Journey to the East

“There weren't always dragons in the valley…" Atsyrukh turned to look at his companion. Dzerassa didn’t notice, too busy rubbing at a cheek reddened by summer sun. She was staring off into the distance, watching water flow along a canal. Sluggish, shallow, and vaguely mud coloured water. Still, the midday heat left her aching for a dip.

The sudden absence of his voice, broke through the discomfort, reminded her she ought to be listening. She turned, saw he'd been waiting all this time, eyebrow raised. She flushed.

“Uh. What was that about the dragon?”

“It did not always reside in this valley.”

“Well, yes. What does that have to do with us standing around, getting baked by the sun?”

He pointed at the grass beneath their horses’ hooves; more brown than green, sparse, and tired looking. He pointed at the land surrounding the canal. A greener land, crisscrossed by irrigation ditches, and dotted with fruit trees.

“The Parni must leave these plains Rassa, they are failing.”

“The plains have sustained us for as long as I can remember.”

Atsyrukh chuckled at her shrug. “Bah! Barely into your sixteenth year, and you talk of memory?” He pointed at the deep lines crisscrossing his face. “Mark my words. The great plains have never been this dry.”

She shrugged, deeper this time.

“You don't believe me do you child?”

“I don’t know. Maybe times truly were better. Or perhaps-" She leaned closer with a lop-sided smile. "Perhaps it's simply that your back did not ache, and you arrows still flew true. Hmm?”

Atsyrukh sighed, aimed a half-hearted flick of his riding whip her way. “Sky spirits above, but I’ve raised an insolent foal.”

Dzerassa snickered, pressed a heel to her mount’s flank. Her horse obliged, stepped sideways. The whip’s tail sailed through empty air.

“And a fine rider,” he admitted. It was difficult, forcing a scowl, when pride was welling to the surface. As always, it was short lived, softening instead into a look of tired amusement. Dzerassa smiled, guided her mount to it’s former place.

“The elders all say these are bad times,” she said. She was not smiling now. “It's difficult to accept. When these ‘bad times’ are all you’ve ever known. Likely all you will ever know.”

She skipped a beat, letting the tremble in her voice pass, then pressed on. “And it’s infuriating, when they all refuse to explain why their times were good.”

Atsyrukh nodded, understanding. “Perhaps they fear sharing precious memories, fear seeing the disbelief in your young eyes, another fresh reminder that better times are well and truly past.”

“Is that your reason?”

“No, I simply try not to sadden my daughter with stories long past. What good will that do eh?”

“Your daughter is already sad. Stories might make her feel better,” she said, now wearing a parody of a pout. He laughed.

“Very well.”

He cast his mind back to a time when the Parni still occupied the valley’s foothills. Recounted, how as child, he'd followed a school of fish struggling upstream. How this chase had brought him face to face with a talking bear. Dzerassa pulled a face at this.

“You’re pulling my leg,” she said. Her eyes narrowed.

Atsyrukh ignored this. “I named the bear Sweet Tooth, on account of her great fondness for honey. The great irony is, she was deathly afraid of bees! I visited from time to time, traded her honeycomb for fish.”

He continued, describing another chance encounter, this time with an old man of the forest. It had happened when, riding through an unexplored stretch of forest, he’d nearly trampled the poor mage under hoof.

Dzerassa snorted. “I am in great wonder as to how you've survived all these years.”

Atsyrukh grinned. “As am I, as am I. Luckily, this particular mage was of the good sort.”

“Hearing you tell it, life seemed almost magical, like something bards produce by the evening fire.”

“I believe it was. We lived back then, not merely survived.” Atsyrukh’s smile faded, along with Dzerassa's good humour. She took a sharp breath.

“How did it all end?”

He had no reply at first. Eyes on the ground, she cursed silently, wondered if she ought to withdraw the question. At length he began talking again, slowly, less enthused this time.

