Fall of the Drjeen

by Sarah Cathey

  She landed hard throwing up a cloud of dust and reaching to pull the barn doors open at the same moment.

  “Shakja, I must speak with you.” She heard her foreman’s deep and contoured voice as if he were blocking her path, but she chose to ignore him and allow the door to shut behind her. Surely, that would be her end. He hadn’t spoken to her since he’d given her the orders of permanent Daken-keeper. That was days ago, and his attitude had greatly sullied in that time. What would he want now? She opened her wings and from only a few lengths off the ground, she took flight hoping to quickly enter the bowels of the barn where she could evade and hide from the Gradjn, hoping he’d simply give up and leave her alone. Though, she did understand that was unlikely.

  There was no light coming into the barn and Shakja had to use her sense of vibration to avoid knocking over the stacks of buckets and tool strewed about. By the time she reached the butchery, she could hear the barn doors open and catch the faintest glow of outside light seeping in.

  “I called you Daken-keeper. You would be wise to respond!”

  His voice was fierce and Shakja could feel the anger pouring from his scales. Did I make a mistake? Of course, I did. She could turn back. She still had time to play as if she’d not heard him, though he’d likely not believe her anyway. But there was something in his tone, something wrong and more than his everyday poor temperament. Something told her that her only choice was to continue onward and avoid Gradjn at all costs. As he approached the butchery, Shakja quickly darted upward hoping to hide in the rafters. She had to lower her wings as she landed as soft as she could muster on a large beam of wood. She moved silently to a corner nearest the roof and waited.

  Gradjn entered and opened the windows to let in light. He walked up and down the butchery and then toward the Daken who all began to screech, hiss, and growl at the unexpected guest. Shakja knew he didn’t make it far into the pens before he turned back. He was terrified of the Daken and would never risk himself becoming prey to their insatiable urge to rip things apart and eat. As she predicted Gradjn came back from the pens, walked through the butchery and out of the barn.

  She would not see him for the rest of the day. She could hide from him, but she also knew she could not forsake the thoughts of why he was looking for her. Perhaps it was nothing, or perhaps the scrutiny had pushed him too far. She remained in the rafters until the Daken had settled down and she could safely comfort them with her presence and soothing tone.

  Ittar hadn’t been to the royal palace in nearly thirty turns. However, he’d been there often enough to negotiate his way through without a problem, still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of tightness as he clenched his scales uncomfortably tight and his slithering tail coiled and uncoiled as the guard nodded him to pass through without pause. Ittar turned to his non-dominant side and bypassed those who were in wait. He made his way through a maze of hallways, some opulent and others filled with dungeness layers of rancid decay.

  “Ech!” He bellowed, whipping his arm and wings closer to him as he brushed against a wall. “This is the last time.” He swore his oath; one he’d sworn countless occasions on this same walk. He sighed and kept on, trying to protect himself from the smell.

  “Stop!” a voice demanded. “Who comes this way?”

  The voice was ravenous, one Ittar had heard many times, yet dared never look. He could only imagine a hideous serpent staring back.

  “It is I, Ittar. I seek your master’s presence.”

  “He is waiting. You may proceed.”

  Ittar paused until the door in front of him opened and a fresh cool wave of air slammed into his face. He entered.

  The room was large with lit torches lining the walls every couple lengths. While the chamber was adorned with fine tapestries that Ittar could barely fathom the value, it was yet sparsely decorated as armored guards stood below each torch. He didn’t have to imagine the dozens of eyes currently on him, spears in hand. Had he ever desired to attack his host he wouldn’t make it a length before half a dozen spears were buried from his chest through his wings.

  “Ah, Ittar! Welcome!” The voice was loud, boisterous and quite unlike to humble Drjeen he’d spent most of his time surrounded by. “How goes your day? How goes your, ahem… endeavor?”

  “I have no time to talk about my day Agkhor, and my endeavor, as you like to say, is purely up to you. I’ve only come for a status report. Since someone ordered the assassination of my staff, I think I am owed at least that.”

  Agkhor may have been small compared to his father, the king, but that only made him more lethal in his ambitions. “Are you insinuating something, Ittar?”

