The Binding Blood

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. At least, not while the Humanoid Republic thrived. As legend has it, dragons were the original dominant species on the planet Soul as well as the inventors of alchemy and astrology and founders of magic; the combination of which brought the bipedal Humanoid Class into existence through Shamava’s experimentation with Huma’natur’rah, meaning ‘Those Beneath Our Shadows.’ Thus, after thousands of years and plenty of failed iterations, thirteen species had evolved with equally comparable intelligence. There are the four omnivorous Primates: Furless, Ape, Dwarf, and Elf; the four carnivorous Beasts: Canine, Feline, Rodent, and Reptilian; the three herbivorous Grazers: Ungulate, Bovine, and Hippopotamus (or Orcs, for short); the deciduous Seedlings; and, finally, the now extinct Cetaceans. Shamava’s intention was to propagate stewards of Soul for when dragons ascended to another world. However, Kahba the Conqueror thought Soul should belong to dragons forever and sought to enslave Humanoids and all “lesser” beings. Some followed while the remainder supported Shamava's Dream and defended the Humanoids in a great battle that lasted a single day: The Eclipse of Onrico. Being a legend as such, not much is known beyond that day nor why any dragon influence had since ceased. One thing is known for certain: they have reappeared in the Valley of Shamava and not with peaceful intentions, it would seem.

Until two weeks ago, dragons were simply assumed to be endangered remnants of their respective elemental regions called Biomes, never setting foot or stretching a wing beyond the borders of their domains. Few and famous brave people have dared to trek the volcanic plains of Arv’vituul to the North, where one’s eyes might be boiled out of their skull from the acidic vapors escaping the porous landscape; or sail the Western seas of the tall yet slender Dor’zhay Isles that protrude from the water like teeth, as if hinting at a great mouth that waits to swallow ships whole; or enter the icy wastelands of Zig’antig just South of the Girdge Mountain range; or cross the Eastern Dunes of Car’tinan: an arid desert absent of any assured end. There are many more regions, each with their inherent natural dangers, but dragons are the enduring reason free-folk have steered clear of venturing beyond. Everything the Humanoid Republic needed to prosper was closely available within its rolling mountains, verdant valleys, sprawling plains, and deep forests that encompassed a great expanse of land at the center of the continent, known as Shamava’s Heart. Now, in the wake of a sighting in the skies south of Armbuckle followed by the destruction of Pruen’s Tower on Hombel’s Peak to the north a few days later, the Humanoid homeland no longer felt secure from the ancient threat.

Bavin Oro Thoroguard, a Furless man, wondered, “Had Maliki survived?” His brother Maliki was stationed at Pruen’s Tower but none had returned to the central city of Crancial yet. The scout raven Hek had revealed telepathically to its master, Tribula Harrow of the Ungulates, of the tower’s destruction and that a single person traveled on foot. Bavin prayed to Shamava that it was Maliki.

“They are a half-day ride away, as the raven flies,” Tribula said, feeding Hek a worm-meal biscuit as a reward. The bond established over many years of training between Humanoid and the Winged is how Tribula and other scouts like her can communicate telepathically.

“Any other details? Is it a man?” Bavin eagerly asked.

Tribula flashed her dark marble eyes at Bavin and shook her snout. “I do not train Hek to differentiate between the fluidity of genders, Bavin of Halbrook. All I can say is: don’t get your hopes up.”

“My apologies, ma’am,” Bavin held his tongue.

The report was passed to the Central Guardmaster, Great Ape Cae’ya Kamizo, who ordered an extrication team to retrieve the survivor. Near the end of the day, Bavin watched from the guard tower window as the Felines Drou’zha and Dunuvin raced out of the castle gates with a speed unparalleled by any other species. Looking to the maroon skies of a setting sun, Bavin knew all he could do was wait until the morning light for news. Captain O’ikina Lupicci, a war-torn Canine, relieved Bavin from his post shortly after. “Be with your family tonight,” he ordered.

