Requiem of the Fallen: Dragon Child

Dragon Dance

The Cordath mountains were wide and tall, the peaks reaching even higher than we could fly. The forests they sheltered were filled with exotic and canny creatures, whose size seemed to be well-proportioned to the beasts that once preyed upon them.

It was as close to home as I could get.

Old lore placed regions such as this as the home of the first dragons and their cousins, the Draigana. None had ever compared to their former magnificence, and none since. Even as I led Leon and Megaera through 5000-year-old pines and the dappled shadow that made the forest give off its sense of age, I knew that this was young by Cordath's, by my people's, standards.

All the old forests had either burned down in the Dragon Dances or were cut down for firewood and siege engines in the early turmoil of the current era. The striplings that were just spared became towering elders over the rest of the forest, rare and isolated. It was only once that my brother and I had paid our respects to such a personage, for the sole reason that we had never expected to find one. Perhaps this trip would be just as lucky; perhaps not.

As was my wont, I led the siblings through the trees in silence, speaking only to warn them of obstacles and answering the odd question when the little one became unnerved by the muffled soundlessness. Leon was simply looking all over his surroundings, no doubt feeling as though he belonged here despite not being born or even vaguely familiar of it.

His Draigana blood speaking to him.

Later, when we set up camp on carpets of pine needles and the fire burned merrily, he found it within himself to voice it. Megaera was quick to chirp behind him, turning to me as though to the fount of all knowledge and wisdom.

"Can it be a story this time, Anagha? Please?" Curse the deity who blessed all younglings with the power to charm in the eyes.

"One day, when I have run out of stories to tell you, it will be your turn to be expected to know this," I jabbed weakly at the sunset dragonling with my stick before settling into the story. "Most Draigana, for some reason or other, feel at home here in these mountains; not in the least because we used to settle in environments like these alongside our draconic cousins. It looked better on our original function as peacekeepers if we could keep our supposedly more savage relatives under control and be confident enough in our skills that we practically let them walk the streets with our Shifted kinsmen.

"Draconic history is rough and violent, with the added difficulty of there being no records at all given the creatures we are talking about. One, however, has lasted long enough and shed enough blood even by dragon standards that this series of wars were-- and to this day, remains-- legendary among those few of our race who remember the patchy histories.

"They were called the Dragon Dances."

The siblings seemed enraptured by what was telling them, and emboldened by their fascination, I continued.

"The epics and arias dedicated to this comprise of the most accurate and comprehensive set of stories the Draigana have ever assembled. My older brother, being a self-professed scholar of Draigana history, taught me all of them by rote. It will take us too long to go through them all, but I will at least do this history the honor it deserves." I cleared my throat, doing that switch in my mind from human speech to Draigana, and launched straight into it.

"The first of them began before the conception of our people; when the spirits still roamed and held the power of the world. Ingrid Ironbelly was matriarch of a great dragon clan, one that spanned half the mountain range in a territory that allowed all of her children and their selective broods to hunt and live in peace.

"The war began when one clansman dared to give insult to his kinsmen.

"Ingrid governed her family with claws as hardened as her scales, and when one of her children's brood fought with another and killed him, she in turn was enraged and killed him. The child who hatched him* declared war upon her dam, gathering some her clan who sided with her into a rough unit. Her matriarch too had some of her clansmen gather for battle, and when it commenced it did not end for fifteen days and nights. At the beginning of the sixteenth day, it was seen that a son of Ingrid was the only one who lived, and he remembered and passed his story on to his mate and hatchlings.

"The second, too, began with insult and anger, though this occurred some centuries after the destruction of the Cordath mountainside, and the trees were young yet..."

And on, and on, and on. Though I did my best to shorten the tale, there was a reason why every occasions set aside for celebrating the Wars set aside days for the full telling. Even my synopsis took hours from the night.

By then, Megaera was dozing by the fire, and I prompted Leon to go to sleep also while I took watch. I still did not trust him.

I also used this time to think. Though the wandering lifestyle was good for me and for the crimson Draigana, the young one needed stability and time to properly develop her growth and personality. Children her age did not leave the nest after their first change until well over 20 human years had passed. In that time, she would have learned all the ways of my people and be able to care for herself.

There were only one or two conclaves that I knew of that could keep them safe for the rqequired time, and one of them was nestled just under the peak of Bastion, the westernmost and highest mountain in the range. We would have to double back west and fly up some way to make it.

The human trackers were also something to worry about, as we were not over the range yet. Perhaps if we went over the range and travel parallel to the trails . we could make it...

Risky, but it could work. I leaned against the trunk of the spruce and drifted off to sleep. The plan could wait until tomorrow.

End of Part I