In the Beginning
In the beginning… there was dust, dirt, and sweat. I was panting feverishly and my tongue was quickly coated with the fine sediment from the air. I spit to clear my mouth of the red soil.
My opponent leaped through the haze, jaws wide, aiming for my throat. I lashed out with one massive paw and made contact just below his left ear. The blow pushed his head away and he smashed into me with his shoulder. We crashed into the dirt.
This fight shouldn’t have been that difficult. I was bigger, faster, and stronger. I was a chieftain’s son, trained and schooled in the art of war. He was a detainee, a prisoner from a raid on a rival clan. He was the lesser dog.
We gouged, bit, and clawed for superior position. He fought his way on top. I felt his paw close around my throat. Tucking in a fore leg, I kicked up into his vulnerable belly. He exhaled uncontrollably as the air was forced from his lungs. He paused, working his mouth in frantic gulps but finding no substance. I took the moment to loop a paw under his right shoulder and another on top of his left. Thrusting up with my hips I flipped him over my head and onto his back. I rolled to my feet and sprang at him, my jaws closing around his throat just as he found a breath.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
I stared down into my opponent’s eyes, breathing in the stink of his fur. He looked back with those wide, white eyes, pupils shrunk to the size of a claw point. He was visibly shaking.
Is this how all of us face death?
The battle was over but ultimately the choice was mine. Would I deliver the fatal bite? It would be a mercy, for then he could go join his ancestors in the afterlife. If not then he would remain our training aid; to spar with us again and again and again.
I released my hold. He made no move to regain his footing.
Dominance and power, that was how you controlled someone; and this one was no exception. I snapped my jaws an inch from his throat and growled, lease he forgot who had just spared his life. I trotted back to my clansman.
“That was totally amazing, how you just threw him in the air like that,” said Spoke, the short grey Diamond Dog to my left. He enthusiastically reenacted the final moments of my fight. Like most of the clansman, Spoke was of Pitbullton descent, characterized by the huge under bite with two big teeth jutting up from his lower lip. To my right was a black Diamond Dog named Rod, and like me, of Wolvonus descent. We enjoyed our sharper, longer muzzles and more angular form.
Rod presented me with my diamond collar. I slid it back on, eyeing it appraisingly as it shown against my red and white fir.
“Well done,” Rod said. “Next time he will hesitate before trying for the superior position”. That was Rod: observant and practical, the paradox to the affluent Spoke. Like Ponies and Diamond Dogs; opposites that don’t mix.
The whistle blew again and another fight ensued. My competitor had been replaced with another prisoner and was fighting another member of my clan. My father, a massive grey Diamond Dog with a whistle around his neck, was circling the ring of eager competitors. Only the Pitbullton guards carried weapons and armor. A handful of them guarded the prisoners who were as eager to fight as the clansman.
I saw Rod observing me critically. “You could use a bath,” he said.
I looked down at myself. He was right: I was bleeding from numerous smaller cuts and scrapes I had never noticed before. The red earth had mixed with my blood and caked into my fir. Rod and Spoke didn’t look any better; both had been in four fights already.
I looked up to the sun and found it a half-paw height from the horizon; still plenty of time before the Sun-Setting prayer.
I nodded. “To the river,” I commanded.
“Yeah! To the river,” squealed Spoke. “Let’s go to that really deep spot and I can jump off the rock and doggy paddle and ….” I stopped listening.
I felt my father’s glaring eye on me as I left the sparring circle.
The river Yark was one of the few open sources of water: it flowed from the mountains that dominated the north-western sky, through Dogton, the capital city of Dogmatis, and wound its way along the base of the mountain before turning north as the edge of Firebrand territory. The Firebrand clan controlled a large section of land along the southern bank, having driven several smaller clans out of the surrounding area.
The village had two things in abundance: rocks and sporadic clusters of tough vegetation with leathery leaves and thorny spines called Dogs-head. Only the most desperate of animals would eat Dogs-head.
I maneuvered around the clusters, trotting down the shallow slope to the river. That twisting blue ribbon of life was paralleled by twin strips of green. As we grew closer the green formed into the shapes of ferns, palm trees, and grasses. This was the hunting grounds where fat goats, pigs, and birds could be found
Spoke dashed ahead and plunged into the undergrowth. Shortly afterwards a great splash erupted just out of sight. I slipped under the leaves, around a few trees, and found myself at the water’s edge. Spoke had already paddled out into the middle of the river where a gentle current slowly pushed him downriver.
Scrunching up on my haunches, I leapt out over the water. I crashed through the clear surface. The water was a shock and I felt my whole body tense with the cold. I remained below only momentary before bobbing back to the surface. I looked behind me and saw Rod following suit. I paddled back to the shallows.
Grabbing a flat river stone from the bottom I began to scrub: the weeks of dirt held stubbornly at first, but under my persistent attention it slowly began to ebb away. I temporarily removed my collar and washed it thoroughly. I repeated the same process with my neck before sliding the collar back into place. Spoke finally joined us. We scrubbed each other’s backs in turn. While Spoke attended to Rod, I stole a moment and gazed longingly downriver.
What lay beyond the bend of the great river Yark? On the other side of the mountain was a great expanse of desert. And beyond that? The elders told stories of the great devastation: a world of fire and ash and cider, and ours was the only paradise left. Was it really so? Were we the only civilization left; standing alone the marauding bands of ponies? Someday I would find out.
When I could no longer stand the river, I pulled myself out and lay down in the sweet grass. The village was surrounded by gravel and rocks; sleeping outdoors was less than ideal. The grass felt good, just like my mattress. I rubbed my cheek against its soft embrace.
