"It is a struggle, every day, to control the primal. The edicts bind us, guide us, but strength is strength. Strength is how the tribe survives. The weak, those who cannot contribute…" he shrugs. "Each member of the tribe brings something to the group. Those who do not, they are on their own."
Those who cannot contribute… I know all to well that mentality. My life on board the ship crashes into my brain. That part of me wants to protect the outcast because he is like me, unwanted. Never allowed to contribute. I could have, I was able, just not permitted. Maybe all that Zmaj needs is a chance to find his calling.
"Hey, they're leaving us behind," Olivia says, putting a hand on my shoulder.
Startled, I jump into motion, lengthening my stride to catch up to the group. There's a small path that winds up to a second level of door openings carved into the rock face of the valley wall. The group is about half-way up it when we catch up. Visidion stops outside of one, turning back to us.
"This is what you can help us with, the future of our race," he says to me.
Future of their race? "So what is it you need?" I ask, cutting to the chase.
We walk into the cool tunnel that leads down for a ways. Flickering light ahead draws us forward. The floor doesn't slant down like the other room we were in, this one is level, leading deep into the rock. As we move, the soft sound of voices drifts closer, echoing off the rock making it impossible to distinguish any words. There's a softness to the voices though. Children? Do they have Zmaj children here? The voices are too soft for males.
"Oh," Astarot exclaims, as he steps to one side of the tunnel letting me pass.
"What?" I ask, but then all thoughts flee.
Three human women sit in a circle around a table talking with each other while eating. They've turned to the opening and fall silent on our entrance.
"Lana?" an older woman with gray hair at the temples of her shoulder-length auburn hair and crows feet at corners of her eyes says.
"Mom?" I gasp, a cold feeling racing out from my core as my stomach flutters like a million butterflies dance inside of it.
She rises from the table, the chair she was sitting in falls over and clatters to the floor. Her mouth is open as her eyes widen and tears fall. Raising her arms towards me they tremble while her mouth moves. She shakes her head side to side as she moves around the table.
"Oh Lana!" she says and bursting into speed we run into each other's arms.
I cling to her with desperation and unbelief. It can't be. I can't believe it's her. This is some kind of horrible delusion and I'm sure that at any moment it will be ripped away. Her arms hold me tight, just like she always did. Her scent fills my nostrils. She smells like mom, that mix of antibacterial soaps with a slight hint of violets, her favorite flower. I'm crying but no tears stain my cheeks, dehydration and withdrawal from epis have taken those. My chest shakes with heavy sobs but I can't let her go. I want to pull her into me.
"You're alive," I sob into her shoulder.
"You know her Bailey? Astrid? Penelope?" Olivia asks.
The room explodes into rapid fire conversation but none of it has anything to do with me. My mom is alive and holding me tight. Fear it will all be a dream keeps me from letting her go.
"I've missed you so much," I tell her, my face buried in her hair.
"Oh sweet baby," she says. "I thought I'd lost you."
I don't know how long we stand holding each other, neither of us able or willing to loosen our embrace. Her chest heaves, her body shudders, as she sheds her tears. She grips my shoulders and pushes me back to arm's length. Her stormy gray eyes alight with her deep intellect as she evaluates every detail.
"You're sick," she says, and it's not a question.
"I'm fine," I lie, my smile faltering. Her insight was never something I could hide from.
With tight, pursed lips she nods then shakes her head and pulls me into her again.
"Later," she whispers. "Right now I'm just glad to hold you again. I love you, my sweet baby."
I'd forgotten how good it felt to be in her arms. Wrapped in the security, feeling her unconditional love.
"I love you, too," I say.
Taking a deep breath and wiping at my face, I step back to look around the room. Olivia and Delilah are talking rapid-fire with the other women. They're talking over each other in their excitement. Visidion and Astarot are behind me, watching us. Astarot focuses on me, shifting from foot to foot. His tail moves back and forth so fast it looks like he's trying to take flight. Mom is looking over my shoulder at him then she looks at me with an arched eyebrow.
