Drakon Omnibus

by C. A. Caskabel

  I. May God preserve you, Evagus, as you endure on that most precarious of missions.

  II. Fourscore and thirteen years our Holy Empire has been victoriously defending, in the most sanguinary and yet impressive manner, our northern and eastern borders from the barbarians, who incessantly descended like ravenous wolves to devour the pious and the god-fearing flock of the Faith.

  IV. But I have come to the conclusion that our Savior is ultimately saddened with us, because of our decision to abandon Varazam to the jaws of the heathen dogs, and He intends to punish us further.

  V. And as we had fallen in great sin, the calamities inflicted upon the Empire did not end there. In the most unfortunate of occurrences, a few days before I received your epistle, another catastrophe occurred.

  VI. The lands and the walls of our Holy Capital of Thalassopolis were shaken by thunderous roars. Manifold damages were inflicted, by the rumbling movements of the earth and the mountains.

  VII. It is my solemn duty to alert our Emperor to prepare our defenses against the armies of Malan and reconstruct our walls. I hope that God will guide our military generals to evaluate this danger correctly so that we won’t become the architects of yet another defeat.

  VIII. In light of the aforesaid events, our communications may be sparse and intercepted. You are to maintain your position north until you hear from me again. May God guide you.

  Delivered on the sixth month of the twenty-eighth year of the reign of our Emperor.

  Third Epistle: “Scribed by the Protospathos Carpus Asinas, to Evagus the Anchorite.”

  I. May God preserve you, Evagus. I received your unexpected message with joy, and I am elated that you are still alive and well, after three and more years of silence.

  II. I can finally thank you for your prior actions. By alerting us of Malan’s intentions, we had time to avert the fall of Thalassopolis. Following the hazardous earthshakes, our Emperor marshaled everyone with haste to rebuild the walls before the Khun’s hordes reached the northern valleys of Thalassopolis.

  III. For the succeeding three years, when we two didn’t exchange words, we have suffered manifold calamities defending our Holy Capital against the hordes of the infidels. Alas, north of Thalassopolis the lands have been razed, sowed with blood and salt.

  IV. But behold, the Lord’s infinite grace, by the power of the salutary emblem of our Faith, our Emperor was finally victorious over the armies of the heathen. The walls of the cornerstone capital of our nations have proven impervious to all their efforts.

  V. And yet, once again I must scribe this epistle in agony to beseech your immediate assistance.

  VI. For I am afraid, my true friend, that the age of triumphs may be ending, as the evil surrounds us. I bring lamentable news as I must immediately inform you that the most pious and righteous of us, our Emperor, has come to the past of his days and ascended to Heaven.

  VII. For he has suffered for five months from an incurable disease, one that started with insatiable thirst, proceeded with causing a putrescent decay of his lower parts and spread to the most secret parts of his body, eventually incapacitating his intestines and causing a torturous—and undeserving of his Prudence—suffering death.

  VIII. But you must now refrain from believing any of the baleful calumnies diffused upon the Empire by the heretics, whom you have known and experienced more than anyone else in the accursed city of Varazam as our most trusted and devoted informant. Our Emperor died of sickness and old age, not by his son’s hand as those sycophants claim.

  IX. And now, our Emperor is lying in the sepulcher, among the solemn shrines of the holiest of men to ever serve our Empire. To my dismay, his son, our fifteenth Emperor, has still not proven capable of assessing the danger of the nameless yet pestilential tribe you have been tracking since the grief-laden days following the battle of Apelo.

  X. I thenceforth bestow upon you the most salient tasks:

  XI. To remain in presence among the barbarians and near their facilities and acquire valuable information by any means.

  XV. To deliver urgent tidings of any aggression or weakness of the heathen tribe, so that our Holy Empire can obtain a strategic advantage in crushing those idolatrous monsters, removing them from the face of the earth for the rest of the days of this world.

