by B C Penling
Long into the night, they continued to tell happy stories and funny stories of their lives as felions. She had heard many of them before. Despite that, she appreciated them more since she felt that she was truly accepted into the family after being renamed. Although she looked different than all the other felions, she felt more loved, cherished and appreciated than when she lived with her human family. After all those years, she finally felt like she was home.
CHAPTER 26
PRIFISUS
He awoke with a hideous grin. His pointed teeth, stained yellow from years of neglect, were clenched tightly together and hidden partially by his scaly lips. He caressed the hilt of a dagger strapped to his waist.
“Pretty little thing,” he murmured sadistically.
He rose from his bed that was covered in filthy animal hides that stunk as if they hadn’t been cured properly. He stretched before donning his cloak that was hanging from a peg on a pillar in the middle of the room.
Along a wall of the room was a washbasin that was now used as storage for small objects, or souvenirs, taken from ones they killed. Above the washbasin was a cracked mirror that reflected his ugliness.
“Handsome devil,” he mused, before turning to leave the room.
The hall was dimly lit by mismatched lamps and reeked of putridly burning oil. The yellow light cast oblong shadows as he moved from the bowels of the fortress toward the outside halls. He never cared much for the brighter rooms and preferred the deepest chamber for an undisturbed sleep at any hour of the day or night.
“Master,” a large guard hissed, bowing respectfully.
He lifted his chin in reply and continued down the hall until he reached a pair of heavy wooden doors. He shoved them open, revealing the large room on the other side. The room was clean, unlike other rooms within the stronghold. From floor to ceiling along one wall were shelves full of books with the occasional gap that housed a skull or brass statuette to fill the vacancy.
In the middle of the far wall was an oversized desk and stools beside the windows that faced sunwake. On the wall where he entered was a fireplace that was snapping loudly with a very active fire. He made his way past the sweltering fire and seated himself on a stool that was essentially a round of wood.
His father was normally in his room, studying from the various books his troops collected from the villages they plundered. Whereas Donovan’s souvenirs were personal items worn by his victim, his father’s souvenirs were placed on shelves of knowledge. Donovan’s souvenirs were hair pins, rings, pendants, and ornate combs. His father’s souvenirs were books.
Donovan’s lips curled into a scowl. He always thought it was weird that his father desired knowledge from the ones he killed. Why?
What good came from those books? A soft heart.
“Donovan, I went to see your treasure.” A voice from the doorways said.
“Ah, father,” Donovan replied, shuffling on the stool to face him.
“Don’t get up, you’re fine.” Donohue shut the doors behind him. His cane, made from a young dragon’s tail bones, thumped upon the floor as he limped his way across the room. A lifetime of fighting and the resulting injuries had taken a toll on the old Warisai leader. He took the stool on the opposite side of the desk and faced Donovan. “Is she your own feast?”
“No, not this one, this one stays whole,” Donovan replied.
His father nodded.
“The troops have done my bidding well,” Donovan continued. “We had a few delays but I decided to reward them by releasing them on a settlement in northern Ancienta. They should nearly be there.”
“Ah, I see.” His father nodded. His eyes were distant with a hint of grief. “I’m sure they’ll be pleased.”
“Yes, I’m sure of it.”
“And what of Dooley? Has he not returned with you?”
Donovan should’ve known that his brother would be brought up in conversation. In a few moments, though, it wouldn’t matter.
“He’s accompanying the troops to north Ancienta. I wanted someone I could trust to lead them into battle.” Donovan added a sadistic smile, like he often did when thinking murderous thoughts about fights.
His father nodded and looked away at his books. “He was always good at leading the troops. I’m pleased.”
Donovan rolled his eyes. Their father was always pleased with Dooley’s ability to lead and fight. Jealousy brewed. Contempt grew. Hatred grew. Fact of the matter was, Donovan assumed that Dooley was already dead. He assumed this because he ordered his search party to murder him while looking for the dragon and the elf. He played it off, knowing that Dooley’s blood wasn’t directly on his hands.
“When he comes back, I’d like to see him at once,” said Donohue. “I have important matters to discuss with him.”
“If you tell me, I will relay them to him. I will likely be the one who sees him first,” Donovan suggested. He always tried to intercept information between the two since he always felt that there were secrets being kept between them, especially of late.
“No, there is no rush. Just send him to me whenever he arrives.” His father looked at the desk and then to Donovan.
Donovan nodded. His external expressions were passive but inside he was reeling with conspiracies against him. Were they going to remove him from his position? Would he no longer head the raiding fleet? As Donohue’s firstborn son, Dooley would have the inheritance to the throne and ultimately lead the Warisai. Could that be what he meant? Did he want to groom Dooley to become leader and officially name him successor? That must've been it. He had long suspected it which is why he had to remove Dooley from the equation.
“How about some drinks,” Donohue said. “I had the bottles sent up last night. They’re from your last raid on the elves.”
He made to get up and Donovan motioned for him to stay seated. Donovan rose from the stool and grabbed the bottle closest to him.
“No, no,” his father motioned to another with a clear, red-tinted liquid. “The harder drink.” He grinned. “The best anything has to offer. Have you tried some yet?”
