Beautiful Fury

by Marc Secchia

  Then, success!

  Zuziana’s soundless whoops expanded around them in concentric spheres of rippling light as Aranya’s transformation enfolded her companions in light. Light of searing purity. Light that accelerated according to some unknowable physical limitation, yet achieved far greater velocities than ordinary flight could ever achieve. They seemed to crawl across the sky, yet Island after Island expressed in concentrations of life-light receded behind them with infeasible speed.

  As best she understood it, the Chrysolitic dragonets had first enclosed them inside their state-altering shield, then Ardan had wrapped them in his own Shadow power, before Aranya’s starlight infused everyone and everything, inside and out … well, direction seemed to have no meaning here. Reality intersected itself in migraine-stimulating ways.

  Aranya regarded her fondly. Thanks for helping us figure this out, Zip. Baby check?

  Zuziana rubbed her non-existent tummy fondly. They’re good. Look. They’re like tiny, vivacious flames dancing a trio of life …

  Fascinating, Ardan and Aranya responded in concert.

  Aranya said, Does that mean the flame of draconic fire life precedes the eggling state, wherein flame is enclosed in eggshell and then living flesh? Is that how Iridiana might have been stolen?

  I … have no idea, Zip admitted. Alright there, Yazina?

  They could not communicate with her in this strange state, but a dint of sign language achieved the desired result. The teen seemed overcome. Just slightly! One day she had known her world. Then Azhukazi had come, followed by battle and Island-sundering and escape, and now she travelled in search of her lost father through a magic-scape of cascading, luminous unreality – all on the whim or prophetic foresight of a Star Dragoness. Reaching out, Zip waved her insubstantial hand through the spectral apparition that apparently expressed Yazina’s being.

  The motes shivered – laughter, Zip realised.

  Could understanding this process lead them to a solution for un-birthing a Remoyan Princess and her babies from her friend’s soul?

  Clearly, she was alive. She just did not know how.

  Chapter 19: Shiver, o Mortal Flesh

  The farther EASTWARD they travelled and the higher the mountains rose, the greater the interference from the exotic mineral that appeared to permeate this region. Perhaps the immense mountains were laced with it. Having eschewed the need for air – at least, until their existences required sustenance, which they surely must, Aranya, Ardan, Zip, Yazina, Sapphire and the dragonets soared higher and higher, until they flew an estimated seven leagues above Wyldaroon. This was higher than the mighty mountain peaks, but still could not compare to the greatest Deeps beneath the Cloudlands.

  Aranya tracked Iridiana’s progress assiduously, calculating and recalculating the relative velocities, and quietly thanked her royal tutors for drumming mathematics into her recalcitrant brain.

  It would be a close-run thing.

  Of the Chameleon or Dragon – whatever he was – they could detect not the slightest trace. Aranya did not understand how draconic magic could be so well-shielded that it was untraceable, for the greater population density of this region was easily visible due to particular concentrations of the glowing white motes that appeared to denote different forms of life. Yazê-a-Kûz was indeed an immense realm, dwarfing her native Immadia and perhaps rivalling the entire extent of the Western Isles from which Ardan hailed. It nestled against the mountains for league upon league, and the landscape below slowly shifted from floating Islands to primarily rooted ones, making it more analogous in this respect to the geography North of the Rift. The Flow state unmistakeably revealed a continental shelf beneath the level of the Cloudlands on which these Isles stood, and their patterning suggested links of vines or other vegetation between many of the flotillas – a natural bulwark, Ardan theorised while verbally discussing ways in which they might seek to penetrate the Ruby City’s secrets.

  The problem was the growing concentration of that green mineral. Sanzukê lay within a bay in the mountains, perhaps eighty-five percent surrounded by immense ramparts that left only a relatively narrow entryway to its south-eastern aspect.

  As a natural form of defence, it was perfect.

  Even from their height, it took many hours before they could ‘see’ inside the bay, which was eight miles wide and eleven deep, given the sheer four-league cliffs that surrounded it. Aranya had wondered how little suns-light its position afforded the fabled ruby citadel, but when they flickered briefly into their normal state to take physical observations, she realised that it was night-time, and the great cliffs glowed with a luminescence of their own. It was this mineral. This city never knew complete darkness.

