Tag Archive: Jesin


The World Will Know Your Name

Panre took one last look over his shoulder before he bounded through the portal. He was intending to look for food for his older siblings and his parents. It never occurred to him that he would not be able to return. He clambered over the snowy rocks now, wondering if he’d ever see his family again.

Suddenly something swooped down over him. The being was a dragen. They spoke of many things. Then he, ever so gently, scooped Panre up and carried him off into the sky. A part of him was afraid. The abominables could fly like this also. However, the dragen, Myro, seemed kind-hearted.

They landed on a high precipice. Panre looked around in shock. The place was like and unlike where the abominables lived at the same time. It was a cavern, as they dwelled in. At the same time the place seemed open, alive and happy. There were no slaves here. There were no bars blocking off certain caves.

“Elder Myro, what an unexpected pleasure,” a tall winged being greated. His hair was very long and almost white it was so fair. He had an open, friendly face though. “And who’s this with you?”

“His name is Panre and he’s a yetean,” Myro said softly. “His people live in the realm of the demons and they treat them as they treated us. The problem being that… well…” he trailed off.

“They can’t get away as easily as we did,” the being who could only be the Elder Jesin that Myro had mentioned said. “Perhaps we can get together with Mage Denair and see about helping them.”

“I would truly appreciate it,” Panre said. He looked around the cavern and thought about how he had left home to search for food and had actually found help for his people.

(This is what happens when we get sick.)

We Are Like Blue Flowers, Trying to Live

Aram was dreaming, he knew. Only in his dreams was he safe. Even after escaping the demons, life outside his mind was difficult at best. For the most part it was dangerous. Apart from the demons, the wilds held their own dangers. There were wild oni and other monsters that would love to feast on his soul or his body. There were plants that did the same to any who came too close.

Five months in the wilderness had taught him to keep moving. It had taught him not to trust even the most benign-looking area. What seemed a placid pool might turn out to be a trap laid by a beast or plant of the wilds. Nothing was what it seemed.

In his dreams he was safe though. His wings were whole and strong and he soared over the dangers that lay in wait on the ground. He nestled amidst the blue flowers that dotted the rocky cliffs of his father’s home. His older sister or brother were always nearby to watch him, to protect him.

He could feel himself rising out of the dream and he moaned, trying to stay safe in his mind. He couldn’t stop his body’s needs though, so against his will, Aram woke. He woke, as usual, in pain.

But I Want to Keep Believing that our Wishes Will Become Wings

It had always been too much to hope for, especially after the gate had been sealed. Any rescue mission would have been suicide, they had been told all those years ago. He’d given his son up for lost then. He’d lived for his remaining children. He and Shyrala had lived for each other and sealed their lost son away in their hearts as they had allowed him to be seal physically into another plane.

However, a small part of him had always wished that things could be different – that somehow they could have their child returned to the, if not unharmed at least alive. Now, though it meant dire things for all dragen-kind, it seemed his wish had been granted. His son was going to be returned to him.

Now he feared, as he flew with his mate and two older children, that the sweet little child he’d lost had been irrevocably changed by the beings that had taken him. He feared what he would find when they saw their son again. Would he know them? Would he have retained any of the innocence that had been in his soul when he was taken? He could only pray the boy of his memories was not entirely different from the wounded youngster found by the world gate sentinels.

As he flew his thoughts drifted back to that singular day; that had begun so like any other and had ended with such tragedy.

Busy weekend… what can I say?

Those Days That Will Pass us by are Already a Distant Dream

Dalia nodded and set the wind to swirling on the communicator.  She left quickly, not wanting to intrude on the fussy old dragen’s conversation with her parents.  “Elder Shyrala, Elder Jesin, I’m afraid there is bad news,” the old dragen said as soon as the line opened.

 “That would be?” Shyrala said softly.

 “The sub-elder of the earth dragens has been killed.  It appears that it was done by demons.  It was… like a raid on a much smaller scale,” he said.  He looked anxious and tense.

 “Are we dealing with another incursion?  Is there any sign from the world gate?” Jesin asked.

 “No, none, but it’s possible that the demons have slipped through a smaller rift,” he said.

 “Are you calling a convocation?” Shyrala asked.

 “Not yet,” Eldest Yantalin said softly.  “I’ll tell everyone this way and leave it at that.  In other news, young Elder Myro has set his cup for his sub-elder.”

 “Good for him,” Jesin said softly.  “Are you going to intercede?”

 “Why should I?” The old dragen looked baffled and then turned off the communicator.

 Shyrala snorted and pecked Jesin on the cheek.  “Some day you’ll be able to set your cup for me officially, dearest,” she promised.  “It isn’t nice to tease the eldest.”

 “I know… it just, to this day it aggravates me,” he said as he settled down beside her.  “What were you saying about the demons coming back?”

 “I need to not say these things,” Shyrala murmured.  “Where were we before our daughter came in with a message from the eldest?”  Soon they were distracted from the demons by something else altogether.

**

The Proof of Living that You Gave Me

What was probably the worst thing was the whole idea of not knowing.  He didn’t know if the demons had won the war.  He didn’t know if his family and friends had lived through the war.  He didn’t know what to expect from his demon master.  If what was happening now was any indication, he didn’t know anything anymore.

He watched from his cage as his master entertained, that was the only word he had for what was going on, a dragen.  He sat amongst them, chatting and eating.  He wore a voluminous hooded cloak, but there was no doubt that he wasn’t a demon.  He spoke the demon language with a softer, more lilting voice than any of the demons used.  What features showed marked him as completely different from the demons he supped with.

Denair leaned back on the bars of the cage to try and listen in.  Then he sighed and gave up.  He couldn’t understand the guttural language the demons spoke.  One thing was obvious.  This dragen was no slave or possession; he was an equal.  He might even be more than an equal.  The demons seemed to defer to him.  When he spoke they were silent, a courtesy that they never showed their own kind.  It was obvious that he was working with the demons on something, even if Denair couldn’t be sure what it was.

Finally he stood and left.  Denair sat up a little straighter, wondering if the dragen was returning to their world.  He’d always figured that he was trapped in this alternate realm but perhaps he wasn’t.  The stranger was leaving and he’d come from somewhere.  Perhaps he’d come from their homeland.  For the first time in ten years, Denair had hope of a better life.  He was trapped in the cage though. 

Monica Ferris

an author with many hats

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