The Demigod Proving (34 page)

“You and I will speak shortly,” the Master said to Wrend. “I have questions for you before I decide what to do with you.”

Wrend nodded, helpless to do anything else.

The Master stepped around the altar to where the sapphire blade lay in the dirt, where Wrend had dropped it. He picked up the knife by the hilt and wiped it off on his pant leg.

He gestured at the four priests in front of the crowd, and pointed at the bins of seeds. They gathered around the bins. The Master motioned for a handful of demigods and demigoddesses to take up the positions of the slaughtered priests. By the time he knelt in front of the altar, three of the priests and two demigoddesses had lined up in a circle around the silver bowl. They took up the silver chalices and held them ready to scoop and pour blood. One priest stood at a bin with a wooden paddle, ready to stir the blood into the seeds. The six demigods formed a semicircle behind the Master.

“Begin the chanting again,” the Master said.

The priests and demigods and demigoddesses looked at each other, and after a moment the one closest to Steffan nodded and began the chant.

“Praise our god,” he said.

After a moment, he repeated himself. The others joined him.

It only took a few repetitions for the mantra to spread to the crowd. They knew their role. In seconds the ceremony had picked up where it had left off. The people alternately knelt and chanted.

Wrend did the best he could to join them. He spoke the words, but with his arms bound behind his back, he could not slap the ground and join that sacred rhythm. He could only lean forward and straighten himself, and he did it with such enthusiasm that on his fourth bow he lost his balance and toppled forward into a patch of blood-stained dirt. His face came to rest so he almost kissed the gaping mouth of a traitor.

As he struggled to rise, the Master lifted the knife high over his head. It looked tiny in his hand. Steffan didn’t flinch or look away, but stared at the Master with utter devotion.

Wrend watched and held his breath. He hoped that Steffan would turn on their father and god.

But he didn't.

Not a pinch of fear touched his face as the knife came low, and he did not convulse or cry out as the azure blade found his neck and blood spilled out into the chalice and silver bowl.

Wrend nearly vomited. Not from the blood, but from knowing someone had tricked him.

What punishment awaited him?

Chapter 39: Nothing beats a good cow

Draegons, the pinnacle of life, merit honor and obeisance on the part of all lower life forms. The moment a human disrespects a draegon, that human's life is forfeit.

-Vrendrick, father of Cuchorack

When Leenda saw the carnage spread throughout the town, the strength—what little she had left after the three-mile walk to the village under a burning sun—drained out of her legs. She dropped to her knees, her mouth gaping. In utter disbelief, she held her hands out, palms up, and tried not to vomit.

She failed.

The remains of scores of cows littered the street. Krack had apparently turned many of them inside out, dismembered a good portion of them, strewn the guts of several more all over the street, and performed all manner of maiming on the remaining cattle. Hides, heads, bones, and bodily organs glistened red in the afternoon sunlight. Blood splatters stained the wooden buildings. The limp corpse of one cow even lay half in and half out of one broken window on the second story of a building. The reek of bovine and gore hovered over the area like a curse. Flies already buzzed up and down the street. Dark shapes wheeled in the azure expanse above.

In the midst of all the butchery, an old man, an old woman, a teenage girl, and a young man huddled together in the center of the street in the back of a wagon. The young man sat with his arms around the girl’s shoulders, his lips moving by her ear as she cried into his chest. The old man and woman stood above the couple, facing Krack with trembling stubbornness. The old man held a pitchfork ready.

“Run, girl!” the old man said. “If you still can!”

Leenda couldn't respond. Her body tightened as she fell to her hands and knees and everything she had in her belly splashed onto the dirt road. Then she puked some more. By the time she finished, Krack had loped down the street toward her. The ground shook with each languid step.

She sat up, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her dress, and cleared the tears from her eyes with her fingers. Krack lay in front of her, a mutilated cow between his forepaws and a leg and hoof hanging out between his teeth. Blood matted his fur, stained his claws, and dripped from his lower jaw. If she hadn’t known what color his fur was, she might have thought it was simply a discoloration of his hair: deeper red on red. He cocked his head to one side and looked at her.

“That’s not usually what humans wear, is it? Because if it is . . . well, it looks ridiculous.”

“What have you done?" She motioned past him, up the road to the carnage.

Krack’s eyes sparkled with mischief, and his teeth bared in a draegon-smile. He spoke in draegon, mumbling because of the food in his mouth.

“I haven’t been this full in years.”

Leenda staggered to her feet, looking away from the mess in Krack’s mouth. What would drive a draegon to do something like this? She could see a human doing this, or a ratch or a bogg. Those were stupid animals, with the basest of instincts mixed with a little intelligence—not a draegon.