Atsyrukh was older now, sat in his tent beside a sleeping Dzerassa. An entire evening of careful coddling was undone by a loud growl. In an instant, the tent filled with the sound of her wails. He poked his head outside, found Sweet tooth standing before him, her flanks heaving.

"Calamity is near at hand my dear", she half panted. He offered to fetch her some water, but she refused. There was no time. For behind the valley’s northern peaks, a great dragon had arose. She was headed east, out of the valley, along with every creature or being with an inkling of magical intuition.

“I suggest the Parni do the same.”

Atsyrukh watched her disappear over the horizon. The assembly that night was inconclusive, every proposal crashing headfirst into bitter argument. Come next morning, most of the Parni remained encamped.

The dragon arrived shortly thereafter. It exhaled no great bursts of flame, made no cries, merely glided in casual circles above the Parni. They let fly their arrows, watched in horror as every single one glanced off its hide.

The dragon tucked in its wings then, launched into a steep dive. It ignored the archers peppering it with shafts, aimed instead for their flock. It snatched at them two at a time, hauling them skywards. Their terrified cries rang out long after, jabbing at Parni spirits.

It was Atsyrukh’s turn to slow down, calm the tremble in his voice. “So, we fled to the great plains. We’d prepared for a final stand, not to watch helpless, while our livelihood was stripped away.”

“And the dragon didn't follow you to the great plains?”

Atsyrukh shook his head. “It found something better than livestock among the river peoples. Gold."

Dzerassa let out a bitter laugh. “And here we are, ready to beg entry from them. Not much of an escape.”

He said nothing, and the pair lapsed into somber silence. It remained unbroken, even as the sun had moved across the sky, and began to redden her other cheek.

“I trust they know of our presence?”

“They could hardly fail to notice an entire tribe camped so near.”

Sure enough, Dzerassa’s eyes spotted movement on the horizon. A dust plume came into view, followed by the sound of hoofbeats. Dzerassa counted five riders as it drew near. Some of them might as well have been sacks of rocks, sitting so low and heavy in the saddle.

Four of them halted short of the canal. A rather non-descript boy at the rear, young, perhaps her age. Then three armed men. Dzerassa frowned, they carried curved riding bows, similar to her own. The remaining rider was unarmed and wore the colourful robes of the river peoples. He rode onwards then down the canal bank. He came to a stop in the middle of the canal, water lapped at his horse's knees.

Atsyrukh exhaled sharply, tilted his head at the three bowmen. “Parni?” She leaned forward, squinted.

“Not Parni no. Nomads from out west I’d say.”

Atsyrukh forced a smile, pinched her cheek. “Stay on this bank, leave that bow in its case, and your hands on the reins.”

He too rode into the canal. Noted with displeasure how his horse struggled in the mud. He halted an arm’s length away from the man. Up close Atsyrukh could see the roundness of his face, in such stark contrast to his own. Atsyrukh felt mildly ill. He suppressed the urge to spit, favoured the man with a curt nod instead.

“Atsyrukh of the Parni. With whom do I treat with?”

“Porus, humble servant to the master of these lands,” the man answered, motioning at all about him with the sweep of an arm. “Why do your tribe camp so near this land?”

“We hope to gain permission to settle it.”

“I'm afraid without some sizeable tribute to my master, that won't be possible. Do you have any to offer?”

Atsyrukh frowned. “Tell the dragon this is impossible. The plains barely yield enough to keep us alive.”

“Dragon? I serve Oxyartes of Kand.”

“And to whom does Oxyartes pay tribute?”

Porus half-smiled, “And to think I rode into this canal hoping the mud would stop you riding circles around me.” He looked past Atsyrukh.

“If you cannot produce tribute, Kand is always in need of warriors.” Porus pointed at Dzerassa. “Or servants.”

Atsyrukh said nothing, simply stared. Porus coughed, mistook the silence for hesitation. “They’d be better off,” he added, gestured back at the boy. “One of my own servants, look. Far better fed than that poor girl. And I am merely a humble-”

Porus trailed off mid-sentence. Atsyrukh’s dagger trembled at his neck. “I think I've heard enough," he said.

