The Dragon Dimension

by D K Drake

  Something about his muscle-bound physique and dreadlocks seemed familiar. When the man spoke, Javan recognized the voice. It belonged to Micah.

  “Even though I’m going to miss toting her around and instilling fear in people, I am ready to see Esmeralda die tomorrow,” Micah said, launching a rock into the water. “We haven’t had a good execution in a while.”

  Javan’s heart quickened. His mother was here. Probably in that building less than a hundred feet from where he stood. He could sneak in, rescue her now and avoid the potential fiasco of their plan falling apart tomorrow. He just needed to circle around and come at the building from the other side.

  “I know what you mean.” One of Micah’s cohorts leaned forward. “I’m disappointed people have been behaving. It makes our jobs boring when we have no one to torture or kill.”

  Micah chucked another rock. “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Don’t worry boys,” Javan muttered. “Your lives are about to get a lot more interesting.” He crouched and was about to sprint across the road when a skinny kid who looked to be about ten came whistling along.

  Javan immediately dropped to his knees behind a trio of thick trees and froze as he watched the kid continue his carefree journey toward the town. He had a quiver slung over his shoulder and was carrying a bow in one hand and the carcass of what looked to be an oversized badger in the other.

  It was the whistling that seemed to get the attention of Micah and the other two soldiers. They jumped to attention and spread out to block the road. Micah positioned himself in the middle and waited with sword drawn.

  The happy tune of the whistling boy faded into the night as he approached the soldiers.

  “What do we have here?” Micah said, circling the kid. “A lawbreaker who chooses to ignore the curfew?”

  “I…I…was…hunting,” he stuttered. “My family needed to eat. I couldn’t return empty-handed.”

  “You will tonight!” Micah snatched the carcass and flung it into the river.

  The boy gasped. Javan considered helping the boy out by retrieving the dead animal. But he had a hunch he could be of more help by staying put and seeing how things played out. He put his hands on his swords in case he needed to interfere in a hurry.

  “The King’s laws,” Micah continued in his arrogant, judgmental tone, “are to protect you from the dangers that lurk in these lands. He demands you are back in your homes by nightfall in order to keep you safe.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “I cannot allow this blatant disregard for the King’s curfew to go unpunished.” Micah stuck the point of his sword under the boy’s chin. “On your knees.”

  The kid hung his head and obeyed. Micah cut the quiver off the boy’s back and sheathed his sword. He then unclipped the whip that hung from the side of his belt.

  “I don’t think so,” Javan muttered. He drew his stalker swords and started to charge when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

  “You cannot stop this,” Ravier said, whispering in his ear.

  The boy screamed as Micah lashed his back.

  Javan cringed and pulled against Ravier. “That kid has done nothing wrong,” Javan whispered. “I have to stop it.”

  Another lash. Another scream.

  “You can’t.” Ravier tightened his grip on Javan’s arm. “Nor can I, as much as I would like to. We need our presence to be a surprise tomorrow. Otherwise the plan will not work.”

  A string of lashes followed by a string of screams.

  “There has to be something we can do,” Javan pleaded, tears filling his eyes. He didn’t have the heart to look at the beating taking place, but he could feel every agonizing sound. The whip whistling through the air. Leather cutting flesh. Screams of the victim. Laughs of the lasher.

  “He’ll survive,” Ravier said. “Your mother won’t if you help him now.”

  “This isn’t right!” Javan tried to move forward. Ravier pulled him back and hugged him, covering Javan’s ears. When the beating stopped, Ravier let go.

  Javan forced himself to look up. Watching Micah kick the bleeding boy and send him crumpling to the ground sickened Javan.

  “Get him out of my sight,” Micah said, recoiling his whip. The two soldiers standing by picked the kid up and dragged him down the street while Micah clipped his whip back on his belt and resumed tossing rocks as though nothing had happened.

  “Someday,” Javan said quietly, glaring at Micah, “I’m going to hold him accountable for what he just did.”

  “You can’t unless you’re king,” Ravier said. “Come. Let’s get back to camp. You need rest. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

  As they walked away, the kid’s agonizing screams echoed in Javan’s mind. That wasn’t a sound he would soon forget.

  Chapter 30

  Execution Day

  Subdued conversations, shuffling feet and the rustling of papers eased Javan out of a deep sleep. Considering he had slept under the stars with nothing but a thick blanket separating him from the hard ground, he managed to get a decent night of rest once he returned to the campsite. Blocking out the memory of the beating he had witnessed proved to be a bit challenging when he first closed his eyes, but the physical fatigue was so overwhelming that it had conquered the emotional trauma.

  He stretched, sat up and took note of the overcast sky. A few breaths of the humid morning air filled his nostrils with the smell of rain. The plan didn’t account for rain. Would it matter? What adjustments would they need to make? And was it the normal, just-get-you-wet kind of rain, or were they in for an ouch-this-stings red rain storm like he had experienced when he first arrived in Zandador?