  XVI. You must immediately inform our kinsfolk of the Western Empire so that they obtain the same advantage.

  XVII. Understand now, Evagus, that you must alert our brethren in the West to march against the barbarians who have abandoned their lair north of the great river to besiege our capital. It is only through a concerted effort on two fronts that we might put an end to this abominable threat.

  Delivered on the first month of the first year of the reign of our Emperor. On the sixth year of Evagus in Sirol.

  Fourth Epistle: “Scribed by Evagus the Anchorite to the Protospathos Carpus Asinas.”

  May God preserve you, Carpus,

  Forgive me, I scribe in haste.

  I met our messenger on the north bank of the river.

  I hope that God assists him to deliver these words immediately, else we are all doomed.

  It required all my efforts and yours, but the Western Empire’s generals were finally convinced, after all those years, to assemble their armies at Lenos.

  I have advised them repeatedly and urged them to attack Sirol before Malan crosses the Blackvein.

  You must convince the young Emperor of Thalassopolis, and your generals to do the same. We have only one brief chance to deliver this blow to the barbarians, and none of us should hesitate.

  I spent the Holy Night of our Faith inside Lenos, and I assure you that our brethren of the West are ready and will march on the second month of spring. Three of their legions will cross the northern forest and attack Sirol.

  As for myself, I will find refuge in the forest together with the Dasal peasants and the man you met by the name of Da-Ren. It is closer to the meeting point with our messenger than Lenos, and it might prove the only safe place for the following months.

  Delivered on the third month of the fourth year of the reign of our Emperor.

  Thrice I read the epistles that Evagus had entrusted me with. I included them in the crypton manuscript, the one that Da-Ren knew nothing about. It was the one to be delivered to Thalassopolis.

  I returned the epistles to Evagus two days later after I had scribed copies of them. We met in the library after nightfall, away from all eyes and ears.

  “I understand now why you insisted, Evagus, that I write this story in great detail. It was not Da-Ren’s story, of his trials, his tribe, and his love.”

  “No. It is also the history of the Holy Empire,” he said, visibly surprised that I had not held back my thoughts.

  “Of the Empire yes, but mostly of your contribution. You will achieve immortality and glory through this story.”

  “Are you accusing me of vanity and egomania, lad?”

  “I would never…”

  I would never use both words when one will do, old man.

  LXXXV.

  Understand Now, Evagus

  Island of the Holy Monastery, Thirty-Sixth Summer,

  According to the Monk Eusebius

  Evagus had been visibly irritated by our latest conversation and my accusations that he had employed both Da-Ren and me for the sole purpose of glorifying himself and his secret missions. Prior to commencing the reading of Da-Ren’s story he visited my cell and gave me the last epistle Carpus had bestowed upon him. He demanded that I read it aloud in front of him.

  “It is essential before you start reading the tale to the other monks,” he added.

  “I am full of remorse for my previous assertions, Monk Evagus, but I must assure you that I have given my heart and soul to the delivery of the most accurate and complete record of Da-Ren’s story, doing nothing else, for the last three years.”

  I even forgot how to pray in the process.

  “The volume of your work, and the testimonies o
f other monks ascertain that you did. I trust you with the epistle I received from Carpus when I visited Thalassopolis after the end of my mission in Sirol. The one sealed with the Emperor’s Chrysoboule.”

  He insisted that I read it aloud in front of him:

  Fifth Epistle: “Scribed by the Protospathos Carpus Asinas, to Evagus the Anchorite.”

  I. May God preserve you, and may the Saints guide you to eternal serenity, Evagus, for your servitude to our Holy Church and the Empire. No honor bestowed by man, no earthly reward could ever suffice for all your contributions to the Faith of the Cross.

  II. By the orders of our Emperor, you are released from any immediate tasks and perilous missions. I exhort you to spend the next years in peace, prayer, and the studying of the Sacred Scrolls away from danger until the Empire requests your assistance once more.