"Uh, yeah," I say unable to meet her gaze. "Mom, this is Astarot."
"He's one of them," she says.
"Yeah," I say. "He's a Zmaj."
"A what?" she asks.
"And she speaks their language too, also I think she's boning that one!" Delilah says from behind my mother.
My toes curl as a wave of nausea grips my stomach. I glare at Delilah but she's taking a hundred miles an hour ignoring me. My mom clears her throat but I can't meet her gaze.
"Is there something you want to tell me Lana?" Mom asks.
Shrugging, looking at my feet and struggling to control the nausea, I shake my head then shrug.
"Astarot," I say in Zmaj. "This is my adopted mother."
I can't look at either of them. God, I'm so embarrassed I could die. Astarot steps closer, towering over my mother and me too. He smiles, holding his arm out to her. My mom takes his hand.
"You're a big one," she says and I translate that to him for her.
"Please tell your mother she is a beautiful sparkle on the sands and it is my great honor to meet her. I will gladly share water with her."
I look at him feeling incredulous.
"What?" I stutter and he repeats himself. "Where did that come from?"
"She is your mother, I want to honor her," he says, tilting his head and furrowing his brow. "Do my words not translate to your tongue?"
"They translate, just…" I trail off, my thoughts whirling in a maddening circle. "Okay, sure."
I translate his words for her and her face lights up.
"Well," she says, grinning. "I like this one."
Disbelief and the absurdity of the entire situation cuts through my embarrassment and at last I can just relax.
"Of course you do," I reply.
"You hush," she says, then we're both laughing.
"How are you here?" I ask.
She looks over my shoulder, anger and fear vying on her face while looking at Visidion.
"They captured us," she says.
"Captured?" I ask. I whirl on Visidion. "You captured them?"
"We rescued them," he responds.
It's easy to see this is all a matter of perspective but that won't make it any easier to sort out. It's obvious what they need me for now. I'm the only one that can talk with both groups here. It's also obvious I've got my work cut out for me.
One of the new women talking with Olivia and Delilah falls to the floor. My mom rushes to her side while the other girls cry out in surprise. Mom kneels down touching her face and neck.
"Get the water!" Mom barks and one girl hands her a clay cup.
Mom holds the girl's head up and pours water into her mouth, forcing it past her lips. None of the women look healthy. They all show signs of extreme dehydration. I thought Olivia and Delilah were in bad shape but they are pictures of health compared to the women here. That makes sense since they were just captured by the pirates. Who knows how long my mom and the others have been here.
"They need epis," I tell Astarot. "Soon or they won't survive."
"I know," he says.
"What do you mean they need epis?" Visidion asks.
"Epis, they won't survive without it. Do you have any?" I ask.
"No," he says. "It's too dangerous. We don't harvest epis any longer. That is the old ways."
"The old ways need to make a comeback or these women will die."
"This will take much thought," he says.
"You don't have time for thought, why are they here? Why did you capture them?"
"We did not capture, we rescued them," he counters.
"Rescued, captured, either way I'm assuming your plan wasn't to bring them here to die."
"No!" he says, his eyes widening and his nostrils flaring with anger. "They are treasures, they are our future."
"Good," I say, stepping up to him and pointing a finger into his chest. "Then you best get your thinking cap on because if we're going to save them, we need epis and we need it fast."
17
Astarot
There's a flash in Visidion's eyes that makes my scales itch. Putting my hand on Lana's arm, I push it down.
"They need epis, now," she says, her teeth gritting. "That's my Mom!"
"I know, let me help," I tell her.
Her glare cuts me, stabbing into my heart but at last she nods, giving me her trust.
"Fine," she says, making a chopping motion with her hand. "He better help."
Turning back to Visidion he's staring at Lana.