  Seven large Islands stood within a bay of pristine turquoise Cloudlands. Permanent glaciers topped the cliffs far above, giving rise to many waterfalls that leaped thunderously off innumerable cliff ledges before plunging into the Cloudlands in spectacular, frothing plumes of white. Each of the seven Islands was a dense settlement of houses, buildings and roads that appeared to be perfectly white from this height, even at the limits of Ardan’s Dragon sight, and in their midst was a ruby-red citadel that had to be a substantial size, but appeared hardly larger than a gleaming ant from their perspective. That would be Shan-Jarad’s dwelling, the place where in all probability Iridiana had grown up. Every aspect of her realm bespoke immense, almost overwhelming power and wealth.

  Ardan pointed a talon. “Look. You can’t hide Leandrial.”

  “Mercy, she isn’t making a frontal assault on the citadel, is she?” Aranya gasped.

  “I … don’t think so,” said the Shadow. “As we discussed, we should approach if we can, but remain in the background until we ascertain from where danger might strike. Even my scales shiver with portent.” The Dragon stretched his wings, yawning hugely.

  Atop his back, Aranya nodded minimally. “Aye, this is Iridiana’s moment – but I don’t believe she knows the danger the Chameleon represents. Ready projections?”

  “Ready,” said the Dragon.

  “Armed and dangerous,” said Zip, who had been tasked with working out the illusions and deceit they hoped would obscure their descent.

  “Look, Leandrial’s submerging again as she enters the bay,” Ardan noted.

  “Can’t imagine Shan-Jarad ever, in his worst nightmares, imagined a vengeful Land Dragoness turning up on his pretty bejewelled doorstep,” Zuziana said with rather more gratification than Aranya thought strictly necessary.

  “Hurry,” the Immadian returned tersely. “The timing’s crucial.”

  “Hey, this is hardly the first time we’ve burgled a palace.”

  “No, but this one isn’t filled with friendly relatives –”

  “– under guard by vile Sylakian soldiers?” Zip finished, but her words were gentle. “I know, Immadia. I’ll try not to finish too many sentences for you. Having one mouth is quite restrictive, I’ll have you know.”

  “And I wondered why my jaw is constantly sore.”

  “That’s from your marathon kissing exploits, Immadia.”

  “Yuck, can you two stop that?” Yazina complained.

  “Bah, just wait until you have a boy Dragon to call your own,” Zuziana snorted. The teen squealed in protest. “You have to meet our friend Nak …”

  As Zip chuntered away, the Shadow Dragon drove downward from the sky toward the green dome of light cast above the peaks embracing the Ruby City. To the Remoyan Princess’ credit, she was perfectly capable of talking nonsense and dispersing the increasing signs of their presence into pretty clouds and mists simultaneously. Aranya wondered if her mind worked better because she was chattering non-stop. She generated a modest breeze to blow the mists about, and collected moisture from the environment to help further obscure any disturbance.

  Just a second before the Shadow Dragon plunged into one of the waterfalls in a vertical dive, they faintly heard the clangour of the city’s alarms as Leandrial passed beneath their defences.


  Mile upon mile of cliff-side flashed by as the Dragon manoeuvred deftly, navigating the ledges and outcroppings in the nick of time that had Yazina clutching for Aranya’s hand.

  Over her shoulder, Aranya said, “Don’t worry. He’d do this in his sleep.”

  “Are … are we going to be in trouble for this blatant trespass on a Kahilate?” Yazina worried.

  “Trouble? May I assure you, we are about to assault their ruler and cuff him about the earholes like a snotty-nosed toddler,” Zip elaborated with her usual zestful tactlessness. “We’re about to snip through his defences like a whetted dagger carving slow-roasted lamb from the shank. And, we have Leandrial down below, who will swallow half of his city if he dares to complain. Trouble? What’s there to worry about?”

  The teen’s eyes rolled wildly as they navigated the thundering vertical torrent. “The insane thing is, we’re bone-dry in the midst of all of this?”

  “Define insane,” Zip suggested snidely.

  “I give up!” Yazina yelled.

