The Rage of Dragons

by Evan Winter

  Tau spent the rest of that day training with the men from Scale Jayyed who had fallen. When they ran, Uduak ran beside Tau. When they sparred together, Uduak was less violent.

  Tau noticed but didn’t think on it. His training consumed him. His dedication was absolute, and the hardest fights were not with the other men. They were with himself.

  Every day a part of him whispered that he could rest, that he had done enough, that he could stop. Every day, the lies were whispered, and every day, Tau made himself relive the moment his father died. It was sick, masochistic. It was the only way he could keep himself going.

  Time blurred, days cascaded one into another, the Omehi’s endless war with the hedeni raged, and an initiate from Scale Idowu died in his bed. He was found in the morning. He’d bled from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth, and his skin had ruptured like meat cooked too long on a spit.

  Demon-death, the rumors went. It might even be true. Tau knew a family back in Kerem who had lost a child to a demon-death. Whatever the actual case, everyone paid more attention to their morning and evening prayers.

  It was around this time that Tau’s wrist healed enough to wield a blade. He didn’t trust it and still fought with his off hand. It made sense; he’d become better with his left than he’d ever been with his right, and on the day they marched for the Crags to watch some of the other Ihashe scales fight the Indlovu, Tau was a difficult match for everyone at the isikolo.

  The march to the Crags took from predawn to midmorning, and Jayyed counseled his scale on what they were going to see. “All of this prepares us for war. The skirmishes in the Crags allow Indlovu initiates to experience fighting against heavy odds. For us, and the Northern Ihashe Isikolo, it’s a chance to hone our tactics.”

  “And get the bones kicked out of us,” Themba mumbled as he marched beside Tau.

  “The citadel fields men from all three cycles,” Jayyed continued, “and some skirmishes have Enervators, so the battle can emulate true combat as much as possible.” He waited a beat and asked, “Who here has felt enervation?”

  Tau considered staying silent. “I have,” he said when no one else answered.

  “Indeed?” asked Jayyed.

  “I fought with my… I fought at Daba.”

  “Daba? That’s the largest raid the South has seen in a while. You were there?”

  “I was.”

  “Got caught in an Enervator’s wave, neh? Care to describe it for your sword brothers?”

  Tau did not care to, but he cared to express that to Jayyed even less. “It drags you into Isihogo. Time slows and I saw…” He felt foolish.

  “You saw…,” Jayyed urged.

  “Demons.”

  The men muttered; one snorted.

  “It’s true,” Tau said, voice harder.

  “You did. Everyone does,” Jayyed told the scale. “Enervation draws a man’s soul to Isihogo and then the demons come.”

  Several men formed the dragon span with their hands, the winged sign to ward off evil.

  “The demons from Isihogo cannot harm you, but they’ll make you suffer,” the sword master explained. “Once enervated and forced into the underworld, you will be attacked by the things that exist there.” Jayyed had the men’s attention, and even Chinedu held his coughs. “In war, a talented Enervator will hold your spirit in Isihogo until the demons have torn it to pieces, forcing it out of their realm and back to ours. This is worse than it sounds. The victim feels the agony of the demon attack as if it were real, and the experience is incapacitating. It renders men senseless on the battlefield, where they can actually be killed.

  “A well-timed blast of enervation, just before our forces are entwined with our enemy’s, can mean the difference between victory and defeat for the Chosen, between life and death. Our Enervators, Enragers, Edifiers, and Entreaters are critical to the defense of the peninsula.”

  “Umqondisi? They’ll do it to us when we skirmish?” asked Oyibo, a muscled and talented fighter with boyish features. “They’ll send us to the demons?”

  Boyish features aside, Oyibo was steady. Tau had seen that in training. Oyibo did not look steady then.

  “They will,” Jayyed said. “But the Gifted at the Crags are initiates as well, learning how to control their powers. They won’t hold you in Isihogo for long and they are asked not to try.”

  Themba whispered to Tau, “They used to try. My older brother went through Ihashe training already. He told me the stories the umqondisi told him. The citadel had to leash their Enervators a few dozen cycles ago ’cause no one would fight in skirmishes.” Themba snorted. “Not fair, nor decent, letting a man’s soul get ripped up by monsters.”

