…

  James put down the quill, looking at his dark, winding script on the page of his journal. He sighed. It had been a week since the flight to the wreckage. Daekhota had not come to see him. Something was wrong and he didn’t know how to fix it.

  He got up from the desk and paced the room. The events of the landing had been circling in his mind almost endlessly.

  “You fought well,” he said to the room with a mocking tone. “

  He kicked the frame of one of the beds. Pain flared in his toe. “” He sat on the same bed, rubbing it.

  A profound sense of homesickness came over him. The banter of his crew. The approving look of Captain Dunstable when he achieved something. All of it was gone.

  He looked around the room, strangely familiar and alien at the same time.

  Even Miyan had been a little strange with him. She had continued their language lesson, but she did not ply him with the extra servings of food he had become accustomed to. Her sweet smile had grown rare.

  The door opened and Daekhota entered. He had a serious look on his face.

  “ He asked.

  Daekhota did not understand his English and only nodded.

  “Daekhota…”

  The rider held up a hand to silence him. “Come, James.” He turned and left.

  James followed.

  The few days inside had him squinting at the strength of the sunlight. The heat began to burn his skin immediately. James rubbed at his complaining neck.

  Daekhota led them to the wooden building housing the dragons. “Wait here.” He dipped inside and retrieved Liana, two saddles already strapped to her back.

  “Where are we going?” asked James.

  “Maa Kor Sorakum.” Daekhota climbed into his saddle.

  James processed the words as he clambered into the rear saddle. “Kor? .” He snapped his fingers. “Sorakum

  Daekhota kicked his heels and Liana thundered into the air, wind rushing all around them. When she was sufficiently high, Liana swooped in the direction of the unending forest.

  They flew for hours, the sea of trees scrolling by in an unending emerald landscape like nothing he had seen. Wilderness unadulterated by the hands of humans. Wisps of vapour curled over the trees. Birds flew in their thousands. And the trees – so many trees.

  The landscape had largely been a flat but undulating terrain, but it soon changed to the clear signs of the foothills of mountains. James peered over Daekhota’s shoulder to see a large mountain blocking out the horizon. It looked like birds were circling it. Only, the closer they got the larger the birds appeared.

  he thought.

  Hundreds of dragons were in the air. They varied in colour from ruby, emerald, and sapphire. The dragons seemed to be gliding in the winds, for what purpose he had no clue.

  “Maa Sorakum-ama, ena ura tol hara naya,” Daekhota said in a strange almost ceremonial tone.

  James struggled to translate the words. The tone made it difficult but he thought he got the jist of it. “Dragon mothers please welcome us…” he whispered.

  Liana swooped down towards the nearest face of the mountain. The circling dragons did not interrupt their continual gyre. James saw a cave opening in the side of the mountain. At first it was a only a dot, but it soon grew to gargantuan proportions.

  Daekhota set them down on the rock surface just beyond the opening of the cave. James got out of his saddle and joined Daekhota. Liana looked up to the sky and gave an incredible call, warmbling the air with a roar he had never heard the dragons use before.

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  The call was returned by countless of the dragons flying overhead.

  Satisfied, Liana blinked and settled on her haunches, eyeing the men with her golden eyes.

  thought James.

  “This way,” said Daekhota. He led him into the darkness of the cave. They walked deep inside, walking only by the meagre light from the opening. James felt the immensity of the space they were in. The deep, pregnant opening in the heart of the great mountain.

  Daekhota used flint to light a brand, its glow illuminating much of the space. Gargantuan pillars of stone stood beside a passage that led deeper inside. The twenty feet wide columns were made of a dark blue stone. Tribal patterns wound around them, glowing with the unmistakable glint of gold. “Maa Kor Sorakum,” the rider announced, his voice echoing from the stone walls.

  James looked around him in awe. He had never seen a space so immense, not even the great basillica of the Vatican could match the grandeur. He walked up to the closest pillar, touching the golden patterns. “,” he whispered, feeling the smooth and rigid details. “” The more he looked at it, the more he lust for it. The value of the gold in both columns alone he could not fathom.

  “Auram is sacred,” said Daekhota. He walked up to James’s side and touched another of the patterns, before wavings both hands by the side of his head. “Halor ilam-en ura auram,” he said with the same ritualistic tone he used on their approach to the mountain.

  James looked at the rider. “Why am I here?”

  Daekhota nodded his head. “It was not right how I treated you.” He looked into James’s eyes. “You do not know our ways. You were not to know your words would insult me.” He walked away, leading James between the sentinels of stone. “It is time you learn of Sorakum. Why we grieved the fallen mothers ridden by our enemy.”

  James followed him into the depths of the mountain.

  …

  They entered another cavernous space, the roof beyond the darkness above. Daekhota walked to a curved piece of stone that stretched into the void beyond the glow of his brand. He touched the flame to oil in a groove that ran through the length of stone. The oil ignited, the fire roaring into the distance. As the fire grew, more of the space illuminated. It stretched in an arc hundreds of yards long.

