Soul Survivor

 

{Exit}

I’ve always had a fear of planes. If it weren’t for the dare of half a million dollars, and if it weren’t for my brother who signed me up without first asking for my permission, I wouldn’t even be here, stuck in the brightly spray-painted Dare And Get Rich plane. It wasn’t just any dare either – the aircraft was to journey past the Bermuda Triangle, or at least close enough to the edge to call it a stunt. It made me wonder which genius approved of this contest, because it wasn’t exactly news that most things that went into the triangle don’t get a chance to come out again, and I wasn’t exactly keen on flying anywhere close to such a vacuum.

We were geared in and ready for take off, or at least the pilot was. It wasn’t one of those large planes that could hold both passengers and crew; the jet I was in contained only the pilot and myself. We were both trapped in the giant bubble of a cockpit, and all I could see while peering out of the glass dome were crowds of cheering on-lookers. If goldfishes ever suffered from claustrophobia in their fishbowls, I currently had no problem identifying with them.

As the propellers started their rounds, I silently cursed my brother and thought of ways to get my revenge upon my return. Static crackled in my earphones and before I could plead with the pilot to let me out of his glass and metal prison, the plane began to roll onto the runway. Soon I was thundering along at amazing speed, and as everything melted away with the plane’s gaining momentum, I felt myself ascend into the merciless blinding glow of the sky.

I wasn’t sure about the distance we had to travel, though the estimated time given was forty minutes. Already I felt nervous, and the see-through glass didn’t improve things. It took every ounce of my determination not to hurl my breakfast with each lurch of the plane, and I couldn’t, for the life of me, understand the beauty of flight. Yes, I had the privilege of observing the Earth’s surface from the point of view of an altitude-defying bird, but really, there wasn’t much to look at from the distance I was from Earth. There were bits of green and brown and silver with a good helping of white mist, but that was pretty much it. And I couldn’t help thinking that any minute, the floor of the craft would give in and we would be hurled through air like stones in free-fall, plummeting to Earth at the mercy of gravity.

It was almost fifteen minutes before the awful wooshing got to our ears. The sky was clear, the uniform green below us calm, but yet there was no questioning the strange sound that seemed to increase in volume. Inexperienced as I was with flying, I recognized a fault when I saw, or heard, one. This time I wasn’t alone – the pilot was visibly in a panic, pushing dials and desperately radioing for contact in vain.

It wasn’t long before the craft wasn’t us to control. We began spiraling towards a concentrated mass in the clouds, and before I could blink I saw the glass splinter and break apart. With the ferociousity of a hurricane, I saw the pilot snatched out of his seatbelt and sucked into the eye of the storm.

Like an insect struggling in vain against the current of a running tap, I too, followed the doomed pilot to an unknown fate.

*****

{Entrance}

I was on shore when I woke.

It was dark and smoky, and for a moment I thought I’d been washed ashore by the tide onto a chalet, amongst party-goers and barbeque pits. Then my memory came flooding back to me, and it didn’t seem possible that I was in one piece, never mind alive. Surprisingly I was, so I gathered my nerves and picked myself up. Nothing seemed broken, or particularly painful, which should have alerted me for what I was about to experience, but I was numb from the accident and the fact that I’d gotten out without so much as a scratch. I wondered if I was dead, but that didn’t seem so either, because my muscles did ache from all the lying on the beach. And then I wondered how long I’d been unconscious, but the pilot was nowhere to be found, nor was the plane wreck.

I began to explore my surroundings, out of desperation for help rather than adventure – and came to realise that the sea I thought had washed me onto shore wasn’t a sea, but an extremely wide, blackish and glistering river. In the distance I noticed a V-shaped object, and then it hit me that a boat was sailing by!

Without hesitation I yelled at the top of my lungs. A hoarse wail came from my mouth, but there was nothing I could do. Near exhaustion and feeling dehydrated, I continued to shout for attention, and it seemed like I was succeeding at getting a response, for the boat began to sail towards me.

