Dragon's Desire Page 11

  “I don’t know,” he says, staring over my head. “Something about this place tugs at me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure,” he says, looking into my eyes and smiling. “It’s nothing, let’s go.”

  It’s obvious he’s unwilling to talk about this further, so we continue along the path for water. The building that has water in it is as non-descript as everything else here. All the low, squat buildings look the same on the outside. When we enter this one, pipes are visible coming up out of the ground and through the walls. Some of them drip water, which we tested and found to be potable, so we’ve set up collectors under the various pipes. Picard makes his way to one of the pieces of tin we’re using for that purpose, and his pink tongue starts lapping up some water.

  “Do you miss it?” Drosdan asks.

  “Miss what?”

  He looks over his shoulder at me but doesn’t say anything. I know what he means, but I don’t know how to answer him. Yes? No? Sort of?

  Truth is, I feel bad. I had a duty, and I left it without warning or word to Rosalind. The people who followed Gershom have to be suffering worse than ever, and their odds of survival drop with every passing day. They were barely surviving when I was there, and I was supplementing the dwindling supplies—with Drosdan’s help, of course. It’s been long enough now that the supplies have to be almost gone. None of them are hunters, and they have no regular source of water.

  “Yes,” I say, meeting his gaze at last and owning it.

  He nods but doesn’t say anything as he fills the water jug. As he steps outside I follow him, waiting to see if he’s going to say more. My thoughts linger around those I left behind. Are they still alive? Gershom hadn’t been seen in public for a long time, and I wondered if he wasn’t sick. No one was really leading his followers, and the culture was decaying fast. As resources dwindled, it can only have gotten worse.

  “We made the right choice,” Drosdan says over his shoulder.

  “Did we?” I ask.

  We’ve avoided this conversation, and that’s been okay until now. Now that it’s started, the thoughts that I’ve been suppressing are raging and demanding my attention.

  “Yes,” he says, turning slowly around.

  Staring, I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t.

  “How do you mean? What if we were wrong? What if we left them there to die?” I ask.

  “We should work on the side of the house more,” he says, walking away.

  I follow in silence but inside a storm rages. I can’t get past the survivors that I left behind. Survivors, victims is a better epithet. Most, maybe not all but the majority of them are scared. Having lived among them, I get it now, where before I never could, not when I was on the outside.

  They’re only now starting to come to terms with the fact that there won’t be a rescue from Earth. They’ve lived this long in denial, and some of them are still in it. Stuck here on a planet where everything is trying to kill you, their entire world ripped away, friends and family lost. Of course they’re scared. We all were, and anyone who claims they weren’t is a liar, a fool, or both. Does their fear mean they deserve to die?

  No.

  They don’t. Scared or fools it doesn’t matter—they don’t deserve to die. Forgetting Rosalind’s view that we need them, which we do, if we’re to increase our odds of long-term survival on the planet. They’re humans. Simple, driven by impulses beyond their control, but humans.

  Drosdan enters our home, and I hear him putting the water away. I stand outside the door waiting on him. Picard weaves his way between my legs rubbing up against me and rustling his wings as he does so. It’s distracting and more than a bit annoying, but I’ve learned that Picard does what Picard wants, and any attempt to dissuade him is an exercise in futility.

  When Drosdan reemerges from the house he stops and we lock gazes.

  “We should go back,” I say. His jaw tightens and his tail twitches faster, sure signs he’s irritated. Placing a hand on one hip and holding the other up between us I stop anything he’s going to say. “Now, wait, listen.”

  He arches an eyebrow, staring at me silent, waiting for me to make my argument.

  “We can’t just leave them there to die,” I say.

  “It was their choice,” he responds.

  “Sure,” I say. “They chose, but they didn’t choose because they’re rational. They’re scared Drosdan. Hell we’re all scared.”

  “I’m not,” he says.

  “No, not you, probably not any of the Zmaj, not anymore. I mean the humans. We’re scared. Hell, I’m scared right now.”

