Redemption

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. The dry, desolate gulch was once home to thousands of endemic fauna and flora, a paradise of life in a barren wasteland. In those days, Rasha’s ancestors called the valley home. That was before they fled in a night of blood and fire. Now, the once beautiful oasis resembled a graveyard. The ground gleamed in the harsh midday sun, the light reflecting off thousands of dried dragon bones, splintered and cracked after years exposed to relentless wind and heat. Death ruled here, and there was evidence of his reign everywhere in sight.

Rasha surveyed his ancestral home from the safety of a rocky outcrop, high above the valley floor. It was his first time visiting the Cursed Steppes, as his people, the Ashkrana, now named the valley. That his people’s gods, the proud and mighty reptiles of lore, could have been annihilated so entirely in their final stand was a sign the elders proclaimed that the end of times must be near. Rasha didn’t care about that. He only cared about one thing.

Lifting the curse on the immortal souls of his people.

The Ashkrana had suffered greatly since fleeing the valley and leaving the dragons to their doom nearly two decades ago. The sacred Oath of Protection, a covenant between Ashkrana and Drakeor, as the dragons called themselves, was now twisted into something sinister. The extinction of the Drakeor had meant the Ashkrana failed to uphold their end of the bargain, and the consequences were severe. Now whenever someone with Ashkrana blood reached their twenty-fifth nameday, they turned, without fail, into something monstrous. Rasha himself watched his own sister scream in pain as her bones broke and snapped, blood pouring from her eyes as sinister spines erupted from her flesh. Her skin fell off, replaced by an oil-black carapace. He’d wept bitterly, even as he threw the torch into the pit, watching as wrathful flames immolated her. Even worse, all the priests agreed on one simple fact. No Ashkrana was ascending to heaven, the sacred lakes of Gashalal were closed to them, perhaps forever.

That was the day he had sworn to do something, to change fate so no more of his people would share his sisters doom.

He warily shuffled back from the cliff’s edge, careful not to stir up any dust that would betray his presence. Just because the valley looked deserted did not mean it was; Rasha had learned that looks were often deceiving in his short life. He carefully scoured the valley, he did not know what he was looking for, but the priests were adamant any hope the Ashkrana had of salvation must be here. He was determined to explore every inch of the valley! Even if it meant his demise. Retreating to the makeshift he had spent the night in, Rasha began preparing for his descent into the Cursed Steppes.

An unordained sword went into its scabbard strapped tight to his back, deadly but nothing more than a tool to Rasha. Next, two razor-sharp knives were deftly hidden inside his boots, useful in an emergency, and a small hand-axe was securely fastened to his left thigh. Around his waist, he coiled twenty feet of strong horsehair rope, a parting gift from his sister that doubled as a pretty handy belt in a pinch. His head he covered in a tan bandana, matching the sand-brown leathers he wore to blend in with the desert. It always paid to be careful, especially in a place where the skies had once rained with dragon blood and their ancient remains stood like silent guardians. He carried nothing but his trusty flint and steel and a robust waterskin in his pockets. His bag he planned to leave behind as he would anything that could slow him down.

He took a deep breath and readjusted his weapon straps. It was now or never. He did not have the supplies to wait another day to scout the terrain or find an easier way down into the gully. Besides, every minute he delayed saw more of his people die without any hope of eternal salvation. Strolling towards the edge of the dropoff, he whispered a quick prayer he knew would not be heard, and after a moment, he leapt off the edge.

Landing in an explosion of sand, he quickly dived to the side and flattened himself, hyper-aware of his surroundings and waiting for the distinctive cry of an Indrala to let him know he’d been spotted. He hadn’t seen any while scouting, but just because you couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t there.

He suppressed a shudder of hate and rage. Those accursed demons! They and their puppets, the Ishonai, deserved to rot in the fiery depths of hell for eternity for what they had done. Rumours were rife on their origin, but all agreed the Indrala had first appeared in the borderlands of the Ishonai desert and swept south, leaving a trail of death and destruction in their wake. The dragons tried to hold them back, but the blood magic of the Indrala proved too much for even them. The Elysian Valley, as the Cursed Steppes used to be known, had been bathed in a river of fiery dragon blood. The last stand of the Drakeor lasted only one night, one dreadful night of pain and misery. After the fall of the Drakeor, the Indrala drowned the lands of the Ashkrana in ruin before disappearing as suddenly as they’d arrived. No one knew where they had gone, but all suffered as the ruthless Ishonai had swept in viciously in their wake, claiming a dozen lands and provinces for their own in the aftermath.