“Why? Why do this?”

Krack glanced back at the mess. “I was hungry, and so came here for some beef. You can’t beat a good cow, now can you? As I carried two off, that silly old man came out shouting at me, and even shot a pair of arrows at me. I didn’t appreciate that much, so I decided to show him I could take whatever I wanted.”

She placed her hands on her hips and gave him the coldest look she could. He couldn’t read human facial expressions, but it made her feel better.

“You were supposed to wait for me. I almost got killed because you weren’t where I needed you to be.”

“I got hungry and had no idea how long you would be.”

“Miss,” the old man called. “You’d better run.”

She waved at him, but focused on Krack. “So you decided to torture the livestock and terrorize the people?”

“He provoked me.”

With his eyes still on Leenda, he lifted the carcass from his feet and tossed it into the air. It spun and twirled several times, spraying blood in a circle until it dropped right into Krack’s gaping maw.

This was going nowhere, accomplishing nothing. She could berate him all day, but it would do no good. She could try to use guilt again, but would that work beyond cowing him in the moment? Was there anything she could do to help him understand that on a fundamental level this kind of behavior was un-draegon-like and despicable? Did he even care?

No, he didn’t. He didn’t care what being a draegon meant, and that created her problem.

She’d learned from her mother’s teat that draegons lived noble lives and waited for the day when they would once again rule humans in justice and honor. Krack had gotten that same education during his first three years of life, but had lived fifteen years by following the basic survival instincts that all draegons had to learn to overcome.

Could she fix that? Was it even possible for her to overcome his last few years of riotous living by lecturing and setting a good example?

Probably not. It especially didn’t help that she didn’t have the form of a draegon and hadn’t exactly served as the best example. After all, the ignobility of leaving her pup offset the nobility of saving her mate.

Nevertheless, she had to do something. She was with him, now, and had to try and teach him.

“Listen, Krack. I’ve told you this before, and I’ll tell you as many times as it takes for you to get it. Draegons are noble. We do noble things. Slaughtering a herd of cattle and frightening humans to prove your strength—that’s not noble.”

“He provoked me. He disrespected my strength and need to eat. So, I’m setting him straight. What’s dishonorable about that?”

She started to speak, but paused with her mouth wide open. What kind of warped mind thought that wasteful killing and senseless bravado qualified as noble?

“Listen, Krack—and listen well. To be noble means to not abuse your strength and power or to lift yourself above others by hurting them. This—” She frowned and gestured at the scene. “This is a gross display of power to gratify your own ego. It might have made you feel better and stronger, but it was really only an abuse of your strength.”

He paused his chewing. His eyes tightened and his lips puckered. He was thinking about her words. That was good.

She had so much more she could say. But how much should she risk?

“No draegon I’ve ever known would’ve done this. They would’ve taken the cows, ignored the arrows, and moved on.”

He huffed. His meaty breath blasted her face and splattered chunks of cow on her blouse. His eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t hurt them. Just their cows.”

She pointed at the people in the wagon.

“You’ve almost scared their souls out of them.”

That did it. She’d gone too far.

Krack reared up on his hind legs and stretched his neck high. His body blocked the sun, and he snapped his wings open so they spread over the roofs of the two-story buildings on both sides of the street. He took a great breath and released a deafening roar that rattled the windows of the buildings and made Leenda’s ears ring. The old woman clutched the old man, who dropped his pitchfork and clung to the woman. The roar extended for fifteen seconds.

Leenda stepped back, overwhelmed by the sheer power of her son. He was a handsome creature—as beautiful a draegon as she’d ever seen. Misguided, yes. But majestic.

And she was just a little human. A snack if he wanted.

As he finished his roar, he folded his wings and dropped to all four paws. He lowered his head and brought his snout up to her body. He stared her in the eyes and didn’t blink.

“I’m tired of your lectures.” He spoke in a quiet voice. “And I’m tired of you.”

Leenda didn’t back away, flinch, or even cry out. After all, a draegon wouldn’t cower in the face of death, but would die with a demonstration of courage.

Krack opened his maw and came toward her.

Goat guts!

Chapter 40: A tasty draegon treat

Here is a sure sign that you've failed as a parent: your son eats you.

- Leenda

Leenda stood her ground. She’d done her best. Given the circumstances, she’d do it again—try to save her mate. Of course, knowing what she knew now, she might have gone about it differently, but her intentions had always stayed pure. Too bad the execution of her plan had gone awry.