  “No,” he says, closing faster than I can blink and taking me in his arms. “You have nothing to fear.”

  His massive size engulfs me, making me feel small. Laying my head against his chest, I wrap my arms around him the best I can. He’s too big for me to fully embrace.

  “I know I don’t,” I say, my voice muffled by him. “But we can’t leave them.”

  “They’re not our problem,” he hisses.

  Raising my head from his chest, I look up at him.

  “Seriously?” I ask, surprise shocking me. I didn’t expect him to agree but I didn’t expect him to be dismissive.

  “Yes,” he says.

  “We can’t!” I exclaim.

  “Yes, we can,” he says.

  He pushes away and glares, then crosses his arms over his chest while his tail lashes back and forth, betraying his agitation.

  “No,” I shake my head. “No, that’s not who we are. That’s not me. I can’t do this.”

  “All my life I’ve followed orders,” he says. “I’m done. They’ve made their choice. We’ve made ours. It’s done.”

  “So they’re just screwed because they made a bad choice?” I snap.

  “Yes,” he says, his jaw tight.

  My mouth drops open and my mind goes blank. I can’t even begin to think with this. Drosdan’s steely gaze stares at me as if he’s willing me into submission. My face burns hot as anger rages like an inferno. My hands ball into fists, my jaw snaps shut, and I meet his hard stare with one of my own.

  “No,” I say, fists on hips.

  Neither of us say a word. Unblinking we stare at each other until my eyeballs are burning with the effort, but still I won’t look away. This is stupid. Beyond stupid. Glaring at each other until he shakes his head and walks past me out of the house. Turning and watching him go, an empty sensation overtakes me and tears well in my eyes. I can’t believe this is happening.

  14

  Drosdan

  Storming out of the house, I take long strides to leave the square we’ve made our home and emerge out onto the empty desert. The empty land between the horizon and me stretches as far as I can see.

  The bijass is a storm raging in my head. Waves of anger crashing against rational thought, pushing and pulling, dragging me down. It’s stupid, all of it. I can’t believe she wants to go back for them. I took her away because it was for the best. Rosalind and Visidion sent her on a suicide mission. No matter what pretty words they put on it that’s the truth.

  No one can believe that Gershom’s followers have a chance of survival on their own.

  No, they knew what they were sending her into. I’m right, and I know it. Why doesn’t she see it?

  My hearts pound in my chest, and the edges of my vision cloud with red. Slamming one fist into my hand, I pace back and forth. There has to be an answer. How do I make her see the truth? The rage continues to build; I can’t get ahead of it. I run into the desert, hoping to channel the anger into something, anything.

  Running gives an outlet, and I pour everything into it.

  Images flash out of the encroaching fog of the bijass. Random pictures coming and going without context. Disjointed and making no sense.

  Bodies strewn between buildings. Buildings I recognize now as the village Sarah and I are staying in.

  Riding on a transport, armored, other arm
ored males with me. The General at the head turning and barking orders at us.

  Standing at attention, staring at a line of males armed with mining tools. All the soldiers and I bringing our weapons to bear. The general screaming.

  Flash, a bright white flash.

  Never again. Never. I can’t let it happen.

  A scream cuts through all the images flashing through my thoughts, pulling me up short. Straight ahead is a cherepakh, a massive creature close to the size of one of the houses. It’s rusty brown, with a hard shell that covers its back and sides, a long neck that emerges from the front of its hard shell with a hooked beak and tiny, beady eyes. It screeches again, a loud, trumpeting sound that assaults my ears.

  Reaching over my shoulder, my hand grasps empty air where my lochaber should be. Fear makes my stomach clench tight. The monster paws the ground in front of it, each time its massive foot comes down causes small quakes that vibrates through the earth. It’s staring, challenging me.

  My anger rages forth as the animal tries to establish dominance. Standing straighter, I spread my wings wide and raise my tail up straight while throwing my arms out.

  “Bring it,” I hiss.

