Preservation Ch 2
Chapter 2. Plot begins to thicken, world gets more established, headache increases.
Enjoy!
Chapter 2
SeraphiAntaaran 2, second century, Etassus 39413 Vahrak
The entire procession ended then, from my perspective. A jolt of panic coursed through me, and I struggled to the front of the crowd. Though it was true I had no real idea what had happened to the ‘failures’ in the past, I had heard the rumors. Servitude in the least pleasant sectors of the city, cannon fodder on the front lines, and even outright execution for the defiant were but a few of the… nicer… choices such dragons were allowed. They were tasks we never spoke of, and I had regarded them as merely the nameless dragons unfortunate enough to fail. Now, though? Now there was a reason to fix it, someone I could wish to save. I only wished I had cared before it became so personal.
I reached the barriers as a pair of burly Versoth dragons tossed Tarinth into the same holding pen of sorts as the rest of the now unselected dragons. Their holding area, I noted, was not graced with the same cobbled stone as the rest of our pavement. Instead, the raw mud underfoot sucked at their paws as the defeated-looking dragons milled anxiously, living conditions that would have been unacceptable in nearly any other condition present in the pit.
My heart wrenched as I saw Tarinth simply lay in the mud, apparently now lacking the strength to haul herself to her feet. A few of the others gently came to her side, picking her up like a limp doll until she came to her feet once more.
As terrible as that scene was to myself and no doubt to Jasik as well, I forced myself to tear my eyes away as a blood-chilling scream came from the hall I had just recently exited. As soon as I had seen who was exiting I immediately wished I hadn’t? it was a reaction mirrored across many of the others in the crowds.
As another wail rang out from the hallway, a bronze dragoness stumbled from the opening, and it was obvious not all was well with her. She limped along, hobbling for the paw clutched against her body as rivulets of blood poured from her ruined chest. As I gaped in horror at the dragon’s terrible wounds, the same two guards carried her to the small mud-pen alongside Tarinth and the others. She cried out in pain with every step the guards carried her, and she was given no sympathy before she was tossed bodily into the cold, harsh mud.
Examining the dragons who had not passed more closely, I saw that many sported similar wounds, though that poor bronze dragoness had clearly taken the worst of it. I felt numb, sickened to think that it very well could have been anyone stricken by the same pikes as she had, though it was not the first time I had seen such wounds inflicted? merely the first time I had seen them inflicted by my own kind to another dragon.
My attention snapped back to the main entrance as yet another scream emanated from the large building. A bronze dragon with an injury much like the dying female had exited the palace now, and as he struggled to reach her side, one of those two increasingly emotionless dragons keeping the pens snatched his tail out of flight and tugged him to the ground. As he whirled on that dragon, teeth bared and both head- and tail-spines extended he was clouted over the head, dazed for the moment, then pinned under their unyielding grasps. Jasik gasped. Then the look of horror intensified on his face as he recognized the latest of the injured.
“That’s Marek!”
“What?” I was hardly paying attention to him, still morbidly attached, strangely enough, to the ailing dragoness lying in a pool of her own blood. I shuddered, unable to look away. The other rejected gathered around her, trying to reassure to her that “it was all right, it was all right.” She thrashed weakly, the ragged hole in her chest rippling as she clawed at the ground in agony. It was almost a relief as she fell still at last, eyes glazed over, no longer agonized by the cruel fate that had befallen her in the end.
There was one more scream, this time from a different sort of anguish. One of the guards had finally seen fit to release the dragon who Jasik recognized as Marek, and he rushed to the gated cage, tears streaking the scales on his snout as he ran, heedless of the gaping hole in his own neck.
As he reached her side, Marek frantically pressed against his twin’s shoulder, his cries long since turned into incoherent babbling that reached fever pitch and suddenly ceased as he accepted the truth that she was gone. Jasik seemed almost as wretched as I felt. As Marek slumped to the ground as well, Jasik turned to me, his normally ebony mail seeming a dull gray. I had never seen him so pale before. My brother lowered his head, and his voice as well.