Donovan shook his head and grabbed two glasses along with the bottle of firewater. He handed one to his father and filled it to the brim.
“So pungent,” Donohue said. “But, so good. The last bottle didn’t smell nearly so bad. I bet this one will taste even better.” He drank the full glass in one swallow and held it out for Donovan to refill. Three times he did that before saying, “If I continue like that there won’t be any to share with you.” He chuckled throatily.
“You can have the whole bottle if you wish,” Donovan said, holding it out to him.
“One more, one more,” the old Warisai said.
Again, the glass was filled but this time it wasn’t drained so quickly. Donohue got up and limped to the window behind his stool. He stood a moment in quiet contemplation before speaking up.
“I built all of this.” He gestured to the large, dank city crawling with Warisai. He held up his glass and took a long draught, smacking his lips and savoring the harsh flavor of the alcohol that lingered.
“Your greatest legacy,” Donovan said flatteringly.
“I have many legacies,” he replied. “Some of which I’m not proud of. Many nights I had planned the greatness of our kind. Many nights I dreamt of greatness. It took my entirety to create this and build our forces from very few. I rule all of this and the world trembles at our name. Warisai." He paused for another sip of alcohol. "All of this, all of Dinsmore and Dansrivan castle, I have little faith in now.”
Donovan’s confusion was evident. His decision was the right one after all.
“I confuse you, son, I know. Let me explain further.” He took a deep breath. “Of all the countries and civilizations of the world, it is ours which is strongest. I admire its strength. But, in all the countries and civilizations of the world, it is ours which is most barbaric. Therein lies our destruction. I feel it needs reform. Perhaps quit our piracy of life and gain a chance to
become more independent, as other races are. If we continue like we do, we will be eating each other for meals as there will be nothing else. We are killing this world. Our greed has caused famine on Genetricis. Our one-sided wars have caused pain and desolation on Ancienta.”
Now Donovan was certain that Donohue had wanted to speak with Dooley. Dooley would help his father reform the Warisai. Dooley would help his father weaken the Warisai. He couldn’t let that happen.
“No one dares to challenge the might of the Warisai. They flee at the sight of us. Our strength grows more each day.”
“Strength? What strength do you think we have? Besides strength in numbers, our genetic endurance is waning,” Donohue said. “We slaughter unarmed families. Where is the honor and glory of a well-fought battle against equal forces?”
“The power lies with the leader and you are that leader. The other races are soft and that’s why they’ve failed to thrive. We are the supreme race.”
“Some of the things you speak of are true but I will have to disagree on others. The power of a nation is measured by the loyalty of its citizens. The citizens grow the crops to feed the nobleman. The citizens take up arms and fight the battles for the nobleman. The nobleman does nothing but tell others what to do. The backs of the citizens are worn by work, building the homes that the nobleman lives in. Without citizens, the nobleman would have nothing. Without citizens, I am nothing.” He took a sip and turned away from the window. He shook his head and emptied his glass before tossing it onto the desk. It skipped a little before it rolled to a rest on its side.
“There was a place, once, a beautiful place with grassy hills and flowering trees that smelled like they gave the breath of life. Birds graced its sky and beasts and beauties alike roamed the land, each one with its own purpose. No longer does that happen.” Donohue continued. “Now, this beautiful place is no more. We call it Genetricis. There’s no going back to the beauty it was. We have plagued it with our conquers and doomed it to be barren.”
Donovan, keeping his eyes on his father, set the glass upright and filled it to the rim. He slid it toward Donohue, spilling some of its contents. He picked it up quickly. Firewater slopped from the glass and splattered onto the desk and floor. He took a swig, drinking half of what didn’t spill.
“This wasteland is to be my legacy.”
Silence between them ensued for a moment.
“We were less than desirable creatures when we crawled from Drakymen after years of being stuck beneath the rock that capped the lava pool. Anger brewed beneath that layer, a searing hatred that drove us to disobey Magnen’s wish of prosperity through peace. We began to pillage the towns of men and slaughter the animals within the forests and mountains for fun. That’s something Magnen didn’t fancy so we embraced it back then. He loathed it, so we loved it.” He paused briefly, staring at Donovan. “Tell me about the elf.”
Donovan’s eyes flickered from the bottle of firewater to his father. He didn’t answer. He stared firmly at his sire that drank the last of the firewater, emptying his glass for the final time. He tossed it onto the desk again, this time chipping it and sending its shard flying onto the floor where it came to rest.
“Our numbers grew steadily and quickly after our exile from Drakymen. Magnen made the lava reform the land and block our return. We tried to go back and kill the remaining dragons but there seemed to be an impenetrable cloud blocking our reentry.”
“Let me lead our forces up there, father. I will find a way, I’m certain.”
“No. I will not allow us to kill more of our kind,” he said. His words were beginning to slur. “You look at me weird when I say that. Yes, they are our kind. We are one and the same. We all came from earth but only the good dragons came here with Magnen’s invite. Some of us stayed as we were told, others including myself, followed anyways and we were trapped. We grew ugly as a result of our evil tendencies and thoughts, a reflection of our nature.”