  The cherepakh bobs its head up and down, then trumpets again. I take a step forward, leaning in, increasing my threat. Red closes around me as the monster and I enter a primal battle of dominance. It stomps the ground, bobbing its head, then trumpets its challenge. Spreading my wings out fully, I charge without waiting. Anger pulses with every beating of my hearts, pounding in my head, muscles thrumming with anticipation. Feet meeting the hard resistance of the ground as I charge. The monster charges forward too. Thick legs sticking out of its shell, scrambling across the desert, we race towards each other.

  As it comes closer, I leap into the air, wings flapping, fist pulled back. Arcing down, I swing as it raises its head towards me on its long neck. The sharp point of its beaked mouth opens, ready to snap down with bone-breaking force. Twisting to avoid its snapping jaw, I slam a fist into its left eye. The creature cries out in pain, pulling away, and I land in a crouch next to it. One massive leg kicks into me, and I’m knocked backwards, air rushing out of my lungs.

  Landing on my back, I tumble head over heels, coming to a stop face-down, sliding across the hard ground. The ground vibrates as the monster rushes towards me, bouncing me up and down. No time to catch my breath, I leap to my feet struggling to inhale. It’s closing fast, forcing me to dive to the side to avoid its charge. As I leap to the side, something hits my feet, making me spin through the air. Hitting the ground, I’m sliding along once more. Tiny bits of sand and pebbles worm their way between my scales and tear at me.

  Rising to my knees, I see the cherepakh is slow to turn, its forward momentum enforced by its massive weight. It gives me a moment to catch my breath before it turns and charges again. Eyes narrowing, jaw tightening, I clench a fist and wait for it to close. This monster is mine.

  When it’s so close I can smell the rotten flesh on its breath, I leap forward, grabbing it around the neck just under its head. It screeches, rearing its head back and swinging me around. Flapping my wings and swinging my tail, I’m able to maneuver my way onto the back of its neck. Bouncing up and down as it continues its charge, I dig my fingers into the soft flesh of its exposed neck, but can’t get a grip. It twists back and forth, bucking as it tries to shake me off. Scrambling with all I’ve got, I grip with my legs, slamming my tail down onto its neck repeatedly.

  It cries out in frustration and pain, but then it drops its head to the ground and somehow bucks up. Losing my grip, I’m thrown over its head and flying through the air. Spreading my wings I try to gain control of my fall, but pain explodes in my tail.

  “AGH!” I cry out as the pain blinds me.

  It passes quickly, but I’m swung back and forth. My spine cracks multiple times as it tosses me back and forth, shaking me without mercy. Curling into a ball, I swing at its head, striking it with my fist. It opens its mouth in response, and I’m free, flying once more through the air. Tucking my chin, I land and roll with more control than the last time, coming to my feet. Blood leaks from my tail where it had me, but there is no time for that. The thing looks at me, stomps its foot, and charges.

  If I had my lochaber this would go more in my favor, without it my options are limited. I can’t let it get close to the houses—it would put Sarah at risk. Have to lead it away.

  I run towards it. It lowers its head, mouth snapping with a loud clacking sound as its hard beak opens and closes. At the last possible moment I dart to the side, running past it. The cherepakh skids, flat feet trying to bring it to a stop. Watching it over my shoulder, I keep running while making sure its attention is on me. It turns, good.

  Coming to a stop myself, I turn and meet its glare. It paws the ground and moves forward, gaining momentum as it goes. The vibrations come through my feet until I feel them deep in my bones. Bending my knees, I wait for it. Red fog rises and falls and as it does images of the past flit across my thoughts. Rage builds as I hear a long-gone command to fire. No. I’m in control. I am myself.

  Swinging as it comes into range, I pour everything I have into this one strike. Twisting my body into it, planting my rear foot and letting the power flow through, I slam my fist into the side of its head.

  Its jaw opens, its head moves to the side, and it cries out in pain, stopping in its tracks. No time to let up, I hit it again with my other fist. The rage, red and hot, claims me as I pound my fists into it over and over. Its head jerks from one side to the other as I hit it over and over again. Hissing my rage.

