Mother’s Morning

Survival of the world relies on tears wept by the heavens.

* * * * * * * *

The rounded doors on this level of the mountain were of a heavy brass, molded by the hand of man and the breath of dragon to fit and frame each entrance. Szak stood before one of them, thinking, staring at the dusty gold dragon guarding the surface and everything behind it. The dragon stared back, body of a looming wyvern, neck long and winding with muscular, scaled legs and murderous claws.

Every child raised in this province could recognize Tellurian: the original earthen dragon of the Drakonskars. It was Tellurian that erected the Spine millennia ago.

Although it was day, the only light that shined in the Drakon family’s mountain was from dragonfire that danced on torches nearby. All of Aideyll was as dark as the night, for today was the first of Mother’s Morning.

Every year, for three thousand six hundred thirty-seven years now, Aideyll had complete darkness and continuous rain on the last three calendar days of the final summer month. This darkness and rain was an annual blessing and reminder from the five Ashenborn. It was a reminder to rest. It was a reminder of the pain and the forgiveness that came with Anya’s motherly love for all of Aideyll. But most of all, it was a time of mourning for the dark history that created Aideyll, three thousand six hundred thirty-seven years ago.

And the rain came down hard. On a typical summer day, sunlight would be granted entry into the face of their mountain, where a singular slanted stroke of Tellurian’s talon had scarred its rocky surface from the outside. Usually, the winds could breathe fresh life into the core every waking moment of every day. It had only been about six summer hours, but now rain came in howling through the opening, all of its water gathering and streaming toward the center of the mountain, pouring a waterfall where dragons normally roam. Szak could hear the rainfall hit the marble floors, could hear the water rush down behind where he stood, could hear its splashes echo up the mountain.

Growing up, Szak was taught of the importance of this. As susceptible to the weathers as the mountain could be with this large gash, this opening was never sealed. For the Drakon family, it was a reminder of the War of Dragons that happened long before Aideyll existed.

It was a reminder that the past is permanent.

Letting the rain in was how one in Aideyll let Anya—or any of the Ashenborn—in to relieve one of their troubles, pains, or wants. The waterfall ended at the center of the ground floor of the mountain, where a huge pond resided. During Mother’s Morning, it was open to gather more blessed waters. On all other days of the year, the pond was sealed off and protected, opened only when there was an illness that had no known remedy. Anya’s tears for her children could heal everything.

Almost everything.

Szak pushed that thought out and heaved out an exhale.

The sooner we get this over with… He uncrossed his arms and reached for the handle of the massive door before him. His fingers wrapped around the torso of a smaller brass dragon, with brass claws digging into the door as its body curved up to be pulled, its eyes watching his every movement. Beside that dragon, its twin on the other half also stared at him, untouched. The door glided slow and steady across the sea of marble.

The inside was warmly lit with yellow-hued dragon flame, which was the only detail Szak could note before he was greeted.

“You’re late.”

Szak deepened his scowl as he continued in. He closed the door behind him and walked forward, to his father. Kazimir Drakon. Head of Drakon. Leader of the Twelve Dragons. Chief Commander of the Province of the Twinkling Hearth. Law of the Aideyllian Military. Disciple of Ayren. Thus was every rank in his title, from lowest to highest order.

To keep it short, most called him by another name: the Reaper’s Blessing.

The Reaper, being Szak’s mother. Illisia Drakon. The True Commander of the Province of the Twinkling Hearth.

“Permission to speak.”

“Denied.” Kazimir stood from his chair behind his desk and walked around to look down on his eldest son from a closer angle. He had the same ruby-tinted eyes as Szak, had the same hair in red and black strands. Szak had always kept his short, but Kazimir had grown his out, which he would, from time to time, tie up to keep out of the way. He stopped inches away from Szak, as if to make sure his son could receive all the disgust he could give. Szak stood there, stared back, and took all of it in silence. Waiting.

“I gave notice to all commanding officers along our borders,” Kazimir said, and turned away. “You are officially relieved of your titles until further notice.”

Szak felt his chest rip itself empty.

No.

He couldn’t have heard that correctly.

“… Excuse me?”

Kazimir glared at him. “You were off duty. What were you doing leading a search team along the Edge?”

“If the commander gave you the full report, you would have seen exactly why. One of the missing assailants was Katarina Bloodfang. Uzayil shouldn’t have ignored it.”

“That’s not your job.”

“Well, get people to do their damn job!” Szak snapped, absolutely frustrated. Of all things to be called to meet the Chief for.