"Can we walk?" I ask.
"Of course," he says, motioning towards the door for me to lead the way.
Watching over my shoulder I see he watches Lana until we're outside and she's blocked from view. Only then does he turn his attention back.
"She's… different," he observes.
"Yes," I say. "She's human."
He nods, thoughtful and quiet.
"Tell me more of the Tribe," I say, hoping to calm any upsets.
"What would you know?" he asks.
"How? I remember the gatherings after the devastation," I say. "Our race was at its end, we all agreed. The bijass was too strong, so we separated to live out our days alone."
"True," he says. "That is how I remember it was well."
"Then how," I motion around us at the workers.
More Zmaj are moving in and out of what must be their homes. They are all busy, working on something. As we walk down the valley two Zmaj in front of us stare each other down. I can feel the tension, my bijass rises to it, a dark, throbbing need that threatens my control. The bigger of the two, hisses, his wings spread, his hand balls into a fist and I know he's about to swing.
"Edicts are edicts," the smaller Zmaj says.
The bigger one stops, nods, "Edicts bring us together," he intones stepping aside and letting the smaller one pass.
"It's… incredible."
"Maybe," Visidion says. "My father deserves the credit. He created the edicts. They don't always work. The Zmaj has to be strong of will. Lacking that the edicts are nothing. They only give focus."
"I see," I say. "How long has this community been here?"
"Long enough for my father to grow old and me to grow wiser," he says. "How do we mark the passage of time?"
We walk as we talk. The ringing of metal on metal grows louder as we approach the blacksmith's work area. Watching him work as we approach I can see his craftsmanship is impressive if not up to the standards of old. Before the devastation there were machines that did his work, but his work by hand is effective if not pretty.
"Greetings," I say, raising my voice over the ringing of his hammer.
He looks up from what he's working on, grunts, then resumes hammering.
"My brother, Padraig, isn't one for words," Visidion says.
"Can you make a lochaber?" I ask.
Padraig lets his hammer stop on the anvil, resting it beside the piece he's working on. When he looks up he's glaring, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed.
"Are you being cute?" he asks, his voice a low hiss. "What's wrong with the one on your back?"
"Nothing," I say, struggling to not meet his hostility with my own.
Strangely enough the edicts of the Tribe come to mind.
"Does it look like I have the tools for fine work like a lochaber?" he motions around himself. "We're lucky I can make spears for the hunters."
"Can you make a spear for me then?" I ask.
"Can I or will I?" Padraig asks.
"Ah, pay no mind to old Padraig!" the Zmaj that works next to him says.
This Zmaj has built an awning that sticks out from the alcove he works on and is the one I saw earlier working on a hide. Different hides and leathers lie on the tables around him making his trade obvious.
"I meant no offense," I say.
"He's just mad that his work never comes out as pretty as mine," the new Zmaj says. "I'm Arawn."
"Astarot," I say, reaching out and grasping his arm at the elbow which he does in return.
"Your work looks like majmun dung," Padraig says. "And I don't work for free, stranger."
"I could trade," I offer. "What do you need?"
"Nothing you have," he growls.
"Padraig could you be any less of a zemlja on a bad day?" Arawn says, shaking his head.
Arawn has an easiness to his nature that makes you want to like him.
"Shut up before I shut you up," Padraig says, taking back up his hammer.
"You came with the new females, didn't you?" Arawn asks.
"Yes," I say, my eyes narrowing.
"Well there you go," he says.
"There I go what?"
"Padraig here needs a female," Arawn says. "Help him out there and you'd be doing us all a service."
Padraig slams his hammer down on the anvil with great force. In one step he closes the distance between Arawn and himself, grabbing the other Zmaj by the front of his shirt and lifting him off the ground. Arawn laughs, waggling a finger in his face.
"Now, now, Padraig," Arawn says. "Edicts are edicts."
Padraig shakes Arawn, tightening his grip.
