Dragon Nemesis

by B.J. Whittington

  When Aura clears the tunnel, the scramble of claws and trilling of the young fills the air. Maru swallows as his throat tightens with emotion as the nest comes into sight. The hatchlings are five dramas old, twice the size of one of the human’s draft horses, only lanky and long-legged as newborn foals. And thin. Much too bony for their ages. Aura drops the deer she carries and they set upon it like starved wolves. All except one. Falcop, a bright green male, stands on wobbly legs without the strength to enter the fray when the others savage the carcass. Maru strides past the seven feeding, and drops the second deer. Placing a fore talon on the body, he rips it open and scoops up the entrails to place them in front of Falcop.

  The hatchling crashes down beside the pile, fills his mouth, then lifts his neck. His throat pulsates as he jerks his neck, swallowing. Maru rips off the back haunches and flings them toward the scuffling pile of hatchlings. He takes the forequarters and places it in front of Aura. “Feed.”

  “No, I shall wait until they have their fill.” She pushes the meat away with one talon, her eyes locked on her feeding offspring.

  “No, thou needs to eat, I shall bring more as soon as I have rested.”

  She shakes her head. “I can…”

  “Thou cannot go much longer without food.” He pushes the haunches back. “Eat, my mate. I promise, I will bring more soon.”

  She nods, then pulls off a chunk of deer, flinging it toward Falcop before commencing to feed. Maru settles to the floor of the cavern, placing himself between the stronger hatchlings and his weak son. He curls his long tail around his body as he watches them feed.

  Soft calls of Toh-ka, Toh-kay fill the chamber as they settle down to gnaw the bones. “Lady Blessings, my children.” His Mindspeak is filled with sorrow as his gaze runs over their skinny bodies; their colors are muted and their wing membranes weak, lacking substance. Several look toward him; he can feel the tingle at the back of his head as they attempt to communicate in Mindspeak. He gets a sense of welcome and gratitude, but no clear thoughts. “It is good to be home, I shall bring thee more food in a bit.”

  He lays his head upon the warm stone, his lids heavy as his shoulder ache fades into the background of his exhaustion. Aura, satisfied that Falcop has finished his portion, comes to lie beside him. Her neck curls across his back as her body presses against him. Content, he succumbs to sleep.

  Chapter 3

  Healer Geramn chants the last of three prayers for dedication to the Lady while he runs the sealing stone across the burial shroud’s opening to seal it shut. The tow-headed toddler’s pale face disappears from view as the fabric warms to the stone’s touch and the edges merge.

  Geramn pats the bundle with one hand as the other slips the stone into his pocket. He nods to the two men waiting to remove the body. He does not even know the child’s name. She never regained consciousness since the attack. He rocks back to sit on his calves as they take the little girl. His tired gaze follows their progress past rows of injured lain out in the courtyard of Taloxville. When they lower their bundle to rest in a row of similar bundles, most of them larger—but far too many child-sized—he notes the rows of dead are diminishing as workers place the bodies in a communal grave.

  For six sunrises they searched the demolished village for survivors. The blackened remains of Taloxville’s buildings no longer smoke, but a miasma blending the stench of death and charred flesh hangs over the area.

  He forces his exhausted body to its feet. They should be done by this nightfall. He trudges toward the area set up with foodstuff, glad to see the other patients he passes are resting and appear stable. The Lady willing, they will lose no more this sunrise. He reaches the table and pours himself a mug of yerba mate and peppermint tea.

  “Nor Geramn, Shaman Tera asks that I tell you they will be ready to transport the last patients after midday meal.” The blond youth tugs at his forelock as Geramn looks up.

  “Lamal? When did you return?”

  “Only a bit ago, I came back with the Shaman.” Lamal’s grief-stricken gaze turns toward where the pit workers dig trenches for the bodies. “I brought additional shovels.”

  “How do those at Assuran fare?”

  “We lost seven more since I transported there, but Healer Derness says the rest should recover.”

  “Any reports of additional attacks?”

