The Great Couatl Dragon

Had it been four months ago, Albin would have found himself sprinting freely along the lush yet sparse grasslands of Sargava. His family would have planted seeds and sowed the fruits of their labor for hefty coin, enough to thrive securely in the bitterness of the winter and the exhaustion of the summer.

His father would have spun tales by the hearth, spouting stories of riches, and poverty; of gods, and demons; of peace, and war. Albin devoured his father's words, imagining the great battles of old which turned the once cosmopolitan realm of Nex into the blighted wasteland it was today. His brothers and sisters would drink tea and ambush their father with questions ruthlessly, eliciting irritated and angered stares from Albin who simply wished to silently listen.

His blessed life within the grasslands changed for him when the callous-hearted mercenaries of the Aspis Consortium raided their small home, burning its foundations and slaughtering livestock alike. Albin remembered his father perishing in a futile drive to defend the family against the depredations of the mercenaries. The sword which cleaved him from head to toe sealed the fate of the entire family, and Albin.

They took him, clasped him in shackles which chaffed his fragile skin. They branded him with red iron picks, grinning maliciously as the boy's screams rent the air. Then they put him to work alongside other poor souls who suffered the same fate at their hands, hauling chests and carts with golden ornate designs across the land and into the vast rain forests and woodlands of the Mwangi Expanse

Tears stained Albin's dirt-smeared cheeks night and day. He recalled the utter brutality of the mercenaries, of their malign treatments which brought many to their knees in pitiful pleas for mercy. They berated the slaves into validating the potential threats within the rain forests. Albin remembered one particular fellow: short, scrawny, and pale of skin. He was tasked to investigate a gorge splitting a ruined bridge in two.

The man, quaking violently in his boots, walked into the gorge only to be ensnared in a mess of vine-like tendrils which dragged the panicking man into the waiting maw of a giant plant. Albin remembered a brown bear springing from behind a thick brush, sinking its teeth into an unsuspecting slave who flailed wildly to and fro. The bear already gorged itself on the man's insides before spears and swords sank into its thick hide, dropping the murderous animal for good.  

Albin began to envy those who perished. Being swallowed by a giant plant or mauled by a bear did have its promise. It ensured your death, the passing from one life to another in the higher heavens. Or so he was lead to believe. His father was a religious man and taught him much about theology in his short life. Theology wasn't saving him now and Albin doubted it ever would.

Now their onerous journey marked its eventual end. They survived the predator-infested rain forests of the Mwangi, and the densely forested woodland to the east, to arrive upon the outskirts to the borders of Katapesh. The mercenaries promised their release when they entered the grand capital and sealed their dealings with the enigmatic rulers of Katapesh, the Pactmasters.

Fearful murmurs fell from the mouths of the slaves like a raging torrent. The Pactmasters were esteemed schemers, arbitrators, and even cruel executioners. They would undoubtedly twist whatever dealings the mercenaries brought to them in order to fit their own inscrutable desires. The slaves spoke under hushed whispers, of imminent dooms plaguing them at the end of this dark tunnel.

Albin longed for an end, an end to release him of his torment which drowned him in painful sorrow. Whether that meant freedom or death, he did not care anymore. Now the group camped at the edges of Katapesh, within a cool oasis under the glimmering stars. Like every night since his family's death, Albin pulled his knees to his chest and buried his head in his calloused hands. He wept bitterly, choking against his own parched throat.

Over the restless snores and gawks of sleeping slaves and mercenaries, a night watchmen stalked over to Albin. The child squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to ruse the man away in a pathetic scheme of sleeping. The man saw through his facade and grappled the child with one hand, while sealing his mouth shut with the other. Albin kicked, poked, and punched at the shadowy figure. His reprisal was subtle in the form of an amused grin.

"Feisty little fella," the man chortled. "How is it that you have survived this long trek while all those around you died?"