  III. I praise your decision to retire in Hieros Island, and I require of you a final undertaking:

  IV. I urge you to transcribe in legible manner the accounts of your mission, of this tribe, the tales of the barbarous warlords which they call “Khuns,” of their profligate female hierophants, and their most fearsome warriors.

  V. As long as you can rely on your memory, I encourage you to do so, but it would be a most worthy testimony if it detailed the life of the one they called Da-Ren, the Ninestar Drakon, the crooked serpent itself, the one who was first to enter the city of Varazam, the walls of Thalassopolis, the Holy Church of Wisdom, and the caves of the White Doe. The one who served as the infidels’ first general in the Final Battle and, as you divulged to me, betrayed them and accepted our Savior as his True God. All will rejoice to hear his tale, for it is not a mere tale but fact, to hear of the tragedies that befell him and of his repentance and retirement in our Holy Monastery of Hieros.

  VI. Understand now, Evagus, that I have an intimate interest in the story of the barbarian man who long ago accompanied you to Thalassopolis, the one we called Da-Ren, and that the pagan priestesses call “Drakon.” For it is written on the books of our Faith but even admitted on the verbal tales of the idolaters—ancients and present—that the Drakon is most certainly the uncontrollable bestial force that devours a tribe. And what would make a greater outcome worthy of your sufferings and my loyalty to you all those years than preserving in written word the tale and the repentance of the serpentine beast itself?

  VIII. Henceforth, I beseech you, to prepare and deliver written, leather-bound codices of his testimony to Thalassopolis, for we have achieved no victory unless one is recorded in the greatest of detail by pious God-serving monks. Our kingdom is one to be preserved unscathed for the eons and the generations to follow, and not to be defined by my, or your, brief time upon this soil. For this is a soil of passing trial and privation and not the eternal kingdom. The salient achievement of your mission can only be these codices, for they will prove beyond any doubt that God prevails, and the pagan demon-serving tribes perish under his sandals.

  IX. The aforesaid are to remain sealed from any other redundant observers, and the Emperor’s chrysoboule is to be presented only when necessary to vouchsafe the mandate of your mission and acquire assistance in any of the lands of God.

  X. May God preserve you, beloved brother!

  Delivered by the Protospathos Carpus Asinas, to the revered Evagus the Anchorite.”

  “I saw you carrying this epistle four years ago during your first stop on our island,” I said. “Though you didn’t read it to me back then.”

  “You are correct; it is the one I used to convince the First Elder to release Da-Ren and assign you to transcribe his story.”

  “And yet this epistle fills me with more questions and agony. Brother Evagus, I must warn you that Protospathos Carpus seeks a drakon tale which is nothing but an allegory. I have scribed the codices thrice with the blood of my hands, and no flying serpent metamorphosis ever transpired. Why are you here, why did you return after all those years? I don’t understand. For I am certain that Da-Ren’s story is the most important chronicle of his tribe but what does it matter anymore?”

  We had exited my cell and were walking next to the battlements, enjoying the bright summer light. Evagus gestured to me:

  “Sit down, young man. I have a lot to say.” He exhaled slowly before he started to speak. “Listen now, Eusebius. For some, this may be the story of the adventures of Da-Ren, but for me, it is a story of retribution, for I swore that I would do everything in my power to destroy this tribe, even more because their blood runs in my veins. Now, ponder the following, Eusebius: What is the difference between us and those mad dogs of the steppe who have engulfed your mind and papyri for three years, those beings, the remotest of mankind one could ever encounter?”

  “A thousand differences come to my mind. I have never met in the ancient scrolls a tribe so antithetical to the pious people we serve.”