  “No, although, there was a sighting. South of Assuran, of a covey of twenty or so Volastoque.” Lamal lowers a canvas pack from his back and opens the flap. He withdraws a folded piece of parchment. “Your mate asked me to give this to you.”

  He nods his thanks and takes the note, his throat tightening as he fears bad news, and reads:

  Geramn,

  I hope this reaches you and that you are well. The children and I shall leave this nightfall for the caverns at Kitloch. They say it is no longer safe to remain here.

  Rumors hold that towns to the north of us are decimated. I know that Preloch, Kelville and Hadderton have been abandoned. Your sister is here with us, and Tecla said Preloch was razed to the ground under the attacks.

  I have had word that your parents and Detril with his family are already at Kitloch. Of your brother Derk there is no news.

  It is more than three dramas since the attacks on Valtown, yet still no word from my own family. I remain hopeful, as communication is erratic at best from any location.

  That said, word is the human fatalities range from sixty to as high as one hundred percent in the attacks. With high rates of casualties amongst the survivors. Tecla said the dragons are not fairing any better.

  My heart, I fear for the continued existence of our people.

  I pray that we have the means to survive this. Please, take care of yourself and come back to me whole.

  Your loving mate,

  Sheina

  Geramn releases the breath he had held as he read the message and takes a sip of tea. All in all, as good news as he can hope for in these times. He glances up to see Lamal lingering a few steps away.

  The youth gestures at the note, his green eyes filled with sorrow in spite of the bland smile he offers. “She told me they leave for Kitloch. As soon as we are finished here, Taloxville survivors are to be transported there as well. If you like, I can carry a reply.”

  “That would be kind of you.” Folding the note, he places it in his tunic pocket. “But I have no means to write a reply.”

  Lamal opens his pack and withdraws a packet of writing supplies. “Use what you need. I can get more when I arrive at Kitloch.”

  “My thanks; I shall return them before we leave.” He accepts the packet and tucks it in his tunic. “Lamal, you should go through and see if you can find any important records. There was no time to do so before your people were transported.”

  Lamal nods, tugging at a lock of hair on his forehead, and turns to walk toward one of the building’s remains.

  Geramn picks up his tea and plods over to one of the few remaining trees in the village. He lowers himself to sit against the old oak and leans his head back to stare up through its near-naked branches at the vivid blue sky. He closes his eyes for a moment, squirming against the tree’s rough bark as he tries to get comfortable.

  He opens his eyes to the demolished town of Taloxville sprawling before him like a slaughtered ox. The guts of the town, the administrative buildings and town hall, spew their contents across the cobblestone courtyard where people dropped them in their scramble to flee. It is obvious the town was laid out with functionality as well as beauty in mind. Many cozy gardens abound, once filled with flowering plants, bushes, and statuary with benches. Now the benches are crushed, the statuary shattered, and the plant life wilted and shredded.

  He knows the rest of the town has undergone a similar fate. In the search for survivors, he has seen most of the town. He sips his tea, trying to come to terms with the devastation before him, and that of the other three towns and villages he has helped in this moon alone. Taloxville actually has less damage; two o
f the other locations were virtually flattened with no survivors. Those places, the dragons and Shaman had not arrived in time.

  Placing his mug beside him on the ground, he opens Lamal’s package, finding a small, smooth board at the top to be used as a writing surface. He extracts it and places it on his lap, sitting cross-legged to balance it. He stares at the blank parchment for several moments, then begins.

  My Dearest Sheina,

  You have no idea how much receiving your message has lightened my heart. Know that I am well and have sustained no injury. I have worked with the injured here at Taloxville for six sunrises, we shall be finished today. Lamal can fill you in on details, but suffice to say the losses here were tragic, though the Shaman and dragons did drive the Volastoque off in the end.

  It is my understanding that all towns, villages, and any people found on the countryside are to take refuge in one of three cavern locations. Perhaps at Kitloch you can find, or find word of, your family. The caverns will be protected. It relieves me to know you and our children will be safe. I pray that you shall receive word that your family is well and ask that you pass on to mine that I am doing fine.