Kazimir said nothing.

“Anyone that gave the situation more than a passing second would have seen the consequences of leaving her,” Szak reasoned. “Strongest and most experienced woman in her age bracket. Katarina would be a ranked commander if not for age. Her not returning with her team meant we either lost one of our strongest out there, or she encountered a situation that required back-up.”

“That is simply your assessment of the matter,” Kazimir said. “Commander Uzayil had a different assessment.”

“That sector was under my watch until you sent me to the Academy. I had the authority to Countermand his orders.”

“Had.” Kazimir emphasized. “Had. You were relieved of your duties when you were sent to study.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Szak scoffed, but Kazimir continued. “I didn’t think you would be idiotic enough that I’d have to strip you of your title as well to put you in your place.”

“You do these things to piss me off!”

“And you run around like the Edge is your playground!” Kazimir slammed his marble desk, also fuming now.

Szak swallowed and tried again. “I returned with a successful mission upon my return. Katarina is safe in our hospital for Mother’s Morning, we have two pirates held captive in our hands, and we have information on which direction the fleet traveled. I get things done as promised. This does not warrant you to revoke my position.”

“Luck after insubordination does not warrant that you deserve to keep them.”

Szak paced angrily about the room. Luck. He should have known his father would have thought as much.

“You want to earn your rank back, fix yourself.”

There he goes again…

“Above being your father, I have responsibilities to the entire land. I don’t have time to fly around, cleaning up your mess.”

“I made no mess.”

“That is your assessment of this situation, boy,” Kazimir seethed. “Fix yourself.”

“Stop making me waste time at the Academy, then!” Szak yelled back. “I’m already stronger than everyone else. There’s nothing for me there.”

“Tell me how that makes you a capable leader for the Hearth.”

Szak fell silent. This had to have been past the hundred and forty-fourth time they had this argument.

“I’m still waiting for a decent answer, boy. Is everyone else at the Academy aiming to take my place? Are they Drakonskars? You want to compare yourself to those who won’t ever need to fight like us, you damn well better be stronger than the lot of them. If you were just any other Aideyllian, I wouldn’t waste my time with you. You wouldn’t need to waste time trying to improve yourself. Start a shop in Essensia. Tend to sheep. Travel until you die of old age. I wouldn’t need to give a second shit about you. Stop comparing yourself to others that were never in your caliber in the first place. It ruins your standard. It makes you weak.”

“Exactly. The Academy makes me weaker every day I’m there.”

Kazimir pressed his lips together. He stared at Szak as Szak stared back, and he wondered what his son would need to finally grow up.

His son had, yet again, missed the mark.

“People are not idiots,” Kazimir sighed, sitting back down on his chair. “You are the idiot for believing you can lead like this. And in thinking so highly of yourself, you commit a second fault in underestimating those that will follow you. No one will knowingly follow one that will lead them to ruins. It doesn’t matter how large of a crowd you have, how strong of an arm you can flex, how many battles you claim victorious. None of that matters without their trust.” He shook his head. “Studying under the Ashenborn, that should have been one of the first lessons you learned at the Academy, but it’s apparent I expected too much out of you.”

“What you just said isn’t in any textbook or lecture I’ve ever had to go through,” Szak muttered. “I’m better off staying in the Hearth and training here.”

“You want to train?” Kazimir scoffed with a demeaning laugh. “Train your brain into shape. Make it think! It’s the only reason it even rests in your head.”

“I do think. I’m—”

“You’re an idiot. That’s what you are.” Kazimir rubbed his face with his hands, as if he could rub some of the frustration away. “You don’t observe,” he continued, words heavy with disappointment. “You’ve been in Essensia for nearly a year, but do you see, boy? Did you see the hearts of those that follow at the heart of Aideyll?”

Szak said nothing. In his head, thoughts ran wild, and Fiera heard every string of it as she waited outside. But aloud, Szak said nothing.

“Szakarilis.” Kazimir started, again. “If all you had to do was read, was listen to a couple lectures, borrow Mikalivir’s library! Listen to your mother’s lectures all over the mountain, every day. She has plenty of them—a list of lessons that have no end. But then you’ll never see the land and the people you protect. You’d never understand that thread stringing the entirety of Aideyll. You may as well have been locked in our mountain this entire time if that was all that was necessary.