"Brother," Visidion warns.
"Edicts bring us together," Padraig says, setting Arawn down then turning his back.
Arawn laughs and turns his back on Padraig, returning to his work.
"What trade?" I ask Padraig.
"Nothing for you," he says, slamming the hammer down on the anvil.
The ringing echoes off the valley walls causing my ears to ring in time. The bijass rises, demanding I show him my strength, that he is not better than me. He will listen when I speak. My muscles quiver, thrumming with the adrenaline pumping into them.
"Trade," I repeat.
Padraig's hammering stops. He meets my glare with his own. I struggle to remain in control, my hands clench tight enough I can feel my nails digging in.
"A ration of water," he says, dropping his eyes.
My bijass roars triumph, making a grab for control but I'm able to stop it. I take a deep, cleansing breath then I look at Visidion.
"What is a ration?" I ask.
"A system of trade," he explains. "We work together, each producing for the tribe but trade makes it fair. Water is the most valuable, so it is a standard trade. A ration is one day's worth."
"Agreed," I say, understanding.
I stick my arm out towards him waiting for him to accept the deal. He stares at my arm, the heavy hammer in one hand. Turning his head, he spits, sets down the hammer then steps over and takes my forearm, sealing our deal.
Padraig goes to his work and Visidion walks away so I follow. I can't help drawing comparisons between the Tribe and Drakonov. The human influence on Drakonov and us Zmaj becomes obvious.
Why? Why the differences?
Padraig and Arawn display it clearly for me. Strength still rules, a nod to the bijass. That is what our primal instincts demand, domination while bowing to those that have proven stronger than you and even then reluctantly. The edicts, their mantra, may keep them out of their bijass but their society bends to it still.
In Drakonov we aren't having this problem. Why? The humans are the difference. All the Zmaj males in Drakonov have mates or in my case I'm working on it. The other males aren't locked in as deep. The females are the key.
"What do you think?" Visidion asks
.
"It is nice," I say, careful to not say too much.
Do I tell them about Drakonov? I don't think so, not yet.
"Carefully chosen words," Visidion says.
We're walking back along the length of the valley. The best answer I have for him is to ignore his comment.
"The humans need epis," I say, changing the subject.
"It is too dangerous, there must be another way," he says.
"How are you surviving without it?" I ask.
Zmaj don't have to take it often, not like the humans, but we need some at least every couple of years.
"Epis is the root of chaos, we have cleansed ourselves of it," he says.
"Cleansed?" I ask.
"Yes, epis caused the downfall. Epis made us slaves. We are free now."
"Free from what?" I ask. "There's no future, our race is dying."
"Then we will die with dignity, but the females bring us hope," he says, stopping and turning towards me.
Narrowing my eyes, I study his face trying to understand what he's thinking.
"That makes no sense," I say.
They can't know we're compatible with the humans. No one in Drakonov would have known if Calista had not borne Ladon's child and that was a surprise to everyone. Does Visidion know the females can bear our children? If so, how?
Visidion smiles then taps his staff against the sandy stone of the ground. Three times he raps and as with so many things here there is an air of ritual, though I don't understand it. There is nothing I can remember from before like that but then I lost a lot of my memories to the bijass.
"Kalessin is a Seer," he says, rapping three times more. "He foresaw the war, he tried to warn the Council, but they ignored his pleas. He foresaw what would come and prepared. Through his vision we have what we have. When the great fire appeared in the sky, he saw then that our future had arrived. He knew females would come and fill our need."
"He 'saw' this?" I ask, incredulous.
"Yes," Visidion says, his face straight and serious.
He's not joking. I'm not sure what to make of this. Visions and telling the future aren't something Zmaj do, do they? The gray fog of time that conceals my memory swirls as I try to dig through it but nothing comes.
"Well," I say, at a loss for words. "What are your plans for the females then?"
Dragon's Hope (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss Book 4) Page 12