by Marc Secchia
He said, See, even space flight is no trouble in this form. Soon, the barriers will fall and the feasting will begin!
Pip replied, I killed you before, Thoralian, and Iridiana next. Aranya, I believe it is your turn to vaporise this hairy slug – that will make our tally one each.
Feckless little stars, jeered the leviathan as they retreated steadily, keeping the Academy at their backs. You think three can succeed against all that I am? Dramagon has reincarnated my being in a far superior form. My powers eclipse those I previously possessed by an exponential margin.
Even his mind had been changed. There was still a hint of three-in-one, Aranya realised, but the personalities seemed to have blurred into one another, making a greater whole – perhaps, a servant more perfectly befitting Dramagon’s designs?
Cracking open its toothless maw, the creature spat Shao’lûkayn at them. Faster. Faster! The black bodies blurred across the gap, taxing their starlight to the maximum as the creatures imploded mere feet from the Stars. They were forced to retreat as the resultant dust adulterated their shining.
More? You want MORE? Even my breath is death incarnate!
/Stardrop!/ Aranya stiffened as the voices – many voices this time – rang inside that part of her mind which was so unfamiliar and unused. /Attend. Quickly, open your consciousness to examination./ She tried, but it was long, breathless seconds of that slight mental itching sensation before a glorious voice chimed, /Legacy-quartile, upper septuplet signature markers confirmed! Oh, Astralior, we are –/
/Blessed!/ cried the tenor, at a volume that made even her paws tingle.
/To arms! To arms, brother and sister stars! The stardrop –/ This cry swelled into a thunder of light, so powerful that Aranya’s senses swam. She must have blacked out momentarily, because when she recovered, Iridiana was cradling her in her paws, the Thoralian-thing was jeering at her weakness and Pip snorted:
Superior form, Thoralian? You’re the one farting black spike balls all over the Moon!
Iridiana cracked up; as embarrassed as Aranya was by Pip’s frankness, she was hilarious. She could not help but laugh too.
Enraged, the black creature expelled a violent flurry of attackers, but they expired both in starlight and in a stream of golden particles that passed around the Dragonesses and sizzled toward Thoralian. He countered with a greater outpouring than before. He was also coming on faster than the Academy was accelerating, firing at them with apparently inexhaustible resources.
As they ducked and weaved away from an overwhelming flurry of spikes and ash, he sneered, Despite you and your luminously challenged allies, Zankaradia, I shall reduce this Academy to dust. Then I shall peel your brain-casing like a fruit and sup upon what lies within.
But the hatchling said quietly, What moved you so, Aranya?
I think I found aid …
/O beauteous stardrop, we are aid indeed,/ cried the tenor voice. /In the time of your relative, Hualiama, we released the Yhishaalylia, or the Shining Ones, to be your benison – but now the Sankûraguz move against you in power! Why are you so fearfully exposed? Why –/
The female chimed, /We are your great grandstars, to borrow your quaint terminology, o luminous kin-beauty who illumes my soul with joy’s pure radiance! I am Quinesstaralia, and this is Astralior –/
/Open to us – speech shall be given thee,/ sang the male, clearly almost beside himself with excitement. Aranya had a sense of great fonts of light swirling and exploding like fireworks within his soul, while his vocal tones wobbled between multiple octaves.
How could he not sense or intuit that they were under heavy attack? That was the reason her starlight was exposed. One paw at a time.
We are three, she tried to communicate. /Stardrop, stardrop, stardrop!/
Why could she not express herself?
There was a startled silence out there, a silence wherein Pip and Iridiana cried out urgently and the Corundum Red groaned. A Thoralian mental attack was in progress, clamping down upon their minds like monstrous, burning pliers, but Aranya’s core attention was far, far away, yearning for that poignant contact with her great grandstars – her mind wanted to burst at the tidings – when the communication zinged back to her in a wild paroxysm of joy:
/Three? THREE! O, let myriad stars rejoice!/
Starlight ignited within her soul at their unbridled exultation. Crushingly tender. Searing. Immense and miraculous and unstoppable. Somewhere, a host of starry voices trilled:
/Sing, o Stardrop! Let thy voice be heard! Summon all starlight within, and shine, shine, SHINE!/
It was as if the melody of their joy released her, at last, to find her own voice. It was not physical singing that they meant, but a liberation of the capacity of starlight within her. To be, to receive, and to give out in ways she had never imagined. Aranya opened herself with unbridled exuberance. She attracted and inveigled so much light into her being, from every possible source – from the risen suns, from the effulgence of Mystic Moon, from her world’s own shining and from the farthest stars – that it seemed to her that surely, her demands must snuff them all out in an instant. Yet, the converse was true. Her glory made them greater. No, this glory was her gift. It was glory that must be given away.
A star could never hide her light. She must shine for all.
Chapter 35: Sneaky Stars
ARDAN’s UPTURNED FACE was glowing. He could feel it. A third sun beamed its pristine illumination upon them all, outshining the Mystic Moon by far. Aranya! That quality of light could only be his beloved, but she shone with an intensity of incandescence far beyond anything he had known from her before. Searing. Unbearable to look upon, yet he must. He was mesmerised.
