DESTRUCTIVE MYTH

What was the point of life?

It was a question he was sure everyone asked themselves at least once through their journey, was it to find love, or wealth and riches, was it to have your name known to all for any number of reasons or was it something a little humbler. Perhaps life’s journey was to find what your heart truly wanted and follow it to the end.

Perhaps life’s purpose was to give yourself over to a higher power, help them lead you along the right path.

Such questions could evolve into endless debates, what was the point of life?

He lifted his head to the peach sky leaking into the black, morning had finally come, his legs were numb, stiff from the cold. Since Gozza no one had stopped to rest they had all been forced to march right through.

The long night had been endless, he had begged the stars for the warmth of the sun, and now that it was almost up, he wished the stars back.

He breathed in deeply trying to embrace the new day, it would force itself on him regardless of his protest. His breath hitched as he felt something out of the ordinary and tried to grab his side falling to his knees coughing, he tried to stop not understanding what was wrong, feeling so weak, but the horses didn’t stop dragging him, he stumbled a few times till he got back up.

Drathis looked up at the men, his current capturers hadn’t said a word to him since Gozza, the one was watching him though with slight concern.

He coughed again trying to hold his chest going down again.

“Hey, hey!” One on the right-side horse shouted at Drathis, he looked up at the guy dizzy for the excursion. “Wake up! You can’t fall asleep.” The man said, Drathis ignored him watching his warm breath like smoke through the frigid air.

Why did he have to suffer so, was there no end to the anguish he would face?

Should he have remained imprisoned for life?

Was his life without purpose?

Was being the last of his race a sign to not restore but rather a message to keep it extinct, end it with him, give up hope and let the madness threatening to take control inside of him just take the reins.

Coughing again created a chain reaction of coughs that he couldn’t stop, he tried to hold his side again but the chains wouldn’t let him, he fell to his knees again coughing in a fit to try to bring air into his lungs, but no matter how much air he tried to suck in he couldn’t.

‘What’s happening to me!’ He whispered breathless one last time as metallic taste filled his mouth, he spat it out into the snow watching red veins spread out sinking deep into the snow.

Drathis stopped stunned, “Oh crap!” Hanging his head watching it slip past in disbelief.

The two men stopped the horses and jumped off, one went to check the blood on the ground and the other took out a blanket.

“We don’t need this one to die, he’s stronger than the rest.”

“It’s blood!” the other shouted kicking the snow.

“How the hell did that happen? What from his side?” The other said unfolding a blanket.

“His side?” the other asked walking back.

“Yeah, he was holding his side when they took his sword away.”

They both looked at each other then down at Drathis coughing, lying in the snow now.

He listened to them argue over the capture, taking note of the fact that his sword had been taken yet no mention of someone dying from its tough vaguely crossed his mind, they carried on about wasting time on slaves that would die and not taking the right measures to ensure all slaves, including this one made it. He lifted his head scanning the horses for his sword, if it was with them, it was well hidden.

The bush nearby shook and everyone stopped turning to face it, Drathis thought he saw a woman following them, but it wouldn’t be the first time he had hallucinated.

They checked the bushes nearby and decided it was a scared rabbit leaving it, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Drathis, placed him on a horse tying him behind the other.

Escaping would have been easy if he had only felt himself, but he was warm and off his legs, so for now he would rest.

“Sural.” He hissed falling asleep, the fat witch would pay for whatever she had done to him.

* * * * *

The horses came to a stop and Drathis raised his head slowly, shook his hair out the way looking at huge stone walls, they had arrived at Kazan.

A small side gate at one end away from the main entrance was opened and they all went in, horse, soldier, slave.

Being lead down the different tunnels was confusing there were so many different channels, some slaves were split up but a select few were forced forward with Drathis: a young slave girl in front of him looking to be no older than seventeen years had stopped crying and wonder had been replaced in her eyes. He studied her; brown full long hair, hazel big eyes, curvy in all the right places with smooth unmarked skin. She had to be a gift for the king or someone in royalty, his instinct wanted to protect the girl, protect her virtue, it ate him up inside watching them get pulled off by different unknown parties to be prepared for their new life, especially this girl who had no clue to the dangers of the world, never being exposed to the cruelty was about to be stripped of all her innocence, and he could do nothing.

Next, they stopped Drathis pulled him off the horse placing him on the ground, and whistled.

He didn’t want to be lying down for whatever the whistle called, he pushed his bound hands on the floor and pushed himself up, one leg slowly at a time, to stand on shaking his legs slightly apart. His head was thumping bring on one hell of a headache.

The soldiers spun around in total shock when his chains rattled, they expected him to be half dead, humans usually were after such an illness, well should be he thought feeling the pained rattle in his chest. Another man approached hunched with a long black coat trailing behind him lined with thick fur, a sign of royalty, with long black greased curly hair in his mid-forties with darkness in his eyes.

He watched as the snake approached, he wondered why he was brought here and not lead off with the other men, what were their plan with him.