“Gods… To think that could have been you, Seraphi…” Jasik choked on his words just then, and of course it struck me just the wrong way. I am not ashamed to admit I began to shed a few tears as well just then, not only for myself but for the fallen dragoness as well. But our sorrow was short-lived as a high, cold voice sounded across the massive cavern.
“Enough, all of you. Be silent.”
And, with that all of the chatter stopped, and my tears left along with them.. I at first wasn’t sure if I had gone deaf, for the utter silence was only broken by Marek sniffing now and then, crushed by his grief. I tilted my head up to the palace home of the elders and was not surprised to see the four of them there, gazes filled with pride for their new initiates. If they were the slightest bit irritated by or sympathetic to Marek’s grief they didn’t show it. The Temethran elder’s eyes met mine, a cold stare that seemed to say, “You are a number. You are mine now. Fall into line, and don’t ask questions.” A cold shiver ran down my spine to my tail tip, scales clattering. The power that he had commanded over me in a single look… it was terrifying.
Then I was free again. The elders still stood proudly above us all, and Temethran stepped forward to speak again.
“It is good to see so many promising new recruits have passed,” Temethran called out to us, and just like that, he was a trustable figure, and not demanding. “Your numbers will swell our ranks, and with you at our sides in battle and in stratagem we will rout the Ivarni from our city gates and burn them as we once did.” He paused, and with a subtle twist his voice turned from encouraging and in a way defiant, to a far more somber tone. “Some, if not many of you, may fall fighting for our freedom and to save your friends. But know that with your sacrifice, the humans will not take this grand city.”
For your question Kyshara, the elders had long ago forgone their names to lead their respective heritages, as was tradition. Any dragon chosen to lead the Temethran was forgotten, becoming their role and forgoing any identity they had had previously.
Beside me, Jasik nodded enthusiastically, his worries seemingly forgotten. At the same time, a roaring cheer went up from the gathered dragons. But whether it was the recent death or simply a difference in the way I thought, it seemed as though the elder’s offer was far too one-sided. Give our lives, and trust that the city would hold, or better yet? that we might actually win a war that had been fought for centuries? Perhaps it was the shock, or some sort of common sense, but suddenly that didn’t sound like a deal worth making to me.
My attention drifted back to the balcony. The elder of the Versoth had stepped forward, a bulky and sandy green dragon. Though he spoke nothing to gain our attention, it was clear he expected to be paid it. His voice rang strong across the fields.
“Some of you may be curious as to which roles you have chosen through your actions. Now, rest assured, you will have a say in your part as well. But in most aspects our gifted Temethran shall rule the unseen and the night, and alongside the Salym bring in a net of information to plan our next strike. They shall use stealth to eliminate threats, burn siege weapons, and generally cause disarray. Farther missions will strike at their supply lines. My Versoth—” he swept his proud gaze to the mentioned brutish yet in many ways ruggedly handsome dragons, “—will break down their front lines, carving so deep against them they will tremble to face us. As I have said before, the Salym shall keep a mark on their army, note any troop movements and relay back that information to our esteemed Haraash, as well as help gather food and provide aid to the wounded. There our Haraash will ensure our stratagem and tactics will remain current, precise, and most of all, safe.” I had to try hard to refrain a disdainful snort at the last comment.
With that Versoth dipped his head, relinquishing control to Temethran once more. His high, cold voice seemed the same as before, yet now instead of encouraging or somber there was just a subtle hint of irritation and disappointment holding his tone.
“With that, I suppose, we are left only with a few slight… problems. As you very well could be aware, there are those to be rooted from our culture, our glorious city, never to be trained. Any of you... willing…” His voice seemed to be discouraging such a notion. “...to aid one of these weaker dragons may do so, at loss of living space and equal ration to fill both of your bellies. This is a difficult world; perform well or die. Any volunteers, step forward past the barricades.”