  “Me too. You only need to listen to ten percent of what she says anyways,” said Aranya, taking command of her own mouth once more. “Yazina, don’t forget that we’re here for you as well. Don’t ask me how we know it. But we’re committed, alright? I know something about how terrifying it can be to face such a moment, when the truth must become known.”

  As they shot down with the flow into the Cloudlands, a descent of many long minutes, she told Yazina about her own mother’s state. How she yet lived in a sense, yet attempting to revive her might just end her life. How she knew that day, and that terrifying decision, must surely come.

  At length Ardan plummeted into the gloom of the Cloudlands, echo-locating as Leandrial had taught them to ensure he did not fly headlong into an unseen obstacle. Aranya prepared an opacity shield. She projected the target into their minds.

  Half a mile, Shadow.

  Rooted Isle. Adjusting. Will this alert Leandrial?

  Inevitably, said Aranya.

  Aye. Where is she now?

  Approaching the central citadel. It’s only a few steps across this bay for her, said Aranya. Seventy seconds.

  Ardan accelerated, looping around the concealed bulk of an Island. Ha! Nets below! he exclaimed barely a millisecond before Sapphire reacted.

  Change! she ordered the dragonets.

  Nothingness slipped between the under-Cloudlands defences, which apparently had not been reinforced with the strange green mineral, or they would have been hopelessly entangled.

  Fifty seconds.

  Ardan sprinted ahead, having to weave around several secondary peaks.

  Twenty.

  Show me the spot, Aranya.

  Ten. She scanned the projections rapidly. There. That building. Right against it –

  Going. A couple of seconds later, the Shadow Dragon breached beneath a building that descended to a mere twenty feet above the Cloudlands level, flattened himself against the sheer wall, and then flap-slithered upward.

  As one, the companions turned to regard a confrontation a mere four hundred feet away, across the gap between the white Isle and the ruby-encrusted portico of Shan-Jarad’s citadel. Leandrial was already withdrawing, the ripple of her great body disturbing the light-green Cloudlands, while Asturbar and Iridiana faced off with a troop of clearly unfriendly soldiers. Aranya strengthened her opacity shield, projecting the image of another part of a perfectly white wall to the outside world. A sneaky Remoyan’s idea, of course. As Ardan’s Dragon sight zoomed in, they saw a hugely moustachioed fellow clad in a splendid king’s ransom of golden armour spitting some insult or another at the visitors. Asturbar himself wore no armour, to her surprise, given that their reception party numbered a good two hundred most likely elite soldiers, judging by the rigidity of their ranks, numbers of which were mounted upon powerful, heavily armoured beetles that looked like they tore men apart for fun.

  Asturbar looked both mightily unimpressed, and fearfully intent.

  “This promises to be fun,” Ardan whispered.

  “How many rubies?” Zip breathed. “Is that whole citadel one big ruby?”

  “Encrusted,” said Aranya, scanning the waiting soldiers with every sense on high alert. Nothing there, apparently. Where was the danger? When would it strike?

  Even from that distance, the golden-armoured fellow’s shout was clear. “Last chance. Take the filth away!”

  Ardan’s mighty shoulders quaked with mirth. “He didn’t.”

  “He did. Watch. I’m betting – oh, a dragonet!”

  Apparently Nyahi was having trouble with her Chaos powers again, because her clothing fluttered in the breeze as a violet dragonet bounced off her man’s arm. He bent to retrieve her garments and then … whoosh!

  “Holy Fra’anior!” Ardan said feelingly.

  Iridiana had just turned herself into the heaviest infantry armour any of them had ever seen, enwrapping Asturbar’s immensely muscled bulk in untold sackweight of gleaming iridium armour – upward of half a tonne, Aranya estimated – while the man hefted his battle-axe and rolled his shoulders with ominous, unambiguous intent.

  “Oh … I can’t watch!” Zip squealed.

  “Me neither!” yelped Yazina, pretending to cover her eyes.

  “I can,” Ardan snickered.

  “Sadist,” said Aranya.

  Over on the priceless ruby portico, Asturbar roared, “FOR THE DRAGONESS!”