Albin couldn't speak, nor did he wish to. He would sooner spit in the man's face before beckoning to his call with verbal debate.

"We promised the freedom of your lot when our dealings with the Pactmasters was concluded. I'm going to let you in on a little dark secret." The man drew Albin close, whispering in his ear. "You are not going to be free, per say. Our final transaction is that you will be the slave of the Pactmasters. You're simply leaving one master for another. It's nothing personal kid, just business."

Other watchmen already gathered around, smiling wickedly from ear-to-ear at the boy's fruitless struggle.

"Come on, little guy. Dance for me." The watchman hissed. He balled a meaty fist and slammed it hard into Albin's lower abdomen. The child screeched in pain as his lungs constricted and white stars danced in his vision.

The mercenaries were so enthralled by their play that their eyes and ears remained totally oblivious to hundreds of forms slithering beneath the sand. The man holding Albin dropped him and drew a dagger from his side. The gleaming blade waved like the midsummer gale over the coughing youth.

"Run, little man. I want to enjoy this."

Others joined him in a jovial bout of laughter. Just when he took a step towards Albin, a gust of sand exploded into the air and blinded the group. Albin heard a shout which muffled into choking screams. He staggered back as the sand dissipated with the desert wind. The man who punched Albin lay writhing on the ground, a serpent-like creature coiled around his neck and mouth clamped around his entire head.

Swords were drawn as the very ground beneath their feet exploded. Men cried out as hundreds of those serpents darted from the sand, coiling and eating away at the unsuspecting mercenaries. Albin's heart sank. He heard stories of great monsters inhabiting the deserts of Garund's desert-strewn nations.

Sand eels.

The slaves were being devoured as well, waking up to the harrowing spectacle of their fellows coiled and squeezed by multiple eels, all of which rent their flesh with dagger-like fangs. Albin blindly ran through the bloodbath, desperately climbing a cart and curling into the fetal position in the corner. He covered his ears and screamed as loud as he could, desperate to drown out the grieving cries of those being eaten.

The mercenaries who weren't ensnared slashed, stabbed, and stomped blindly at the sand. Their efforts were for naught, as eels leaped from the surface and voraciously began to devour them. Albin continued to scream as the cries of the dying slowly began to drift away. He was so caught up in the web of his own fear that Albin remained blinded by a serpentine creature soaring overhead.

The creature's brilliant, sparkling eyes studied the slaughter, its brow furrowing in seething rage. With a tug of its wings, it fell from the heavens and stroked the earth with the force of a thousand hammers. Albin's cart was upturned and thrown violently to the side. He toppled painfully onto the cold sand, sheltered by the cart which now buried him from the top.

"Wicked, fiendish, murderers!" The creature bellowed in a mad flurry of rage. Despite the shock wrecking body and the loud ringing in his ears, he could still hear the creature's mighty roar. He fearfully wiggled himself free from under the cart, glistening tears streaming down his face.

What he saw was a creature falling straight out of myth and legend. A giant snake, adorned under a thick hide of brightly colored scales. From its back sprouted massive bird wings covered in a vibrant myriad of brilliant toned feathers. It breathed fire across the encampment, melting away all things living and burning the sand into dazzling glass. It hissed like a piece of metal screeching across an anvil.

"Devils!" It roared again, this time a twinge of pain caking its voice. It aimed its fire breath at the surviving mercenaries, scorching them away into disgusting ash which got caught in the desert gale.

The slaves were unfortunately already dead, easy targets for the sand eels which voraciously consumed them. The remaining eels frantically began burrowing themselves back into the sea of brilliant tan, retreating away from the mighty sky predator. The giant winged snake plucked a few out with its mouth and swallowed them whole, purring pleasantly at the sustenance the morsels provided.