  “A thousand differences of no importance. Most ignorant officers, even those in esteemed and noble positions in Thalassopolis, will say that there is an obvious difference of race. But I know that’s not true, as I have been raised in the peace-loving tribe of my father, and they share the same blood and skin tone with those murderous jackals. And others will say that the difference is wealth and gold and marble and vast monuments. But those barbarians who had erewhile lacked even the most basic wealth have easily seized gold in a matter of years exchanging it with iron and fire. And another one will say that we can build immense walls and we have strong shields and military organization, yet don’t they have stirrups and magnificent double-curved bows? But I know that anyone can learn those crafts of war, and mimic them very easily within a few years, especially if he enslaves craftsmen. The savants will say that the difference is stories, and who can doubt that we have the most magnificent of parables, those of the five holy books. But so do they, for their soothsayers have produced tales of monsters and salvation and they even have a story of sacrifice. Alas, their falsehood will be proven only in the afterlife. But now their tales of sacrifice and our true gospels of sacrifice serve the same purpose for the living. No, there is no obvious difference between them and us, and I would be the first to know that for a fact as my blood is the same as theirs. Only one difference exists, and this will be critical to their destruction.”

  “We serve God, and they serve Satan,” I answered. “The difference is obvious.”

  “No, Eusebius. I am brave and old enough to say no, because I have met eunuchs, incompetent generals and sycophants in the Great Palace who serve Evil, and I have met men like Da-Ren who somedays even served Good. No, there is Good and Evil in every tribe, and by now, even you know that. The only difference is you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, the difference is the existence and the competence of the scribe, the parchment, the red and the black of the ink. For, remember that, everything we built, our cities, our shrines and our bodies will one day turn to dust and empires will rise and crumble and rise again, and barbarians will raid and conquer and then drown in their own blood, but one craft of true sorcery will separate us from them. The writing. For we shall have the most magnificent of stories inked to preserve our greatness and they will have nothing. Worse, their descendants will have only our account of events. Even their own oral stories and legends will become a forgotten wordless murmur of the wind in a hundred years from now, extant only in the codices you completed in this blessed cell during those three years, Eusebius.”

  “I must say, you honor me beyond my greatest expectations, Evagus.”

  “I have no intention to honor you. Listen to me now, as this is the most salient of statements: I never sought to destroy Malan’s tribe in one battle or one campaign or even in one year; that is of no importance as it would not be the utter and complete destruction I seek. I am here to preserve their story as it should be written by servants of God like us, so that in one hundred years there is nothing left of their tribe, but our description of it. And then their offspring—because believe me, their offspring will st
ill be roaming the Blackvein—will learn about this tribe from you and me and no one else. It is in a hundred years from now that I intend to deliver the final blow on Sah-Ouna and her false hierophants. I am not here today to ensure Malan’s demise on the battlefield but rather to ensure that his great-grandchildren deliver their souls to the true God. I am here to take absolute control of their minds and hearts a hundred years from now. I want their children to cry about our heroes, not theirs, marvel at our God and spit upon the memory of their own grandfathers. To ascertain that this tribe is utterly assimilated and that they bow as loyal servants of the true Faith. And by that foreknowledge I acted and instructed you, to record this story to the greatest of detail, for it is going to be the only difference between us and them four generations from now. And four generations may sound like a long time, yet it is nothing compared to the eternity of our Savior and our Holy Empire.”

  Whether the flattery of Evagus was intended or served the purpose of ensuring my loyalty, I wouldn’t know. But I still had a final, humble question.

  “Allow me to inquire, wise Evagus: Why does the Empire have to rely solely on Da-Ren for this story which you deem so important, and record in detail the events of one single man, rather than require of you, our generals and many more who met and fought against those barbarians to deliver their manifold accounts?”

  “We covet with great zeal the story of the infidel, the most fearsome of them, their Firstblade and the one they called the Drakon, the one who doesn’t fall because his is the only genuine story. We must invade the apple like the worm and destroy it from inside. We cannot shout and order the apple to rot; the apple doesn’t listen, only feels. And so we want a tale written from the heart, not some beautified fairy-tale wherein some pure, saintly men fight against purely evil dogs, written by a scribe who never met one of them. Such a tale would be ineffective, except for putting children to sleep, and entertaining the eunuchs and the princesses during the lavish banquet feasts of the palace. No, we want the story of one man, a chronicle written in the blood of his heart, and the hearts of those he loved.”