  Geramn pauses, taking a sip of the tea, and ponders how to express his feelings. He does not want to cause her more worry. He and Sheina have never been ones to proclaim their love verbally or in writing. The soft touch of a hand, the lingering glance… those were always sufficient to show his feelings. Yet, the Lady forbid that he or she is lost in this struggle, he does not want to miss the opportunity to tell his mate how much he loves her.

  He sets his mug down and continues.

  Over the last four moons, I have seen such tragic losses, families obliterated or torn apart. Repetitively, the injured or dying have asked word of their love be taken to their mates, children, or parents.

  Know that I have every intention of returning to your loving arms. Should that not be my fate, I do not want to have left things unsaid. You have given me more happiness in our marriage than I can ever express. Our lives together, and our children, are the sweet breath that gives my body life. I long to hold you in my arms once again, but know that I hold you in my heart forever.

  The words blur beneath his gaze and he brushes his forearm across his damp eyes. Taking a shuddering breath, he continues.

  Stay safe, my love, and give each of our children a kiss for me.

  Geramn

  His chest aching, he blows on the ink to dry it, and then folds the parchment. Assembling the package and fastening it closed, he leans back against the tree. Exhaustion threatens to force him to the oblivion of sleep, so he struggles to his feet. He can rest after the injured are transported.

  Tucking the parchment in his pocket and the package under his arm, he picks his mug up and goes to find Lamal.

  Chapter 4

  “We have to take our destiny in hand. I am telling you, Shaman Hern, the paths of our future are filled with loss and sorrow. Only one presents itself that shows any chance for survival for the Palmir People.” The mystic’s eyes glow with her calling as she paces before him.

  Hern runs an aching hand though his hair and shakes his head. “What you present me with is no choice at all.”

  Mystic Gelia stops across the table from him, slams both hands, palm down, on the smooth tabletop and leans toward him. “The Lady has presented us with the lesser of the evils; she has shown a means for survival.”

  “Survival?” Hern shakes his head wearily. “I would barely call it that. These visions show the annihilation of dragons as a species, and death of another forty percent of the surviving Palmir People, as well as the loss of all Shaman. You speak of this as a viable plan, with so much sacrifice?”

  Gelia’s face is haunted as she meets his gaze, unflinching. “And survival of sixty percent of the remaining Palmir People, a seed to ensure the continuation of our culture.”

  “You ask that I send the Shaman and the dragons to a battle that I know means their certain death. Yet you say I cannot tell them.”

  “Foreknowledge could, and most likely would, change the results. We could lose all of them and still not secure any future for those who remain.” She slumps into a chair, her long brown hair cascading forward to sheet her face. Her voice is barely above a whisper as she continues. “I wish there were another way. Other Mystics and I have searched for another path… They all lead to complete annihilation, except this one.”

  “Still, the Lady cannot mean for this decision to be made by a few and paid for by many.” Hern pauses, his mind shrinking from the horror either choice holds. “I must speak with the dragon leaders. It is not our place to send their kind forth to annihilation to purchase the lives and future of our people.”

  The Mystic shoves her hair back and glares into his eyes. “Do you not think we have already considered that?” She jerks one hand up and makes a broad gesture across the room. “I have sat in a chair right alongside all the counsel members and worried and worked to find the means to safeguard all.” Her hand slams down with a resounding smack on the table. “I would give my life to find another way.” Silence fills the room for several heartbeats. “There is no other way, much as we wish it so.”

  “Is it clear where this attack will be?”

  “Only that it is not here, as there is no cloak barrier. Each Mystic who has had this vision agrees there is a body of water nearby, but that is true of both of the other cavern locations.”

  “And when this will occur? Is that clear?”

  Mystic Gelia shakes her head. “Not for certain, yet we feel the crossroads of fate drawing close. It will be before another summer reaches this land.”

  The gnarled fingers of Hern’s right hand trace the swirls of the wood grain in the tabletop. He is no Mystic, yet he too has felt the ensnarement with the Volastoque builds toward a crescendo.