Porus swallowed, tried gingerly to raise his chin up from the blade, then tilted his head at his guards. They had bows raised, and arrows pointed at both Parni.

“I think you should leave,” Porus managed. Atsyrukh simply pressed his dagger higher.

Behind them, Dzerassa also had her bow up. She peered down a nocked arrow, saw a guard doing much the same. She felt an odd calm then, certain the arrow would fly true, however good of a shot he turned out to be.

Something glinted in the corner of her vision. She ignored it, kept her eye fixed on the guard. Whatever it was glinted again. She risked a glance, and saw that it was a horse fly, wings catching the sunlight. It flew unnoticed past the guards, straight at the boy with purpose.

The boy swatted at the insect. It dove under his hand, landed on his mount’s neck with an angry buzz. The horse let out a great cry of fear, and bolted forwards, pushing through the line of guards before it. Down in the canal Porus took his chance, grabbed at Atsyrukh's wrist with both hands. Atsyrukh dropped the dagger in surprise, and the two settled into a wrestling match on horseback.

All three guards recovered quickly and turned their arrows towards the boy, drew back their strings, loosed.

Two arrows zipped towards him, struck his neck. Dzerassa's heart dropped. She watched in dumb fascination as both arrows glanced off, and the boy careened onwards, unharmed.

Then a third arrow hit his horse, sending both crashing to the ground. Dzerassa came alive then, lined up a guard, loosed, saw him drop. The two remaining guards barked at each other. One dismounted next to the boy, grabbed at him. The other reached for his next arrow.

Dzerassa's did the same. A loud splash in the canal knocked her off balance for a single heartbeat, enough time for the guard to beat her to the draw. He grinned then, began to uncurl his draw fingers. The grin gave way to panic as the bowstring snapped. The man held his useless bow overhead, rode away, followed quickly by Porus.

Dzerassa let them go, instead scanning the canal. She saw Atsyrukh, unhorsed and soaked, but otherwise unharmed. The last guard yelled out, released his grip on the boy, who scrambled away brandishing a bloodied paper knife. The guard drew his sword, stepped towards the boy, brought it downwards in a vicious blow. Sword met knife with a terrible clang, then snapped.

The guard lashed out with what remained of his sword, catching the boy's head with the pommel. Dzerassa's arrow took him between the ribs. His knees buckled, and he fell, joining the boy on the ground. A silence settled over the bank, broken only by the whinnying of riderless horses. Atsyrukh scrambled up the other bank. Dzerassa rode across herself, found him whispering softly to a beautiful chestnut.

"Everything alright?"

"Mostly unharmed," he said, massaging his jaw. "My pride on the other hand..."

She laughed, leaned down and hugged his head. "You'll survive a little wounded pride," she promised. He left her his new horse, walked over to the boy and knelt beside him.

"He's alive."

Dzerassa dismounted to join him, knelt down next to the boy.

Atsyrukh pointed at the boy's neck. "Like I thought. A slave, not a servant. See the collar under the tunic? Oh- what's this?" He turned the boy sideways, exposed two gouges on the back of his collar.

"They shot at him twice."

Atsyrukh whistled. "He's had the luck of the gods with him today then. Look!" He held up what remained of the guard’s sword. "New, well made. Not likely to break, certainly not on a so feeble a knife."

She could only shake her head in wonder. "What are you?" she muttered.

Atsyrukh was now squinting at the collar's name tag, tracing the script with his fingers, mouthing out the characters.

“He's called Iskandar, and if found, to be returned to Porus of Kand.”

“A little late for that now don't you think?”

Atsyrukh guffawed, “That horse has well and truly bolted.” He lifted Iskandar, slung him over the chestnut's back.

Dzerassa already mounted, watched the horizon, imagining the dust cloud kicked up by a returning Porus, this time at the head of a small army.

"Come help me round up the other horses."

"Where will we go now?"

"The only place we can go, East. Now hurry Rassa, we’ll need every mount we can get."