The Plague

A dark wind sat upon the plains. His name was Mordechai; a lone warrior against the tide of creatures that Plagued his kind. He held his long, scaled body tightly against the ground. His long tail curved around his body to camoflauge himself as a rock, or lump in the prairie grass. It wasn't much of a disguise, but if he remained perfectly still, he may yet go unnoticed.

He sucked air through his sharp teeth, hissing in soft, steady breaths, waiting as a statue for the first sign of movement. Waiting for his prey to reveal themselves, even for a moment. And when they did, he would be ready.

He plotted how he would act. First, I will chase them, leading them toward the valley. Then, when trapped by the walls, I will stand lengthwise, to block them in. When the scared begin to run, I will devour them and kill them, one by one.

Then he saw it. Movement of the grass betrayed something pushing through against the ground, trying to remain out of view of the beasts above. But Mordechai knew. He raised his body on all-fours, slowly off of the surface of the dirt. Holding his black, leathery wings tightly to his body, he crept forward without a sound.

More waving grass behind the first one betrayed the pack, ever in pursuit of the leader. This will be a fine victory. Mordechai felt his lips curl upward at the sides. Even as the thought of victory came to him the first sight of the Plague creatures came into view. They were odd brown beasts, walking on two legs. Their only fur consisted on the tips of their heads, and the fur of other animals tied across their bodies. In their fore-legs, they gripped long poles with sharpened stones tied to the tips.

Mordechai would have laughed at their pathetic attempt to defend themselves, but that would have given away his position. Instead, he let his natural camouflage, and his low, tight crawl on the ground be his protection. With scales like the hardest stone, and teeth like spikes, he knew that their meager attempts to attack him or flee would be useless. He would remove the Plague that was breeding its way across the plains.

How unnatural, they were! To have offspring more than once every ten years was unheard of. And more than one in the litter at any time? Unthinkable. And to think that their thin, soft skin would protect them in the wild. They were a blight to all animals on the surface, and most below. Only the bird-folk had few opinions about them.

Suddenly the leader stopped and looked backward. There, staring directly into the leader's eyes, Mordechai stood to full height, unfurling his wings, and roaring the greatest ball of fire he'd ever produced. He never knew why, but these two-legged Plague always ran at he sight of it. As expected, they scattered in all directions.

Leaping to each side, Mordechai began hemming them in, herding them toward the great cliffs, and snapping up any that dared to get too close. Their blood ran down his chin and the taste was acrid to his tongue. They were no pleasure to eat, but they were not fatal to ingest. Just unpleasant.

More screaming and shouting among them, until they saw where they were being herded. The leader stood and shouted. Mordechai had never taken the time to learn the Plague language, although he was more than five centuries old. But he still got the general idea of the message. The fight was about to ensue. Mordechai grinned and welcomed it.

"Come, then." He spoke telepathically into each mind. While words would have been lost on them, he knew that the mental signals were understandable by all who breathed. "Let me eat you at will."

Opening his mind to so many thoughts at once caused him to flinch as they all screamed back on the telepathic link. Quickly disconnecting from them, he roared and spit another flaming ball of fire. Some of the Plague caught on fire, rolling in the dirt to extinguish themselves. The grassy plains near them ignited, sending panic through the remaining crowd. They ran, right in the direction of the stony bluffs.

Too easy. Mordichai laughed out loud. His Ebounnai voice reverberating back up the canyon seconds later.

Tromping through the burning prairie, Mordechai kept sending bursts of flame to keep the Plague in front, and moving toward the bluffs. Just a little more, and the entire lot of you will be destroyed. No one will exit alive.

Soon, they stood huddled in the back of the canyon as Mordechai stood at the mouth, fitfully guarding their only exit. "Poor fools." He spoke on the mental wave again. "Just lie down and make this easy on yourselves. If you lie there, I will devour you quickly, and make your end as pleasant as possible. But if you fight me, I will tear you to pieces, letting you die slowly and painfully at my feet. You will beg me for death, but it will not come."

Then one voice came through the channel. It was strong and clear. "I will not back down, Mordechai. I will stand against you always."

They know my name. How? Scanning them, Mordechai searched for the face to match the mental image of the one speaking in his mind. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I am the one who will lead them to your death. While I could do it myself, I have chosen to show these weak creatures your downfalls. It will be to your humiliation that they bring you to your end."

Before he could react, Mordechai felt three creatures land on his back. Looking up at the ridges, terror struck him inside. This wasn't a trap for the Plague. It was a trap for himself. They Plague had been waiting here for him, and were lined along the edge of the canyon. Mordechai shook, trying to eject the three on his back, but to no avail. They wedged their sticks deep between his scales. While it caused him no discomfort, it did provide them with an easy way to remain.

He threw himself against the canyon wall, crushing two of them. They fell off, lifeless at his feet, but four more jumped down from the ledge. He suddenly knew their tactic. He would become their next hunt. He had to destroy them now before they had the chance to do the same. One lone Plague cane running at him, screaming a viscious attack.

Mordechai intended to spit as much fire as he could at them. Just a little closer, he thought. He would burn up the lone attacker, and those against the back wall. That would leave him solely with those on the outter rim, and he could fly away easily from them, leaving them for another day... another attack.

Just as he began to inhale deeply, the lone attacker threw a pouch into the air, trailing a thin line of black dust. As the bag reached the pinnacle, it opened, releasing a fine black powder into the air. All of the Plague turned and covered their faces with the skins tied around their chests. But Mordechai breathed it in. Instantly his mouth felt as though spikes were being driven down his throat. The sensation was so great, that he threw his neck against the ground to quelch the pain. Several Plague from above landed on his back and slid down his neck. They tried to pin his head to the ground, but Mordechai was too fast.

Throwing his head into the air, he sent two Plague flying outward. But the pain in his throat was increasing, and he discovered he could not spit fire at them. Fly! Let them live, this time for your own life. He commanded himself. But the more he tried to turn and flap his wings, the more that piled down from the canyon wall, gripping the fibrous flesh between the spines. His wings -- the weakest limbs on his body -- would not get enough motion.

Run... you can't fly. Run! Take the few on you with you. You can kill them, and get free. Run, Mordechai! Drag this Plague with you as far as you can. He pulled them out of the canyon, back into the prairie. Several of the Plague fell off, while others drove their pointed sticks into the flesh of his wings, holding fast to him.

I can crush them. I weigh much more than their fragile bodies can handle, he thought. Once far enough from the swarm of others, he threw himself to the ground, rolling, trying to squash the soft-skinned Plague that clung to his scales. His throat and eyes were burning as though millions of ants were eating their way out to the surface. "Get Off Of Me!" He commanded in Ebbounai. He closed his eyes and felt the satisfying pop of a thin-fleshed body exploding under his weight.

But opening his eyes, he saw several Plague standing over him, sticks drawn back. He'd let his guard down to satisfy the pain. Now, he stared upside-down at the very creature he once thought was stupid, unintelligent and unable to hurt him.

* * *

The Hooman warriors strapped ropes across the large, scaled body, using its scales as a sled along the grassy plains. They dragged it for miles, but once back at camp, they stripped it clean, and used the meat for jerky through the long winter months. The scales became everything from dishes, to shovels to shields for war.

But the most prized treasure of all was the broad, spiked head. It's eye sockets still contained the two long spears, driven straight through the brain of the rotting skull.