For Honor

By C. S. Wachter

Je’hir blinked and blinked again, tears leaking out the sides of his eyes, past the tops of his ears, down the sides of his head. Sky, turquoise with wispy fluffs of pink clouds filled his vision. Directly above him, however, a wavering black dot broke the serene beauty.

“No, no, no,” he moaned, punching the ground beneath his fists and wishing the tangible evidence of his father’s treachery would just disappear.

“Tried again, didn’t you?” Ma’nir’s mocking voice rose as he stepped from the dark woods into the small clearing where Je’hir had landed after attempting to close the puncture in the sky dome. “You’ve got to be the most pathetic half-breed ever. Even your father, full-fledged drakon that he was, couldn’t fix the mess he made up there.” Ma’nir’s high-pitched laughter bounced off the circling trees.

Je’hir moaned as he sat up, flexing his silver wings, scanning to check for any breaks or crumbles. They opened and closed, every scaly feather meshing with its neighbors in perfect sync. He pushed onto his feet and bent to gather the glass shards he had hoped would fuse with the dome and close the rift.

Ma’nir shifted from his human form into full-drakon. Large and ruby red, he rammed into Je’hir, drawing forth a growl. “Stupid half-elf can’t even shift.” He laughed again.

Je’hir hated that he was half-drakon and so much smaller than the other younglings of his tribe. His inability to shift was even worse. As if his family’s reputation wasn’t tainted enough, every time anyone looked at Je’hir, they were reminded of his family’s fall from grace.

As Ma’nir attempted to ram him again, Je’hir spun, and using his elf-inherited maneuverability, gripped Ma’nir’s near wing, flipped out his own wings, and circled, swinging Ma’nir into a tree.

One look at the bully was enough to convince Je’hir to run. Scooping up a handful of the glass now scattered in the scrubby grass, he folded his wings close to his body and tore into the heavy woods, dodging trees and leaping ankle-snatching vines. Behind, Ma’nir crashed through the underbrush, his shouts of anger rising above the din of his approach. Je’hir sprinted toward a steep rocky outcropping. If Elder Ka’nir learned he was still trying to patch the hole, he would lecture Je’hir to release his need to recover his family’s honor. “It is beyond saving,” the elder would remind him yet again.

“One last chance. Have to make this count.” His breath wheezed in and out, his leg muscles protesting the effort as he clambered up the incline leading to the rocky cliff. Soon, empty sky lay before him. Je’hir pushed off the final rock at the edge of nothing and snapped his wings open.

Tilting, he caught a swift updraft, just what he needed, and spread his wings to take advantage of the rapidly rising air. He glanced over his shoulder to see Ma’nir shrinking in the distance. “Woo hoo,” Je’hir shouted, his body riding the currents like a leaf.

He turned his focus to the sky dome above and adjusted his trajectory to the right a bit. The upward drift began to slow. “Alright!” Je’hir’s wings beat the air, strong and rhythmic; all the energy he had conserved riding the wind now released in his bid for the breach. Another minute, two, three. His outstretched hands slammed into the smooth, glass-like dome, the shards he pressed into it slicing and burning as they fused to the surface, melting, oozing, covering the black hole.

Exhausted, he drifted on semi-spread wings, catching the wind, until he touched down near the village; stumbling but happy. Tilting his head, he focused on the spot where the rift had been. Unbroken sky met his gaze.

The dome was intact once again.

Je’hir whistled as he strode into the village, his head erect, shoulders thrown back. Though he had expected an enthusiastic greeting from the tribe, pats on the back, and congratulations for his heroic deed, no one paid him any mind. Normal daily tasks and conversations took place as if nothing of note had happened.

Icy fingers traced his spine when he heard Elder Ka’nir’s stern voice. “Je’hir. Je’hir. Come with me. We need to talk.”

Je’hir entered Elder’s Ka’nir’s tent. Ma’nir sat near the elder’s fire, a smug grin spread across his ample face.

“I’ve been told you are attempting to fix the breach again,” the elder said, his brows drawn down and his mouth a firm line. “You’ve been told to stop. What’s been done can’t be undone.”

Je’hir’s jaw sagged and he tried to form words from the jumble of his mind. “Bu… but… but…” Warmth rose through him and he knew his cheeks were probably flaming. He swallowed. “I didn’t attempt anything. I succeeded. The breach is fixed. I’ve regained my family’s honor.” He clutched at the pride of what he had achieved even as he felt it slipping away like nothing more than an illusion.

“The sky dome may be whole again, my boy, but you have changed nothing.”

“How can you say that, Elder Ka’nir? I…”

The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Je’hir, though commendable, your actions cannot change the facts. Your father created the rift. He was a traitor and will be remembered as such.” Elder Ka’nir drew in a deep breath through his nose then released it with a huff. “And your mother… well… her elvish blood has polluted your very form and brought shame to your family. Now, report to Di’nar. She has need of firewood. Be quick about it, boy.”

Je’hir swallowed his tears as he stomped toward Di’nar’s tent. “It doesn’t matter what Elder Ka’nir thinks. It doesn’t matter what any of them think.” He had achieved what he set out to do, repair the breach in the sky dome and win the battle in his heart. From this time forward, Je’hir would allow himself to remember his parents with honor.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

C. S. Wachter

Author. Havok Wreaker. Flash Fictionado.

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