Bavin headed straight for home after changing in the barracks. He trusted in the skills and strength of the Crancial Guard but, in the greater scheme of things, he worried more about the survival of the entire Humanoid race if dragons intended to dominate again. He suspected they would not return without a logical reason, especially given their total absence since the Eclipse of Onrico. They could have easily overtaken the Humanoid species during their weakest points in history, such as the War of Ninety-nine Moons or the Cetacean Extinction Event. For any deeper truth, the best sources of information on dragons would be sorted at the restricted libraries of the Magehood Hall or locked in the Historical Society’s Vaults of Knowledge. Another, much closer-to-home, option would be his wife Futima, whose father was a great alchemist in his time that passed on much of his knowledge to her before his passing almost a decade ago. Either way, he supposed there was more than meets the eye.

Before completing the journey home, Bavin decided to buy a large sack of patty-rice and a bundle of omega-greens; essential for any pantry of reserves since the culinary combination can boost one’s fortitude and focus. His local market square was bustling but not in an economic sense. Friends and neighbors of all sorts were frantically stockpiling what goods they could readily afford, with many totes and carts in tow. It was clear everyone was preparing for the worst. Bavin paid his merchant friend Anule for the goods and thanked him, who said in a typical Reptilian hiss, “There’sss no more where that came from.”

“You’re back early!” Futima said as Bavin squeezed through the large front door of their stone house, which was positioned in a complex of lordly homes on a high hill above the market square, directly west of the castle.

He kissed her and said solemnly, “Things will likely be different from here on out, my starlight.” Futima responded with a face of concern while she grabbed the bundle of greens from his arm. Just then, their two children trotted down the stairs and shouted, “Father!”

“There’s my little sparks,” Bavin said, plopping the sack of rice on the bench and embracing them both.

“We’ve heard news of dragons, father,” his nine-year-old son Bakil said.

“It’s all they talk about at school,” his daughter Fiona said. The claim was disheartening to hear from the six-year-old but their father understood. It would be foolish to think he could shelter them from the truth for long, especially while everyone else was clearly scared of so many unknowns.

“They aren’t knocking at the gates yet, are they?” Bavin finally replied, “We’ll be alright, as long as we stay strong together.” The little ones nodded their heavy heads. “Now you two wash up and help prepare the supper, yeah?”

“Yes, father.” The children headed into the wetroom past the hearth.

Bavin turned to Futima and saw the unhappy look on her face. “I don’t know enough to help you,” she said, admitting a hunch that he would finally ask her about dragons.

He smiled. “No no, I only wish to hear your opinion. Perhaps… you have an idea as to why dragons have resurfaced?”

“What’s the confusion?” Futima asked irritably. “They want to dominate the planet.” She kept herself busy by setting the table.

“That’s just the Kahba Legend,” Bavin said innocently. “How could that matter now? It’s only one dra-”

“One, so far! Who knows how many still exist? How many have grown in number?”

“Right...” Bavin watched her while he contemplated for a moment, trying to choose his words more wisely. Instead of standing awkwardly by, he contributed a helping hand. “I understand you, dear,” he continued, “You’re worried about the little ones, same as I, and that’s why I want to understand more. I want to be prepared to protect my family and my homeland. My intuition tells me there’s something I’m missing. Please help me see it.”

Her actions did not cease.

“You’re the smart one, ‘Ma! You know I was never good with history. I’d wager your father taught you more about dragon lore than I will ever know of the Y’y’tar fighting style.”

Futima rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You are a bold man, interrogating me like this,” she said playfully, “and yet, you aren’t asking the right question.” The two partners finished setting the table and Futima got close to him. She introduced perplexity to his face when she asked: “For what do you think the dragons would return to the Valley?”

Fiona and Bakil returned with their arms full of dinner items, portioned in bowls and pans, and placed them at the center of the table accordingly.

“Thanks for helping set the table,” Futima said with a kiss to Bavin’s cheek, snapping him out of his deep thought. He decided to leave the topic alone until later.

Together, the family enjoyed plentiful servings of crusted bean-loaf with fig sauce, baked colcannon, steamed zucchonion, and rice-flour rolls, all while keeping any external concerns or politics on the wayside of conversation. After everything was eaten, the dishes were cleaned, and the children were set to bed, Futima remained in the main hall to jot alchemical calculations into her notebook while Bavin sat in his chair on the bedroom balcony and puffed on his long pipe. The balcony stood just above the entry door and overlooked the small river valley below the castle, with a combination of farm fields and villas in between.

