Children of the First

Here's chapter two a day early. I didn't wanna wait. Who knows, maybe the next one will go up early too and I'll start posting more than twice a week.

I finished my cigarette and went back to putting my things away until it was time to meet my dad for the welcome dinner. I asked Retis if his parents were going to meet him at the dinner, but he said they were still at home in Stillbrook.

“We could really only afford one ticket for the riverboat up here, so I came by myself,” he said. “It’s no big deal though. I’m kinda glad they aren’t here hovering over my shoulder while I get to know the campus.”

“Are you still going to go to the dinner?” I asked.

“Sure—free food’s free food, right?”

I smiled; we were college students all right. “Do you want to head over with us?” I asked. “It’d be nice to know someone there besides my dad.”

“Sounds good," he said, stashing his reed in his desk drawer. "Thanks."

We shared the elevator down to the lobby with a couple of Gibri guys, one with tan fur and the other slightly darker. We have a lot of Gibri in Rowyra, and since I was on the scram team in high school, I was good friends with a bunch of them. Their long arms and innate agility made them great at scramble; and, even though they couldn’t run very fast on their short legs and hand-feet, no one could keep up with a Gibri once they got into the trees. It’s pretty insulting to say so, but they really look more like apes than people—thin apes that walk erect, but still; the way they move through the trees you could swear you were watching a five-foot-tall tailless monkey.

“Hey, do you guys know anything about the scram team here?” I asked them.

The lighter colored one looked at me skeptically. “You wanna join th’ scram team?” he asked in the chattery Gibri accent. “Whatcha wanna do that for, Dragonblood?”

“Thought Nedraka were brawlers,” the other one chimed in. “Too slow for scramble. You tryin’ to make fun of us, scaly?”

“No, really,” I held up my hands. “I hate brawl. I was a scrambler in high school and wasn’t too bad at it, so I thought I’d try out for the team here.”

“Oh, uhh…” they looked embarrassed and didn't say anything for a few seconds. The lighter one spoke first. “I think tryouts are in two weeks,” he said. “We were hoping to meet th’ coach at the welcome dinner. If I find ‘im you want me t’find you?”

“That’d be great,” I smiled. Gibri were generally pretty good people once they were convinced you weren’t trying to trick or rob them. Still though, even the Gibri I was friends with could be a huge pain in the ass if they thought they were being funny—kind of excitable, like a kid showing off for company.

“I’m Shawn, by the way.”

“Jarn,” said the darker Gibri, shaking my hand. “This is Roo. You guys on the third floor too?”

“Yep,” Retis chirped proudly. I think he was just happy to be part of the conversation.

“Be seein’ ya then.” Roo gave a little wave as the elevator doors opened and the pair shuffled off ahead of us.

“So is scram some monkey thing?” Retis asked once they were out of earshot.

“I’d watch who you call a monkey, man. It may not be a big deal around most people, but Gibri take it as a serious insult. It'd be like me calling you an iguana-guy.”

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t know.” It was obvious he had had no clue, and I could tell he hadn’t meant any harm by it—they probably don’t get a lot of practice with other races back in The Vale.

“It’s okay. I’m just a little extra sensitive about race stuff. Basically, scram is the opposite of brawl—instead of bashing your way across the field to score points, you try not to get hit so you can make it to the goal without the defenders laying you out.”

“Huh…” It seemed like he would have liked to talk about it more, but we had reached the front door and my father was waiting outside, so it would have to wait.

“Hi, Dad,” I said.

“Hello, Sha’anyr," he replied, then looked at Retis and added, “Who is this?”

There was a touch of disdain in his voice that I hoped Retis didn’t pick up on, so I pretended not to notice. “This is Retis Siphon, my roommate. Retis, this is my father, Sir Dyrven NacRae’vyr.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Retis looked terrified as he shook my father’s hand, but I couldn’t blame him; my dad can be a pretty intimidating figure, even when he isn’t trying to be. Every Nedrak has deep yellow cat-like eyes, but my father’s look particularly intense because of his dark skin, which is nearly black, really. It runs in the family; my father, and his father, and his father’s fathers have all had dark skin. Same with his jet-black hair and the black scales around his hairline and down his back. Both his hair and scales have an emerald shimmer to them, like the shine on the feathers of a raven or a crow.

That’s actually one of the stories they tell children in my family—the one that claims ravens are named after our clan. I remember my dad telling me that story many times when I was young.

The story says that long ago, before the Dragons left our world, our clan was led by two powerful brothers, Gryros and Faylen Rae’vyr. Gryros, the older of the two, was the clan’s chieftain and was much-loved by the dragon Camnea, Fortune’s Guiding Hand and goddess of the moon. Faylen was jealous of his brother and asked Camnea to make him more powerful than Gryros so that he could replace him as chieftain.

When the goddess refused, Faylen was furious and resolved to kill Gryros in his sleep. That night, Camnea saw Faylen, dagger in hand, sneaking through the moonlit Forest of Erin to the clearing where his brother slept. The great black dragon became enraged when she saw this and came down from her throne in the night sky.

As she did so, the light of the moon faded and Faylen found himself swallowed by the darkness. He cried out in fright when Camnea appeared before him, but quickly regained his composure and spoke as though nothing had happened.

