s spies say that he is. He has settled in the Forest, where the Khun exiled him with those green-eyed peasants. But I am damn sure he is the one who betrayed us to the Crossers. Should have done away with him long ago. Why, why? I let the snake cuddle under my son’s armpit, and the snake found warmth and became a drakon. Never forget the Legen
ds. Always kill the ninestars before they become strong. I knew that. Never forget that, Asimea.”

  “And what are we to do now?”

  “Sani will settle this. I ordered him to bring that man, Da-Ren, and all his snake-eyed comrades, to Malan in chains. He must pay for his crimes; we must expose him for what he is.”

  I tried to get her mind away from Da-Ren. I longed to see him, once again, see the father of my Sson. Steal a moment, a word, a kiss.

  “What if the Khun shuns you, Mother?”

  “He mustn’t. But you are right; I am afraid he will. Then we must go all the way. I hope that I won’t have to; he was punished enough.”

  “What do you mean, Mother? Punished enough? Did you?”

  She turns her gaze away from me, and never brings it back. She chooses to look everyone in the eye when she speaks the Truth, and away when she doesn’t. I know all her Stories, every expression on her face.

  “No, no, that leg couldn’t be saved. No, I didn’t poison the wine, how could you say this?”

  But I didn’t say anything, Mother. And yet your eyes are saying the opposite, avoiding me.

  She fears that I know. She admits it.

  “You better be going now, Asimea. Tomorrow, we won’t rest in Sirol; we must keep moving north.”

  Are you pondering the death of your own son, Mother?

  The second moon of spring wanes over the Blackvein, painting silver the bald hilltops around us.

  “Right there,” she points. “You see that hill?”

  “Is that the one?”

  “Yes, that’s where Khun-Taa found me thirty winters ago, where I waited for him. The long skull of my daughter in my hands, praying to Enaka. Remember everything, Asimea. Someday you must let your son know.”

  “I will, Mother.”

  Her lower lip trembles before she recites the words of her own Legend.

  “I had a dog once. I had a daughter…” she pauses and continues her voice becoming fainter with every word and every death. “Dog, brother, father, mother, daughter, Khun, lover.”

  And you killed all of them.

  “But you still have a son,” I say. I hold her wrinkled hand among my silver painted palms.

  So cold.

  “Still have a son,” she repeats.

  LXXXVI.

  Those Who Fly and Defy

  Thirty-Second Spring. The night before the Poppy Flower Moon

  “A Legend, Da-Ren. Do you care to listen to another one? It will bind you closer to your Tribe once more,” said Vani, a sardonic smirk painted on his face.

  “Go die, you scum,” I told him.

  “It has been what, three days now traveling together,” he said. “Say something else for a change, or I’ll have you back in chains. Unless you like the neckrope like the Dasal back there. Should I tie your men with the neckrope?”

  You will die, Vani. That I promise.

  One moment I wanted to say this to his face, the next my mind would venture back to Aneria and Zeria, and I’d turn weak as a lame puppy.

  “When did I wrong you, Vani? I kept you alive and strong in every campaign, brought you back to Sirol. When?”

  “Me? Never. But you wronged him. My brother,” he said, his eyes darting farther right where Sani was riding silently. Sani could hear us loud and clear as we were pacing the horses slowly to feed, but he didn’t care to join in the conversation.

  “Sani? I made that man Leader of Sirol twice,” I said.

  “You let Sani rot in Sirol. Do you know what the worst torture for him was? Did he ever tell you? No, he didn’t. He is too proud. But I will, before I deliver you to the Khun.” He stopped and when I didn’t reply he continued raising his voice. “And then you disgraced him when you came back. You stole from him the glory and his destiny a second time. Killed his best Guardian while all he did was bang a bitch. I was there that day and I cursed you. And then I find out it was your bitch, against all our customs and Legends.”

  “Tell me, where are the Dasal? What did you do with them?”

  “Do you care for the Dasal or just that blue-eyed witch you raise her children with? Oh, they’re far away now, you don’t need to worry. You won’t see them again. I sent them to Sah-Ouna. Dead already if they’re lucky.”

  I tried to get up on the saddle and jump on him. With my hands tied in front, exhausted and starved, I was no match for anyone. He just pushed me with one hand off the horse as if I were a small child. It had started to drizzle, and the soil was wet and soft.

  “Get him up again,” he said to the two young men who rode behind us. They looked younger than twenty winters and were strong-limbed, yet there was unrest in their eyes as they grabbed me. Fear, awe. “No, better tie him to the horse, and he’ll follow on foot,” Vani said. “I told you not to make trouble, Da-Ren, else you’ll walk as you did the first day.”