It was crowded, more crowded than I’d expected it to be. They welcomed me on board without so much as a nod, and before I could enquire about my whereabouts or where they could take me, I was on the move again. Guiding the boat was an elderly man in his sixties, his hair streaked with silver and his face half hidden in an old fishing hat. It did not occur to me then how odd it was that one man his age could ferry a boat full of people without any physical strain.

Hunt — Chapter 1

The heat was beginning to dwindle, and I was well hidden by the long strands of grass. The area was deserted with the exception of a crowd of impala, grazing silently ahead. I crouched low, sifting the herd for an individual, and spotted a calf beside its mother. Standing at full height, it barely reaching her belly. A newborn.

That would be the menu for tonight.

Without warning, I charged with all the ferocity a hunting cheetah could muster. The crowd dispersed as I sliced my way through, and as deadly as my teeth and claws were, I was careful to avoid their equally hazardous anthers. The mother and her calf were already on the run, but I was not far behind. They were no match for my speed, but I had to finish the hunt before the heat accumulated in my body reached a deadly level. For while I could easily outrun them, impalas had the stamina I lacked.

I was fast closing the gap between us. The mother’s hind legs loomed ahead, kicking up a cloud of dust in her escape. My target, the calf, was in front of her, and in that instant I switched my choice of prey. With my front paw I reached out and tripped one of her hind legs.

She fell, and another cloud of dust enveloped us as I braked and went for the neck. She bleated pathetically while I punctured her throat with my canines. I wasn’t strong enough to break her neck, but suffocating would suffice. Unlike hyenas, I preferred to dismantle my prey after it was well and truly dead, but suffocating was a slow process.

I released my grip on her throat after her heart was still, and then began to look for a well-sheltered spot. Scanning the horizon for a potential hideout so I could feast in peace, I allowed my body to cool down from the chase. I was glad for having to suffocate her, since during which I had a chance for my body temperature to return to normal.

My keen eyes spotted a clump of bushes, the only other form of vegetation in the grassland within a reasonable distance. It wasn’t a good hiding place, but there wasn’t a better one. I dragged the carcass over, and started devouring it at once. Mealtimes weren’t the safest, especially for a lone predator that had stronger enemies.

It was while I was tearing open her stomach that I spotted a faint disturbance in the grass, not far from where I was feasting. The presence of another animal disturbed me, and most likely meant the end of my feast. The scavengers had found the trail of the dead impala, and I had barely eaten my fill.

I tensed, alert. If it was a weak scavenger I could still scare it away. I couldn’t bear the thought of hyenas stealing the feast I had spent energy hunting. I was beginning to feel fear gripping my heart, because a hyena was the worst creature to come across, especially when you had food. I had food, and I was alone. I was no match for a lone hyena with its bone-crushing bite, let alone a group of hyenas. Because if there was a hyena lurking around, chances were a whole pack of them was nearby.

The sun was beginning to set. Quickly I had a few more mouthfuls, each one separated with a through scan of my surroundings. As a diurnal hunter, it was safer if I found a safe spot before nightfall. My eyes were my weapon, and unlike most predators, I did not rely much on my sense of smell.

The animal revealed itself from the cover of the bush. I growled, and then saw it retreat. I stood, ready to defend my prey, and the animal reemerged again.

It was the calf.

Surprise would be an understatement. I cocked my head, trying to understand what was going on. Here, standing right in front of me, was an impala calf, the prey I had intentionally stalked. Behind me was its mother, or what was left of her. It had to be my lucky day to have a meal walking up to me. The only thing ensuring its life was the fact that I was full from devouring its mother.

The calf sniffed the air and dipped its head. I regarded it with doubt, unsure of what I had to do. It wasn’t a situation I faced everyday. I debated between scaring it off, hoping it would survive for an easy meal when I needed it, and finishing it off with a quick bite. Killing it would have taken a short time, as compared to a full-grown adult.

While I was weighing the advantages of both, the calf trotted towards me. At that moment I truly wondered how terribly its mother had failed as a parent – to have raised an offspring suicidal enough to present itself to a predator.