  Then again, perhaps public executions were postponed when it rained. Or maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe they operated football-game style and followed through with the killing regardless of weather conditions, even if the precipitation stung. Before Javan could work himself into a proper panic over the implications of the weather, Hamilton noticed he was awake.

  “Morning, kid!” Hamilton broke away from Ravier and Astor who were studying papers and talking quietly on the other side of the small clearing. Hamilton didn’t seem to think their conversation was all that important and plopped his massive body beside Javan. “Ready for your big day?”

  “If I say no, does that mean we can go back to Gri?”

  Hamilton smiled and slapped Javan on the back. “Not a chance.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Javan rubbed his neck. Sleeping without a proper pillow left his neck a little sore. The personal massage helped eased the soreness, and he nodded toward the other two men. “What are they talking about?”

  “Oh, just finalizing plans. You remember what to do, right?”

  “Yeah. I remember.” At least he knew what to do right now. But what if his mind went blank come crunch time? A touch of queasiness gripped Javan’s stomach. Now that game day was here, he was getting nervous. If he botched the play, it’s not like his team would miss out on a touchdown. If he screwed up, his mother would lose her life.

  “Any questions?”

  “Not at the moment.” None that he wanted to voice, anyway.

  “You’ll do fine, kid. Plus the three of us will be there to back you up. Now get up. Pack your stuff. Grab yourself a bite to eat out of that bag of deliciousness Hannah packed us.” Hamilton stood. “I’m off to feed the okties. We leave in fifteen.”

  The mention of okties sent the butterflies in Javan’s stomach fluttering. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this at all.

  ◊◊◊

  After a short flight north, Javan, Ravier, Hamilton and Astor stashed their okties beside a lake five miles outside of the city. The lake was a good mile or so from the gravel road leading into Japheth, so Javan had already worked up a sweat by the time they reached the edge of the road.

  “Javan, put your hat on and stay behind me,” Ravier whispered, donning a brown leather hat with a wide round br
im. “Astor, stick by Javan’s side. Hamilton, you walk behind us, and don’t let either of these two get lost in the crowd.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hamilton said. He took up his position in the rear while Javan secured his own wide-rimmed leather hat on his head.

  Astor moved to the side of Javan and linked his right arm in Javan’s left. “This way I’ll make sure you keep up with me,” the old man said, smiling.

  “I was worried about that,” Javan said, returning his smile. But all smiles disappeared when Ravier looked back, nodded and led the way forward into the crowd. They merged into the traffic on the road looking as if they got there like everyone else: on foot.

  Javan was starting to wonder how much further they would have to walk when he spotted the high stone wall that protected the capital city. The wall was wide enough for soldiers to walk on, and Javan could see through the sunglasses he was wearing to hide his eyes that armed archers were stationed about every ten feet. From what Javan understood, they were trained to shoot anyone or anything that flew over the walls and into the city’s air space.

  The road itself was packed with swarms of people all dressed in drab brown clothes. Everyone who was able had been ordered to march in from the surrounding towns and cities. And the closer they got to the gate, the entrance to the city became one giant pedestrian bottleneck. Javan was feeling claustrophobic just looking at the crowd.

  They would be entering the city unarmed. No one was allowed entrance into the city while carrying a weapon. Ravier figured the guards would be extra vigilant about that rule today, so he had decided not to risk getting caught with weapons and left them hidden with the okties. The plan thus called for relying on the power of persuasive words to save Esmeralda rather than brute force.

  Javan had grown accustomed to wearing his Stalker Sword belt and felt helpless without his swords and stun balls strapped around his waist. He hoped Ravier’s words were as persuasive as he imagined they would be.

  They stayed along the edge of the road and shuffled in silence toward the iron gate. No one around them spoke, either. Were they quiet because it was such a solemn occasion, or was there some law against talking while entering the city?

  Since he couldn’t gauge the mood of the people by their chatter, he studied their faces. The young faces around him looked eager, like they were about to walk into Disney World for the first time and experience the wonders of a whole new world.

  The faces of their parents were more stoic. They had been here before. They had seen the sights. They knew what they were about to witness.

  Javan only spotted a few older people in the crowd. They simply looked resigned. Beaten. Defeated. They looked like they were walking to their own execution.

  In a way he supposed they were. Everyone was. That was the purpose of the day. To kill the spirits of the people.

  Hannah was right. The people did need hope. He looked forward to seeing their faces when they discovered they had something to hope for.

  “File into lines!” The command from a soldier in a black uniform marching along the entrance into the city jerked Javan’s attention straight ahead. “Prepare to be searched! No one enters the city without being searched!”

  In front of him, the crowd began dividing into dozens of lines that spanned the width of the arched opening. A soldier was assigned to each line. Unlike the guy barking orders, they were wearing red uniforms.

  One by one, the people stepped forward, spread their arms and let the soldiers pat them down from head to toe. No one argued. No one complained. No one dared make a sound. They just followed the rules like good little sheep.

  At least the unquestioned compliance allowed the lines to move quickly. Ravier made it through his inspection without a problem. Then it was Javan’s turn.