Two other soldiers rushed to Drathis hitting the back of his knees making him fall to them, Drathis clenched his teeth not letting out a sound.

“You will always bow to the royal king’s messenger!” The one guard sneered at Drathis then straightened up facing the messenger.

‘I bow to no one!’ Drathis thought as he looked up at the castle, it seemed grand, welcoming in fact, but he had learned to not judge by the outside appearance a long time ago, especially if it spat out such a messenger.

The soldiers updated the royal messenger on all that had happened right down to Drathis capture and power.

The messenger walked towards Drathis wide-eyed with curiosity, he stopped directly in front and bent down, molding his cold hand tightly around Drathis jaw and raised his head to meet his. Drathis shook his head trying to get it free but couldn’t, he met the black eyes and looked deep into them with such hate if he was any closer the messenger would have lost his nose.

The messenger turned his head around looking back at the soldiers, with a small grin.

“I see what you mean.” He said and turned back to Drathis. “there is something odd about you, something out of the ordinary, I can see the wildness in your eyes, you are not born in Gozza.” He let go of Drathis face shoving him back.

“Stand him up.” He called, Drathis was heaved up and held from both sides as the messenger circled him like a vulture looking for a telling sign.

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” he enquired noticing something unnatural, something not so human yet he couldn’t place his finger on it.

Drathis ignored him watching the grease ball as he circled again checking his ankles for concealed weapons, his waste, and back.

“No?”

“No.” Drathis sneered.

“Oh, so it does speak, my I was beginning to think you were just a mindless brute.” He mocked looking him up and down again. “On your knees.”

“No.” Drathis scoffed looking down at the man.

But the soldiers again forced him down to his knees, the messenger cocked his head sideways curiosity getting the better of him, he reached into his robe pulling a knife and rose it high, Drathis said nothing and closes his eyes.

He remained knelt down, if they were about to put him out of his misery then he would welcome it, perhaps he had no purpose, after all, bone-weary he remained still waiting, waiting.

His eyes shot open as the king’s royal subject grabbed his hair pulling it back.

“Let me go.” He growled shaking the chains pulling away.

Despite his efforts they hacked through his hair, Drathis tensed hearing his hair give way under the knife, any moment now they would find out.

The messenger dropped the knife.

He watched them back up in fear exchanging looks trying to confirm if what they were seeing was real.

“YOU AN ELF!!!” The messenger shouted in terror, Drathis swore he sore fascination mixed up in the emotion too.

Soldiers that lined the back wall watching them, knelt down to him dropping their weapons, as two closest to the castle took off running. Drathis hung his head low his bright eyes shut, so much emotion ran through him.

Yes, his secret was out, he panicked a cough taking ahold of him again, this was not good.

Since the great war between elf and man the elves had all but been wiped out except for a select lucky few, those few, like him were trained from young to hide, conceal, if caught doing magic pronounce themselves as wizards or fabricate any lie to make them believe all was normal. As many races and magical creatures that roamed Relangathian, none were as rare as an elf.

Many had been misinformed over the generations thinking them a weak race that just couldn’t survive on their own, no longer kings as they had been. It was a lie told by all the kingdoms involved in their great fall, a lie to keep the rest from intervening. In truth, an elf was anything but small, weak, and pixy looking, they were close to demigods having heightened senses, magical properties, build like fierce guardians, and used to roam the world freely, many had called them the alpha race with unlimited power.

Drathis recalled an argument with Gareth, one out of many they had had.

“We are a deadly force we need not hide!”

“We are outnumbered.”

“We make them fear us, none will be able to stop us.”

“Why do you want to make enemies? Look what happened to our kind, look what happened to our parents!”

“We are stronger than ten men and we have magical properties.”

“Power is not everything,” Gareth had sighed.

It had been hard to convince a teenage boy, but now years too later Drathis understood, power wasn’t everything, someone always wanted it.

Somehow, along with the myth of elves had surfaced a rumor that if an elf was ever found, they could be killed and all their untamed power would be released into the killer making them powerful beyond their dreams, another lie.

It didn’t stop thousands searching to never find even a hint of one, hence they were now creatures of legend.

The king and a large group of soldiers trailed other royals came storming down the castle stairs, all eyes were on him, he felt exposed, no lie could hide this.

His breathing erratic brought on more coughing again, chains heavy he held his side, falling on the ground coughing up more mantellic tasting liquid, he looked down at his blood cover fist.

And just like that, he knew what Sural had done to him, he recalled how every encounter of late had left him feeling ill, powerless, worse for wear. The position had been one to make him feel human, now his immune system had no resistance to sickness, no natural healing, he could get deadly ill from the smallest virus and could not regenerate as fast.

“The bitch.” He heaved through a bubbled cough.

He recalled her words “nothing will happen to you if you do nothing.” Talk about a riddle, he thought. She must have weakened him for capture, with hardly any power he was bound to be as easy to catch as any now.

“WHAT IS THIS.” The king raged to a halt.