I bent low and growled again. It took a reluctant step back, and then came forward. My growl turned to a grimace. I understood finally that it had been separated and left behind by the herd after the chase was over, and had followed the scent of its mother to me. Apparently it had chosen to ignore the bloodied ground on which its mother lay.

I left it standing and returned to have a last mouthful of its mother, and to my astonishment the calf followed, seemingly bent to ignore the gruesome sight and the danger I posed.

Well-fed and satisfied that my feast had gone uninterrupted by scavengers, I laid on my belly and started preening, licking my fur clean of blood. The calf, relaxed that I did not, after all, tear him apart, grew bolder and rested beside me. I found the thing shivering and gladly warmed him up with the knowledge that he would be an easy meal when I was hungry and too lazy to hunt.

Hunt — Chapter 2

The carcass had gone unnoticed throughout the night, and I was able to enjoy another quick bite the following morning. I did not intend to harm the calf as long as I wasn’t hungry. It was still cuddled by me when I woke, and I had the decency of licking the dew off its thin coat of fur.

At noon, I had trekked for almost a mile, taking short breaks along the way. The calf followed closely, as if I were the surrogate mother. I had no desire to eat as the impala could sustain me for at least a week, and in an ironic turn of events, was thus better adapted to care for the calf, kept full by the meat of its parent and therefore away from the need to hunt. There was no way a young impala that size could survive alone out in the wild, and who better to know that than myself.

It was before sunset that I noticed the calf struggling to keep pace. And then it occurred to me that it hadn’t fed since my hunt, and probably would never have a chance of feeding again, dependent on a mother’s milk it was. Without the much needed nourishment, it couldn’t go far, and already I could feel its strength draining by the minute. I glanced at its weak frame, and pondered about a crushing blow to the head, when I heard a faint roar in the distance.

Unlike the wild creatures in the area, the roar was constant, mechanical. It was the sound of engines, the deep purr of a vehicle. Sure enough, I was within sight of a green jeep, and the stink of human reached my nose. The jeep was occupied with them, creatures that came in various colours.

I picked the calf up in my jaw as I would do for my own cubs, and started towards the jeep.

Almost immediately, I could sense an excitement amongst the humans. I ought to have expected that. What predator would gently pick a prey up and carry it in search for help? For that was what I was seeking – help. I’ve heard stories about humans, some good and others bad. Whatever the truth was, they were intervenes. I was either saving the calf, or stepping onto death’s very own doorstep.

The irony of having the calf in my mouth already done that.

I stopped about a metre away from the jeep’s side, and gently released the calf. It stood on trembling legs, and started bleating in a way that set my predatory instincts on fire. Weak, young, alone, the calf was the ideal prey. But with possibly the strongest will any predator has ever seen, I sat on my haunches and pleaded silently for some form of intervention.

I was lucky. I watched on silently as one of the humans made his way slowly out of the jeep. He was cautious, and for good reason. Never letting his guard down, he made his way towards the calf, and took it in his arms. The calf, out of fatigue and trust, allowed itself to be carried into the vehicle. Still I sat, for the safety of myself and the calf. Humans were helpless creatures, but then you could never tell if they carried a gun. It was never good to make sudden movements.

When the calf was safely in the truck, I waited patiently, not knowing what to expect. Could they help it? What would they do? I watched as other humans pointed black, squarish objects at me.

I sat until the jeep drove off, and with it, the calf.

The Syphon Chronicles

“Of course. But not before he was k–”My account was most rudely interrupted by a sudden blackout. And I mean most rudely, because I vaguely remember the last time I had one, and hence wasn’t at all prepared for it. As I was whisked momentarily through darkness, I felt extremely curious as to who had summoned me. A break of thirteen years rusts your mind, and I feel the need to admit that I’m not the most attentive of my species, so it was difficult to tell if it was her again.

Her. “Her” is something I would like to forget. Somebody I would rather not talk about. Impossible under current circumstances, being hauled through space the way I was now.