“Good evening, fair Camnea. I am honored that you would leave your throne to join me on my walk, but why have you darkened the moon that lit my path and guided my steps?”

Camnea spoke without moving her lips, her voice emanating from the darkness around her. “Your steps have not been guided by my light for some time, Faylen. It was you who removed it from your life—you, who was once one of my favored children—you, who defied me with your treachery. You are as vile as your crime and your life is forfeit for your sins against me.”

Gryros had woken when Faylen cried out and, still able to see by the moonlight, had been watching the conversation from behind a tree. When Camnea condemned Faylen to death, Gryros rushed from his hiding place and fell before the goddess.

“Oh gentle Camnea,” he begged, “if ever you did love me, spare my poor foolish brother. As your child, does he not deserve your mercy? Is it not punishment enough that he should live without your guiding hand? If I can, I will gladly offer my throat in place of his, but I beg you not to make me suffer the loss of my brother.”

Camnea softened at Gryros’ plea, and spoke more gently than before. “He deserves no mercy for his own sake; but, for my love of his brother and his better, I shall spare his life.”

Faylen was looking at his brother, his face a mixture of gratitude, amazement, and fear. In a choked whisper, he began to ask forgiveness, but fell silent when Camnea turned to him to speak.

“I will spare your life, but this evil cannot go unpunished.” She seemed to grow larger and more fearsome as she spoke. “You sought power in the death of one greater than yourself, and so you and your children shall hereafter feed only on bodies which are dead and rotting.

With that, the goddess covered Faylen with a giant clawed hand. When she uncovered him, he had turned into a black bird with feathers that shone green like his brother’s hair, and she called him Raven.

It’s a nice story, but I seriously doubt ravens got their name from my clan. More likely, it’s the other way around. Plus, it’s not like we’re the only Nedraka that look like that.

Actually, I really shouldn’t say we; my skin’s a much lighter ashen color, though my hair is black. Also, the green shine of my scales and hair is very faint, mostly replaced by a bluish-purple. It’s probably because of who my mother is—the white skin of a priestess mixing with my father’s black to produce a grey son with black hair and purple scales.

Luckily, grey skin and black hair are fairly common among Nedraka, so no one would guess that my mother’s a priestess. Blue or purple coloring, though, is rare, especially for guys. When people would ask about it, I would just shrug and say I must be special. Guys in high school teased me, calling me Sister Shawn and things like that, but I don’t think any of them could have guessed how close to the truth they were, so our secret stayed a secret and my mother stayed Holy Mother of Rowyra.

I don’t even know what would happen to me if anyone found out at this point. I’ve never heard of a priestess ever actually giving birth to a live child before; usually the pregnancy is discovered and terminated, and the priestess is stripped of her status long before the child is born. The thinking is that the child would be an abomination. Priestesses are supposed to serve as spiritual mothers—conduits to Gaia, Mother of All; if they had a physical child, it would be an affront to our creator. Some say the child would be a deformed monster, some say it would be a corrupt and unnatural copy of a dragon, some say it would be like trying to cram a god into a Nedrak body and the child would never survive.

I say that’s all a bunch of shit. My mother wasn’t quite a priestess when she had me, she was only an acolyte at the time, but I still say I’m living proof that the child of a holy woman would be a normal Nedrak. So maybe I have some special reasons for not loving Nedraika, but I’d say they’re pretty valid, given that the archaic practices of the religion prevented me from ever really knowing my mother.

“Come, Sha’anyr,” my father said after shaking Retis’ hand. “We’ll be late for the dinner if we delay much longer.”

Retis mouthed, “Your dad is scary as shit,” and I tried to look apologetic and reassuring, but he was absolutely right. I was glad Retis was there to take some of the pressure off me, but I hoped that his impression of my father wouldn’t change how he looked at me. From the short time I’d known him, it didn’t seem that Retis had seen much prejudice, which meant that he was probably the only Saurian I’d ever met that wouldn’t object to living with a Nedrak. It also meant he used called people things like "monkey" without realizing what he was doing, but I guess the fact that he didn’t know what he was saying made it a little more excusable.

I was praying that my father wouldn’t ask Retis if his family had fought in the wars, or really anything personal that could lead to an issue. There was no need to worry; I should have known better than to think my dad would make small talk with a Saurian he’d just met, much less a Saurian college student.

As we approached the quad where the dinner was being held picnic buffet-style, I saw a pudgy Nedrak man coming towards us. He was about my dad’s age, but where my father had hardened with age, the other man looked soft and sickly.

“Dyrven!” the man called, waving with one hand while the other held the hem of his wine-red satin robe. “Sir Dyrven NacRae’vyr!”

“Oh, for the love of Gaia,” my father muttered, raising his hand in a slight wave.

“Ha ha! Dyrven, how in the Void are ya?” The man took my father’s hand in between his and shook vigorously.

“Hello, Count Verris. It’s good to see you again.” Somehow I got the feeling that my father had just lied.

This entry was posted on Monday, June 23rd, 2008 at 5:18 pm and is filed under Chapters, CotF Main Story. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.