“He wanted us to repent. He wanted us to be a part of the goodness of dragons. I should’ve obeyed. My pride and hatred blinded me. The day I killed Magnen was a turning point. I felt, then, that I did the right thing. I killed him to better the world for our kind, our kind that I’d later name Warisai. It was all lies. I knew it back then but didn't want to face the ugly truth. We didn’t have our own kind. We were dragons. We made ourselves ugly, though.”
Donovan watched his father walk across the room and lean on the hearth.
“He was magnificent, you know, a sight to see. His wingspan was wider than any dragon nowadays. His height was like a mountain and his scales were like midnight with a shimmer of starlight. His eyes were like the lava within the caldera, orange and fiery. Perhaps it was jealousy that fueled my hate for him then. Now, I regret every moment I led the defiance.”
“You did what needed to be done, father,” Donovan said sternly. “Stop your musings of regret. You’ll ill your health.”
Donohue cracked a smile. “My health is already ill thanks to that drink.” He pointed to the bottle of firewater.
“What do you mean, father? This drink is a drop in the barrel compared to what you normally consume.”
“Ah, yes, but when it’s laden with prifisus it’s truly a deadly concoction.”
Donovan tried to keep a straight face.
“Did you think I couldn’t tell? The increased bitterness in comparison to other bottles from the same source was a giveaway along with you not touching yours.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, father,” Donovan said quietly.
His father chuckled with vice and continued. “Yes, you do. I was warned last night when someone saw you spiking the drink with venom. Yes, someone out there knows the truth about how you’ll come to lead. It’ll be well known, the dishonorable murder of Donohue Dansrivan, leader of the Warisai, by his own offspring, Donovan Dansrivan. Did you think I wouldn’t know your murderous mind fueled by jealousy of your brother?” He paused. “A brother that you seemed fit to have murdered? Yes, I know of that, too. I was told.”
“If you thought I had poisoned your drink, then why did you drink from a flask of death?”
Donohue smiled simply. “My time is up. I’ve repented for my actions and regret everything. That includes siring you. You, my son, were my biggest mistake. Dooley, on the other hand, was the perfect example of a leader and,” he took a deep breath, “he agreed with me when I addressed my concerns for Dagan’s future. He could see the errors of our ways, unlike you.”
Donovan stared coldly at his father. He felt no remorse for lacing the firewater with prifisus.
“That elf,” Donohue said, turning to face his son. “That elf you pursued is your keystone in reuniting Magnen’s heart, am I right? I sensed it within her. You should abandon your madness and cease continuation on the course you’ve drawn yourself. That elf is pursued by a dragon who knows how to love. That, my son, is something you cannot beat. Heed my words and release her or else you will fail.”
“Failure is not something I know,” Donovan replied.
“Yes it is. You failed to love.”
“I love myself,” Donovan said. “That’s enough for me.”
“I said that, too, before I took my weapon and plunged it between Magnen’s scales, breaking his heart and killing him. I’ve stared at Magnen’s Folly, the hill where he died, for centuries, Donovan, centuries, while watching the land decay and our numbers multiply.”
“You old fool,” Donovan said. “I think you’ve drank too much. Perhaps that extra potency was the result of prolonged fermentation.”
Donohue chuckled. “Quit the frail attempt to ignore accountability. Your heart is guilty of poisoning those bottles. When you came up here, you were hoping I would already be dead.” He took another deep breath. “I knew about it last night. Ah, to be at peace through death will be wonderful, indeed.” His voice trailed off and he swayed on weakening legs.
“Magnen’s body became that hill,” he said softly. “I won
der if mine will return to an earthen state such as that.” He stumbled forward, barely keeping on his feet before falling to his hands and knees. His breathing grew labored.
Donovan stood up with a sneer and walked slowly to the hearth where his father was.
“Looks like this is the end for you, father,” Donovan said. “Shame Dooley couldn’t be here to watch.”
“He would’ve killed you,” Donohue muttered. “He would’ve killed you and spared you the embarrassment of failure.” He let out a weak laugh before collapsing completely to the floor and rolling onto his back. “That elf will be your downfall.”
Donovan licked his grungy teeth and spat into the fire.
“I don’t think so. I will become more powerful than you ever were. I will reunite the heart and I will become Dagan’s unchallenged ruler.”
“She will be your downfall,” Donohue repeated through a mouthful of pasty saliva. “You will die.”
“Just like you,” Donovan said. He stooped down, grabbed his father by his tunic and lifted him slightly. “Quit gurgling and die already. I have Warisai to lead.”
Donohue stared into Donovan’s cold eyes. His last breaths weren’t wasted on talk. He chuckled and choked until his heart quit beating and he passed away. His eyes were fixed on his son, his murderer.
“Prifisus,” Donovan said, “is such a fascinating liquid. Extracting it from the serpent, Prifisa, was a most curious process. Luckily, I figured it out quickly that the easiest way was to kill her.”
He released his father’s lifeless body and stood up.
“Now, first order of business,” Donovan said to his father’s corpse. “Let’s see. Ah, how about we execute the one who brought you those poisonous libations.”
