Banggai

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Dull. Drab. Desolate...Those were the words commonly used to describe Dragonhome. It was a landscape largely painted with browns, rocks and dust and sand, with no other colors to be seen.

Until one day, there were.

His egg hatched atop a mountain peak. There was no telling how long it’d sat there; it was much smaller than a dragon’s egg, and was as dull and mottled as the rocks around it. But that day, the egg split lengthwise, a crack running down its surface. Within sparkled brilliant colors: scarlet and blue and gold.

When he was out of his egg, he looked around. The rocks around him only seemed to be just that—rocks. There were no birds to be seen, let alone birds as splendid and brilliant as he was.

Still he was a bird, and where experience was lacking, instinct took over. When he was strong enough, he raised his wings to catch a breeze. And he flew.

It was magic that enabled him to fly so soon after hatching. But it was not the only magic he had, nor was it his strongest. No, his strongest magic was...

~ ~ ~
“Got you!” The centaur tossed back his mane and reared triumphantly. He still clutched the bow with which he’d brought down Banggai.

The bird lay on the ground, dazed. He had been high up, but the centaur’s arrow had still found him. It had punched through a couple of flight feathers, and another arrow had followed, similarly crippling his other wing. Down he’d drifted, to land at the feet of this strange, terrible creature.

Rough hands scooped him up. “Ah, you are a pretty thing! Never seen your like before. Something magic? A dragon in disguise, maybe?” The centaur laughed. Banggai struggled and clawed, but the hunter was strong, and all too soon he was bundling the bird into a cage, which he set on a pannier, among other cages. Many of these were already occupied—birds and beasts in a dizzying array. The only thing they had in common were their mournful eyes.

The centaur twisted around to set the panniers upon his back. “Off we go!” he boomed, and away they went, trotting through the woodland. It was not a gentle journey, and Banggai, who until then had flown gracefully through the clouds, felt that he might be sick.

He looked longingly upwards, but the sky was hidden by the trees. All around him, the other creatures whispered in languages only wildlife could understand—

“Where do you hail from?”

“Ah, you are beautiful....Poor you. Poor you...”

“I want to get out. It’s too small. Get out...”

“What are you?”

“I am Banggai. I was born on the northern plain.” Banggai answered the first question. Then: “Why do you pity my beauty?”

When the centaur reached his hut, he prepared many other creatures for meals and plucked away their feathers from them. The other animals screamed fearfully in their cages as they watched their brethren go one by one.

“But you, brilliant bird...You’re too pretty to be a meal!” The centaur chortled to Banggai. “I’ll keep you for the world to marvel at. Even a backwoods-dwelling beast like myself appreciates beauty!”

“Perhaps it is not so bad,” Banggai told himself. He allowed himself to perk up a little bit, and he dared to hope....

Banggai passed many days in the cage. He sang to the hunter, soothing him after hard days of work. Through the window he could see the brilliant sky, and for some time it was enough to sustain him...but only for some time.

Nothing actually changed, yet the days grew longer, and the cage grew smaller and tighter. The shelter became darker and more oppressive. Banggai spent nearly all his time looking out at the heavens now, and many times, in his sleep, he stretched out his wings—only to awaken when they hit the bars of the cage.

“It was a lucky day I found you, little bird. Why, your songs are peerless!” The centaur declared delightedly. “Many of my comrades have made handsome offers for you—but they can keep their coin. I much prefer your company.”

“Lucky.” Banggai stared dully at the floor of the cage. He still remembered that day: the breeze beneath his wings, and then a sudden pain as his feathers were cut away. And then falling, falling, into this hunter’s stifling grasp....

“Indeed, you were lucky...then.”

When the hunter saw Banggai weep tears of gold, he felt no remorse. He only exclaimed in wonder again, repeating that he was a fortunate soul indeed. Still he would not open the cage—and thus he sealed his fate.

The centaur went out hunting the next day. This was normal, and usually he was back by nightfall—but this time, it was midnight when he returned. Banggai was awakened as he stirred up the fireplace, and by its light, the centaur’s broken leg could be seen.