There was a rustling in the underbrush; my ears twitch in its direction. I rolled upright. The offending fern moved again. I crouched, my belly low to the ground. The fern moved once more. I pounced. My paws cut through the ferns and came away with a rabbit. I secured it with one thick paw around its neck. It futilely kicked the empty air with its legs.
“You got a rabbit!” exclaimed Spoke from behind me. He licked his chops, “he’ll make a nice snack”. Rod was still pulling himself from the river. He looked our way but remained silent.
I loved meat: a chunk of meat sizzling over the fire permeated my thoughts. My stomach answered as well. It was close to dinner; but actually killing this creature?
Too long horn blasts echoed overhead.
Was it that time already? I glanced at the sun and found it just touching the horizon.
I hurriedly released the rabbit.
The three of us sprinted back to the village, sliding in at the back of the crowd just at the elder ascended the high platform. Once again I felt my father’s disapproving gaze. I ignored him.
The elder spoke, his low, raspy voice perfectly audible over the hushed crowd.
“Another day has ended. Let us give thanks to Emperor Uni who raises the sun and the moon in accordance to the ancient traditions. Let us give thanks to him, our god in mortal fresh, for protecting us from the vile ponies”.
The hot food was brought out. I snapped my head around as its intoxicating aroma wafted up my nose. I hadn’t heard the elder dismiss us but everyone else was moving to their places. I quickly joined Spoke and Rod in the Warriors circle. We were given wooden plates and bowls by the slaves. Then the roasts were passed along by their skewer sticks. Our bowls where filled with hot gravy broth and we gulped it down greedily. Next fish and reptiles baked in honey, crawfish in camel butter, and bowled snails just waiting to be sucked out of their shell.
The servants finished serving us. Their iron collars clanked as they sat down in their own circle. It was said in some clans the servants waited until the meal was done and had to salvage their own dinners from what was left. The Emperor had blessed us for many years. No one went hungry in the Firebrand Clan.
I felt my eyes starting to droop. I took to my feet, shaking the sleepiness away.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said to Rob and Spoke. Rob merely nodded in acknowledgement. Spoke gurgled a reply through a mouthful of meat and gravy. I trotted to my home, now heavy with food.
I rolled back the flap and entered my small, single room hut. The fires from outside passed through the open window and cast themselves across the room in dancing hues of red and orange. My low bed was tucked into one corner. My breastplate, helmet, sword and spear hung on pegs set in the wall above the bed. They were of excellent craftsmanship; the finest a father could buy for his son. I ignored them.
My treasures lined the far wall: books, maps, and trinkets from across the empire. They had been acquired from the various trade caravans that would pass through. There was a sling from animal herders far to the south, a jeweled necklace from the miners to the west, and a pair of horse shoes. The horse shoes was more of a slipper that when over the feet and laced in the back, made from some bright pink cloth I had never encountered. They probably were not sanctioned by the empire but this far from the capital no one really cared. The books were crammed haphazardly into their shelf; empire editions only.
The maps were of the Empire. I had marked the boarders of the Firebrand clan, along with those of our neighbors. Comparatively, we controlled a sizable portion, the entire western border of the empire belonged to us. As far as the eye can see my father would say. We enforced those boundaries with sword and spear.
I grabbed a history book, not sure what I was in the mood for. I flipped it open to its first page.
In the beginning…Emperor Uni created the heavens and the earth, the river Yark, and ruled justly over all the land…
Maybe not; I put it back and grabbed an Adventure book, Emperor Uni and The Wicked Pony of the West.
I curled up on my bed, reading by the light of the flickering flames. The stories always started off the same: Emperor Uni facing off against impossible odds. This one he faced his most terrifying enemy yet: the Evil Princess Pony of the Night. In this one the Evil Princess had destroyed much of the land and was now attacking the Empire with her army of dark fiends. Emperor Uni was vastly outnumbered. He had summoned up his bravest warriors and together they were driving the Evil Princess back.
I felt my eyes grow heavy as I reached the bottom of page 15. By page 29 I was having serious trouble keeping them open. I didn’t remember reaching page 30.
I was running along the far bank of the river Yark. The ground was passing swiftly under paw. An eagle soared high above me. Even he could not keep pace with my dash across the land.
The river bend was up ahead. I cut inland, taking the short route instead of following the true path. My horizon was obscured by tall grasses. I plowed through them, my nose leading the way. I met the river on the other side. I howled gleefully, changing my direction to parallel its shores. Before me a deep canyon rose, swallowing the river into its gaping mouth. To my left lay an expanse of sandy desert that stretched on into eternity.
A dark, shapeless form appeared on the opposite shore. I did not know why or how but it would kill me if I touched it. Silently it glided across the river, aiming for a point down river where we would surely meet. I turned away, heading to the desert. My paws slipped in the loose sand. I pressed on, up one hill of sand and down another. I lost my footing and tumbled into the sand.
A soft rumbling echoed far in the distance. Irritably I rose up, ears twitching, trying to triangulate the noise. For some reason it sounded important. I listened intently. There is was again, louder but I still couldn’t discern it. I learned forward. I heard it again, three short blasts from a horn, the signal for danger. Danger. DANGER!
I rolled out of bed and onto my feet, my chest pounding as if I had just completed all the running in my dreams. The horn sounded again: three short blasts. Were we under attack? I grabbed by sword and sprang outside, ready to face the enemy. Other warriors were already ahead of me, running to the Eastern gate. I followed them, eager to join the action.
What had I missed while I slept?
It was still night: The moon hadn’t yet reached its zenith and the torches still burned; notably dimmer than before. I had been asleep only a short while.
A crowd had gathered at the east gate. I stood on my hind legs, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening. My father was in the thick of it; his head bend to something on the ground. He barked for silence and a great hush befell the crowd. Then a single word was heard. Quickly it ripped through the crowd, passing from the lips of all of those gathered around.
Ponies!