No time for distractions. Cautiously lifting his head, he peered down further into the valley. The only sign of movement was a few tumbleweeds gracefully bouncing and rolling through the valley's centre. Apart from that, there was no sign of life. It was as if not even a single weed dared to grow in a place that had seen so much death, despite the former paradise that had stood here.

“There’s nothing here,” he muttered to himself. “Stop being foolish and keep moving.” Getting to his feet, Rasha began descending into the Cursed Steppe. He had only taken a few steps before the coarse sand collapsed beneath his feet. He frantically searched for something to hold on to, but there was nothing but sand. Vainly he tried to resist the suction, but it relentlessly pulled him deeper, sucking first his torso, then eventually pulling his head under. Sand filled his nostrils. It can’t end this way! He thought as darkness enveloped him entirely. He couldn’t move, and panic began setting in as he jerked and fought to pull himself back up towards the light. His hope was almost extinguished when suddenly he felt the pressure around his legs weaken, and he was able to move them, only a little at first, but eventually, he had regained enough movement to kick each leg.

There must be a cavern underneath me! If only I can just hold on, I should fall through the roof. Instead of struggling, Rasha focused on lowering his heart rate and conversing his breath. It wasn’t easy, his earlier exertions had expended a lot of his energy, and his lungs fluttered as they craved fresh air. His waist was free now, he gently wriggled his hips, causing the sand around him to loosen more. Without warning, it all crumbled around him, and his entire body was free, causing him to fall a few feet before he landed with a thud on a soft pile of sand.

Coughing violently, he spat, seeking to clear his mouth from the coarse grittiness of the sand stuck around his gums. He continued retching for a few moments before his wits returned. He could see! A glowing lichen, spread out in an unceasing tide across the cave walls, softly illuminated the cavern. It provided enough light for Rasha to make out the crooked teeth of stalagmites and stalactites straining to gnaw each other. The faint drip of water somewhere close was a reassuring sound, a spot to fill his waterbags was always welcome. He could make out a tunnel at the north end of the cavern, the glow of the lichen leading off in the same direction as the temple. Perhaps if he headed that way, he would find a way back above ground.

Getting to his feet, he brushed the sand off his clothes and checked his blades before moving towards the north face of the cavern. The lichen thickened here, with nearly every inch of the cavern walls covered in the oppressive algae. The tunnel stretched ahead for a mile before curving out of view.

“Nothing for it but to go on,” Rasha muttered. “At least I’m out of the sun.” It wasn’t like him to be an optimist, but when you had no hope of salvation, it was that or cave into despair.

He had made it a few feet into the tunnel before he froze, feeling a gentle breeze brush his face. It wasn’t the air that paralysed him; the rotting miasma of fetid meat wafting towards him made his stomach quiver and his muscles seize. Death lay ahead.

Determined and courageous Rasha soldiered on. Despite himself, he whispered another prayer, one for guidance and protection.

“Kyve, Giver of Life, watch over me this day as I seek to restore the balance between Ashkrana and Draekor, fulfilling our part of the Oath.”

The silence that followed was daunting — this deep in the tunnel the gloom wrapped around him like a blanket. With every step, the stench intensified, but he could hear nothing except his footsteps and the constant water drip falling from above.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

A bone-piercing howl from behind him shattered the silence, full of rage and hate. He’d only heard it’s like once before, the night he fed his sister to the flames.

Wasting no time, Rasha started running down the tunnel, not caring how loud he was. Behind him, growls and snaps echoed down the corridor. Risking a glance over his shoulder, Rasha tried not to scream as the lichen’s glow disappeared, swallowed by a growing blackness. Red lightning flashed inside angrily, and an overwhelming feeling of animosity seemed to emanate from the dark; it was almost as if he could hear it. Rasha focused on sprinting as fast as he could without falling. Somehow he knew that if he fell, he would never rise again. Ahead he could see the tunnel end, opening up into another cavern. Pounding his limbs, he accelerated, exploding into the second cavern.

