11. Drakonis
11
DRAKONIS
G avril had little time. Silken blankets were pushed to his waist. His robes were undone, his red scales blending into the bulging veins in his body. Symbols were drawn in paint on his chest, a rite he had never seen before. When Drakonis had ordered them to be wiped, Gavril swatted him away. His breathing was ragged, his chest moving sporadically.
His parents stood at the side of the bed, his mother weeping into a handkerchief and his father, face covered in the room's darkness.
He will die soon.
I know. He answered his dragon. Despite saying it, Drakonis didn’t want to believe it. Gavril was a mentor and a second father to him. Not only was he being taken away, but poison was forcing him from this plane. Kazimir stood in the room perched against the wall as if he was counting the minutes when this was all over. Drakonis would find the link to his part in this poisoning, and he would be punished.
As if hearing his thoughts, Kazimir caught his eyes, raising a brow and smirking.
When had his brother become cruel enough to murder someone? He had a thirst for power and skewed ambitions, but Drakonis couldn’t believe he would murder a trusted figure in the royal court and their family. Gavril had been with them since birth, teaching them everything there was to know. His brother would pay.
A life for a life. His dragon whispered.
“Calm yourself your highness.” Alastair nudged his arm, standing close. Like the others his kymu and batluns were all black. Color lacked in any of the jewelry or accessory on his body. Alastair did not smile as he always did. White tinged the normal black sclera of his eyes, his wild hair pulled tightly behind his head. A sheathed, curved, sword sat on his waist, his glowing navy hand sitting casually on the hilt. “We will take action against the one who has done this, but for now, you must say your last goodbyes.”
Drakonis reached out to everyone that he knew for a potion. Anything that would help Gavril survive this poison. But nothing worked. When he sought Clara, she sent his messengers away. She locked herself in her room and allowed no one in.
Why was she doing this? She had connections just as he. She could have sent for an antidote as soon as she saw Gavril’s death. Yet she did nothing. She allowed this all to happen.
The Fates are invincible. His dragon said. They allow her to see but never change.
Cough! Cough!
Gavril arched his back, black blood dripping from his lips and chin. Drakonis went to his side, wiping it away with a handkerchief.
“What can I do for you?” Drakonis asked. Helplessness was not something he normally felt, but now, it consumed his heart. Nothing else existed around him. Just as when he was child, he hung onto Gavril’s every command.
“W-where is s-she?” he forced out.
“Who Gavril? Who do you wish to see?” Yelena asked.
“L-lady Clara.”
“We have banned others from seeing you,” Drakonis answered. “If you wish to have your final rites, then we will…”
“No!” Gavril’s roar had lost edge but had a ripple effect. All eyes were on him, and the soldiers standing at the walls stood erect. His hand clutched at his throat as he coughed again. “O-only h-er. G-get…”
“I am here my lord.”
Gavril’s room chilled as she entered. Black paint dragged across her eyes in a band and down from her bottom lip to chin. A black lace veil sat on her head, falling to her waist, with a black rose crown on her head. Obsidian silk banded across her breasts with a matching high slitted skirt covering her lower body.
Her stare never left Gavril’s. He calmed immediately and took a stuttered sigh as two soldiers came in with smoky incense, balls swinging from the tips of ornate rods.
“Your time is almost up,” Clara declared. “If you have last words, speak them now.”
Drakonis wanted to lash out. She could boldly declare such a thing but not help him. Her sister was known as a renowned healer, and she could not get something that saved Gavril’s life?
She approached the bed, removing the blankets from his legs.
“Y-you…”
“I have prepared what you asked,” she answered, a tight smile pulling at her lips. “Now you must do your part.”
What did she…
Gavril grasped Drakonis’s forearm. Strength left him. Gavril was the epitome of might and now he looked like a broken old man.
“D-drakonis…you m-must l-listen.” His grip was unsteady. “L-listen to e-everything I t-taught you.”
He bent down, placing his hand on his gray streaked hair.
“You taught me well.” There was not much he could say. He was fighting tears, pushing off a display of weakness. But if he agreed to the request, he might as well say goodbye. How could this pillar in his life truly be gone?
“Our a-ancestors have c-chosen y-you.” Gavril’s hand went to the side of Drakonis’s face, pulling him close. “L-listen t-to what t-they s-say. R-remb-ber, y-you a-are never a-alone.”
But he was. Drakonis grasped Gavril’s hand against his face. The ancestors had declared Kazimir their chosen one at the Ruins. It was why he had to fight every day to stay in his father’s favor. The only ones that stood by his side after that nightmare was his mother and Gavril.
