Summary: It was the time every drone, every worker, was striving to strike down a clansbrother of importance, to bring the fallen's severed head before Her Who Had a Name, the Queen, to ascend both in rank and in Her favour.
AN: Well, obviously, this is a thank you to kuna_yashmaa. It's something I've been playing around with for a while. Some kind of… well, historical Wraith character study, you might call it, inspired by one of tardis80's drawings. *coughs*
Drone's Ascent
The drone had found a good place, hidden well within the underbrush. Close enough to the Home to make an encounter still likely, but not so close to be surrounded by others who might chose the same target. The time of twilight had begun, doing its own to conceal his black chitin body from any exposing rays of sunlight. He was of the new generation, his body's outer shell still smooth and shining, without the scars that came with battle. He'd taken care to dull the shine with dirt, as he had done with his long white hair, careful to disguise himself, but there were still those treacherous spots on his back, where he couldn't reach. Any veteran would know how to look out for him.
And look out for him they would.
It was the hand of the Hunt, those five sun cycles when the new generation got the chance to take the place of the old one. The veterans would leave the Home, as they must, to give their heirs an opportunity just one for a fortunate kill. It was the time every drone, every worker, was striving to strike down a clansbrother of importance, to bring the fallen's severed head before Her Who Had a Name, the Queen, to ascend both in rank and in Her favour.
Three sun cycles had already passed, and the drone was starting to get a little nervous. If he wanted to achieve an honourable position in his Queen's service and at this point, he didn't even care anymore whether it was as a builder or seeker or striker he would have to find a suitable target, and soon. Otherwise, he'd end up being a foot soldier, one of those who went through the Lantean Ring to hunt, and that just wouldn't do.
All he needed now was faith in his skills and a little luck. Earlier, he'd seen a worker hunt down one of its own, giving a triumphant trill as it stood over its fallen opponent. Those were the only sounds the dumb workers were capable off, warbles so shrill that, most of the time, they weren't even audible to anyone but their kindred. And to the Queen, of course. The drone had given a little hiss of his own as the worker set to cutting off its predecessor's head: it seemed to have been one of the higher guards lucky worker.
A small movement caught his eye, so slight he wouldn't have noticed it, had he not looked in the right direction. The drone froze, barely daring to breathe, waiting for another treacherous sign that revealed the other's presence. For a long time, there was nothing, then the shadow's shifted, and what had been just another branch before turned into an arm, dirt carefully rubbed over the hard chitin plates to conceal them. Another movement, and a Wraith sneaked through the forest's twilight, slowly, and now the drone did hold his breath.
It was the Queen's mate, the one whose seed had spawned this generation, and if the drone could kill him
the sheer prospect made his head spin.
He told his pounding heart to calm. He mustn't rush this; excitement had never won a fight. And he had to win.
So he waited, sent a brief call for luck to the First One, waited until the Queen's mate's back was turned.
Then he charged.
The Queen's mate was good, a fine striker, spinning around the moment the drone moved. And yet he wasn't fast enough to avoid the drone's knife, and blood splattered to the ground as the blade sliced his right arm from elbow to wrist. The drone smiled; he had already won. But then the Queen's mate snarled, clawed hand darting forward, aimed for the drone's eyes. It was only reflex that saved his sight and his life and he hissed in anger. Clutching the knife tightly, he began a series of quick jabs, but the Queen's mate was fast, avoiding them all. A kick to his belly had the drone staggering backwards. Before he could regain his balance, the Queen's mate was upon him, hand slamming down on his chest.
The drone gasped as he could feel his strength being pulled from him, the other Wraith's triumphant face above him, and then there was no more thought, only movement.
The Queen's mate's victorious sneer faded, then slipped away as his body fell to the side, the knife's handle sticking out of his neck.
For a moment, the drone just lay on the ground, panting, then he staggered to his feet, staring disbelievingly at the corpse of his adversary.
He'd done it. He had won.
Throwing his head back, he let out a triumphant scream, shouting out his joy and satisfaction. Then he knelt down, pulled his knife out of the body, and started the work to claim his prize.
It was harder than he'd anticipated, cutting off someone's head, and it took him quite some time to sever the strong tendons, even more break the spine. But finally, he stood, proudly holding the head by its long hair.
The Queen's mate. In his most daring dream images had he not imagined such a good fortune.
The drone could feel the jealous looks as he walked back to the Home, heard the resentful hisses of those still waiting, their envious thoughts spinning through his mind. He held his head high, displaying his trophy for all to see; no one would dare take what was rightfully his. It would be breaking one of the oldest taboos.
The Home loomed before him, the ragged entrance leading into a labyrinth of tunnels and caverns. He entered the dark passageway, the uneven walls here and there covered with webbing, giving a little light. The further the drone went, the warmer the air became. After three sun cycles in the open, it felt like a relief to his chilled body.
The drone crossed one of the open circles and went past the statue of The First One, he who had discovered that humans were so much tastier, gave so much more than simple deer. His bow stemmed more from habit rather than respect; he was too preoccupied with the fortune he carried.
Another turn, following a longwinded passage, and the drone was there, right outside the Queen's sanctuary. Her honorary guard watched him as he entered the chamber, approaching the middle of the room where, in a single ray of light, stood the Queen. She was waiting for him, watching his approach with amused anticipation.
The drone kneeled before Her, his predecessor's head held out to Her like an offering. She took it, clicking her tongue as she ran a hand down the dead face. Then She looked at him, like She were assessing his worth, and he hurried to respectfully lower his gaze to the ground.
She could still choose to dispel him. His life would be forfeit if She did.
Her wing stubs clacked her approval, and at her silent beckoning, a guard stepped forward to accept Her old mate's head. Bowing, it carried the now discarded prize away, and the drone waited for Her judgement.
"You are strong," Her voice echoed through his mind. "We are
pleased."
And She was, he could feel it. Satisfaction ran through his blood like a slow fire, Hers and his combined, until it felt like every cell in his body was singing his victory. Her long fingers caressed his cheek, nails scratching his skin.
"You may stand. Kneeling is not suitable for someone of your position."
Smiling, his head bowed, the Queen's mate rose.
His time began now.
~~~
End.