Listen carefully now, and as soon as you hear your names, go behind the Guide who carries the banner of your new fate. You see the Guides with the banners of the Archers, the Blades, and all the others waiting to your left. You will go there tonight, to the banner Enaka has chosen for you. There you will find your peers from the many other packs of the Sieve, and a lot more children, older than you, novices. You will train with them and the new Guides who await you there.
This is the Truth that the Sieve has carved:
Kuran: Four Carvings—Fisherman
Denek: Four Carvings—Tanner
Ghera: Four Carvings…”
I was looking for every face that the Reghen named. Kuran was not even listening, as he was still in agony from the scorpion’s sting. But his torments had ended. For the rest of his life, he wouldn’t have to face anything wilder than the salmon jumping out of the Blackvein. I was the leftmost except Malan, and they were all passing in front of me before they went to their new banners. Denek, the Tanner trainee, came out of the line, dragging his misery. He had untied his rag from his arm to see it again, as if he couldn’t swallow the Truth. Four carvings on his arm, deep and bloody, one under the other. Bako yelled at him as he passed by, “Keep a warm pair of trousers for me. My balls are freezing!”
Denek didn’t pounce on him. He never had. He was not a warrior.
The fates and the names continued. As soon as the Reghen called out a name and I looked at the child who stood out, I could immediately foresee his or her new banner and the carvings he or she deserved.
“Urak, three carvings—Blade.
Danaka, two carvings—Archer.
Matsa, two carvings—Archer.
Bako, one carving—Archer.”
The Reghen stopped calling out names. Only Malan and I were still standing where we started. The others had moved behind their new banners. It was almost noon, and the fog was still breathing on me like an old and sick winter demon between my legs. A different Reghen, the oldest I’d ever seen, came forward. His voice was different. Grim. I still waited for my name. There were no carvings on my left arm. The old Reghen spoke. “And if…
And if…oh Goddess, you brought such an honor upon us again today…
If any of you leave here today Uncarved,
without even one iron’s scratch on your arm,
you, who escaped the talons of the Demon,
And didn’t kneel in front of his stare,
then,
then after your next training, at the westernmost camp of the Uncarved,
then,
tomorrow you might become the Only one, the Sixth, the One Leader of the Tribe, the next Khun.
And if you are here in front of us, have pity on me, my Khun, that I have still not recognized you, my next Great Leader, if in front of you I uttered dishonorable words.
I kneel in front of you, Uncarved. One of you will be the one who will lead us tomorrow in the Final Battle with Sah-Ouna on your left and Enaka on your right side.”
The Reghen went silent. He looked at Khun-Taa. The voice of our Great Leader, deep and loud, filled the field like a rusty old blade that still yearned for a fight. That was all that came out of his mouth.
“Da-Ren, Uncarved. Malan, Uncarved.”
Those were the only words that Khun-Taa spoke in the entire Sieve, and the Reghen continued, “You two, Uncarved, follow the Guides with the Wolf banner. They will get you to your horses.”
“Your horses.” I repeated the words to believe them. I walked behind Malan toward the last banner, the one orphan of children. The Reghen turned also toward the Guides and the children and spoke. “You have all faced the three deaths of the Sieve, and now the hard training begins for five times spring. If you succeed, you won’t be marked again. Enaka waits for you in the Final Battle. Prepare.”
I had won, even though I was born an unlucky ninestar.
Elbia, Atares, Ughi, Rido, and many other children whose names I never learned had fallen. They were resting peacefully in the Sky above. Except for Elbia, the blessed sevenstar. I was sure that I had seen her that morning, as I was walking among the firs and the oaks, a solemn ghost blending in with the mist of the Forest. She was whispering to me, “I promise you, Da-Ren. We’ll ride the war horses together.”
Kuran would gut fish for the rest of his life. Denek would rub skins with fresh horse piss to remove the horse smell. Danaka and Matsa could become Pack Chiefs, leading up to forty warriors. Bako could even become the Leader of the Archers, the greatest warriors, countless of them. Our best warriors under his command. I hoped that the Goddess and Khun-Taa would not be stupid enough to ever make that mistake. Someone, somewhere, older, younger, definitely smarter, with only one carving, had to exist who was better than Bako. Urak would never become anything more than a cutthroat in the Blades and would never command anyone.
No knife had come near Malan or me.
After forty dawns in the field of the Sieve of the twelve-wintered, the Reghen, the Ouna-Mas, and the Guides decreed that I could become the One Leader of the Tribe one day. Despite the red triangle that still marked my fate and my skin.
But Sah-Ouna had not sung for me, and everyone cheered for Malan. I had lost, because…because I had done what I was told to do? It didn’t make sense. My mind wasn’t helping me. For one moment, I had won when I held the precious black pebble, the rabbit’s heart, in my fist. I had lost.
Denek and I were the two who stared with the eyes of defeat.
I parted with all of them without goodbyes, except one.
“Forget it,” Rouba said as he came close to me just as I was mounting my horse and becoming taller than the whole world. It had been almost two moons since I had ridden, even for a short while.
“This is my fifth winter in the Sieve. Not one has ever done what Malan did today,” said the old man.
And that was the balm to soothe my soul?