This one was much larger than the previous room. It must have been over a hundred paces wide, and the back wall extended deep into the gloom. It looked like an old mine, with decrepit ropes and cranes stretching towards a hole in the roof where a bright beam of light shined downwards, illuminating the middle of the cavern. Dozens of steps lead up to an elevated podium in the centre, surrounded by a three-foot-wide moat filled with a thick, oily substance. On top of the platform, Rasha could see a large wooden table that had certainly seen better days, the lustre lost with a thick coating of dust and dirt. Dominating his attention was a small chest that sat on the table. Even from a distance, the glint of gold was dazzling, and he felt drawn to it.

A snarl from behind reminded Rasha of the peril he was in. He pulled his blade from its sheath and grasped it with both hands, turning to face the menace behind him. He was proud to see the edge barely wavered, despite the rampant fear coursing through him.

There was no light left behind him; now his only ray of hope shined from above. Like prey fleeing a predator, the lichen had stopped glowing, or it had been swallowed by the seething blackness that boiled within the tunnel. Tendrils of darkness rippled around the corners as if some sentience were testing the air of the primary cavern.

“Come on, you bastard,” growled Rasha. “I’m waiting!”

Red eyes appeared within the inky blackness, slanted and evil with a horrible bloodlust not so hidden in its depths. The darkness writhed, and something detached itself from the main body. A spasming shapeless form seemed to stretch, spines exploding out of its body and an elongated maw, like a slobbering hound, appeared below the eyes, gnashing its jaws menacingly. Four thick legs, double-jointed like a monstrous crab, emerged, and the darkness scuttled sideways. The darkfiend was now 7 feet tall, easily towering over Rasha, who was considered tall by Ashkrana standards. Any hope Rasha held the nightmare was incorporeal was dashed by the dust that kicked up in its wake. His heart sank as he recognised the black spines protruding from the armoured carapace.

“So this is an Indrala?” He said softly, “I was expecting something more.”

Maybe the beast heard, or it was just hungry, for it chose that moment to leap towards him, surprisingly agile for its size. Rasha rolled to his left, blade held firmly to his right, and he felt it tug as it passed through the Indrala's body, opening a gash in its side. The monster roared in pain, spun quickly and resumed its attack. Rasha tried the same maneuver, rolling to his right. However, this time, the beast slowed, pivoted to avoid the sword, and lunged, sharp lance legs driving down hard as it sought to impale Rasha. He had to backtrack quickly, lashing out with his blade to counter the beast's attack. Its eyes never left him, and within them, he saw a well of such hate and hunger he almost froze, recovering his wits just in time to dive to the side as the Indrala's leg slammed down right where his belly had been.

His evade brought a second’s grace, and with just moments to spare, Rasha sheathed his sword and drew the two knives from his boots. As the demon turned, a flick of his wrists sent a blade spinning towards each of the creature's eyes. His aim was true, and both knives sunk home directly in the infernal red orbs. A terrible screech of pain pierced his ears as the Indrala reeled, blinded and vulnerable. Rasha did not relent in his attack; he dived toward the devil, rolling and drawing his blade in one smooth motion to cut deeply into the beast's hind left leg, severing it completely in a rush of black ichor that sprayed all over him.

This time, the Indrala cried out in true panic as it collapsed to the floor, three legs not enough to hold its massive weight. Desperately it tried in vain to reach Rasha, but he retreated safely out of range.

“Die, you bastard. A slow death is more than you deserve.” Rasha spat, more furious at what the demon represented than its futile attempt to eat him. Cleaning his blade on a tattered old rag he found on the floor, he cautiously approached the monstrosity. However, the Indrala convulsed, shrinking this time into an orb about a foot wide that flew back towards the tunnel where the main body of shadows quickly absorbed it. His knives clattered to the ground where the demon had been, covered in the creature's black blood. Stunned, Rasha went to retrieve them, but a loud growling, even more ominous than what had come before, stopped him in his tracks.

Dozens of red eyes had appeared in the tunnel's entrance, so many it seemed more scarlet than black, and the vicious snarling continued to grow louder.

“This might be a problem,” Rasha whispered to himself. The darkness split, a large section of it tearing itself free and entering the main cavern. It segmented itself into even more parts, each with a venomous pair of red eyes locked on Rasha. “A very big problem.” Turning around, Rasha leapt across the viscous liquid in the moat and climbed to the top of the podium. If he were going to die, he would do so in the light dammit!

Each of the black blobs formed itself into a different menacing shape. Some stood high and lean on two legs, others low and bulky. One even slithered across the ground across scores of scuttling legs. All possessed a multitude of talons and mandibles for tearing. Slowly they encircled Rasha, leaving no way avenue of escape.