“Agh, I slipped as I was crossing the river....It was so cold. I need to warm up....” The centaur’s teeth chattered audibly as he bumbled around. He tossed more wood onto the fire, more and more....He fell asleep next to Banggai’s cage after drinking copious amounts of drink to numb the pain.

It was dawn when the centaur was awakened—by a roaring fire erupting through his shelter, threatening to destroy everything he owned. He screamed in terror and scrambled upright, but as sick and inebriated as he was, and with a broken leg, there was little he could do. Banggai’s cage was the only thing he could salvage. He scooped up the bird as he staggered out of his hut, and as it caved in behind him, he collapsed, howling drunkenly.

The centaur’s home was gone, and his hunting tools were destroyed in the fire. His leg would unfortunately take a very long time to heal. Desperate and penniless, he finally gave in and sold Banggai.

Banggai didn’t go to other centaurs, however—his new owners were females who dropped out of the sky and conducted negotiations with taut, quiet voices. The bird shuddered when he saw them, with envy as much as with fear, for they had great wings with which to cross the sky, as Banggai himself had once done.

The harpies presented Banggai to their matriarch. The older harpy commanded that he be put in a larger cage, but Banggai was only marginally happier about this, for though he could stretch his wings now, a cage was still a cage, and those locks and bars kept him from leaping into the sky.

His new owner unnerved him. The centaur had been brutish, but his emotions had always bubbled close to the surface and it had been easy to read him. The harpy matriarch, however, was colder, her eyes as hard and sharp as obsidian. Banggai, who had been looking for escape ever since the fire, realized it would be very difficult to get past her. She was a hard, cruel lady whose heart was impossible to soften.

Banggai began to wish she would sell him. He hated living in the harpies’ caves. Ironically, though they were creatures of the air, from where he was kept he could not see the sky at all, only surfaces of stone.

Sometimes the matriarch allowed outsiders to view him. “A bird this magnificent...You’re certain you won’t part with it? My clan will be able to meet your price, I’m sure....”

She only laughed sardonically. “There’s no putting a price on this beauty, serthis,” she snapped. The serthis frowned, but didn’t reply.

The next guest suggested, “You might sell him to the dragons. They can offer magic, possibly an alliance—” He broke off as the matriarch whirled, her feathers flaring. Behind her mask, her eyes burned with indignation. “Deal with the wyrms? Offer this marvel, this treasure, to the likes of them?” she hissed. As the serthis recoiled, she added, “Never! I’ll die before I see anything of mine fall into their claws!”

The serthis all departed rather hurriedly after that. Banggai was left alone, and he thought about what might happen if the old harpy did die. Would he pass to the serthis, or maybe to the dragons? That latter group intrigued him—the centaur, too, had wondered if he’d been a dragon in disguise.

It was puzzling. Were there...dragons who looked like him? Everyone who saw Banggai commented on his beauty. “Perhaps life would be easier if I were not so different,” he thought heavily. He thought of the harpies, the centaurs, the serthis...They did look rather similar, with the same sort of faces. Banggai looked at his own feathers, and he pondered....

~ ~ ~
“Psst. Hey, bird...Is the matriarch about?”

Banggai roused himself from sleep. In the darkness, a harpy crouched before him. But something about her was...off.

No one else could view him without the matriarch’s leave, but this warrior was alone. And furthermore—“You spoke to me,” he chirped back. She had used the speech of birds, not the words of the Beastclans. “You...understand me?”

“It’s pretty useful for an oddity like me,” the pseudo-harpy said with a wink. Banggai now saw that her mask was actually attached to her face, melded with the skin. “I’m a shapeshifter. Name’s Toras.”

Toras’ unique abilities enabled her to slip in and out of the chamber undetected. Over time, she explained to Banggai that she had infiltrated the clan on behalf of her clanmates. They were dragons...mostly.

“These harpies keep driving away our game. I’m looking for a way to chase them off—and make sure they don’t come back. How about it, Banggai...Will you assist me? If you can tell me more about your keeper, I can relay it to the clan. I can get you out of here afterwards, I promise....”