  At first, James thought the arc was surrounded by rubble. His eyes focussed and his mind began to comprehend. They were huge skeletons. They were composed in a way that seemed like whole creatures had lain on each other before dying.

  “Maa Sulem-kor,” Daekhota breathed. “The resting place of fallen mothers.” He gestured for James to approach the skeletons.

  Boulder sized skulls – more terrifying than the head of a living Sorakum – stared at him with their eyeless sockets. Claws tipped bare metatarsals, even now their keen edges threatened him. Cavernous rib cages seemed frozen in a deadly inward breath, as though fire could still explode from the jaws of the skulls.

  As James walked by the dead, he saw the bones glistening as prized treasures. He walked up to an outstretched forelimb, inspecting the hefty bone. It was unmistakable what he saw.

  “Auram,” said Daekhota. “It is a part of the Sorakum. Their bond to the land. The source of their sacred fire. Maa Syren Halor.”

  “ James whispered. He thought of the Sorakum’s golden eyes, understanding now their significance. He realised something else about gold to Daekhota’s people.

  There was something magical about the gold inflected bones. The countless remains. Just a single bone would have lit up the eyes of any gold panner. He could not explain it, but he felt an instinctual anger at the thought of even a single toe being smashed to retrieve its gold.

  A wave of fear and sadness washed over him. He saw the industrial destruction of the temple, wooden wheels turning to churn the bones. Hundreds of men, sweating in the heat of the temple – sorting milk white chaff from glittering flecks of gold. Beyond, the forest would have been burned to build roads leading to the sea. Settlements on the coast would have spewed dark smoke, the product of some refinement process. Airships would come to and fro, an endless relay across the Atlantic – their prize worthy of dicing with the Beast. The relentless hunting of Sorakum would lead to their near elimination, the mothers would be no more. Not even their bones would remain, turned to mountains of powder. Even that would be transported back to the Empire, sold as medicines from the Unknowns or some luxury spice consumed at banquets. The King would bleed this land dry until all that remained was a scarred landscape where once there had been mystery and wonder.

  “Just as auram is a part of the Sorakum, they are a part of us,” said Daekhota, caressing the skull of one of the creatures. “A bond as old as the emergence of the First Tribe.” He bowed to the Sorakum. “It was the mothers who protected us, allowed us to hunt when Maa Ilam was lethal to us. The mothers offered themselves to us, and we devoted ourselves to their protection.” The rider looked at James. “That is why we mourn the mothers who fall in battle. It is their riders we fight, not the Sorakum.” The two men walked along the line of fallen Sorakum. “In return for the loss of mothers in battle it is the fate of every Sorakum-kor that we sacrifice ourselves at the end of our service.”

  “Sacrificed?” asked James.

  “Yes. It is only right. The loss of any mother is a loss we cannot imagine going unpunished. This injustice must be paid with our blood.”

  “You keep saying ‘mothers’.” James furrowed his brow. “They are all female?”

  “Yes,” said Daekhota. “It was the mothers who bonded with the First Tribe. Their wisdom is great. The males…” he trailed off. He raised his left arm, goosebumps coated his skin. “Ultharek,” he almost spat. “They are vicious, they lack the wisdom of the mothers. They are like… animals.” Daekhota looked at James, his eyes dark with warning. “To see one is to mean your end. Sorakum-ama naya, Ultharek morath.

  James nodded, the fear of the rider seemed to infect him. The hairs on the back of his neck raised. “I hope never to meet one.”

  Daekhota raised an eyebrow and smiled. He seemed to remember himself. “Do not speak lightly of them. They are nothing but death.”

  The rider continued to walk along the never ending line of skeletons. “But they must mate with the females?” asked James.

  “Yes,” said Daekhota. “Once every seven years, the Ultharek return from their territories deep in the Maa Ilam. It is not a time of romance. The mothers fight for their survival, many do not succeed. Those who remain take a mate – when the deed is done, they must fight to escape. Only the strongest of the mothers survive the ordeal.”

  James raised his eyebrows.

  “To be Sorakum-ama is to struggle.” The rider looked at the fallen mothers with deep respect. “It is my greatest honour to be of the Sorakum-kor.”

  They walked in silence, completing an entire circuit of the great chamber. James could not count, if he tried, the number of deceased mothers they passed. Each bone glistening with gold.

  Daekhota led him from the chamber, returning to the entrance where Liana waited for them. She eyed them with golden irises. James saw the intelligence behind those eyes, her spirit strong. Alive. The rider gave the Sorakum a respectful bow before rubbing under her chin.

  “Daekhota,” James said, low and solemn. “I am sorry for my words after the battle. I know now how wrong it was of me. I thank you for this lesson.”

  The rider turned and put a hand on his shoulder. “It is I who is sorry. I should have taught this to you sooner. We just… lacked the words to understand.”

  James smiled. “I understand now.” He looked at the Sorakum. “And I am sorry to you.”

  Liana blinked. Her head moved towards him. She closed her eyes and offer him her snout. He placed his hand between the two large nostrils. Her breath was hot, like the head coming from the boiler of an airship. “Maa Syren Halor,” he breathed.