  Ittar suddenly caught the intent of his words and who he was talking to, “No. No, not at all. I am sorry if my words came across that way. I am merely saying that with my tower losing so many, I have suddenly become much busier than before.”

  Agkhor slowed his step, but the wide and toothy grin across his leathered face didn’t reflect a wisp of anger. It was amazing how quickly he could turn. “I see. Well, then, a status report. Your underling still lives.”

  Ittar eyed the guards along the wall, noticing several had taken a step closer to him, although they were still several dozen lengths away. “He lives. How long for?”

  “This is a delicate matter, my friend. Even I must be careful of accidents.”

  “Yes.” Ittar clasped Agkhor’s talon and their chest crashed together in greeting. “What is your plan?”

  “It was complicated by my father when he sent that Daken-rider to protect the underling.”

  “It is only one rider.”

  Agkhor nearly choked on his laughter, “You’ve been in the tower far too long to think one rider is nothing. This rider at that. Still, a Rawkta was released two days before their ascent.”

  “And it will do the job?”

  Agkhor swiftly turned, and his tail shot out at Ittar, lashing him across the scales of his chest. Ittar tried not to wince but felt the spike of Agkhor’s tail nearly shatter a scale. Agkhor raised his shoulders a sign of indifference. “One never knows what will or will not kill when a rider is involved.”

  “We do not need to kill the rider, only Aput!” Ittar awkwardly demanded.

  “You make me laugh. If we do not kill the rider, then he will come back with what he saw.”

  “He saw a Rawkta kill the underling.”

  “No!” Agkhor snapped, “He saw an assassination attempt. He would not be so dimwitted as to miss that.”

  Ittar turned away. “What of the assassin. The one who…” The murder of all of his scientists was still on his mind. Most of them he’d known since his own birth, the others since they were born. Despite his self-loving manner, even Ittar was having difficulty swallowing their loss.

  “He is no longer.”

  “He was killed?”

  “No, the career of an assassin is short-lived. In such circumstances, they become collateral damage.”

  “You mean he knew too much.”

  Ittar only received a slight grin as Agkhor returned back to Ittar, two stone mugs in his hand. He gave one to Ittar and then stepped away, pouring his own mug into his mouth where the burning sensations tickled his chest. He let out a loud belch and gasped for a moment.

  Ittar held the mug and debated drinking it. “Do you still work with the alchemist?” He swirled the concoction in a tempered movement before looking back up to his host.

  Agkhor seemed displeased. “If you don’t want to drink it, then don’t drink it.” he stammered, although obviously acknowledging his penchant for poison. “I think your status report is complete. I will reach out to you next.”

  Ittar got the picture, closed his eyes and quickly dumped the liquid down his throat. Agkhor smiled.

  “It is good to trust.” he said, “Then again, it is also dangerous to trust.” He laughed as Ittar’s eyes grew bold and broad, “You can trust me today.”

  Ittar nodded and walked away toward the door.
r />   “Ittar! One more thing.”

  Ittar paused and turned back around.

  “My father is not pleased you are here. You’d be best to avoid the front entrance. You can exit this side.”

  Ittar turned the opposite direction when he left the chamber, taking heed to Agkhor’s advice. The last thing he needed was the king throwing him in the dungeon just when his plan was nearly complete.

  Shakja managed to go the entire day without Gradjn coming back to the Daken pens or trying to find her, still, she couldn’t wave off the anxiety that he was watching her. Even as she flew at her highest speed toward home, she felt he was right on her tail. Rationally, she knew better. First, he could never keep up and second, he wouldn’t be caught even for a moment flying in the direction of the Third Moon Lake.

  She hadn’t left until the second moon was in its descent and therefore it was increasingly dark as she landed at the entrance to her hut. It was uncommon for her to arrive home in the dark, but she couldn’t help but act cautiously. After she’d completed her daily work, she hid in the rafters again, knowing that Gradjn would assume she was gone for the day. He would have been gone himself by the time she left, and in the dark, few Drjeen would have been flying as it was.