Drathis still coughing curled up into a ball in the snow shivering with fever. The king went down on one knee looking at Drathis, his party did the same from a distance respecting their king.

Short and shaggy chopped hair reviled everything, his ears pointed at the tops, the detailed twisting birthmark spread across his shoulders and came up behind his ears, fading up under his thick hair, black with a shine of green as the sun hit it.

Drathis felt the presents of power and shot open his eyes looking from the king’s shocked face to two figures hidden under large cloaks, he couldn’t see their faces, but they were holding staffs.

Drathis tried to sit back up to observe them better, the figures suddenly pointed their staffs at Drathis and the king’s personal guard pulled the king back to safety. Drathis looked up at them a small smile on his lips, he was so weak yet he was still deemed a threat.

“Your majesty, he’s, dying!” one man said next to the king.

“We will extract his power for the king.”

Staffs still pointed at him they began to glow, Drathis rose to his feet with his last will, pushing up slowly while fighting to breathe, he was battling to find a source of oxygen, how was he going to face this too.

“You will do no such thing.” The king called out finally finding his voice stepping forward he couldn’t believe his eyes still. “You, pick him up.” The king pointed to a soldier nearby.

The soldier hesitated fearing for his life, Drathis smiled inside.

“Pick him up damn-it! He’s half-dead, nothing more he can do!” The king demanded.

You want to bet? Drathis thought closing his eyes swaying slightly.

Most soldiers back stepped refusing, exchanging looks amongst each other in fear.

“PICK HIM UP NOW, OR ILL BE THE ONE KILLING YOU!!” The king shouted turning red.

A few rushed forward, hesitated again looking at the king then bent down and picked him up, Drathis opened his eyes in slits, the king turned and everyone followed him up the stairs through the great doors, into an open hall, he was deep in conversation to three men on either side of him as they all went left up several more flights of stairs, through a door into a huge dining hall, out the other end, into an extraordinary long corridor with room doors all the way down on both ends, filled with busy people going in and out, they entered one, then another then Drathis was lost, it was a grand maze.

“Place him here.” The king said.

“On the bed your majesty?” The men asked confused.

“No out the bloody window! Of course, on the bed!” he said annoyed, turning to the rest. “Go fetch me my healers, my personal assets, and food.” He waited for them to leave. “NOW!” he roared raising his hands, they scattered.

The king sighed turning slowly to face Drathis lifeless on the bed, he couldn’t believe his eyes still. Both of the king’s personal guards were still there on either side trying to keep up appearances sneaking a glace every time the king looked away. The king moved to the end of the bed studying him, Drathis looked nothing more than a young man sleeping peacefully, except of course for the ears, tattoo, and blood on his side. He sighed again clicking his tough, the soldiers stood at attention facing him.

“Fetch Mani.”

Within minutes the same grease ball of a man was hunched over by the king’s side with a logbook.

“How many?” the king asked, after some rushed calculations, scribbles in his book, and a double-check, he answered making sure his count of the slaves having passed through the gates were correct.

“Two hundred and nighty three your majesty, five died, two escaped, and the other.” He pointed to Drathis “Is not so human.”

The king turned and walked towards the window folding his hands behind his back deep in thought, the royal messenger sneaked a look over his book at the elf stepping closer, wondering if the rumors were true, he could end the elf’s life right there right then.

A knock came at the door.

“Enter.” The king turned back to Drathis with worry, he was still unconscious with shallow breathing.

In came fifteen people, two with food, three with medicine, and ten dressed and looking higher class than the rest, the king faced them as they all bowed.

“You two leave.” He said to the girls that had brought the food, they did.

“You three, attend him on the bed, do not fear him, he is in no condition to harm.” The healers looked at the king worried then moved to the bed. The king watched the three almost drop their things going pale, he expected them to.

The rest of the men now noticing too what was going on started moving around uneasy breaking out in chatter. Mani the royal messenger took hold of the distraction pulling a healer aside.

“You extract blood from the elf, bring it to me, tell no one.”

The healer watched him with concern seeming conflicted.

“The king requests it.” He whispered releasing the healer turning back to the king.

“Yes, we have an elf.” He silenced them. “The first-ever caught, and even more troubling, the first-ever traveling alone,” the king said glancing at the bed as the healers cut open Drathis’s shirt starting to wipe the blood and dirt away, his whole left side was bruised black and purple from broken ribs and a big gash that had frostbite damage around torn skin beginning to rot, he turned looking from the bed to his ten subjects. “He is very ill and might not make the week, but if he does what am I to do?”

They all opened their mouths to say something then looked around, some fiddled with their robes unable to meet the king’s eye while the rest mumbled.

“Right, follow me!” The king said walking to the door, then turned “Mani you are no longer needed here.” The messenger pulled his reluctant gaze from Drathis bowing to leave. The king left calling out to the soldiers positioned by his bed “Guard him with your life, it’s all you have.” Then he left with the crowd at his heels.