  Three days had passed since the morning they captured me, when I woke up in chains. That first morning they had me follow the horses on foot. Sani had close to a hundred men with him, and many of them came by, spat and cursed to my face.

  “Traitor.”

  “Traitor.”

  “You disgrace Enaka.”

  And so on. One even tried to piss on me when I slipped and fell in the mud.

  “Wake up, old man,” he said and pulled his trousers down.

  Sani shouted, and he stopped.

  The rest of my men were tied to the other horses and following. But it soon became clear that Sani was in a hurry and had no time for a public shaming. They were all on horseback, and we had just made it out of the Forest after three days. We could go faster if we all rode, so they gave me a horse. My hands were tied in front, yet I could handle the reins, and the Guardian archers behind me would have an easy target if I decided to gallop away. They gave me an old brown mare, the weakest one.

  Vani stayed next to me. He was enjoying all this.

  “A Legend, Da-Ren. Care to listen? A Legend of our One Mother.”

  “I remember your mother. She was an ugly bitch, even the maulers wouldn’t ride her,” I said.

  “Say what you want until we get to the Khun. Once he is done with you, it’s my turn. So, listen to me carefully now, for this is the Legend of the Ancients. I warned you when you made us enter those caves.”

  At that moment, dizzy from the sun and the lack of water, I had a realization. Vani was the only one who had entered the caves with me, maybe the only one who could find his way in there, if he remembered everything. They had captured us close to the cave’s entrance, but I knew that they didn’t go back in. They had no time for that; they led us east right away. Two men knew of this path. Vani and myself.

  You will die, Vani, you must.

  “I am listening,” I said.

  I didn’t care to listen—I knew the Legend—but it would give me time to think, maybe even find a chance to steal a dirk.

  Where are you, Zeria?

  “Oh, I can’t tell a Legend. Only the Reghen can,” Vani said and gestured to the young boy Reghen who was riding with us to come closer. “The Legend of the Ancients. Do you remember it, Reghen?”

  “The Legend of the Bats?” answered the short-haired boy, his eyes moving left and right from face to face. “That’s what I do; I remember Legends.”

  “Then say it once more, by Enaka.” Those were the first and last words that came out of Sani’s mouth that day.

  The Reghen drank from his waterskin, cleared his throat, and turned toward Sani. Sani motioned with his eyes toward me, and the boy understood and addressed me:

  The Legend of the Ancients

  The Forgotten Epoch, the time before Men

  Hear this now, Archers and Blades, Uncarved and all you warriors.

  At a long-forgotten time, even before men, lived the first children of Enaka and they were of her likeness. Flaxen-haired, red coals for eyes, and ten feet tall. They were the Goddess’ offspring, a race with human bodies, chestnut-skinned, slender, and wiry-muscled. But they
were magnificent, not common men and women, for they could spread veil-thin wings that opened like a translucent cloak from the arm to the foot, and fly up high in the Sky. The Ancients were fearless and without enemies, for they could rule upon all the living animals. The laughter of the males was a thunder to crumble stone to dust, the scream of their young would petrify a mountain lion, the song of their women could ice the veins of wolf, deer, or oak. They fed on fruit all day, on blood all night.

  But what happens to those who fly without fear, agony, anticipation, without anything to long for? What happens to those who have the power to have anything their heart wishes? Their heart stops wishing, the mind stops fearing, they become haughty, and blasphemy overtakes them.

  They stop praying.

  This is the Legend of those we called the Ancients, and we came to call them the Bats; the Story of their punishment. For they forgotten the prayers and the Goddess’s fury erupted, as they completely abandoned her. They’d spend their days flying and screaming in pride, laying waste on all lesser beings upon valley and forest. They filled their nights with massive and lewd orgies succumbing to the pleasures of the flesh. But they had forgotten the songprayers.

  So, what was to become of them?

  Enaka shunned them and ventured away, hiding among the dimmest stars. Darhul rose again, vengeful and attracted by the blood on the feeding lips of the Ancient women.

  But the flaxen-haired Ancients were not afraid of him, as a baby would not be afraid of a crouching lion approaching it slowly, for they had forgotten fear. And as if it were a hunting venture, another chance to amuse themselves, they entered the bowels of the earth, the dark mountain caves of the West, flying on their gold-threaded wings with maddening speed. Screaming and laughing, chasing the Drakon.

  But even the Ancients were no gods or demons; they were no match for Darhul as they’d soon find out.