Fall of the Drjeen Read online

  Fall of the Drjeen

  by

  Sarah Cathey

  Moon Valley Publishing

  A Division of Café Legacy

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright© 2018 by Sarah Cathey

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Moon Valley Publishing a division of Café Legacy an Independent Book Publisher.

  ISBN: 9781070993348

  www.cafelegacy.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Cover Design by Lisa Brennan

  First Paperback Edition

  Chapter 1

  The third moon, Espee, light as an orange mist and hovering as if it had no care perched at the quarter-angle above the lower settlement. It’s crest slowly dropped along the jagged silhouette peaks of the Varn Mountains. The peaks glowed white as the rising sun announced its presence far away before ascending the valley.

  Shakja was in no mood to hurry her time, knowing she was already destined to be late. The farms can wait, she thought to herself as the thick callus of her feet trudged forward through her hut. The doorway was open and in the light of the morning, her scales shimmered effervescent colors of blue, yellow and green hues. She was by all classifications stunning. Her body was lanky, yet her muscled neck perched her head tall as if she was beyond her caste. Her deep blue eyes penetrated the surrounding huts—thousands of them—nearly piled one upon the other as the lower caste was seemingly a breeding ground of fertility; always growing.

  Despite the nature of her physical looks, no matter how often she stared into the reflective Third Moon Lake, she couldn’t shake the fact that among the Drjeen, beauty was second to caste. Her hut was only big enough for her to walk with care. She could not expand her wings without damaging the walls made from the leaves of Gilli fruit and patched with swamp root. Sometimes she wondered if she would not be more protected from the elements by simply laying outside and allowing the vastness of her wings to cover her like shade. She knew better though, and while she sat low on the Drjeen standard, there were lower; those who actually did use their damaged wings as a home. It was not a place she would choose to be.

  Shakja’s hut was only a few leaps from the Third Moon Lake, one of the two largest farm camps within the Eastern Continent. “It is better to be the highest of the low than the lowest of the low,” her friend Salett whispered to Shakja only a few nightly turns ago. “True,” Shakja replied, “But, I would still prefer to be the lowest of the high than the highest of the low.”

  Salett smiled, knowing that with either case, wishing was no way of changing what was predestined.

  As the moon fell toward the horizon it kicked up the pull of waves sending a fresh and welcome breeze across the broad scales on Shakja’s chest. She stepped fully from her hut and took in the expanse of beauty. The misty reflection of the moon mingled with the morning rise of yellows and oranges. A pink swath of clouds subtly speckled the sky and Shakja couldn’t imagine a place anywhere in the world that was as beautiful. Salett would be arriving at the farm by now and Shakja relented that her tardiness would lend her another task befitting more of the brutish broad-shouldered male than her slender frame. Still, it was worth it.

  With a long-drawn sigh, Shakja unfurled her expansive wings and revealing the full lightness of her underbelly which was covered in curved and equally as impressive scales. She bent her head back, allowing her thick protective spine to stretch taut along the skin of her forehead and running sharp and straight along her back and down to the upper third of her muscular tail. As her wings took in the morning light, replenishing her energy she could feel the pumping of blood filling the three primary arteries stretched along the fullness of each wing and coming together at the single clawed-finger where the upper and lower wings met. As her wings were stretched, she allowed her three-fingered taloned-hands to crack at the joints and drop from the underside of her shoulders. She was careful to not allow her sharply-taloned thumbs to scratch or cut through the leathery strength of her wing. She could not turn her mind from the number of Drjeen who injured their own wings during the morning energy-stretch. One would think a Drjeen should be more cautious. In all her forty years Shakja proudly showed her unmarred underwings as a testament to her flawless detail in all endeavors.

  Two Drjeen flew a mere fifty lengths from her, both broad and strong. The second looked in Shakja’s direction, dipping low to show his interest. Shakja wondered if she was showing the perfectly tri-angled projection of her head, or if her two horns were radiating the morning light. The frilled webbing of her ears began to shutter as she took in the vibration from the second male. Indeed, she thought, he’s interested. I should remember his vibration for the next morning flight.

  Understanding that even she could not dally too long, Shakja lowered herself on her mighty haunches and with a great burst of strength, she pumped her wide and narrow wings engulfing the surrounding air to force her own violent draft which propelled her upward over a hundred lengths. At her pinnacle she allowed her wings to hold the wind and she glided effortlessly downward and swooped into an elegant line of direction toward the farms. Her speed was renowned and within moments she would feel the exciting vibration of the second male one more time as she passed him and dozens more on her way forward and to the base of the Varn Mountains.

  The Third Moon was already touching the jagged peaks ahead as Shakja descended a few lengths. She ominously took note of the lush greenery off to her strong-side flank. While beautiful, it also represented a place Shakja had no interest in being banished. She'd heard the stories. The banished lose everything; all possessions and contact with family and friends. While formidable in her own right, a Drjeen without weapons or the strength of comrades was a mere rodent to the heinous creatures lurking amid the forest. Those few who survived banishment would face the strict law of absence where no Drjeen were allowed to acknowledge the banished Drjeen’s existence. They walked as ghosts.