For what did the dragons return? Bavin repeated the question in his head as he watched the smoke roll into the starry night sky. He guessed that Futima was simply implying, if one were to surmise another reason for the dragon's resurgence, it could be material in nature. To reenter the Humanoid realm and destroy an ancient watchtower meant the material object, whatever it was, had to be of considerable importance. After all, many dragon species are rumored to covet certain material possessions, such as gold and crystal treasures, natural resources, or even specific body parts, such as skulls, femurs, and organs. One must not also forget, due to the legends, that dragons were historically believed to be the visionary catalysts of Humanoid evolution and, therefore, extremely intelligent and cunning. Either way, while he ran the questions through his mind, he supposed in the end that perhaps she didn’t have an answer either and was on the same path of guessing as he. He didn’t want to bother his wife while she worked. His thoughts wandered to the mountains on the horizon, to his cousin Maliki, and the lone survivor. Regardless of who it was, Bavin prayed for their safe return and that the report they bring will be useful.

Having finished all his pipe-weed, Bavin changed for bed and laid out his belongings for a swift exit the next morning. Futima finally met him in their room and changed too, which grabbed his attention. She was as beautiful as the day they met, he thought, watching her dark hair curl over her fair face and fall past her small shoulders. Whenever he sees her and the children, Bavin is filled with a sense of duty as a husband and father that promises to keep them safe; however, another sense of duty also infected his heart. As a steadfast student of the Y’y’tar Blade, like his father before him and their ancestors beyond, he is bound to Shamava’s Dream, which means to be a steward of Soul and shield the humanoid race from destruction. In this way, if he was asked to execute his duty as a warrior versus a husband and father, he would be conflicted on which deserved more of his sacrifice.

Futima noticed Bavin was deep in thought and said, “Don’t leave so much weight on your heart, dear.”

He laughed coyly and agreed with a smile, then approached her when she had thrown on her nightgown. They embraced for a moment in healthy silence until Futima looked up into Bavin’s eyes and said, “I’ve been thinking, since you brought up my father…”

Bavin felt a tinge of guilt because the subject was still fresh. Abritov Druios was constantly in his alchemical studies following his dismissal at the Magehood Trials, which is what some believe is the reason he shut himself out from the world. Another reason was likely the death of his son, Futima’s brother Daruu, who died that same year. Bavin was courting Futima at the time and supported her through the turmoil. They were quite pleased to witness Abritov's return after eight long years of seclusion, finally getting to meet his two grandchildren. It would seem he was too late, however, when after a few weeks, he died in his sleep without any apparent explanation. Two years later, dragons are pervading the skies again.

Futima walked to the balcony to gaze upon the scenery while she spoke and Bavin listened closely behind her.

“There’s something he would often mention when discussing dragons,” she said, “Something called The Binding Blood. Apparently, our connection to dragons is deeper than history has told us. There’s a story he would tell Daruu and I when we were young, about the First Humanoids and how some could apparently wield elemental powers just as dragons do. An unforeseen consequence of Shamava’s work, or so my father claimed.”

Futima remained pensive for a moment and Bavin could tell she was thinking about her brother and father.

“The Binding Blood is a myth, really, and I still have difficulty trusting everything my father taught me,” Futima muttered.

“I understand,” Bavin said, putting his arm around her shoulder. What he actually understood was Futima’s long-standing belief that Abritov’s intense passion for ancient alchemy led to his untimely demise. He finally asked, “So you think it could be more than just a treasure? That, perhaps, dragons have returned for something… metaphysical?”

“Possibly,” Futima said, thinking. Then, she changed her tone and said sternly, “All I really know is, if dragons are in the Valley now, we have more to fear than their reasons.”

She was right. Every life was at stake. He was not convinced all would be lost so easily though. A large part of Bavin was both terrified and terribly intrigued by their motivations. Perhaps more answers could be found tomorrow, with the survivor, or even at Pruen’s Tower. “We all have much to learn. Much to discover…” He pressed her to his chest and kissed her head, “...but not as much time left to rest.”

She looked up at him and thought of how dark, restless days may come tomorrow, but for now, as the lamplight dwindled, they could make love and fall soundly asleep together.

