Scourge: a love story
Part 1
The scent of blood and disease clung to every serpentine form, but beneath that the taste of every individual mirror lingered on his tongue as the First Scourge ran at the head of the pack, the wind carrying their scent ahead of them. Had they been hunting, he would have led the pack around, downwind so their prey would not smell them. Purpose drove him now though, despite the ever constant hunger gnawing in his belly. They had feasted a distant few hours before, but the urge to be in the Mother's land once more was too strong for him to ignore.
Some had stayed behind. That was fine. There remained only two of the true Scourge to whom loyalty mattered. Himself, and the lithe burgundy shape at his side. She kept up easily, the pace slow for her. She was faster than he was, but he set the pace of the pack and he knew by the end of the day her endurance would be waning. The rest of the dragons that loped along with them were Nothings. They had no names that mattered, and had done nothing deserving of title. The only thing they had in common was worship of the Plaguebringer. The difference was simple. He and Agrona were the last true children of the Mother, saved from the Purge to begin the Scourge anew from good, strong bloodlines. They were not.
The edge of the Waste was not hard to find. The sickly sweet, cloying scent of infection and rot pervaded the air. The smell of home. Just as dusk settled and the air began to cool they passed into the humid, stifling atmosphere of the Wandering Contagion, running lightly across its seeking tendrils. The First Scourge slowed his lope, turning his head to briefly touch his golden muzzle to his mate's neck just beneath her rigid fans, scarred with the marks of many battles.
No words passed between them but the female flicked her yellow wings, brilliant as the markings on a poisoned frog, and took the lead. She led him and the rest of the pack across the blighted landscape, unafraid of the twisted, mutated foliage and the strange sounds that echoed from pockets of seething darkness. This was the seat of the Mother's power, and here above anywhere else they felt safe.
Finally in front of them a sickly moon rose, highlighting the outlines of ramshackle dens. Scattered across a small area, most were half demolished by the constantly shifting land. The only scents that lingered tasted old, most likely left abandoned since the Scourge had last settled here. Without a sound the burgundy female approached the most intact, sliding her lithe body through the narrow entrance with barely a grunt of effort.
The First Scourge stopped at the entrance, his stocky musculature easily blocking the low entry as he hissed and snarled at the rest of the pack that had followed him. They backed away, some fleeing. Others lingered, the pack mentality to follow the strongest tying them to his authority. He did not want them.
"Go, Nothings." He snapped his teeth with a metallic click that echoed through the still, muggy night air. "You are not Scourge."
"I will be Scourge." One stepped forward with a snarl to match his own, slender and dark compared to his own muscular, frame. His pale fans and brilliant turquoise wings flared in challenge. "Why should I leave?"
"I am the First Scourge," the larger mirror hissed, his own rigid fans flaring. He knew his scars were more impressive, his life lived roughly and much longer than that of the challenger. The dark one sank back but did not yield.
"I can be second," the Nothing snapped.
The First Scourge lunged and there was a clatter of skulls and then the keening screech of an injured dragon. The sharp tang of blood joined the other scents of the Waste. Where his blood touched the ground it hissed and putrefied, the very ground shifting as if to devour the unwillingly given liquid. The dark mirror struggled to his feet, blood leaking sluggishly from his flayed open cheek as the crimson-splashed gold backed up to his original position, red wings spread wide.
"Listen and know. You are not Scourge. You are the Mother's servants. We are her children. You would be dead but for her will. Accept her mercy and leave."
One by one the dragons who had run with them and hunted with them for weeks slunk away. The shackles built by his sharp discipline and absolute domination were too strong for some to shake off, and they lingered nearby, investigating the other lairs. Satisfied, he turned his back on the Wasteland and wormed his heavy body through the narrow entrance. His build was much heavier than most mirrors, making the entrance a struggle to pass through.
The darkness of the den was complete to even the keenest night vision. For a mirror however, the dark was never a barrier. He shifted to his second sight, scanning the infrared signatures scrawled throughout the artificial cavern compiled of the bones of beasts and trees. The roof was too low for him to stand, so he bellied across the floor to the familiar lines of his mate, brushing his head along her sides and feeling the distinct bulge of eggs, not prominent enough for most to see. She lifted her head, bumping her muzzle against his. Her breathing ratcheted up into a crooning growl as he curled around her, spreading one of his sturdy wings over her.
The future of his clan secure at his side, Ateula slept.