Yelena bent over, kissing his forehead. Drakonis did not miss the way her hand gripped his free one, her knuckles turning almost pure white. She whispered in his ear so softly that no one heard the contents. It was his father that held her by her shoulders, pulling her back.
“You have served me well,” Konstantin said. His gaze was affectionate, like that of brethren.
“I-It w-was my h-honor…”
His head fell limply on the pillow. Drakonis squeezed his hand once more before placing it on the bed.
The two that followed behind the lady stood behind he and his parents, a thin smoke wafted in the air.
“Pardon me, your highness.”
Clara stood at the bedside; head bowed. He stepped back while she took to Gavril’s side. From a ring on her finger, she wiped paint on Gavril’s forehead. He stepped forward, but Alastair held him discreetly by the back of his robes.
“W-what…”
“Gavril asked for this,” Alastair whispered. “We must respect his wishes and not interrupt.”
How had Gavril done so much from his bedside? Why did he not inform Drakonis nor let him be a part of it? His heart stung, like a knife piercing it.
“Are you ready?” Clara asked.
Drakonis wanted to yell no. He wanted Gavril to remain. A comrade that he fully trusted.
Clara pressed her fingers into the painted markings of Gavril’s chest. He took a deep breath, grasping her ringed hand.
“I release you from your earthly chains, my lord. May your remains absorb within this great earth so that you may always serve your people while your spirit finds freedom within your paradise.” A white light began at Gavril’s bare feet, consuming his body. Fabric from Clara’s body floated from the growing smoky floor. “By the judgement of the three kings Minos, Aeacus, and Rhadmanthys, those that have faithfully served your kind will follow.” Four lit horned figures appeared at each post of his bed. “While the ones with detestable actions will float along the Rivers of the Underworld forever plagued by their greatest sin.”
White light continued growing up his legs to his torso, neck, then head. Clara’s hand dipped further into his chest, past his scaled skin. Gavril never screamed or called out in pain.
Tears fell from his eyes. Drakonis did not realize it until it fell from his chin. Not only he, but every living dragon in the room also wept as Clara lifted her arm, a small baby dragon latching onto her like a babe. It was as red as lava and looked as if it had just hatched from its egg.
He is reborn.
Warmth and purrs came from his inner dragon. Drakonis felt the second pair of eyes look through his. Clara hugged the baby dragon to her chest as if it was her own, caressing its leather body with an onyx painted hand.
The figures looked like ghosts, lifting a phantom cot with Gavril’s lifeless humanoid body on it.
Drakonis fought the urge to yell at them to come back. The ones with the smoking batons exited first, with Clara close behind them. Guards followed, always three steps behind her. The pace was leisurely through the castle. The royal family followed behind the pallbearers, Alastair then Valen, and ended with soldiers guarding them on all sides.
The courtyard was a mix of soldiers, standing straight with their swords high in the air. Some living dragons while others looked like barely visible ghosts.
“May the precession begin,” Clara bellowed. It was the loudest he had ever heard her speak. “And let the honorable Gavril take one last look at the land he protected!”
Soldiers stomped, chanting Gavril’s name, and pulsing their swords in the air. Two orbs appeared before Clara, morphing into transformed dragons. Their monstrous heads looked around with their bellies caressing the stone walkway. She stood between them and was lifted into the air. The pallbearers turned to orbs as Gavril’s body was lifted behind her.
Following her lead, Drakonis, his family, and the others extended their wings, bodies glowing their respective ranked colors, half transformed as they took to the skies.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Drakonis thought.
It has been lost for many generation,. his dragon answered. She has been well educated.
“ When was the last time such a procession has happened?”
Not since the death of Phaedrus.
Drakonis never questioned his dragon’s knowledge. He contained ancestral knowledge, but there was no way that a human outsider should have such. Had Gavril prepared her? Did she truly know how soon he was going to die? And she did not ask for help from her notorious healing sister?
Anger ate at his heart, but he pushed it down. Now was not the time. Nothing would bring Gavril back, and if this is what he desired then what could he say?
But how could he not trust he, his student, with this information?
The ocean came into view between Ouroboros and the volcanic lands of Lav. They too seemed to respond to Gavril’s death. Three oozed orange and red lava, black veining throughout and blending into the rock and falling into ocean depths. The rest smoked, the skies turning dark above.
The full transformed dragons disappeared as they touched Earth. Drakonis and his family stood at the highest peak, with the best view they could find. Other soldiers stood on the sandy beach.