  “If enervated, you’ll see Isihogo,” Jayyed said. “You’ll see the demons in its mists. They’ll come for you. You’ll be released before they have their way.”

  “Umqondisi?” asked Oyibo.

  “Oyibo.”

  “Yesterday, I heard one of the Proven in the mess hall. He was telling stories to the initiates about his time at the isikolo. He wasn’t old, a few cycles up on me. He said that, during one skirmish, a demon got him. He’s had nightmares since, always the same. It’s the one with that demon tearing at him.”

  Jayyed didn’t answer right away. “The fast ones may get to you,” the sword master conceded. “Time is different in Isihogo. A single breath taken on Uhmlaba will feel like fifty or even a hundred in the underworld. That makes it difficult for the Gifted initiates to time things.”

  Themba leaned over to Tau, his sour breath an assault. “Would rather the Ennies not send me at all.” He hawked snot into his mouth and spat. “Still, we’re better off’n what the hedeni get. Ennies hold them until the demons turn ’em inside out.”

  Tau and the rest of the men of Scale Jayyed marched in silence after that, and by midmorning the flatlands had given way to the rockier crumble that formed the base of the Fist. The men marched upward and the pace slowed.

  As they climbed, Tau wondered how, when compared to the southern mountain range, where he was from, any reasonable person could call the Fist more than a big hill. Well, a hill that had been worked over by a giant with a sledgehammer.

  The Fist was uneven, dry, and covered in thin, loose-rooted shrubbery. Still, the hill, or mountain, was well positioned. It divided the point of the Chosen’s peninsula and, like the central mountain range, it separated North from South. The Fist was a natural barrier against heavy raiding from the ocean.

  Tau had never been to Citadel City but knew it wasn’t far. The training city for the Gifted and Indlovu had been placed at the eastern base of the mountain, an additional layer of protection against sea raids.

  The hedeni would need to navigate the ocean, march over the Fist, conquer Citadel City, and march another day inland before reaching the capital and other settlements. To do it, they’d need a thousand ships filled with warriors, a full invasion force. They’d have to risk all those lives on the water and make it ashore with enough fighters to battle past Citadel City. It wasn’t wise. It wasn’t done.

  Instead, the major fighting happened at the Wrist, the deadened lands separating the relative lushness of the Chosen’s peninsula and the rest of Xidda. There, the hedeni came in endless waves. There, the majority of the Omehi military were stationed, lived, and fought. It was in the Wrist’s wide-open spaces that the Guardians had the greatest effect, and its desert sands were said to be littered with the charred bones of a million hedeni dead.

  Given the numbers of hedeni, the Omehi, even with their dragons, should have been wiped out long ago, but the peninsula was a natural fortress and the Omehi had held it for near on two hundred cycles. Upon reaching the fighting grounds of the Crags, Tau imagined they could hold for a hundred more.

  The Crags, a massive plateau of rocky and dead earth, stood halfway up the mountain. It was sectioned off into several battlefields meant to simulate the conditions the Omehi military faced in their endless war. To the west, where the plateau gave way to
more mountainous territory, the isikolo and citadels practiced tactics, defenses, and attacks suited to the highlands. On the plateau itself, there were a thousand strides of ground that had been churned over and over until the topsoil felt and shifted like desert sands. This battleground matched many of the conditions in the Wrist. There was also a field of sown grass, out of place at this elevation, that resembled the majority of the peninsula’s flatlands.

  Then there was the last battleground. Tau found it to be the most fascinating. It was a mock city that looked like the Goddess had scooped up a decent chunk of Kigambe and dropped it on the plateau. Tau stared in wonder at the city replica. He understood why it was the battleground used for the Queen’s Melee, the end-of-cycle competition between the highest-ranked scales. The battleground’s strategic and tactical possibilities were infinite, and it was tucked between two natural rises that had been cut into spectator seats. The city replica, surrounded by seating, was a war arena.

  “Well, that’s something,” said Hadith.

  “It’s bigger than my village,” added Yaw.