In the dreamworld, Bavin was met by a hooded woman in a dark robe who stood at the end of a long, arched tunnel. Behind her was a lamplit painting of a lightning storm crashing over a tumultuous ocean. A tiny figure of a man on the right side of the painting stood at the top of a rocky spire, turned away from view. His sword was drawn and aimed to the sky, glowing brightly as if it absorbed the lightning above. He was braving the tempest head-on. Upon closer inspection, Bavin thought he could see great white eyes shining in the dark clouds… reminding him of something familiar.

Before he could study it further, the woman grabbed his attention and spoke ominously. “Why have you entered these halls?” Her tone was surprisingly comforting.

Bavin couldn’t see her face apart from her wrinkled mouth. “I… couldn’t turn away,” he replied honestly. As far as he could tell, there was nothingness in the other direction.

“Then time has grown tired of waiting,” the woman said cryptically. “Who guards the guards if the guard breaks? Who’s hand halts the fight if the fight is at hand?”

Bavin was perplexed. Looking up at the painting again, he noticed a lightning bolt crossing the length of the painting. He could have sworn it was not there before. The woman suddenly clasped his arm and stretched out her hand. There was no threat in her actions. She proceeded to put something cold and heavy into his palm but, before he could see what it was, she closed his hand tightly. So tight, in fact, it felt as if spikes and sparks were both driving into his hand, eventually emanating through his body, and he fell to one knee. The soft sound of thunder rumbled from the painting and into the halls. It quickly grew more intense. When he thought he could bear it no more, the painting grabbed his attention. It was moving; all the waves splashed, the lightning crashed, and the glowing eyes in the clouds burned through the canvas like hot coals. Finally, Bavin looked to the woman for reprieve. All he could see under her shrouded face were the same eyes from the painting… the eyes of a dragon.

Bavin awoke from his dream. A faint whistle traveled over the river valley and into his keen ear. Sweating, he sat up and refocused his attention, ensuring the sound was not from his imagination. It was the night-call of the Forward Guard. Bavin knew it meant Drou’zha and Dunuvin had returned to Crancial’s outer rim, meaning they would make it to the castle within the hour. A bit early, he thought, before the sunrise over the mountains. He checked on Futima to make sure he didn’t wake her then looked at the hand that had been stung in the dream. There was no evidence of injury. He let out a sigh of relief and prepared for a swift departure. Clothed and packed, he returned to Futima’s side, kissed her on the temple, and soundlessly slipped out the door.

Bavin raced to the castle gates in an attempt to arrive before the rescue team and suited up at the barracks. When he entered, Xurrio Ubbuel of the Hippopotamus species was gearing up ahead of him. She was also early. He bid her a good morning and she returned the gesture with a cranky grumble. As Bavin equipped his sword, the swordguard suddenly cracked, split, and plummeted to the floor, sending him into shock and awe.

“Feeling a bit green?” Xurrio snied.

Bavin was too taken aback to speak. One of the first things a Center Guard does before performing any duties or leaving their post for the day is inspect their gear and guarantee its quality. There was no evidence of damage whatsoever yesterday, he thought. “I… don’t understand,” he said to Xurrio, “It was fine yesterday.”

“Best not let Cap’n O’ikina find it in such a sorry state,” She said sincerely. “Here,” Xurrio held out a sword grabbed from the neighboring weapon rack. “Hayta is on week-leave, use theirs.”

“No,” Bavin retorted. “I should report this at once.” He picked up the two swordguard pieces, bowed to Xurrio, and left her alone in the barracks. In his whole career as a Sword Guard, not once did his gear break so easily. A sword guard break…

Who guards the guards when the guard breaks? The words from the woman in his dream suddenly echoed in his head. He stopped when the sound of thunder softly reverberated through the hall. Supposing it was a change of weather outside, he continued on his way to the northern gate, where he could await the return of the extrication team.

At the gates, Bavin noted clear skies, which made him grow uneasy. Tribula and O’ikina, along with a few more Guards, were huddled in open discussion. Tribula noticed his approach and pointed her snout. O'ikina finished his conversation and turned toward Bavin, prompting the two men to bow in acknowledgement and leave. Bavin, on the other hand, bowed but did not stand at ease.

