Raulin's Oath

“Jerry,” Arietta said softly. She touched his arm, wincing as he whirled around to face her.

“What--” he spat, then, upon seeing that it was only her, he softened. “Sorry. What’s up, Ari?” The nights had grown incredibly cold; however, they were also very beautiful. She stared up at the navy sky, her gaze focused on all the beautiful galaxies that danced through the darkness.

“Are you okay?” She was quiet, as to not wake Arkas or Nova. He released a breath, the heat and cold mixing in the air. She lowered her gaze, her eyes now on him.

Jerry answered, “That’s a hard question. I’m just… it’s hard. I can still feel it, ya know? I can feel myself still getting weaker over there, across the gate. I always feel my mom’s despair, the pain that she carries with her. I’m all she has left, and I’m not--” his eyes dropped, and his voice broke. He pawed at his eyes with frustration, wiping away the tears. He didn’t want her to see him like this; he was supposed to be strong. She raised her eyes to the stars. “I’m not going to be there for her much longer. I always joke about her coddling me, but--” he choked. Arietta grimaced, wondering if this was the first time he’d actually been able to talk. To truly talk, to share the burden he felt. “She has been so sad, and I’m just so angry that I can’t do anything about it. I think it would be best for her if I just wasn’t around. I know it would be hard for her at first, but this disease that I have is eating away at her too. I don’t know how much more of this she can take.” His shoulders were shaking with the quiet tears, his voice wet. Arietta didn’t have words for this, didn’t know what to do, so she simply opened her arms. He launched himself at her, burying his face into her shoulder.

“Don’t talk like that, Jerry. You have been getting better.” Her voice was as calm as a sunrise.

“No, I haven’t.” His words were muffled, but she heard the words with clarity, and her heart broke for him. She knew the struggle, feeling like she was making progress, but when she would return home, she was back to being bedridden.

“You’re alive, though. I have hope for the two of us. Our story doesn’t end here.”

***

The sun rose an angry red, and the Hunters were racing across the desert. They were lusting for blood, hungry to serve their master. The scorching sand stung their paws, but they did not care. They did not pause to sleep, nor to eat. They scented the air, roaring through the sun’s cycles, the thought of capturing the Chosen fueling the hunt.

“This scent is fresh.” The beast projected this thought to her company, fangs dripping saliva. Her great emerald green eyes searched the waves of sand. Suddenly, the scent had lost its potency. “There has been a recent shift. This land is not the same.” Anger burned in these thoughts, and the pride of hunters felt the frustration permeating this message. This group was the elite of the hunters, the most trusted by the king, yet the Great Beyond seemed to always be one step ahead. They pressed on despite their frustration, blazing a path through the sand to their destiny.

***

“My King,” Clarette voiced, not crossing the threshold of his room. Her breath caught upon looking in at the splendor of his chambers. A massive bookcase was to the right wall, hundreds of books on the shelves, and trinkets of the finest quality were scattered about the room. His bed was the largest she’d ever seen, covered in beautiful damask blankets and a fur duvet. All of the bedding had glorious, ornate golden threads that Clarette had no doubt were genuine. The headboard was a tufted creme, and under the bed was a large rug that had been imported from Belamoris. The heart of the room was not the bed or the beautiful trinkets, nor was it the massive bookshelf. It was an excessively large chandelier with crystals dripping from it. The light refracted about the room, its gems casting wondrous sparkles throughout his chambers. Her heart pounded at the alluring room, not wanting to even estimate the price of the treasures within.

“What do you want?” He padded out of a set of French doors, hair still wet from bathing. He donned only a towel, and Clarette grew incredibly uncomfortable at this, her cheeks blushing a light rose. Three priests, two males and one female, exited the lavatory. They’d been tasked in bathing him, no doubt, and she counted her blessings that it wasn’t her that had been given that chore.

“I know we have been focused on the conquest of Palidonaya…” She was nervous to ask him about this, but she knew it was for the best.

“Well, get on with it.” He waved a lazy hand and called out to the three to bring him back a glass of wine. They scurried away like nervous mice.

“It is only a week before Diwa’Kahh. I believe we should take time out of the schedule to celebrate. This festival will raise spirits, reinforcing the pride all dragon-kind feels, and will serve to solidify your dynasty as the greatest king the dragons have ever known. Also, it is tradition. Every Draconis King has been welcomed into his reign through this festival. I hope I’m not crossing any lines saying this, but Diwa’Kahh is the greatest part of being a servant; I’m sure it’s one of the greatest parts of being a dragon as well,” she implored. Within the time she used to make her plea, one of the males had returned with a wine glass and a bottle of the lands’ finest red wine. He nodded his thanks to the servant, and within the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Lucius stared pensively into the distance, lost in his thoughts. Every great king began his reign with the Diwa’Kahh celebration. The crown was placed on his head, his reign officially welcomed and recognized by his people. He had the ghost of a smile on his face, and finally continued. “This celebration must dwarf that of any of our past kings. Make the arrangements; it must be the most extravagant celebration our kind has ever seen. Paint the streets, set fires, do anything you must. Spare no expense; after all, I now control most of Palidonaya.” He swirled the wine glass and drew its contents into his mouth, savoring the flavor. At this, Clarette could’ve sworn she’d seen a twinkle in Lucius’s eyes, and she felt a stirring of excitement deep within her. This was all she’d ever wanted out of life, to serve her king, and to have an unlimited budget in planning the most decadent party anyone had ever laid eyes on, an unimaginably grandiose celebration.