  “Meant to be like if the hedeni got into one of our cities?” asked Themba. “Ask me, we lost already, if they ever get that far.”

  Tau had heard more than enough from Themba. “So, they get to our cities, you’d like to lie down and take what they give us?”

  Themba was about to answer, but Hadith cut in. “He’s not wrong. Once the hedeni are in our cities, we can’t call the Guardians down on them in any good way. The dragons would burn everything and kill as many of us as they would them. If our enemies get into Palm, Kigambe, or Jirza, it would mean the end of us.”

  Themba smirked, vindicated. “Like I said, they get that far, we’re already dead.”

  Anan strode over. “Too much talking. Stow your gear. We’re for the desert battlefield to watch Scale Njere tackle a third of Scale Oban.”

  “Fifty-four Ihashe initiates against eighteen from the citadel?” Tau asked. He knew they let themselves be outnumbered, but a third of a scale wasn’t enough men to do much and Tau couldn’t see how the Nobles would come out on top against such odds.

  “They’ll have an Ennie,” Anan said, as if that alone made up the gap in men.

  “Happy to be watching and not fighting, then,” chimed in Themba.

  “Hurry over,” Anan said. “We’ll listen in on Umqondisi Njere’s strategy. Maybe the plan will be simple enough for even you lot to learn something.” Anan pointed to where Scale Njere was already gathered. He went that way himself, not bothering to see if they were following.

  “Planning ain’t gonna make much difference.”

  “Shut up, Themba.” Hadith seemed to have had enough of him too.

  Tau left them arguing and followed Anan. Lessers against Nobles. This he wanted to see.

  ENERVATED

  The plan, as best as Tau could judge, was a good one. Scale Njere would fight on the desert battlefield and that meant it would be a brawl. The desert had several man-made dunes, but there were few places to hide or maneuver. To take advantage of that, Umqondisi Njere opted for a brute-force approach, with one catch. He split the scale into four units.

  The units would attack as one, but each unit was also given a direction on the compass. When the Enervator took aim, the units would run in the direction of their compass point. Tau had learned that a Gifted could make use of her gifts only once every quarter span or so, and given that limitation, the goal was to minimize her effect on the battle by minimizing the number of men she could hit.

  The scale’s inkokeli was Itembe. He was Governor caste from Kigambe and a strong fighter.

  “Plan’s good,” said Uduak as the scale took the field.

  “As good as it can be when you’re fighting in a wide-open desert,” Hadith agreed.

  Themba picked his teeth. “Not gonna matter.”

  “Shut it,” Yaw told him.

  “You’ll see,” Themba said.

  Most of the men had taken a seat on the ground just beyond the battlefield. Tau was standing. He scanned the Crags, hoping, praying, to find Kellan, and not knowing what he’d do if he did.

  “Tau, you’re making me nervous,” Hadith said. “Sit.”

  Tau ignored him.

  “Here they go!” said Themba as an aqondise blew a war horn, signaling the beginning of the contest.

  Scale Njere’s fifty-four Lessers and their opponents, the eighteen Nobles from the citadel along with their Enervator, ran onto the battlefield from opposite sides. The Indlovu broke into two teams, both making for dunes large enough to conceal their movements. The Enervator, dressed in the standard black robes, had been assigned two bodyguards.

  It was forbidden and punishable by death to attack a Gifted, but coming within a blade’s length of one during a skirmish counted as a kill. The “killed” Gifted had to leave the field, depriving her team of her power. The bodyguards were there to repel any who dared come close.

  “Interesting,” said Hadith. “Itembe has all four units going for the side with the Gifted.”

  Uduak grunted.

  “It’s clever,” Hadith said. “If he can get there fast enough, he can take her out of play.” Hadith leaned forward and Tau felt himself do the same as Scale Njere streamed up the near side of the dune, which hid just nine Indlovu and the one Gifted.

  The twelve fastest runners in the scale made it to the top and were met by three Indlovu. This won’t take long, thought Tau. Bronze flashed, and in two breaths, Tau saw four Ihashe dropped to the churned soil, one of them a bloody mess.