“My apologies, sir,” he said formally, “My sword is of little use to the Guard today. I have failed to uphold its integrity.” It took only a short moment until O’ikina bared his Canine teeth and laughed, taking Bavin and Tribula by surprise.

“You expect me to believe you broke your swordguard, Thoroguard?” O’ikina chuckled alone. “You are among the most diligent caretakers of the Y’y’tar blade.”

Bavin stood up straight and showed the captain his naked sword and the broken pieces. The two men shared a moment of silence. There was nothing more to say.

“Very curious,” the captain stroked his chin and said, “I would say ‘you won’t likely need it today’ but, then again…”

Just then, O’ikina’s ear twitched and he turned his attention to the gate, where the extrication team were finally approaching. Rou’we the Quartermaster appeared from the southern hallway with a few Guards in tow. Dunuvin aided the soldier’s walking while Drou’zha ran ahead to meet the Quartermaster and inform her of their journey. At the same time, Bavin, O’ikina, Tribula, hurried to their side. To Bavin’s sheer disappointment, the survivor was not his brother Maliki.

“Find this man some water,” Dunuvin said hastily. The survivor was carefully set to the ground and given a canteen from one of the Guards.

“Your name, good squire?” Rou’we asked the man of Dwarf descent.

“Burnok,” he said after a big gulp, “Burnok Mallow from Yinshire.”

O’ikina nodded to two of the Guards and said, “Send word to Guardmaster Cae’ya. He will want to inform the Council.” They immediately trotted into the great hall.

Rou’we looked back to Burnok as he began stuttering, “The dragon… it-it came at us faster than we-we knew how to react. It w-was larger than any beast I’ve ever seen before.” Burnok took another gulp of water and continued, “There was no fire or ice, it just… the-the tower… it crumbled as if… built of sand. People… trapped inside. I-I was… I was fetching water from the well and—” The poor man handed the canteen back like it had suddenly turned sour and then began sobbing into his arms and knees. Exhaustion from the hasty marathon finally set in.

“Burnok, you deserve a moment to rest,” Rou’we said softly, “Please, this way.” She and Dunuvin helped the man to his feet.

“What of my brother, Maliki?” Bavin blurted out as they passed. With no hindrance from the other soldiers, Burnok peered into Bavin’s eyes; at first with shock when he recognized the name and then with disintegrating hope as he recalled the events in his mind again. The Dwarf’s disgruntled face said enough. Maliki and any others at Pruen’s Tower we’re most certainly gone. Bavin’s gaze remained on the floor while Burnok was led away.

Tribula stepped up. “I’m sorry, Thoroguard,” she said sincerely, clutching his shoulder.

“Bavin,” O’ikina commanded, “I’m giving you week-leave starting today.”

Bavin immediately straightened into a formal stance and said, “I am a Crancial Guard, sir. My duty is to serve and protect the Republic. I am here today and days hence to—“

“That’s grand and all,” O’ikina said softer, “But right now, I need you to fix that...” His snout aimed at the damaged sword at Bavin’s hip, “…before you end up breaking your spirit too.”

Bavin hesitated before subtly sighing and sternly bowing, and said, “As you command, Captain.” He was clearly disheartened and didn’t want to be seen as a nuisance to his rank, so he quickly left the castle. Before leaving the gates, he asked, “Please, sir, send word of any further developments as soon as permissible?”

O’ikina nodded yes and Bavin left.

“His hopes were too high,” Tribula said when Bavin was halfway over the bridge.

“Nay,” O’ikina replied, “I think he always knew. He just hates being right.”

Bavin stood at his front door, mustering composure to enter as if nothing important had changed. On the walk home, his sadness molded to anger and then, as he climbed his neighborhood street, he realized his anger was useless and tempered it into motivation. The worst thing, he thought, was not that he left home without informing his family of any reasons but that, given the information he now carried, he would have to explain a new reasoning; or rather, a difficult decision.

When Bavin finally got the courage and stepped inside, he was quickly met by his children, who were reading an astrology picture book together by the hearth.

“You’re back already?” Fiona asked excitedly.

“He probably got in trouble” Bakil said.