———-

When I finally appeared at Kaudes I was rather surprised to see the changes that had been made while I was gone. There were new ships, new vegetation, and new people. The dock had been repaired, now made of some kind of solid wood, and it hardly creaked as I made my way down to the queue of multi-coloured dragons at varying degrees of growth and health. It felt right to be here, yet I knew it would be a long time before I would see freedom again. Unless, of course, I was lucky and my master decided to quit halfway into the journey. Actually most of them do quit before completing the quest, but then again none of us should have expected to achieve anything with those stickly weaklings. They hardly even live up to a hundred.

And we dragons, we don’t have the patience for the quest. Everyone wants to be the hero at the end who saves the rest, but none, I swear, none of us, are willing to suffer for it. It’s just too long. Our masters get bored easily, they leave the game, we get new masters, we start the quest anew, it’s become a cycle. As far as I know, none of us, with the exception of Meglar, has ever crossed the Yahma Desert. And his master had them travel for nine years. Nine years, and nothing found. Not even a blasted clue as to where the Momentum was, the Momentum that would set us all free from this game, to live again. As humans, in the real world. In our masters’ world.

Until that day is set in motion, the only freedom we are going to get is the freedom to walk this world without a master. Do you see the conflict? False freedom at the price of real freedom. We’re a tired race. The wild goose chases we’ve been on, they don’t appeal anymore.

I joined the gloomy line, sullen at the loss of my false freedom, and anxious about my master. Like a factory process we moved onward, some meeting their masters for the first time, most continuing their respective journeys. And then I was prodded by imps to a boy who was oblivious to my presence, preoccupied with loading his sack chock-full of supplies.

“Boy, I’m not exactly young so I’d appreciate if you don’t try to break my back.”

Startled, he lost his grip on the ropes and the sack fell onto the floor.

“Well…?”

“I…uh..erm…who’re you?”

“Your pet dragon. My name is Syphon, courtesy of my first master who took a delight in strange, exotic, legendary names. I am a Glitch and I serve a bond to you now, my master.”

Self-introduction on the first meeting was the first rule we had to adhere to, although the first lines were improvised by yours truly.

“I…er…I’m Hans.”

“Hands, yes? Good. Now if you can pick up that sack we can start looking for that damned Momentum,” I gestured to the lump lying on the ground. “Trust me, it’s full enough and you’re going to need to throw some things along the way.”

“T…the…Old Book s…s…said…not to listen to everything your slave says.”

“Brat, don’t you dare call me a slave, dammit! I told you my name.”

“I’m…I’m sorry. Er, Syphon.”

I was glad it wasn’t her. But I wasn’t too grateful either. What were my chances of finding the Momentum with a master like that

Dragion — Chapter 1

Gendo felt the great rush of air above him before he even noticed the dull grey shadow that fell upon the cold granite on which he’d been standing. As he craned his neck to meet the curved talons of the dragon, he felt around for his ten inch blade, his only weapon. It hung loosely on his belt, and he fumbled trying to reach for it. There was no time. Before he could even grab hold of the short handle protruding out of his pocket, he was snatched from the ground, and swept up into the air.The dragon was gentle. It did not proceed to tear him to pieces. It held him firmly in its claws, and with nothing better to do during the strange ride through the air, he observed the minature towns that lay beneath him. Before long he grew giddy, and shaking his head he focused his attention back onto the dragon. It was longer and bigger than two ordinary village houses put together. The scales shimmered as it twisted and changed direction in the air, reflecting rays of the sun. For a moment those scales glowed red, then as the angle on which the rays fell changed, they became orange, and then a striking shade of yellow. He grew dazed trying to figure out the actual shade of those scales. And each scale was as big as his palm. It wouldn’t be a satisfying meal, he thought.

He fell asleep, though how it was possible he did not know. As the dragon assumed height, his breathing became shallower and shallower. There was a lack of oxygen. He would be dead before the dragon landed, he thought. But the dragon seemed not to care, and higher and higer it flew. Towards the sun it headed. By then it was sunset, and as Gendo hung helplessly in the great talons, his skin registered the growing heat. Sweat gathered on his skin and fell off in droplets. Then finally the dragon entered the clouds, announcing its presence with a single roar. And then there were many answering roars, each unique and very different from the others.