  The three men from the citadel, all still standing, were joined by two more. The Nobles engaged the eight closest Ihashe as the rest of Scale Njere closed the distance. The Nobles smashed their way through the eight Lessers and closed ranks to take on the newcomers. Tau couldn’t believe what he was seeing but thought the Nobles’ luck had run its course; the Scale Njere fighters were together on the dune and attacking.

  The other unit of Nobles, seeing their sword brothers facing all of Scale Njere, rushed to join the fight. They came for their opponents’ rear side, likely intending to split the scale’s attention in two. It was then that the Gifted, flanked by her two bodyguards, surfaced.

  She waited until Scale Njere was committed to its attack, and her hands came up. The Indlovu guarding her stepped back, not wanting to be grazed by the energy she was preparing to blast.

  Scale Njere saw her and scattered. It wasn’t organized and it wasn’t to predetermined compass points. The men just ran, clumping as they fled. They didn’t get far before the Gifted fired.

  To Tau it looked like heat pulsed from her fingers in a thick, unbroken, and shimmering wave that shot across the battlefield, dropping any man it touched. Itembe was one of them, falling to his knees, his face locked in terror. The Enervator lowered her arms, and less than a full breath had passed, but the affected men didn’t rise.

  A scattered few, wild-eyed and frantic, came back to themselves somewhat. They made as if to stand, weapons in hand, but were still useless as they threw their heads back and forth, eyes rolling, trapped in the afterimages of unseen horrors. The rest were worse. Some had gone prostrate, faces in the sand, as others rocked on their knees, whimpering or sobbing.

  There was also Itembe, holding himself up on his hands, staring off at nothing. He was slack-jawed, the veins on his neck tensed to the point of bursting. Then, back hunched, Itembe craned his head to peer at the sky, stretched his mouth wide, and screamed.

  The sound was raw, terrible, and it ripped from Itembe’s throat like stitching torn from a wound. The howl chilled Tau. It chilled him to his marrow.

  There wasn’t much to the skirmish after that. As the men struck by the Gifted’s powers struggled to recover, the Nobles tore through the rest of Scale Njere. By the time the afflicted Ihashe were on their feet, it was a simple thing for the Nobles to send them back to the dirt. Just two Indlovu had been “killed” in the skirmish, and every last man from Scale Njere ha
d been eliminated.

  “Hmm,” said Themba. “They did better than I thought. Got two Nobles.”

  “Nceku,” said Hadith, no force behind the curse. He looked crestfallen.

  Tau glanced at Uduak. The big man was shaken.

  “Not good,” Uduak rumbled. “Not good.”

  “Let’s go,” Anan said. “We’ll help the injured off the field.”

  Tau didn’t know why he did it, but he went straight to Itembe. He helped the initiate to his feet and saw the large lump on the side of his head where a Noble had struck him. Itembe didn’t seem to notice the injury.

  As Tau walked him over to the Sah priests, Itembe spoke, his words tripping over each other. “Is it over?”

  “It is.”

  “The demons, they’re real.”

  “I know,” Tau said.

  “They got me. I couldn’t stop them. They fell on me with claws and teeth, ripped my skin, tore the eyes from my head, and I could still see them! I watched them cut my stomach open, pulling the ropes of my guts from my body. I could see them, and the pain…” Itembe snatched at Tau’s tunic, bunching the worn material in frantic fingers. “Help me!”

  “It’s over.”

  “Then why can I still see them?”

  Tau jerked free of Itembe’s grasp. “What?”

  “Easy, Itembe.” Umqondisi Njere had come himself for his student. “Easy.”

  Tau watched until Njere got Itembe into the priests’ healing tent.

  “Itembe got it bad,” Hadith said, stepping up beside him.

  “Demons had enough time to tear into him.”

  Hadith rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “It breaks people.”

  “They almost got me,” Tau said.

  “Neh?”

  “The ones at Daba,” Tau told him. “They came for me. I’ve never been so scared. My father pulled me out of the Gifted’s wave right before they got me.”

  “Lucky. That was war. The Gifted would have held the hedeni, and you, in Isihogo for as long as possible.”

  “He pulled me back…”

  Hadith clapped Tau on the shoulder. “Your father’s a good man.”