Just when all life was believed to be extinguished, and the eels gone, the winged snake studied the field. A frown tugged at the edges of the creature's lips, seemingly remorseful at the slaves who perished, much to Albin's complete bewilderment. Then its nostrils flared and the tip of its thick, sinuous tail swayed. The creature's star-like eyes fell on the cart where Albin hid, its frown turned into a sympathetic smile.

"One lives," it hummed. This time the creature's voice was not a vengeful roar but a quiet, melodic voice. Images of Albin's deceased mother filled his mind. The creature sounded a lot like her which pained him.

"Reveal yourself, I assure you will not be harmed."

Albin didn't flinch. He prayed that the creature was mistaken on his whereabouts, that maybe there was a scant chance that he remained undetected. As if to debunk his belief, massive jaws clamped on the cart and raised it towards the sky. Albin cried out and scooted away, eyes wide with the terror of death.

The creature tossed the cart away as easily as a child would a toy which fell into disuse. She stared down at him dispassionately, eyes and intentions wholly unreadable.

"Why do you hide, young one?"

Her voice seemed to stomp on his inner darkness with vicious fervency. Albin couldn't speak, he was too terror driven. He simply quaked where he stood, dwarfed under the serpent's massive figure.

Then she spoke again, her demeanor easing and voice flowing smoothly like music from a grand harmonica. "Why do you cry? Have I not just saved you?"

Albin was silenced a second time and the creature took note of his worry, her eyes gleaming with pity.

She slithered forward and began to cautiously wrap the end of her serpentine body around the boy. Albin jolted as if struck by lighting and wept bitterly.

"Shh," she reassured. "Quiet yourself."

Before the young child could offer protest, his body save for his head was cocooned gently in powerful coils. He squirmed with fruitless results, head bobbing around almost pathetically.

"The mercenaries and eels are gone. You are a slave no longer to any nefarious entity. Do you refuse to open your eyes to reality?"

"Help," Albin croaked, his voice coming out as a hoarse whimper, evidence of his malnourished and hydration deprived sate.

The serpent's muzzle came in close, ruffling the boy's hair with waves of potent heat seeping from the nostrils. "I am helping, little one."

Albin's face fell on the ring of scales in front of him. His tears warmed the surface, and glistened like diamonds in the moonlight. The creature seemed to take pity on the boy and ruffled her scales slightly to assure his safety.

"What's your name?" She asked calmly.

He strained his weary head up, staring into her otherworldly eyes. "Albin", he cried.

Her head reared up, dignifying herself proudly, "I am Honeth, The Chosen. Unbeknownst to the Pactmasters, I'm the Keeper of the lands east of the Mwangi Expanse."

The child forced a strained laugh, which made the giant serpent smile.

"What's so funny?" She inquired. "Do my titles amuse you, little Albin?"

"I've just never heard anyone speak like that before."

"Well get use to it," Honeth playfully gloated. "We Couatl are inherently prideful of our titles."

Fresh tears trickled down Albin's face. His minuscule form quaked within Honeth's soft grasp. "I don't want to go to the Pactmasters. I don't want to be their slave."

The Couatl snarled and hissed madly, eliciting a shriek from the child. "I would sooner throw myself from the Brazen Peaks then to sell you to those men. Rest assured, little Albin, you don't need to allow your mind to fester with such fears. In the dawn of the next light, I will take you north with me. Where you will grow by my side and bask in my wisdom."

These words struck Albin with the force of a giant's club. Painful images of his parents flashed in his head like lighting streaking out of the sky. His heart and mind became a raging swirl of emotions both fearful and benign. But if Honeth's words were true then Albin would not live in pain or fear anymore. Her very words radiated serenity and were pained with a longing the likes of which remained dormant for many years. Albin rested his head on the bed of scales around him, silently thanking the giant serpent for offer of a new beginning.

"Please, don't let me go." He shuddered.

Honeth purred in delight, draping her feathered wings over the child like a dazzling rainbow roof. Her warm tongue then snaked out licked him affectionately across his face. She too shuddered.

"I will never let you go."