  It snaps at me, pulling back. I uppercut the underside of its jaw forcing its beak closed with a sharp snap. Seeing red, I continue hitting it. White pain flashes through the red fog, and it doesn’t matter. I’m in control. I am myself. It snaps its mouth, but I duck to avoid it. Blood streams out of its mouth, and I hit it again.

  It swings its massive head, knocking me to the side. Stumbling, I struggle to remain upright, but it hits me again, and I’m knocked to the ground. The ground underneath me jumps as it stomps closer, bouncing me off of it. I roll onto my back in time to see its open maw coming down at me. There’s no time to get out of the way. Roaring, I thrust my arm into its mouth and grab its tongue, jerking it towards me. Its jaw snaps shut on my arm. I scream in pain, unable to contain it. Tightening my grip on its tongue, I jerk as it tosses its head to one side, dragging me along the ground.

  “Drosdan!” Sarah yells.

  The creature turns towards the sound, dragging me along.

  “NO!” I yell, pounding it with my free hand.

  Blood is streaming down its ugly head and splattering across my face. It chews on my arm like it’s a tough piece of meat that it’s worrying at. I can’t stop, can’t let it hurt Sarah.

  My feet scrabbling against the hard ground trying to find purchase, I finally get them under me and rise. I’m pounding the cherepakh’s eye over and over and it’s finally swelling shut. It opens its mouth to change its grip on me, and I rip, pulling its tongue out. It howls in pain, head rearing back, exposing the soft flesh of its neck. Slamming my elbow into the point where its softer under-shell meets the neck, I follow it up with several blows to the neck.

  It shudders then drops to the ground with a thud. Rage consumes me and I don’t stop. My fists fly into the monster but the images won’t stop.

  “I AM MYSELF!” I scream, hitting it more.

  The General giving the order is all I can see. People cowering, begging for their lives, but he gave the order to shoot. When I told him no, my men would not shoot these innocents, he smiled and said a word, then, as one, we turned. I fought it, but there was no stopping it, my body was no longer under my control. When he again ordered us to fire, I did. We all did.

  “Drosdan, stop, please, stop!” Sarah’s voice cuts through the storm raging inside of me.

  She has to be safe. She is all that matters. No longer will I be controlled. I am myself,
I am hers. She is all.

  “Drosdan, you’ve won, it’s dead,” she says, pleading in her voice.

  When I look at Sarah, water is running down her face. I stop. My hands are torn and bloody. The cherepakh is a mess below me, very dead. Sarah comes close, touches me.

  Cold emptiness expands out from my stomach, sending chills through my limbs as I stare at my hands.

  “I am myself,” I say, barely daring to say the words out loud.

  “Yes,” she says. “You are.”

  Rising, I turn towards the village and it all clicks into place. This is where it happened. I was part of the atrocity that happened here. Sarah moves next to me, and when I look at her, I know I’m not worthy of her. I’m a monster. It’s been hidden in the fog of the bijass, but now I remember. I don’t deserve her.

  “I’m taking you back,” I say, mouth dry.

  “What?” she asks, confusion in her eyes.

  “I’m taking you back,” I say. “You deserve better than this, better than me. We’ll leave in the morning.”

  Before she can respond, I walk away. Words can’t fix what I am or what I’ve done. I’ll return her to the City before I go into the desert and exile myself.

  15

  Sarah

  “Drosdan!” I yell at his retreating back.

  Blood drips from his tail and hands, staining the sand as he passes, but he doesn’t slow or turn. My chest aches watching him walk away, and tears form in the corners of my eyes. A hot breeze blows, but a shiver runs down my spine. I want to follow him, I should, but moving is too much effort. It’s all falling apart.

  Black despair crashes over me, like a wave knocking me off my feet. Falling and tumbling over under its onslaught, I’m lost. Looking down at the carcass of the monster that Drosdan killed, anger flashes white hot, driving back the darkness.

  “Screw you,” I growl. “It’s not ending like this.”

  I kick, hitting its hard shell, and pain shoots from my foot up to my chest.