  She shook away the deathly vibrations playing on her outer scales as the warmth of the sun began to fuel her strength. Soon, the blur of land below her turned into an expansive growth of green, red and yellow vegetation. Orchards of Gilli trees were off to her weak flank and ahead countless units of the farm. She spotted her foreman, Gradjn, and even from her distance could see he was in a mood. She dropped her elevation to thirty lengths and re-positioned her flight, angling toward the foreman's hut. The hut sat in the center of the main courtyard. She adjusted her wings to grip the oncoming air allowing her to change from flight to land. Suddenly her wings sprung out flat, grabbing the oncoming winds. Her muscles flexed and head jerked back sharply as she came to a sudden mid-air stop allowing her to land erect on the sandy floor below and within feet of her foreman.

  Shakja tried to count the number of times she'd been late, realizing she was still three times short of banishment. She'd never been so close, but she also knew Gradjn, while likely upset, had an affinity for her.

  "You're late!" He barked before he'd fully spun around to face her. "Again..." He shook his broad neck and Shakja could see the full pulsing veins pumping through his closed wings. Not good. She did not forget that banishment could come at any time and whether a favorite or not, her foreman had a job to do and that always came first.

  "I'm sorry my master," she quickly sputtered, dropping her shoulders as if to embrace being struck by the whip at his side.

  He looked at her, "Very well. Go clean the Daken pens."

  "Yes, sir," she nodded, not looking up at him. She q
uickly scurried off to the Daken pens hoping that she'd curried favor enough to not see him again for the rest of the day. Besides, there were worse places to work than the Daken pens.

  As Shakja stepped into the Daken barn she couldn’t help but take a brief exhale. She knew that cleaning and feeding the Daken were meant as punishment, but she could barely hold herself back from laughing. She loved working the Daken pens. Her caste hierarchy would have never brought her within a hundred lengths of a Daken unless in wartime or punishment. However, her responsibility and seemingly innocuous relationship with the Daken was curious and at the same time accepted by the higher castes.

  A few more steps into the barn and Shakja was met with the subtle fragrance of wild herbs she so fondly picked from the forest edge. It was the herbs which supplied the mixing blend of a Daken’s primary diet and over time carried them with a similar natural odor. The smell of hard, shaped leather, and forged armor tacked to each pen had stronger, overpowering scents. Shakja’s friends complained about the mixed smells of the pens, but to her, the scent was something just shy of euphoric. She continued to the far side of the barn to the butchery where the Daken food was prepared.

  The butchery was a large room, that could easily house fifty of Shakja’s huts. Along the far end of the room were tables that lined the entire wall. This is where the chopping would occur as dozens of butchers would line up shoulder to shoulder and in three rows chopping away bulk pieces of freshly killed meat. Those chopped pieces would then go the mixery that would grind the meat including bones and fat into finer chunks. The mixery butchers would then add herbs, a binding solution from the gaia root until well mixed. The mixture was then sent to the ovens off to Shakja’s weak side where it would be dried and eventually cut into finger-sized pieces.

  Shakja took two barrels and a cart and moved to her dominant side where she loaded a tall pile of bowls into her cart and then filled one of the barrels with Daken food which had already been prepared and loaded into a towering feed bin. The other barrel would be for handling the waste. All her rummaging and prep in the butchery began to arouse the Daken who no doubt could smell the food released from the feed bin. Shakja could hear the hiss and grumbling of the hungry creatures as they scratched and butt their powerful foreheads against the walls. She knew if she weren’t fast enough one of the powerful Daken would eventually break through its pen and likely devour Shakja before the Daken food. Even if they damaged the pens Shakja would be punished by Gradjn and the beast’s Daken rider; it was a fate possibly worse than being eaten by a Daken. Despite the danger, the Daken pens were her preferred work zone on the farm.

  She quickly made her way down the main pen lane, each side of her was a Daken, its mouth penetrating the thick metal bars. She filled a bowl with feed and quickly shoved it through the open food slot. She waited to see if the Daken ate, which it did, devouring his food as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, although Shakja knew its last meal had only been at daylight.

  Once the Daken was fixated on its food, Shakja could then enter the pen. Feeding for the animal was one of the most important ways to both identify issues as well as distract a Daken. If it wasn’t eating that was the first sign of illness or pain. Once a Daken was eating it would do nothing to take itself away from food. In fact, she could recall an ancient story of war when the enemy piled Daken food in strategic places to distract the creature, forcing the warriors to dismount and fight hand-to-hand instead of astride the powerful beast.

  Shakja stepped into the pen. The Daken lifted its head to observe her and realizing he was looking at Shakja the Daken went back to eating, disinterested in its visitor. The Daken was nearly four times the size of Shakja and as her lessons taught her the animal was of the same class of creature. The major difference was the Daken’s size as well as its lack of wings. The creature moved on all four legs and had two sets of spines that ran from its breast to its tail. The spines along the shoulders were trimmed for the warrior caste so that the Daken could be saddled. She quickly removed the Daken’s waste piles and any soiled bedding which was replaced by a bin at the back of the pen.