Banggai’s information on the matriarch would be of great help to Toras’ clanmates. They would come soon, the shapeshifter explained. These caves would be cracked open like a rotting fruit, and the dragons would plunder everything within....

“Lucky I found you. You’ve been a great help to us, Banggai. We really appreciate it, of course.”

“Of course,” Banggai answered hollowly. This was it, then. The luck that had connected him and the spy was running out again. Just as it had during the fire—he had escaped, only to be flung into another cage. There would be yet another cage, and more.

On the day the dragons attacked, he huddled in his cage, his head hidden under one wing. The sounds of battle drew closer, harpies screaming, walls crashing down. Inevitably, the wall of his chamber was broken apart. Banggai cowered as a beast bulled through. It was hideous, with a boar’s head and rough-feathered wings...and as he watched in trepidation, suddenly, it twisted—and a slim Skydancer stood in front of him. “Enjoying the show, Banggai?”

He recognized Toras’ voice. “Have you come to claim me as your prize, then?” he asked as she stepped forward. She held a bunch of keys, still stained with the harpy matriarch’s blood.

And she laughed as she opened his cage door. Wry, mocking laughter—but she made no attempt to grab him. He hovered freely, crowing with delight when he felt the sun, the breeze, on his wings again.

“Don’t be silly. I’ve told you, we were having enough trouble keeping ourselves fed as it was. The harpies kept on mucking it up....It’ll take us time to recover. Now be on your way.” She grinned tightly. “And don’t get caught this time.”

~ ~ ~
Banggai left the shattered roost behind. Outside, the wild world beckoned, and for a long time he reveled in his freedom, riding the wind and drinking in the sights below. The land was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. And yet...

He was always alert for the hum of an arrow or the shouts of hunters who might’ve spotted him. Always wary when he roosted, afraid that he would wake up to hands crushing him into a cage. Many times, the nightmare nearly came true, and he only narrowly managed to escape, sometimes losing a few feathers in the process.

His thoughts flew back to his time in the harpies’ roost: Were there others who were perhaps as unusual-looking as he was? Perhaps he could submerge himself...a marvel among other marvels? Again he remembered the Beastclans with their smooth-skinned faces. He remembered their clothing, and the harpies’ gleaming masks....

Shrouded. Shadowy. Sepulchral...Those were the words commonly used to describe the Tangled Wood, words that denoted dim light and murk. The Mix of Misfits were used to such darkness, and so they noticed when the brightly-colored stranger tentatively approached the lair.

They thought he was a Beast at first: He wore a bright mask, like the kind a harpy warrior might have. But he had no wings; instead, he had arms like a serthis or a centaur. And he had...The dragons could only call them “legs”. Two legs, not like a harpies’ claws, nor a centaur’s hooves, nor a serthis’ serpentine tail...

“Halt! Stranger, what’s your name?”

“Halt, stranger. What’s. Your name.” He repeated the words awkwardly, in an equally hesitant tone. He stood warily, poised for flight....

For flight. He invoked the shapeshifter the only way he knew how, by changing his form. His dark skin blurred, the colors of his clothes ran together...and suddenly he was a bird again, shining like a living jewel in the swamp.

Toras was called to speak with him. She shifted her form too, changing into a bird so she could speak more easily to him. They perched across from each other, and she asked, “What made you come here?”

“You set me free.” For Toras, it was a ridiculously simple answer—but for Banggai, who had been imprisoned for so long, it was everything.

He looked past her, saw strange shapes moving in the shadows. He added, “And here, there other wonders. There are...beings who might help me hide?”

She trilled, the birds’ own version of a laugh. “You’ve learned much from your travels, friend Banggai. The other form is a nice touch. Did you learn from me, when you saw me transform? My, but you are talented, friend.”

He certainly was. Talented, beautiful, marvelous...But those had only brought him grief. Now, though, it looked as though, against all odds, he had found a place to safely stay.

And so he rejected her compliment, his feathers ruffling briefly. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I am lucky.”

~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
all edits by other users




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