The orbs carrying Gavril continued, hovering above the ocean, floating in the skies.
Clara walked along the ocean’s surface with bare feet, circular ripples growing with each step.
“From Hades’s hellfire you began, but to Elysium you shall go,” she bellowed.
She kissed the baby dragon’s small head. She whispered something, but Drakonis could not hear. Diamond light lifted the baby quickly towards Gavril’s body now engulfed in blue flames. With a whistle, the orbs disappeared. The body and the baby dragon collided, making a flamed symbol of their kind before a shooting star towards the heavens.
“I release those that are stuck, good and evil,” Clara yelled again. She touched her ear, a long golden trident forming in her hand. Waves came from the still waters, orbs circling around her, lifting her into the air.
Trees, rocks, and earth glowed. Spirits of all kinds appeared in humanoid forms, looking up at her and the skies. White tears streamed down their faces, and some closed their eyes.
“Incredible,” Konstantin whispered.
Drakonis looked towards his parents. Yelena had her hand over her mouth in astonishment, while Konstantin held her by the waist watching the humanoids growing wings and horns, flying towards Clara and then turning to orbs around her.
The grief he was holding down was bubbling, growing hot in his chest. Memories flitted through his mind. Gavril when he first held a sword, when he beat his first opponent in the training ring. Gavril guided him when he returned from the darkness of the Ruins, and when he returned broken from the Great War. Drakonis remembered when Gavril taught him how to dance and walk like a nobleman. When he whacked Drakonis on the back of the head if he did something that he thought was childish.
They didn’t stop. His maw was changing, his scales raising, and his ears rung.
“Find peace as you travel to the Ferryman, for he will finally take you to rest. Not as a peasant, not as a noble, but as a mighty dragon. As descendants of those that followed Phaedrus and obtained glory over the gods!”
Freedom. Like when he first learned how to fly. There was peace that one only feels when they are born, like there were no chains that bound him to honor or glory. As if spring had come after a long winter, suffering and pain melted from the earth, replaced by peace.
“Ascend now!” Clara yelled. Her voice blended in with the whistling winds and chaotic waters. Waves grew larger but a clear barrier kept them from reaching the sandy shore.
One arm reached towards the sky with the other pointing down, glowing a teal magick.
It was as if stars were falling in reverse, a white fire that spoke to his inner soul. So many gathered together that it looked like a curtain flying past Clara.
Clara unlocked everything he felt. Drakonis’s head fell back, and a massive roar left his throat. It was like a battle cry, yet it held all the pain and anger he had been carrying. The mood shifted. First his parents, then Kazimir, Alastair, all dragons did the same. Their monstrous sides took over. In this moment it didn’t matter what rank one was. This was grief. This was a final goodbye. Not only for Gavril, but for all those that had died for their kind.
You are a prince, but you are also the figurehead for dragon-kind. A voice said in his mind. For now, you may feel grief, but you are never alone.
Another roar left his throat, breaking at the beginning. The voice brought him solace. The longer Drakonis roared, the longer the other dragons did. Gavril may have died physically, but Drakonis would not allow his legacy to die.
Earth shook for a moment as the last of his kind flew to the sky. Then as quickly as it started, the world became silent and Drakonis said his last farewell to the one person he would miss more than anyone in Ipeiros.
“Why didn’t you do anything to heal him?”
The peace that Drakonis had felt earlier was foreign. This new power hummed under his skin, and urged him forward in his anger. As soon as Gavril disappeared in white flames and the others made it to the sky, his shoulders became heavy, his heart dark. As soon as he could he escaped to Clara’s room, waiting.
Jealousy was not a feeling he was used to. Gavril had known her mere days, yet he trusted her with the last rites over him.
Clara held a steady gaze. She did not seem surprised to see him.
“I did what I could your Highness.” She pulled the veil from her head and walked past to put the crown of black roses on her armoire.
“You should not have listened to Gavril’s request to die,” Drakonis pressed.
“I cannot go against a dying man’s wishes. His death was necessary in the grand scheme.” Clara answered.
“What do you mean?”
“The gods have planned a future for you and your people. Lord Gavril recognized that and accepted his part.”
“His part? He is not a pawn of the gods!” Something snapped inside of him. She was treating them exactly as the gods had treated their ancestors. “You could have saved him and you did not!”
“I offered to reach out to my sister, and I gave him a warning. In my vision he died a different way.”
Drakonis was speechless. He stood gaping at her.
You cannot control the will of the gods. Even if you run, they will catch you.