  The regiment barring the outer gateway of Shan-Jarad’s ridiculously over-decorated fortress drew together as the man charged them in an ostensibly mad solo assault. Well, mad until one realised that his armour was a Chaos Dragoness, and her fey power uplifted and braced him as the soldier took them on. His heavily armoured arms stretched impossibly, twelve feet wide.

  KEERRUMP!! The regiment caved in like a rotten piece of fruit smashed by a Sylakian hammer.

  Ardan winced.

  Aranya almost bit through her lip.

  Hee hee, so silly, tittered Sapphire, while her brood of six fell about coughing and choking with laughter. Apparently seeing soldiers flung into the air as if launched by a feral Dragon and their allies vanishing through the gateway was beyond hilarious.

  Yazina gasped, “He just –”

  “Aye. Squelched the lot of them like bugs. Azingloriax, eh?” Ardan said enviously. “Time to catch up, ladies? I do believe our allies are inside the Palace. We should offer timely aid.”

  “I’m not convinced they need it,” said Zip.

  “Moral support, then,” said Aranya. Silence, thou Remoyan yokel. “Come on. Leandrial has sensed our presence and I think she’s pleased, although she’s giving nothing away. I’m guessing that means she’s concerned as well.”

  Evening was no shroud in the ancient Ruby City, but a Shadow had ways of moving in this terrain that, coupled with Aranya and Zip’s skills, meant that the intrusion of a hundred-plus feet of belligerent Dragon remained undetected. She slipped beneath the Cloudlands. Now, ambulant rubies conformed to the body-littered portico. Soon a deeper shadow, with an almost imperceptible rippling effect, clasped the top of the outer wall and slipped over and down the far side as Aranya attempted to fold the ambient light around her Shadow Dragon. Two soldiers looked right through them. Drifting, Dragon-stepping over traps and defences toward a second wall. Ardan slithered up the battlements. The gemstone cladding made for easy climbing, but Aranya had to catch numerous falling rubies with swift wafts of air. She secreted them behind an ornamental planter.

  Around that tower, she directed, following the sense of Iridiana’s movement. They must be running.

  Every inch of Shan-Jarad’s round-towered citadel was immaculate. Every plant was perfectly trimmed. No flower dared to droop so much as a quarter-inch. Every surface was so thickly crusted with rubies, there was no trace of the original stonework beneath. Even the ornamental fountains were each a different study picked out in shades of ruby; masterful, but more than slightly over the top. Obsessive, Aranya th
ought. Ostentatious. The overall effect was not of warmth, but of a cold, brooding lack of passion. Nyahi had called her culture solipsistic and inflexible. That conclusion was undeniably expressed here.

  With the dragonets’ help, they scaled several Palace outbuildings to reach the exterior of what had to be the central meeting hall, perhaps the place where a King – or Uxâtate, the absolute ruler of this realm – would meet his subjects. Iridiana had already entered.

  Those windows? said Ardan, pointing.

  We can try.

  Make tiny to enter, said Sapphire, trilling her pleasure as she realised she had come up with a use for the Flow state her companions had not even considered. Go in, yes-yes?

  Sapphire, once again, words fail me, Aranya said feelingly.

  The dragonet wingtip-genuflected with staggering immodesty. Sapphire is genius. Ari know.

  Gorgeous rascal.

  I thought that was my title? Zip whispered, but her tone was anything but jovial.

  A ninety-foot shimmy up the sheer ruby walls of the massive hall – even the roof was festooned with rubies the size of Dragons’ eggs – posed no challenge once a little Chrysolitic mischief had been perpetrated. The dragonets compressed everyone down to the size of Sapphire’s ordinary body and they landed on the window ledge to peer inside, and down at the confrontation developing inside of the hall.

  The decorators had not tired of the unrelenting use of rubies. The floor and walls were artfully presented in different shades and patterns of ruby, whilst the delicate veils of chandeliers that lit the yawning space were, just for variety’s sake, picked out in blood-red diamonds. The hulking throne was … aye, a monolithic chunk of unblemished ruby standing ten feet tall and five wide, its arms and high back forming the sculpted heads and wings of birds of prey, just now vacated by a crimson-robed man whose grey pallor contrasted violently with his preferred decorative colours as he gaped at the apparition of his exiled daughter confronting him, trembling, seemingly on the point of tears.