  After eating a meal of berries and a couple of rodents she’d been lucky enough to capture while scurrying across her hut that morning, Shakja left her hut and as quietly as she could manage, she slipped down the walkway with intent. The water of the lake lapped up upon the shoreline and in the distance, she could hear the faint sound of conversation, although none close enough to capture her attention.

  As the second moon fell upon the mountain peaks Shakja arrived at a lowly hut, half the size of her own and in a state of depletion. She touched the thrashed leaves of the side wall and made it a point to come back soon to help repair the damage. A single light flickered within the hut and Shakja carefully stepped inside to doorless room. There, on a bed of dried grass was the injured Drjeen she’d saved from the Gramen. Even now, she didn’t know his name, and still knew little of him other than he no longer worked in the fields and was bed-ridden with few willing to take care of him. He was feeble, although Shakja could tell that at one time his unique scales of green and opal had once been strong and glistening. She could see broadness in his shoulders, broken wings and flanks.

  She walked over to him and nudged him being careful not to apply too much pressure to his body with her talons.

  He didn’t budge, but she could tell from his cumbersome breathing that he was still alive. He was lying on his side revealing the multiple injuries from the Gramen as well as where the spear had struck him. She was careful not to approach him during the day when other Drjeen were carrying for him, but hers was an assumed role replacing his bandages, and washing down his injuries at night. A medicinal balm had been made by an elder and was resting, warm in the corner of the hut, left there for her.

  She gently applied the balm to the wounds and redressed the old bandages. He didn’t budge except for his deep and hampered breathing. He’d already begun to release a foul stench which was either indicative of his last days, or hopefully that he just needed to be cleaned more often.

  Once she’d fulfilled the obligation she accepted upon saving his life she disposed of his old bandages, put the empty balm container back in the corner she got it from and quietly backed out of the hut, watching him and hoping that just once he would roll over, let out a calming sigh, a loving vibration or anything to indicate that he was doing better.

  None of that happened and she closed her eyes as she left the hut. Turning around she saw the pink glow of the second moon, now halfway pierced by a mountain in the distance. Half her night was lost and she’d be horribly tired in the morning, but it was worth it. If this Drjeen survived, it was all worth it.

  The whisper was so faint at first that Shakja wondered if she’d heard anything at all. She turned but saw that she was alone. Then it came again.

  “Your rider cannot save you now.”

  This time, while still whispered she clearly understood the words as well as the crackle of Gradjn’s voice. She spun nearly entirely around before he emerged from the shadows. He was at a distance as if watching her rather than approaching. Curiously she looked at him trying to figure out what his intention was. He was clearly too far from her to catch her if she were to take flight.

  He said no more. He only stared at her from a distance as she stood in the doorway of the dilapidated hut. Though, it only took her a moment to realize what he was up to. He was not there to harm her or threaten her. He was there to watch and enjoy.

  As soon as Shakja realized what he was up to, her eyes looked to the sky, they darted from one end of the walkway to the next. Then she searched the shadows and corners. In the end, none of it mattered because Daken riders were soon overwhelming her from all corners each swooping in, their spears drawn and the only thing missing were the Daken, which Shakja had peacefully fed and put to rest only a short time before.

  If anything, the riders who shackled Shakja were gentle with her, acknowledging her for who she was, both an interest of Shook as well as the keeper of their Daken. They led Shakja away from the hut and as soon as they did, two of the riders hurried into the hut and with spears drawn they thrust them into the injured Drjeen. His gasps were loud and painful forcing Shakja to drop to her knees.

  “Nooo!” she screamed out, “Nooo, he did nothing…”

  The flickering light in the small hut went out and commotion rose around them, but none dared look outside. The riders left the hut and it was soon engulfed in flames. Only then did a flurry of Drjeen race from their huts, gathering containers and buckets to fill in the lake and douse the flames before the entire settlement went up in fire. Shakja was carried away, as Gradjn retreated back into the shadows, a fresh leather bag of valuable gemstones tied tightly to his waist.