Gendo started to struggle. He twisted around in the makeshift cage of the dragon’s feet, but grew hopeless when nothing he did seemed to attract the dragon’s attention, or even hurt it. He tried kicking, but his feet only made contact with air. And then quite suddenly, he was released. He tumbled and fell, and a sharp pain shot through his right arm as he landed on a curved, smooth surface…the interior of an eggshell. A very big eggshell. It was so huge it could have held seven more Gendos.

“Hey, that’s no way to treat a king,” a voice suddenly said. “You okay?”

Human hands reached for him. But…human? He stopped fussing over his arm, and instead looked at the hands that were helping him up. They were human hands. And there were dragons, too; he could still hear the cries surrounding him. He was dead, he must be. This was just a very funny heaven.

“Damn them creatures. I told them to be gentle.”

Damn? He had not counted for God’s vocabulary to be that…vulgar. He used it all the time and didn’t consider the word vulgar, but still, it wasn’t what he’d thought God’s choice of words would be.

Dragion — Chapter 2

Then he saw something that made his jaw drop. Behind, mounted — no, growing out of the guy’s back — were two large and neatly folded wings. Wings that were gray, with feathers as long as his arm. He leaned his weight on the side of the eggshell, unblinking, staring at the strange being helping him. No doubt he was in heaven now.”Uh, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” the guy spoke. Or rather, the angel, said. “They’re just wings, you know. Wings — to fly with.”

Still Gendo stared. Then he closed his jaw, and tried to form a coherent sentence. “Right, uh…um, your Highness. May I know…where I am?”

The angel laughed. He spoke differently now, with more formality. “I am not an angel; you flatter me. I am just a Receiver. You’re in Seventh, and…it is my duty to guide you around here, Your Highness.”

“Right. Does everyone gets to be called ‘Your Highness’ once they’re dead?”

“You mistake. You’re nowhere in Heaven, and neither are you dead. But you’re here for a reason, of course. A reason that I don’t know. But if you were sent here then there must be something for you. And it is a rule that all Sent must be treated with respect, hence the title.”

“But I wasn’t sent here, I was kidnapped. By a dragon.” He looked around and tried to differentiate the one dragon that had brought him here, but there were just too many, and most were swirling around, moving too fast for him to see any details. Not that he had a gift of telling animals apart.

It was the only time Gendo really looked around, looking for his dragon. The place — hall — was huge, and it was misty, like there was fog everywhere. Of course, they’re clouds. And several hundred dragons were soaring around them, the angel and the eggshell, but for some reason they kept from crashing into each other. Even though the place was huge it seemed impossible for all the dragons to fly and not collide at the same time. Yet they didn’t. Instead they navigated gracefully around each other, never coming close to Gendo.

Then he saw a possible reason why the dragons did not crash. His egg was on a platform, and the mist had hidden the edges of the room such that he thought the dragons were in the room with him, but now it seemed like they were swirling in a much bigger space — outside of the room. Maybe even the sky. And he noticed for the first time that it was cool, though there wasn’t a breeze.

“If you’re exhausted we can always keep the tour. Time waits for you here, Your Highness.”

“Time waits? How?”

“Oh, I don’t know, it just does. Doesn’t apply to the Land of Senders, though.”

“Land of Senders? As in…Earth?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The angel’s sudden changes from formality and informality annoyed him. It gave him a feeling that he was reluctant to call anyone “Your Highness”, and moreover he wasn’t used to it.

“Could you call me Gendo, please?”

The angel gave a sudden grin. “Yes. I was waiting for that.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For you to say that. I was trying to make you say that. It’s a rule to treat Senders with respect, but I always thought “Your Highness” was a bit too much, you know? But since you asked, and since I should treat you with respect, I will respect your wish to be called Gendo.” He grinned again.