Oh, how his hearts thrashed the insides of his chest!
Only the sight of dark motes homing in on that astonishing display adulterated his joy. Windrocs circling! Ravening powers gnashed their maws in futile wrath. He sneaked a glance back along his spine spikes. Asturbar looked as if he had just swallowed a miracle for breakfast. The planes of Ri’arion’s features, usually so austere, conversely seemed softened by his unabashed regard.
Ever so softly, the Fra’aniorian said, “It’s still a battle royal, but our girls are doing it! May the Great Dragon strengthen them all …”
His voice broke the spell.
Asturbar clapped him upon the shoulder. “You still manage to find words after seeing something like that? You’re creepy, man.”
* * * *
Gathering the splendid song of stars within her being, stirred and electrified in ways for which she could essay no description Aranya called upon her sisters and invited them to partake. Pip. Iridiana. Receive, imbibe, and give out with me. /Stardrops! To arms!/
Carolling her delight to the heavens, Iridiana echoed, /Stardrops!/
Pip could barely speak, not even in her mind. /Stardrops?/ And then she cried, BE LIGHT!
Radiance seemed to rush into the three Dragonesses and through them in great, dazzling beams of starlight. Gathering into a threefold meld of their unique light qualities, they beamed forth a brilliant strike against Thoralian.
He threw up his dark paws to deny them. NEVER!
Shao’lûkayn exploded forth from his being. The great dark creature reappeared from behind a shifting veil of ash, grinning manically as he dived for the trio of Star Dragonesses.
/Hold firm!/ Aranya cried.
They pounded him a second time, and a third time more luminously still, but each time he shook through the aftereffects, and now he was gathering his troops from every direction. He drew Dramagon’s Bequest away from their attacks upon the Mystic Moon and the heavily damaged lattice to fling them in a wild paroxysm of paws and draconian breath against the Stars and the Academy. Aranya heard Silver and Zuziana and Sapphire cry out back there, and Zankaradia joined them in combatting the incoming scourge, but for her part, she knew she must hold firm no matter the cost. They had to finish this. Finish Thoralian for good.
Yet he struck back wi
th his signature cunning, pounding them with psychic strikes, Shadowing away to misdirect their attacks, and regenerating himself at a phenomenal rate using the techniques he had clearly stolen from Azhukazi the Iolite Blue. His form flickered and changed, shifting through the veils of ash that boiled off of him as he fought back; now he rematerialized to their right flank and swung hard with his massive black fist. A thousand Shao’lûkayn pounded the Star Dragonesses across the skies.
/Too strong … we cannot fail!/ Aranya panted dazedly, holding them together by the force of her will. /I’ll be the bulwark. Iridiana, strike force. Pip –/
The Pygmy Dragoness laughed wickedly. /Cause trouble? Thou, Aranya, our strength …/
Suddenly the little Onyx Dragoness spun to track Thoralian’s flanking movement, and she shouted, BE ENFEEBLED – BEZALDIOR!
Iridiana darted forth, fifty strong in her Chaos Beast manifestation, only this time she was filled to bursting with unsullied starlight. Flares exploded along the length of Thoralian’s spiky body, not just crumbling what was there, but blowing pieces right off of him. Desperate, hurting, he countered with his greatest broadside of darkness and fury yet, driving the Stars back foot by grudging foot as his never-ending assault brawled and bullied its way through the greatest concentration of their light. Pip kept gesturing, waving the dust particles aside as the colossal barrage thundered against them. Again and again, the enemy roused himself to greater heights, the power of his fury smoking liberally off his body now as the dark blurs of the Shao’lûkayn rattled against their light. Dozens imploded around them every second. Closer. Closer!
/Stand firm, o stardrops!/ belled the powerful voice from afar.
/Sing clear!/
/Never shall darkness prevail!/
/Let thy purity ream the enemy!/ cried Quinesstaralia.
Astralior sang, /Shine brighter, shine clearer, shine across the Universe, my beloved ones! Shine for love!/
/Gnnnaaaa …/ cried the nascent stardrops.
The circle of their light was being squeezed tighter and tighter by the unrelenting press of the enemy. No longer could they see the stars; barely even the suns’ gleaming through the press of bodies and the ever-churning smoke. Pip’s wings brushed hers. Iridiana surrounded them in coruscating, endlessly intertwining and coiling streams of mauve light. Just a dozen more feet, and one of these creatures must surely touch them and suck their magic dry.
Thoralian set to pounding them hither and thither with his paws, still striving to break through by main force. He did not believe they could withstand him. Each clattering blow tested their union of three. Each time his paws smashed together it was with a thunderclap that strove to drive spikes deep into Star Dragoness flesh, but they burned them away with but inches to spare. Pip and Aranya had both tucked in their wings. His power was devastating, a brooding corruption of magic which had been foul to begin with, e’er it had ever been shaped by Dramagon’s paws. Aranya sensed the Academy just behind them. They were all that stood between him and destruction.
No. Light could not be beaten down like this.
Light must penetrate the darkness.