  Barely above a whisper, Gelia’s words drift across the table. “You can use your power to compel this.”

  His eyes jerk up to meet her gaze, horror filling his soul. “Never. Never would I use the Lady’s gift in such a manner.”

  “Why else do you think the Lady gave those with affinity to the yellow crystal such power?” She gestures to the crystal pendant hanging from Hern’s neck. “She gave you the mental ability to force actions on another. Surely this is the purpose for that power.”

  His head shaking in violent denial, Hern responds through teeth clenched in anger. “No. The power to compel is the balance the Lady gives us to thwart those the Volastoque use as minions to move amongst us. Only when a man, or dragon, is under the influence of the barb is the use of the yellow crystal justified.” He slams his hand upon the table. “That is one of our oaths we vow upon taking up training with the yellow crystal. You suggest I invalidate a sacred trust to do any different.”

  “I recall to your mind, it was Shaman, not the Lady, who instituted such an oath.” Gelia stands, her body stiff and regal in her bearing as she glares down at him. “Perhaps this is the event for which the Lady entrusted such power into your hands. I pray you are not blinded by tradition so that you do not see the only path the Lady lays out before you to save our people.” She turns and with majestic dignity exits the chamber.

  Hern’s hands tremble as he lifts his crystal and stares into its yellow depth’s. He is a first generation Shaman. It was in his twenty-third winter when the Lady led him and a handful of others to the discovery of the use of the crystals. How many times since then has he struggled to understand Her intention for this power to compel given with the yellow crystal? Or wished his affinity had been to one of the other crystals? The Lady guided them to the use of five crystals. The amber gives the ability to heal; green, teleportation; blue bestows killing powers; and red users were granted defense powers. Any of those he could have felt comfortable using in defense of the Palmir People. But this, mental ability to force actions on another… it still sits uneasily with him.

  Hern sighs and tucks the crystal back into the neck of his tunic. His gnar
led finger traces a whirl in the smooth wooden surface of the table. He has come to understand the Lady’s guidance usually has a purpose. Dragons also came under the Lady’s guiding hand. With her direction, the peaceful co-existence of the Palmir People alongside the dragons grew into a strong alliance within his own lifetime. Becoming allies is perhaps the only reason the two species still survived after six winters of Volastoque attacks.

  “Shaman Hern.”

  He raises his eyes to see Shaman Jadrun enter the chamber. He smiles at his protégée, noting how much Jadrun too has aged in the last six winters. The man who stands before him carries the reflection of many sorrows in his moss-green eyes. “Please, sit. It is good to see you outside of Council business. What can I do for you, Jadrun?”

  Jadrun ignores the offer to sit and paces before him. “I came to request time to search for my mate.”

  “Yes, you said in the meeting that Blanche is missing?”

  Jadrun gives an abrupt nod, his eyes shadowed in pain when he adds, “Herlan is dead. His twin, Montello survives.”

  He shuts his eyes as sorrow washes over him at the loss of Jadrun’s son, his namesake. Hern was close to Jadrun’s family, but Herlan was especially dear to him. “How?”

  “They were in last drama’s convoy, the unescorted one that the Volastoque attacked in the foothills below the caverns at Burick Lake. The beasts scattered the convoy. Montello and Herlan survived the initial assault.” Jadrun jerks out a chair and throws himself into it. His fists thump upon the hand-rubbed wooden surface. “Herlan succumbed to injuries before they could make the cavern. No one knows Blanche’s fate.”

  “By the Lady, I am so sorry, Jadrun.”

  “I need your help.”

  “Just speak and you shall have it.”

  “I must go look.” Jadrun wrenches his hands to press the side of his head and stares at the dark tabletop for a heart beat. “I have to know.” He raises his head and his eyes pierce Hern. “Those who made it to Burick Cavern said no one else could have survived. They have already sent two searches to the area.” Jadrun’s voice drops to a gruff whisper. “I have transported there and searched, but with my duties I can only do so for a handspan of hours at a time. I must find her, or her body. I cannot leave it this way.”