“Make no mistake. I shall not disappoint you.” She grinned, leaving the doorway, and Lucius to his thoughts. Lucius stamped at the butterflies in his chest which fluttered at the idea of the celebration of Diwa’Kahh. He loved the celebration as a child; it fueled his passion and pride.

“Lucius, come here darling,” his mother’s velvety voice called from within her chambers. He followed the voice, and his eyes finally laid on her. She looked like an angel, her hair intricately woven, and she wore a flowing, icy blue dress. Its lace was mountain frost, her skin fair and beautiful. Her fire-red hair seemed to blaze in its braid.

“Yes, mother?” His voice was still the voice of the child, and his eyes seemed to widen looking at her. She regarded him adoringly, her hand ruffling his hair.

“You’ve seen the preparations through all of the mountains; you’ve felt the excitement in the air,” she started, grinning as he nodded enthusiastically. He silently prompted her to go on. “This year the Diwa‘Kahh will signify the hundredth year of your father’s reign,” she explained, trying to keep still as her handmaidens fussed with her makeup.

“I love the Diwa‘Kahh. When will I be able to participate?” He pronounced the word carefully, and it felt foreign on his tongue.

“Well, this year, you will take the first step towards the day that you will be honored in this festival. As the heir to the throne, you will be decorated and observe your father this year.” She raised a delicately painted hand to the ladies to get them to cease their painting. “Take off your shirt, darling,” she cooed, and he obliged. “If you will, paint his chest. Make it as perfect, for tonight will be his first.” Love permeated each syllable. “Diwa’Kahh celebrates the Birth of Fire. While you will not be participating in several of the events we have--”

Lucius’s face dropped, and her laughter rang through the two corridors at that, as light as the tinkling of bells. “Don’t pout, dear, you will have your time. You are far too young, nor do you have the crown yet. As I was saying, there will be a great feast, there will be the lighting of the skies, so many wonderful traditions! I won’t spoil it, though; you will learn our customs through experience. You need to pay close attention to your father and his role in the festival, as some day soon, this festival will welcome your reign as king.”

When Lucius looked at himself in the mirror that day, a mature male stared back at him for the first time.. Though he was still technically a child, a great surge of pride echoed through his bones in knowing that he would be able to observe his father this year. Flames were vibrantly painted on his chest showing his pride at being the prince of all dragon-kind.

Lucius shook himself out of his trance, the memory being one of the most important from his childhood. Its deep ache nearly crippled him. Why did the Council find it necessary to slaughter his mother? The kind and fair woman had done no harm to them… Lucius stood suddenly, that wrath that lit the fires of his heart coursing through his veins, and he flung his wine glass at the great bookshelf. Blood--no, wine--streamed off of its oak exterior, and glass decorated the floor. He dropped to his knees, face twisted as his old wound reopened, making his heart bleed once more. The Council deserved this, deserved the ravenous flame that devoured their cities. No longer would they suppress his kind; no more innocent dragon blood would be spilled. His people deserved freedom, and the Council would repent for their sins.

When the servants scuttered in, he was still on his knees with that haunted look in his eyes. He felt grateful that they didn’t ask questions, that they never spoke. They wiped clean his mess, took great care in getting rid of the glass, and left him to his thoughts.

Once more, Lucius stripped off his shirt in preparation for the great ceremony. Just looking at the pyres that had been built in honor of Diwa’Kahh made his heart thump faster. He had bequeathed the finest artists known throughout the mountain kingdom to paint his chest for a generous price, and the results were quite stunning. Down his right arm, the histories of the Draconis had been elegantly illustrated. Down his left arm raced a great mountain range. Powerful dragon wings framed his eyes, and growing from his pantline upwards were blazing flames.

“My King?” one of the artists said respectfully, but not timidly. He fixed his eyes on her, and to his surprise, she did not flinch under his stare. “I have an idea, but I wanted your permission before doing it.” He gave her permission before she even explained herself. Dripping red, orange, golden, and blue paint over her fingers, she looked him in the eye once, before running her fingers through his hair. He let out a muffled grunt at the surprise, but when facing himself in the mirror, he had to admit that it looked quite striking. The contrast in his raven hair and the effervescent colors streaked through it looked dashing.

He tipped his head, eyes not breaking from his reflection.

Today was the day a king felt closest to his people, a day where he walked among them. His court was small, but the expansion had gone well. As far as relations went with the Draconis, while he did not have personal relationships with them, he knew he had earned their respect. Walking through the streets, he couldn’t help but to be pleased. Small fires burned throughout the city surrounding his estate, and they glittered like fallen stars. The city held a regality that none could parallel. Whispers of winter carried through the air, and he felt the gelid murmurs on his neck. Citizens passing by on the street attempted not to gawk while making last minute preparations. While usually at his estate, the servants collected the firewood to be displayed on the doorsteps; he collected it himself this year. No, he wouldn’t venture into King’s Forest, as he would as part of the tradition, but instead into the familiar woods that were open to all. Life breathed around him, the heartbeat of the forest ringing true in his mind. He enjoyed listening to the life force around him, cherishing the twittering of birds and the sputtering of squirrels. Not far from here, children were laughing in light tones, and he found himself lost once more in memory.