  She then, in a display of affection took a wet towel from her side and wiped the Daken down removing any built-up dirt or debris. This was normally a task reserved only for the rider, but the animal was familiar with Shakja and Shakja loved handling such a powerful creature. Understanding the Daken’s affection for Shakja, several of the riders had instilled upon Shakja their Daken’s name—something reserved only for the rider. It was one of the few moments that Shakja wasn’t reminded that she was of the lower caste.

  Cleaning of the Daken pens lasted all day and she’d repeat the process over and over dozens of times. A full waste barrel was a modest reprieve after the first few pens had been cleaned. The waste barrel was brought to the composting area outside and near the farming plots. Then she would return and continue with the same process for the remaining stalls.

  By the time Shakja reached the fortieth Daken she began to doze on her trek from the pens to the composting area and she didn’t know who, but someone must have alerted Gradjn.

  “Shakja!” His voice was booming and loud enough to be heard outside the pens.

  Shakja had just returned with a clean barrel and was beginning to feed another Daken when the Gradjn’s voice broke the monotony and nearly sent her into a state of panic. She spun, “Yes, Master.”

  “I’m told you are dozing on the job.”

  “No, Master. I would never.”

  He was taller than her, broad-shouldered and rumor had it he had once been a favored general in the army before an injury left him grounded—physically unfit for duty. His eyes penetrated her as Shakja knew better than to look up at him. She hadn’t seen him wandering the pens, though earlier she could smell his scent nearby and assumed he was watching her from a distance. She didn’t mind. Aside from being late, there were few things Shakja did poorly and everyone knew her as a hard worker. His eyes were like dark splinters as he watched her for a good length of time.

  He turned slowly and left without saying a word. It hadn’t been the first surprise visit and Shakja had come to wonder if Gradjn, despite his affinity for her was being pushed to dole out punishment such as banishing due to her frequent delinquency. She made it a personal promise to not be late again.

  It wasn’t long after Gradjn left that the first Daken rider stepped into the pens. Shakja had just finished her last waste barrel removal and was now only cleaning the center aisles. The rider put off a welcoming vibration as he peered to Shakja from across the long aisle. She didn’t respond directly—being of lower caste she couldn’t—but recognized him and was glad that the less violent of the riders appeared first before she was done with her duties. As the other riders entered to harness their Daken for the day’s training she did her best to remain unseen. While many of the riders appeared to appreciate Shakja’s help, others, the elite, the arrogant and the young could just as easily whip her for meeting their eyes or making a sound.

  Once all of the riders had taken their mounts, she then went to work laying down fresh hay and bedding, then she removed and cleaned the food bowls. The last part of the day was turning the compost, which didn’t end until the mist began to rise, and the redness of the evening sky fell on the mountains.

  The flight home was quieter than normal with most of the Drjeen having made their evening flight already. The roundness of the second moon was just visible in the distance behind the expanse of huts and the lake. She wasn’t in any state of speed and her flight was more of a casual glide knowing that she still had time before meeting her friends when the second moon became fully visible. By the time she reached home, she could feel a slight chill in the air, although she didn’t mind as much as others, she knew who would. She grabbed a lantern and leather pouch which she slipped around her neck before heading out again, this time to the west and near the forest.

  Perhaps, it was working with the Daken all day, but she couldn’t help but think
of the herbs and other delicious food she often foraged on the edge of the forest. She would accept the risk others wouldn’t for additional sustenance.

  As Shakja flew to the edge she felt a familiar vibration of the Daken-rider who she saw earlier. He was several lengths below her as he and his Daken patrolled the forest, as well as an expanse in the valley and along the mountains. Others like him would be her security if she got into trouble. Now, whether they respond to a lowly Drjeen like herself, was entirely up to them. No one of importance would know the better if she never made it home. Still, it was comforting knowing this rider was so close. She allowed a light vibration to leave her body and the rider immediately picked it up. In response he made a sharp turn looking up to investigate, his eyes didn’t waver as the sharp wisp of air from Shakja’s flight brushed overhead. It made her smile and with a shift in energy, she sped and landed along the forest edge. The berries she was searching for grew under the leaves of the tall piney tree. The forest was too dense to fly so she took a quick glance to ensure the rare beasts in this area were not about to pounce before she climbed. Once she began climbing, she would be vulnerable with her sharp talons deep in the trees thick outer bark.

  Nothing.

  She sunk her claws deep into the tree and with a heavy grunt, she began to climb. The wind howled through the forest, a sound she wasn’t accustomed to, being deeper than normal. It shook the leaves and branches around her, and then a crack. Was it a broken branch? Fallen or stepped on? She wasn’t the only Drjeen to forage in the forest and she used that to relieve her fear. Once she’d snipped the berries from the first tree, she was able to leap to another. The second tree was less productive, but at least she had half of what she needed and allowed herself to slide down the tree and land on the forest floor below. As soon as she landed, she heard another crack and spun to look around. She sent out a vibration, but another wasn’t returned.