Panicking, Rasha searched quickly for something to keep them at bay. His eyes fell on the canal surrounding him. It wouldn’t serve much as a barrier; a few of the demons looked like they could simply walk over it, but what filled the trench…

Frantically he rummaged through his pockets. Where was it? Seconds felt like hours as he searched each pocket before finally finding his flint and steel. He knelt in front of the moat, ignoring the demons as they approached, hungry for his flesh.

“C’mon, c’mon, light damn you,” he swore. Surely this is not how this ended! The curse would consign his people to a hopeless existence until the last Ashkrana died, outcasted and alone. “By Ighin’s flames light, damn you!”

The next strike caused sparks to shower off his stone, cascading down onto the black tar in the moat. Flames immediately burst into life, racing around the ditch in an eruption of heat and light. The Indrala, so close to overwhelming him, reeled in pain, driven back by the barrier of fire.

“Ha! Haha!” Rasha laughed manically, adrenaline coursing through his body. “Burn demons, burn!”

The tide of darkness kept well away from the inferno, growling and chomping in their rage. A giant monstrous creature with four arms and a crown of horns bellowed in rage and pointed at Rasha, causing another Indrala to launch itself forwards, hurling its body on top of the flames. It screamed in torment but did not move, staying unnaturally still in the face of what must have been incredibly painful. That is, if the Indrala could even feel pain. Despite its screams, the demon’s crimson eyes never left Rasha, staring angrily at him. Its screams eventually stopped as it died, continuing to burn. Another monster jumped in beside the first, then another, both howling in agony. They were attempting to dampen the flames! He needed another way out!

Rasha retreated to the top of the podium and stood next to the table. The intricately carved golden chest that had ensnared him so easily glinted temptingly. There was nothing else on the table, but behind it, two ropes stretched upwards towards the light coming from the hole in the ceiling. It was a pulley! Rasha moved quickly, drawing his hand-axe, and after a moment's hesitation, grabbed the chest by one of its side handles and held it under one arm. The thing sure was heavy. He turned to face the demons. The flames at the south end of the moat were completely subdued under the bodies of the sacrificial Indrala. Even as he watched, the mammoth horned fiend began advancing menacingly, curved talons extending out to grab him.

Rasha stepped close to the two ropes and swung hard with his axe, slicing through one completely. He instantly dropped the axe and grabbed the other rope tightly with his free hand as it shot upwards, pulling him along. His shoulder screamed in pain as the rope nearly yanked his arm out of its socket, but Rasha held on grimly. Something heavy shot past him in a flash, and he heard it land beneath him with a loud thud. A barrage of furious bellows followed Rasha as he catapulted upwards through the hole in the ceiling and emerged into the light, falling hard onto a bed of sand, the chest landing beside him.

He was alive! He had faced an Indrala, slain it, and escaped with his life! He laughed crazily, rolled onto his hands and knees and crawled towards the hole. He could see nothing inside but blackness. Shining red eyes pierced the blackness, staring at him with fanatical hate. He quickly retreated away from the hole, not daring to push his luck further.

Rasha turned his attention towards the chest. Now he had time to examine it properly, he could see it was even more richly decorated than he thought. Beautiful carvings of dragons danced around the sides of the chest, each holding another dragon's tail in its mouth. On the lid, a solitary human bravely stood his ground against a noble dragon, rearing heavenward with a blazing sun in the background. Encrusted jewels replaced eyes with brilliant sapphires and dazzling emeralds for the dragons and two gleaming rubies for the humans. There didn’t appear to be a lock, but as Rasha reached for the clasps, he heard the distinct click of a hidden mechanism releasing. Holding his breath, he lifted the lid.

Inside on a soft bed of red velvet was an egg. It was much larger than any Rasha had ever seen before. Almost a foot tall, the egg was a faint golden colour and covered in a diamond pattern of ridges. Reverently he reached out and touched the egg. It was warm, much warmer than any egg had a right to be after being stuck in a chest for at least two decades. Its shell was hard and rough, almost like scales, and he rapped his knuckles against it, surprised at the hollow ring it emitted.

“What is this? He whispered, almost fainting in shock as a deep rumbling growl, like a small avalanche, answered inside his head.

“It is your salvation, Ashkrana.”