  Chapter 7

  “Down!” Cried out Shook as if commanding an entire division. “Quickly, fly down!” Aput felt the full force of the Rawkta as it slammed hard into him. It was the creature's habit to first strike a hard-debilitating blow and then when its prey was injured the Rawkta could come in for an easier and usually lethal attack.

  Aput initially had no control of his collapse from the sky and tried to force his mind through blurring vertigo to find where Shook had called out to him from. Less than thirty lengths from the forest canopy below him, Aput was able to regain his balance and thrust his wings out in an effort to avoid crashing into the forest and other dangers eagerly lingering in case the Rawkta failed to catch its prey before it fell through the leafy growth.

  Shook barked ordered, but between the wind, buzzing in his head and worry for the oncoming Rawkta which Aput still hadn’t been able to locate he could hear nothing from Shook. The warrior was far off, but with a broad wing-expanse, he was coming straight for Aput as if he himself were a launched spear from his own talon.

  Aput had only read about Rawkta’s during his schooling and of course the myths of his childhood. In fact, he’d often wondered if the stories of the creature’s rage and hunting prowess were indeed true. He could now vouch, although he wished he hadn’t ever had the opportunity. Once he was again stable Aput searched the surrounding sky. There was no sign of the creature, but Shook was coming in hard and in a way that felt more like he was coming in for an attack rather than defensive, so Aput frantically searched and yet could still see nothing. When Shook was within 100 lengths he suddenly stopped and Aput couldn’t help but wonder, had the warrior even given up on him? Had the Daken-rider realized Aput’s inevitable fate and realized it was better to watch from a distance and report back, or even continue onward to find the caverns? It then occurred to him how little Shook actually knew about their mission. He knew where they were going and what they were in search of, but did he know the importance of their mission or why Aput had been tasked? Would the warrior realize the importance of moving onward rather than turning back and losi
ng so much time?

  Suddenly a screech broke from the canopy below and the Rawkta was in flight, its feathered body zipping through the air in a full-on attack. Its beak was partially open, and its eyes were fixed forward on Aput. The creatures four legs were tightly drawn up to its chest as it darted forward and Aput could hide the similarity between the animal’s flight pattern and that of the blue star asteroid he’d been observing the past two weeks.

  Thirty lengths, then twenty lengths. The Rawkta was coming in fast and as it reached ten lengths the jaws opened revealing sharpened teeth in what appeared to be a curious version of part beak and part jaw. The beast opened its mouth wide clearly aiming to dig into Aput and if he remembered correctly the Rawkta, once its teeth were sunk into Aput’s flesh, would then bring Aput downward, slamming his body on the ground until Aput was dead.

  Aput struggled to fly feeling pain in both of his wings.

  At five lengths Aput closed his eyes and took a breath hoping that his death would be quick and merciful. He’d heard most victims of the Rawkta died before being slammed into the ground. The Rawkta was so close that Aput could feel the warmth of the creature’s noxious odor.

  It would all be over soon. But at least he wouldn’t die in the fury of a world destroyed by an asteroid.

  The room was too dark to see anything. Even a slither of light between the bars wasn’t to be found. In the distance was the sharp clank, as if a Drjeen were pounding iron on iron. The occasional yelp or painful scream was all that was familiar to Shakja who had once, as a youngling lived near a slavery encampment for those who’d been lower than the low, a concept now illegal, but that had existed shortly before Shakja had become an adult.

  Within her confines it was quiet, and she had no idea if she were in a single cell or a massive chamber with dozens of others. If there were others, they had said nothing and given off nothing as much as a snort. It was probably for the best as at least for the moment Shakja wanted to be alone. It was clear why she’d been imprisoned, and she knew, or at least assumed, that she was only waiting for her magisterial-decided fate. Few Drjeen committed crimes anymore due to the severity of punishment, so her expectations were that she would not be in this dungeon long before being sent to banishment. She’d only wished that she could have said her goodbyes to the few friends she had. Banishment would mean that she was no longer considered a Drjeen and therefore could not be acknowledged, including by friends and family. Punishment for those who acknowledge could be as severe as death. She would no longer see her friends and had no more family alive. Even Shook, with whatever power he wielded, was forbidden.