“This is the fourth time I’ve said this to you. That should be embarrassing.” The more Kazimir thought about it, the angrier he got. “I shouldn’t ever have to repeat myself. You wonder why I’m always upset with you, this is why. And you want to take my place. You should be embarrassed. You’re an embarrassment.”

That’s not true. Szak knew that of all things, he was furthest from being an embarrassment. That much, he was sure. “You don’t approve of me. That’s not my problem.”

“And not keeping your rank is your problem,” Kazimir returned. “You haven’t even done anything that would garner my approval. You haven’t finished the Academy. Your marks in school have been poor even in your elementary years. The only thing exceptional is your swordsmanship, but you lack a brain. Even Fiera is all over the place, immature and a brat like you. I don’t owe you my approval, Szakarilis.”

A pause.

“You’re still a ways away from where Anastilia was.” Kazimir added.

“I’ll never be able to surpass Ana,” Szak said, his voice faltering at the thought. “Just the idea is absurd.”

“Well.” Kazimir scoffed. “If that’s settled, then you can forget fighting for my position of Chief Commander.” He sat back down on his chair. “You’re an embarrassment. Szak, the dead are the easiest to surpass. You can’t even outgrow those who’ve become stagnant. You’re dismissed.”

Szak didn’t move. To him, this conversation was far from over. But Kazimir went back to his papers, and after a few more lingering minutes of silence between them, he repeated himself without giving his son even a second glance.

“You’re dismissed, Szak.”

Szak didn’t care for formality or respect. He didn’t bow. He didn’t say “yes, sir” or “thank you” or “good day.”

“You’re a respected Chief, but an awful father,” he said, instead, and stormed out of Kazimir’s study, slamming those brass doors open and disappearing into the dark.

Where the fuck are you?!

I’m coming… I’m coming. Who’s being a brat, now?

The rain roared and pummeled outside. Szak stomped toward the center of the mountain, where the falling waters crashed in some chaotic rhythm, fighting to drown his thoughts and suffocate his anger. But his feet. They stepped on marble again and again and he wondered when it would end.

Jump.

Szak ran as fast as his feet could take him in the darkness. The soles of his dragon leather shoes splashed in the water, and the crashing of the waterfall drummed louder. At the step where his foot only felt half of it on marble, he tossed his body over the ledge. The fall, in nearly absolute darkness, gave him a rush that imitated fear in some ways, and a temporary relief in every way.

Fiera spun her body down until she matched his fall. Then, she grabbed him with her claws and caressed him in her wings, the two of them twisting in unison down the center of the vacuous column, diving all the way down to the depths of the pond. Droplets from the waterfall beside them sprinkled onto their face, their skin, their intertwining breath found between them.

The splash came as an explosion to the ears, but even that was muffled by the sudden coldness that started from the head and shot down the body as they sank. Beneath the surface, all the pitter patter of the rain was muted. Szak felt the pressure. Of water. Of silence. Of floating in blessed tears. And when he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, Fiera grabbed him and dragged him out.

One moment longer.

No, pretty sure you need to breathe, bro.

So you think.

So your brain told the both of us.

Fiera dropped Szak gently on the ground floor, along the side of the pond, and landed beside him.

Szak shook his head, panting for breath. In the darkness, he felt the hard stubbornness of the marble below his hands and knees. He felt drops of water roll down his eyelashes, down his cheeks, felt them line the edge of his lips and his chin and tickle him right before they dropped.

He brought a hand up to wipe his face and leaned back, only to fall backwards, back into the pond.

Fiera had to dive a claw in to pick him up and out again.

Seriously? Can’t you just look at the world through my eyes?

Yeah… yeah… Szak coughed up some water and waited for the pain in his nose to subside.

That was how he usually saw in the dark—through Fiera’s eyes. But his thoughts had been too preoccupied to think of doing that. Or maybe he wanted to stay in the dark, for a moment longer.

Or maybe you’re just dumb.

“Ha, ha,” Szak said sarcastically. Hilarious.

Yet true.

He sighed as he took off his shoes. Looking at the world through Fiera’s eyes, he turned to the edge of the pond, really an oversized circular pool framed in marble, and sat there, listening to the waterfall.

Fiera exhaled onto him, each breath a hot burst of steam. Szak felt his hair and his clothes dry up soon enough.

Thanks.

Yeah, I know… Fiera huffed once more, then curled up around him with eyes closed from the dark. Together, the two of them listened to the waterfall, replayed Kazimir’s words over and over again, and wandered to thoughts of Anastilia Drakon, Szakarilis’ older sister who shouldn’t have died six years ago.