An uneasy murmuring broke across all of the crowds. Abstaining from offering any aid was the obvious choice. And yet…
Temethran nodded in satisfaction. “That is what I suspected,” he said. All four elders began to turn away when gasps of surprise came from the crowd. I looked back to the crowds on the other side of the barrier, and blinked at my own action.
I had meant it only to help Tarinth. But when I was no longer part of the crowd I suddenly felt self-conscious, my idea to help suddenly deserting me. I shivered from the stares I now drew.
The elder dragoness of Haraash was the first notice my approach; nodding approvingly, she pointed the others to me, all of the elders quickly returned to their points on the balcony.
“Ahem… Yes, Temethran initiate?” Unlike that of my own, the Haraash elder’s voice was cooly reassuring, reminding me that while she was far above me in her nobility, she was willing to listen to my words.
Faced with that situation, I froze. It was unlike me to speak in front of a crowd, and I had no idea what to say. Fortunately, as Jasik stepped up beside me, I was offered a reprieve.
“We are willing to take responsibility for two of the failures, Elders.” I was pleasantly surprised as Jasik stood beside me, one of his rare moments of boldness. I glanced to my left, and he gave me a small wink before returning his attention to the elders. I tried to gather strength from his false bravado.
Temethran took the lead once more, moving similarly to the front of the group. He eyed us suspiciously, then laughed quietly. I could not help but wonder about the joke involved.
“Take responsibility? Oh, you will get more than that…” He paused for a moment, then chuckled again. “Very well, take your pick of servants.” The way he phrased it made me wince, but I knew it was mostly true. Nevertheless, the two of us moved to the pit.
I peered into the mud. “Tarinth?” I called, struggling to catch a glimpse of emerald scales within the throng of oppression. Beside me, Jasik took a more direct route, instead wading into the small crowd towards the body calling, Marek, Marek. I followed him.
Tarinth was helping the bronze drake in question lay the body of his fallen twin to rest in some fashion, chipping dried blood off where she could and moving the body to a more natural position. She didn’t reply when I gently pulled her away, padding behind me in submission. Outside the pen it was all the more apparent that she had something broken, deep inside of her. Always an outcast, she had wished so desperately for success all throughout her life. The fact that she didn’t even lift her head or wipe her paws clean of the blood only further solidified to me her despondence.
Behind me, Jasik returned, alone, from the small crowd. I hardly spared him a glance, but I couldn’t be certain there wasn’t a tear in his eye.
“Wh—” I spoke softly, then broke off, hardening my voice to be strong for Tarinth. “Where’s Marek?”
Jasik hardly responded for several seconds. “Some sympathy those guards have,” he muttered quietly. He raised his head, his eyes twin pools of sorrow and foreign as it was, fear. “Don’t let him get there in time to say goodbye. But once she’s… once she’s gone, tell him he can build a pyre for his sister. Alone.”
That hit me a little too close for comfort, and I dug my claws into the thankfully soft stone. In an instant I could see our places reversed— Marek congratulating his sister at her success, only for myself to arrive too late to help Jasik. That thought would have chilled me to the bone, but at that point I was so cold it mattered little.
After a few minutes an injured bronze —Marek— limped up to us, both dried and still wet tears streaking his muzzle. For the first few minutes all he could do was try to regain his breath, and something resembling composure. Several times he attempted speech, only to break back into silent tears again.
After that, he began to address the three of us haltingly, as though he was only a young hatchling. He stumbled over his words, locking eyes with us only for a short moment at a time.
“I… I don’t have much to say,” Marek began, “But if you would allow me time alone for the moment I would be in your debt.” He started to pad away once more, then turned to incline his head to Jasik. “M-more than I already am, I mean…” Then he set off, limping, to build his fallen sister’s funeral pyre.
That was how the important part of my life began, the grieving and their caretakers alike mourning for the lost. We may not have known it at the time but that was really when things began to change? not only for my friends and brother, but for every single dragon in that city.
If only that change was for the better.