The darkness of defeat cloaked my heart. Not for a few days. I repeated two words countless times till the end of my days in Sirol. Every morning when I woke, if I didn’t say them in the morning, I would say them a little later. These two words that were born orphans in my triumph.
“I lost.”
Many times, every new day.
We all headed north under different banners. The woodland we entered in the morning had ended, and we were in open fields again. The path took us even farther away from the camps of the Sieve. The other children left on foot. For a little while, we could see them behind us; then Malan, the Reghen, Keko, and I trotted faster. My group kept a northwest direction toward the Forest. Every other banner turned east. I would not see the other twelve-wintered for a very long time. I was alone, once again.
My mind kept bringing back Sah-Ouna’s words. How she ignored me. I started making up Stories in my head to find some solace.
“It is all a lie. It is unfair,” I said to myself. There were signs for everything, they told me. I had read them. Sah-Ouna favored Malan, and she told him what to do. They cheated me out of my victory.
I was riding last not because I had lost, but because I so much wanted to stab Malan in the back, even if it meant they’d put me to the stake that same night. Sah-Ouna had favored him and cursed me. I kept repeating it inside my head, poisoning myself more and more each time. It was not helping. He had slowed down and was riding close to me. I spoke the words loud enough for all to hear. “The Witch had told you what to do.”
Malan looked at me with narrowed eyes, shaking his head left and right, before he decided to reply.
“That is true. She told me exactly what to do,” he answered. His voice was calm. The veins in my head swelled, like the waters of the Great River in the early spring.
Keko was riding in front of us. He had given Malan the banner of the Uncarved, the one painted with the head of the wolf to carry. He himself had five carvings and was forbidden from carrying such a heavy banner of the Tribe.
The Reghen drew close to me, grabbed my reins
to stop my horse and to get my full attention, and said, “The rabbit was not the enemy. The red tent was.”
I would remember it till the day that I’d die. If the Sun could turn around and dawn only one day again, to do everything differently, I would choose that day.
Malan slowed his horse so that he was right next to mine and said, “The Witch told all of us what to do. Don’t fall asleep again when you are being spoken to. Tomorrow I will be giving you orders.”
Malan kept riding a few feet in front of me. He was humming, singing. I had heard that song before. The Witch’s songspell. The wintery wind took the words from his song and darted them, burning needles in my ears and frozen blades on my chest.
I do not take the life from this rabbit;
I take the darkness from the tent.
I do not go to death like a sheep;
I go to my ancestors as a friend.
I do not take the blood from this animal;
I take the fear from your blood.
I don’t throw lola la lo la la la lo lo la,
…the crazyweed will steal the minds from little girls.
“The words of the Selene Witch were wise and clear. She told everyone yesterday what to do today,” the Reghen next to me added.
“What are you saying?”
“You got scared, Da-Ren. Ride forward. It happened to everyone,” said the Reghen.
Malan started singing the songspell of Sah-Ouna again. He didn’t stop repeating it for the rest of our ride. At some point, when I stayed far back so that I wouldn’t have to hear him, he turned and grinned at me. He lifted his fists up and down in rhythm, one of them clasping the wolf banner. As if he were cheering me on.
For the first time, I really feared that I would never beat him.
The Story continues in
Drakon Book II Uncarved
“How do the Uncarved die? They bleed to death. Always.”
Fourteen-winter-old Da-Ren joins the Uncarved, the chosen few destined to lead the Tribe. More than forty children train and compete for the next five springs; only one will become Khun who will lead the fierce warriors.
Da-Ren’s ambition and strength will keep him alive but can he overcome his most powerful and cunning adversary, the one favored by witches and men? The Goddess and the Ouna-Mas will try to nest in his heart, but is he prepared for the one woman he is brought up to hate? As war and hunger strangle the Tribe, the stakes of love, duty, and betrayal are higher than ever. A young man’s first kill. A young man’s first kiss. A coming-of-age tale with non-stop action.
About Drakon
Drakon is one completed story which consists of:
Drakon Book I: The Sieve
Drakon Book II: Uncarved
Drakon Book III: Firstblade
Drakon Book IV: Butterfly
You can find our newsletter, my journal and more information about the book at:
www.caskabel.com
journal.caskabel.com
www.facebook.com/CaskabelAuthor
Thank you for reading and reviewing.
Till next time,
C.A. Caskabel
About the Author
C.A. Caskabel started writing Drakon in 2013 and completed the 350,000-word epic fantasy novel in 2016. He split Drakon into four books which he will release within 2017, he promises. After all, he is eager to start working on the next novel. C.A. is also the founder of an indie publisher of picture books and fantasy fiction.
Before 2013, C.A. was a serial technology entrepreneur. He studied at Boston and Brown University. He calls Boston, New York, Providence, San Francisco, London, and Athens (and in general Planet Earth) home.
I’d like to thank:
Editing: Aliki, Chris, Cheryl, Pete, Nick, Annie
Cover, Graphics: Chris, Dimitri
Website: Dimitri
Marketing: Constantine, Dimitri, Mihali, Christina
Production: Antoni, Dimitri
Everything: Liza
And many more friends and family for their support.
Drakon Book I: The Sieve Page 13