“SILENCE!” Drakonis snapped his head, yelling at his dragon. He did not know what was worse. That Clara did try to warn Gavril and the circumstances just changed or that his dragon wasn’t siding with him.
There is no point in dwelling on something that the Fates have decided.
“Your Highness. Gavril…”
“You have no right to say his name! I accepted your request to come here because of Ragnar but now you do this! Is that how you thank me for my generosity!”
Clara stood, the veil tight in her fist, hanging down to her feet. He thought that she being a part of Ragnar’s family made her different. But the gods, and those that served them dutifully, did nothing but manipulate his kind.
Her light brown eyes held only sympathy; sympathy that was unnecessary if she would have acted.
“You are just like the others.” He pushed out. “Do you have any idea what it is like for my kind? For me? To be used as a pawn by everyone for their own selfish greed?” The bridge broke. Drakonis balled his fists. He grabbed the closest thing to him. A vase of flowers. “Gavril was the one who guided me and taught me who I was! He wanted nothing from me. NOTHING!” Drakonis threw it against the wall. Glass shattered and water stained the wallpaper. Clara did not say anything. His chest moved up and down.
The isolation was suffocating. No one knew that aside from Gavril. How could they? No one would understand. And he wanted to throw more. He wanted to destroy. His world was shaken, and no one seemed to care.
“Gavril saw his death happening and he just accepted it. He didn’t try to fight it!”
“He did,” Clara said.
“And why could you not tell me? Had I enough time, I would have made it to where Kazimir’s poison didn’t reach him.”
“We all choose our own destiny. The Fates show me many things. It is not my place to change them, no matter how much I wish I could. If I tried to change everything, I saw then my gift would be taken away.”
“What good is a gift when you cannot wield it properly?” Drakonis spat.
It was something Gavril had taught him. Gavril said Drakonis had the makings of a great king which drove him to train and study harder. Kazimir would hardly lift a finger. A mountain of a man could not die to something as frivolous as poison.
“If I am to lose my gift it will be for good reason. A reason I have already determined.” Drakonis said nothing. Clara continued, “Loss is hard, your highness. I apologize that you must feel the weight of it.”
“You apologize?” Drakonis’s feet were carrying him in her direction without thinking. His hands, humanoid before, grew larger, gleaming amethyst in the setting sun’s rays. The claw of his thumb grazed her throat. A thin line of crimson blood dripped down. “What do you know of loss? Those who serve the gods are granted wealth and prosperity princess. ” He spat her title. “Don’t even begin trying to align with me. You know nothing of my pain.”
A small smile pulled at her lips. It wasn’t condescending or happy; rather it was…sad. It was a smile that one faked when asked if they were alright. A smile that one used when they had to project strength when they were crumbling inside. One that he had been using all day.
“Gavril believed in you,” Clara whispered. “He thought of you like a son, even if it was in name only.” Drakonis’s heart stopped. He shook. Clara made no motion to move. “He believed that out of everyone on this continent you alone could lead dragon kind to prosperity.”
“Silence!” Drakonis yelled.
This woman drew the worst from him. No matter his words, when she looked at him, she saw inside of him. When she touched him, it was as if she dipped beneath his skin just like she did to Gavril.
“He believed in his death; he was protecting you,” Clara pushed.
“I told you to be silent!”
His tears weakened his command. They flew freely down his face. Black as oil, but watery.
“It’s alright your highness.” He bent his head, his long straight hair caressing Clara’s chin.
The room, once painted in red, and orange became black instantly. Lace blocked everything and dainty arms wrapped around his crown.
“No one can see you Drakonis.” Her voice was as quiet as a bird’s wing. “I cannot see you. Neither your family nor the world can see you.”
No one could…see him? The black lace was thin but projected him to a world in his mind. The one he escaped when the pressures became too much.
“You must grieve. If you do not do that, you will be trapped forever,” Clara soothed.
Her small voice broke. It was a weight that pressed upon his shoulders.
Drakonis fell to his knees, hands becoming smaller. Clara stepped closer, and his head moved to her flat stomach, his arms grasping at her rounded hips. She squeezed her arms then loosened them, becoming as light as the lace.
“He’s…gone.”
It was something he knew but not something he wanted to accept.
Clara said nothing. Just as she said. He was alone. No one could see him or hear him. It was only in this place, in her arms, he could…grieve.
He hated the finality. But in this dark space this woman provided, he could be like a child. He could stomp his food and complain that it wasn’t fair. He didn’t have to be a prince right now. He could be like a son who grieved his father.
His voice died in his throat, but his shoulders shuttered as he finally allowed the river of tears to flow.