Dotharl

[Omni]

Some stuff I bin writin'

[Omni]

Dotharl is my name. Dotharl is what I am.

We rode across the sands upon great lizards to’ord our destination. There was me, Grakhul, and Khazgar, my brother. Then there was Tabar, Bronx … a whole clutch of my brothers and sisters.

“Dotha grikahl!” bellowed Khazgar. “Blood for Rhalgr!”

“Blood for our name!”

“Blood for our enemies!”

The shouts went up and our voices emerged into a cacophony that shook the world as much as our steeds. I don’t remember much when the blood lust takes me. I remember feeling like part of something. I remember feeling whole.

And I have memories, of course, of the fighting itself. You don’t think about it when it’s happening. It’s like a slideshow. My scimitar comes down in an arc as I break first blood. I feel the satisfaction as a head leaves its shoulders and cry out a great whoop that is echoed by my brothers and sisters. The crimson begins to fly as we rush to share in the glory. To be the greatest asset to our tribe.

I don’t remember how I lost my steed but I don’t remember it mattering much to me. I remember being in homes, putting the blade to mothers, daughters, brothers, fathers. Children, elders, it made no difference.

I remember waking up and the dream was over.

My hands and legs are bound. I struggle instinctively and it is only now that I become faintly aware of the voices around me.

“… Should have killed him … bloodthirsty savage …”

“No, we shouldn’t waste this. Wait until his kin come looking for him. Maybe we can make a trade.”

“The Dotharl do not make trades! They probably won’t even come looking for him.”

“Then kill him, I say. Better to be free of the chance. We don’t want him getting free again …”

I roar and the crowd of people step back. They are Xaela, like me, but they are not Dotharl. They do not understand. Their faces show fear. I grin and bare my teeth.

All is quiet for a moment until one steps forward. White hair and whiter skin; he is as pale as a ghost. His bravado enrages me. I slam my face against the metal bars and scream spittle. He does not back away. In fact, to my utter shock, he steps forward.

“Bones,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

I growl and say nothing. My eyes flicker until finally they downturn. Something about those green eyes makes me discomfort. I back into the corner of my cage and glower outwards.

He hunkers down. “I believe we can learn much from this Dotharl. At the very least, there is nothing he can do from inside this cage. Let him rot, and then we will see what to make of him.”

The crowd seems sated by this. Steadily they back off, but the looks of disgust they shoot back in my direction are palpable. I rage against my restraints and the one known as ‘Bones’ shakes his head at me.

“You will only hurt yourself like that.”

I ignore him and continue struggling. I cut my hands and wrists against the bars but it seems they have bound me with no mere rope.

The old one sighs. “Suit yourself,” he says, standing and turning.

It’s only then, as I look at his hands folded behind his back, that I recognise that fist. The last thing I saw before the end of the dream.

And I swear to kill that Au Ri.

[Omni]

“Eat,” she says, pushing the plate towards me.

My head rolls towards the dish, my one uncovered eye spying the xaela girl through the bars. Right. The girl. She comes every day and offers me food.

I kick out, or at least I try to. Damn aim isn’t much these days. I can’t see much of a thing past the knotted hair which trails down my face, but that’s godssend. The sun is so bright of late, and my eyes pale and ache to focus. It spits me to be spoken to as some common mongrel, but I have long come to terms with my punishment for failure.

She sits, as always, and watches me for a while. I pay no heed.

“Do you really intend to die in there?” she asks, for what feels like the seven or eighth time.

I feel my headache intensifying but I stay silent. There must be some way out of this cage. I am Dotharl, and I will yet kill this tribe. I will.

Try as I might, my thoughts are as mist and do not condense. In my early days of imprisonment I had energy, long since used up. Now my muscles ache and my bones creak, bereft of sustenance. I must eat soon. But I will not accept charity from my enemy.

I look at the girl. Her black scales clash most nauseatingly with her salmon-pink hair and off-white skin. So soft, and so weak. Through the fog of my thoughts I conjure images of myself bursting from the cage, my hands seizing upon her and my fingers piercing through her skin to pull it apart like the shell of a crab. Sucking out the juicy meat. My dry mouth prickles and I can practically taste the air around her.

But she’s just out of reach. I know because I’ve tried. The bruises and cuts I’ve so recklessly accrued from lunging and struggling do not fade, and sting as if laughter from the gods.

She sees my hungry look and tires, rising to her feet and turning away. I growl in unison with my stomach.

* * * * *

I am in a half-sleep, somewhere amidst the stinging in my wounds and the lethargy which drowns my consciousness. It’s the smell that wakes me first.

“My my my. What a pitiful sight.”

I move as though my fifteen days of hunger had been but a fleeting dream. It is a good thing that I am too weak for my voice to carry in earnest. “Rilani!” I croak.

She is sitting on her haunches in the shadow of the cage. In the pitch black of the night I cannot even see her figure but I know she is there. You just have to look to where you cannot see. Her stifled laughter emanates from the darkness. “Hm hm hm …”