“No, it’s nothing like that.” Futima entered the main hall from the wetroom with a face of concern.

Bavin remained stoic. “I’m… apparently not posted today,” he lied. She saw right through him. Without another word, she approached and placed her hand at his cheek. He submitted a cold smile and sighed. “The bad news is,” he tried to think of something other than the survivor or his brother, “my sword has broken.” Immediately, she gasped and took a step back like she had been pushed. Bavin thought it was a bit dramatic. Carefully, Bavin removed the sword from his waistband and the broken pieces from his pouch and held them out.

“That… is strange,” Futima said.

“I know, it happened so sudden,” he replied. He didn’t expect her to be as shook as she was.

“No, I mean…” She wanted to elaborate but hesitated, in rather deep thought, and looked heavily into his eyes. “Come with me,” she commanded.

A bit perplexed yet intrigued, Bavin followed her into the storage room that led to the cellar door. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Futima scanned a shelf until she reached for a locked box behind a stack of dusty books and papers, likely her father’s.

“What’s all this then?” He asked nervously.

She pulled a key from her pocket, unlocked the box, and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. “My father kept this for Daruu, before he passed,” she said solemnly, slowly unfolding the fabric corner by corner. “I think I understand who it’s for now.”

Upon opening the final fold, a swordguard was revealed. It was char-black with exquisite golden trim, etched with two lightning bolts on both sides, and short spikes protruding from each corner like the short horns of a dragon snout. Futima lifted it up to Bavin, who cautiously reached out for it. The closer his hand got, the more a burning sensation entered his pulsing palm. When he finally touched it, the sensation was numbing, almost like he had touched a flame except it was cool and tolerable. Instantly, he recalled his dream from last night.

“A broken spirit is mended in a flash of light,” Futima uttered, as if talking to herself. “My father told me this swordguard was forged before the Eclipse of Onrico.”

Bavin, feeling the light sting of the swordguard extending into his arm, said, “But that would mean…”

She continued, “I don’t know why this thing has remained in our family for so long. Ho, when I got it, I thought about selling it, but… now I see.”

“Are you giving this to me? Why?”

“My father always said, ‘This belongs to the broken spirit,’ but I didn’t know what he meant until now. It may sound crazy but… he said that one day a blademaster with a broken swordguard will need our help. Bavin, that man is you.”

Bavin studied the sword in one hand and then the swordguard in the other. He was surprised to discover that his hand was bleeding from the spikes that had driven into his palm without any hint of pain. Futima knew what to do next. She set the cloth down and grabbed a nearby hammer and flat bar. Bavin carefully unsheathed his sword and hammered the lock ring off the handle, slid the new swordguard down the length of the blade, and reapplied the lock ring. Nothing special emitted or sparked after its completion but Bavin could have sworn the sword had become lighter.

“Something tells me you’ll be going to Pruen’s Tower to find answers,” Futima said. At this point, Bavin wasn’t surprised that she had guessed correctly. She locked eyes with him and clutched his face. “Mend the spirit. Find your truth. That is your duty now.”

Bavin was bewildered; abhorred with doubt and fear yet stricken by courage with her commands. He didn’t understand what any of the vague messages meant but figured, in due time, the answers would reveal themselves. He returned the sword to its sheath and into his waistband then the two of them returned to the main level.

“Fiona. Bakil. Please, come here.” Bavin squatted down to their eye level and put his hands on their shoulders, and lovingly explained, “I’m going away for the week, on important errands, and there’s no need to worry.”

Bakil noticed their mother was packing a bag with rations and supplies. When she started filling a canteen, he interrupted his father. “I’m coming with you!” He shouted.

“Bakil, please,” Bavin said, making strong eye contact. “With me gone, who will watch over your mother and sister? I need you here to protect our home.” He looked at Fiona and said, “Both of you.” Then, he returned his gaze to Bakil and asked, “You can do that, right?”

After an emotional moment, Bakil nodded his head and said, “Yes, sir!”

Bavin embraced his two children tightly. “I wish I could take you with me,” he said genuinely, “but I have to do this alone. I love you.” He kissed their heads, retrieved the supplies from Futima before kissing her farewell, and departed on the mysterious, potentially dangerous journey to Pruen’s Tower.