  He stepped up and spread his arms. But the soldier, a woman with short dark hair and a square nose, paused her systematic pat-down procedure to question him. “Why the hat and glasses? The sun isn’t even shining today.”

  He watched Ravier tense in front of him. They were all supposed to make it into the city without being noticed, and now Javan was being called out before he even stepped a foot inside the gate. If he didn’t play this right, their entire plan would be ruined.

  “I’m just sensitive to the light,” Javan said, dropping his arms and shrugging. “I usually stay indoors all day, but my grandfather insisted I come. He wanted to make sure I saw firsthand what happens when you disobey the King.”

  The soldier squinted, cocked her head, then said, “Arms up.”

  Javan obeyed. He had to hold his breath to keep from laughing as she patted under his arms and down his sides. It was times like this he hated being ticklish. Once she finished checking his hips and legs to make sure he wasn’t hiding any weapons, she let him through with a nod of her head.

  He waited with Ravier as Astor and Hamilton endured their inspections. They made it through without any trouble and once again fell into step with the forward-moving crowd. This time, though, Astor acted as a tour guide as they walked.

  “This is the outer city,” Astor said. “It’s three miles wide and wraps all the way around the inner city. Millions of people live in these houses and work in the factories that make things like clothes, shoes and construction materials.”

  Side street after side street looked the same. Tiny wooden shacks with flat roofs built within arm’s length of each other lined the pebbled streets. The even smaller yards were nothing more than patches of dirt. No grass, shrubs or trees were anywhere in sight.

  “This place is depressing,” Javan said. “Do people really live here on purpose?”

  “If they’re assigned to factory life, yes.”

  “That’s miserable. Does the inner city look like this, too?”

  “Not at all. The inner city is flush with fountains, trees, flowers and rolling hills of thick green grass. The buildings are also much nicer, and it’s a beautiful place to live.”

  “If factory workers live here, who lives in the inner city?”

  “Those favored by the Dark King. Mostly the scalologists, intellectuals and artists.”

  “This is my first visit to Japheth, too.” A hunched over man missing his two front teeth who was walking beside Javan joined the conversation. “Exciting, isn’t it? Finally having a chance to visit the capital city?”

  “I think so,” a lady somewhere behind them said. “I’m glad this Esmeralda woman was stupid enough to break the law. They’re letting everybody who’s nobody into the city today, and we didn’t even need travel papers!”

  That sparked conversations throughout the previously silent crowd. Javan had to work to ignore the hateful and demeaning things they were saying about his mother for the next few slow-moving miles. They were marching to watch her die, and none of them seemed to have any problem with that.

  It angered Javan, but it also helped him focus more intensely on his mission and what he needed to do to help change their warped perspectives.

  The chatter ceased once again as they approached the gates to the inner city. Soldiers were posted on these twenty-foot high stone walls as well, but this time the people didn’t have to separate into lines to be searched. They were allowed direct access beneath a golden arch, and it was the awe and wonder of the visitors to the city that caused the calming of the chatter.

  The streets were paved with slate. Those that branched off the main road led to spectacular houses that sat atop slight hills covered with grass, flowers and trees. Lakes dominated the valleys between the hills, and each one was enhanced by stunning fountains in the middle of the water.

  The most breathtaking sight of all, however, was the castle. It was straight ahead, a black stone building perched on the highest hill in the middle of the city. An array of towers—some round, some square—of differing heights enclosed the main building that, based on the windows Javan could count from the distance, was ten stories high and twenty rooms wide.

  Javan imagined the stone sparkle
d on a sunny day, adding to the castle’s mystique. “Are we going to the castle?” Javan asked. He wanted an up close and personal view of the place. He had never seen a castle before and was itching for a tour. As big as the place was, a tour would probably be an all-day adventure.

  “No,” Astor said. “Executions take place in Stalker Square, right outside the castle gates.”

  Disappointment washed over Javan as they walked up the gradual hill. He watched the castle get bigger and bigger the closer they got to it, and the desire to explore within its walls also grew with each step.

  Then he caught sight of Stalker Square.

  Chapter 31

  Stalker Square

  Javan had been so focused on the castle dominating the distant hill that he overlooked the crowd coming to a standstill as they reached the crest of the hill they were traveling on. It took Hamilton nudging him from behind to redirect his gaze to the world in front of him.

  “That’s Stalker Square,” Hamilton said, pointing down.

  Javan found himself standing at the top of an amphitheater. Countless rows of stone steps wrapped three quarters of the way around a square paved with Stalker scales that was half the size of a football field. The steps dead-ended into a wall on the far side of the square. Arched openings that served as box seats were built into the wall, and a gate in the middle led to the castle grounds.

  Four fountains with life-size statues of Dragon Stalkers as centerpieces decorated the four corners of the square. The statues depicted the dragons at the height of their feeding times. Rainbow-colored Dawn and Dusk Stalkers thus each filled a fountain in the front two corners while a golden Noon Stalker and a black Midnight Stalker each filled a fountain in the back two corners.

  A platform about the size of a theatre stage and supported by four tall, round columns marked the center of the square. It was accessed by regal spiral staircases on both the front and the back.