Starlight could be her inspiration; imagination alone could limit her response to this fiend. Casting her artistic mind forth, Aranya drew the biggest sword she could imagine across the sky. A sword forged of pure starlight. She gave it an edge sharper than any steel, and a grip imbued with Pygmy strength. She emblazoned runes along its length, runes that spelled out:
IZARIELA’S LEGACY
Iridiana flowed into those etchings.
Aranya paused in horror. /Sister …/
/This is my way,/ came the reply. /Wield your weapon, Aranya. Wield me!/
There was a moment’s curious detachment as Aranya perceived that she gripped Pip by her tail, which was as rigid as steel, and swung a sword that seemed to protrude somehow from the Onyx Dragoness’ muzzle in the physical sense, but it was far more than a physical phenomenon. Iridiana had taken on a form in which no Shao’lûkayn could destroy her whole physical being, for she flowed into and through the starlight sword in ways that had no correlate in physical or magical laws. She was her own law. She was Chaos.
Taking up her sword, the Amethyst Dragoness stormed into the offensive. With beautiful fury, she pierced the darkness with her weapon, and nothing could stand against. She carved aside the hurtling Shao’lûkayn in great, expanding sweeps of immaculate radiance. Flicking her wrists, Aranya drove through the confusion and billowing grey ash with incandescent simplicity, trusting in the power and above all the character of her sisters to become the instruments of her righteous indignation, and again in this realisation, she experienced a polemical awareness of emancipation. This was right. It was not so much revenge as cleansing; not so much anger as vindication.
This was what she stood for.
This was the same choice she and Zuziana had made that day long ago when they decided to oppose Sylakia’s tyranny.
Reading Thoralian’s movements with mind and heart, the trio took the battle to him. The swinging of his paws grew desperate. His evasions became jerkier and even irrational as they placed him under increasing pressure. Thoralian boomed and blustered, but Aranya had long since decided that she would hear nothing more from this despot. Shao’lûkayn blasted into their faces. They swept them aside. The sword was dancing now, shaving spikes off his flank and trimming a talon. The creature seemed to feel no pain. He fought back with an almighty, lashing sweep of his tail, but this was the moment they had waited for. Somersaulting gracefully over the seething dark blur, Aranya-Pip-Iridiana struck downward with all of their force, severing the appendage at its root.
Thoralian thundered his madness!
Together, they stabbed his flank deeply and twisted the blade upon exit, gouging out a chunk larger than any Dragonship. Thoralian’s back arched and his thunder had barely begun to split the atmosphere when Aranya reversed her movement – given as the sword was as insubstantial as light, she could flick it instantly in any direction she desired. Momentum was no impediment. Again, hundreds of feet of flesh topped with spines carved away from his back in a wild spray of grey ash.
A creature of this nature could have no heart. Seeing him attempting to corral those pieces and return them to his embodied form, the Star Dragoness determined to attack faster yet. Which was speedier – thought, or starlight? Ordinary physical laws could not bound the visionary power of this weapon. The Immadian Princess danced and spun in the skies above the Mystic Moon as she had never danced before, the blade moving faster and faster until it shimmered around her wings and paws in a sphere of light, until it seemed to be attacking Thoralian and his minions from every direction at once. She whipped that blade about with a shivering motion of her paw, and the point two thousand feet away diced his debased substance fifty times through, until only a cloud of ash remained to be swept away. A looping backhand severed a hind paw just beneath the knee, and then cremated the remainder seemingly in the blink of an eye.
Suddenly it was Thoralian who retreated, wailing, Dramagon, o Dramagon, I perish! Oh …
There was no reply from his master.
Aranya struck a swingeing blow to his neck, and two more, severing the head from the body. Chaotic shards of lightning speared off her blade, corrupting the flesh of the corruptor. Somewhere, Zankaradia the Corundum Red wafted her gleaming breath across the battlefield, clearing the space as the Amethyst Dragoness lined up the still-spitting maw.
Thoralian roared, Aranya, you –
Shwap! She cleft his skull in twain. Holy Fra’anior!
Nice speech, Pip gurgled.
Again, Aranya – let’s finish him! Iridiana prompted.
Swish-swish-swaaashhhh … Aranya sliced through the remains in a frenzy sparked by shock at what she had achieved, moving the blade so rapidly that to the naked eye it appeared as if starlight had arisen from within his riven flesh; perhaps it had, for that was Iridiana’s touch she sensed, destroying Dramagon’s uncanny magic befo
re it had any chance to regroup.
In the aftermath of her beautiful fury, there was silence.
In the lee of her starlight, there was no shadow.
In the wake of her blade’s passing only dust remained, drifting upon a zephyr created by the very slight atmosphere and Mystic’s natural rotation.
Aranya expelled the breath she had held, seemingly forever.
Finished.
* * * *
Zuziana laughed until she cried. Down on the Academy’s surface, there were more than a few reunions going on, and if she had anything at all to do with it, there would be a party worthy of the name – ah, if any of the stores had survived over a century, intact. Right. Pop that issue onto her to-do list. Right now, she had other priorities.
Shouldering her way to the front of the crowd, she flung herself at her best friend. “Incoming pregnant Remoyan!”
Despite looking as wrung out as a washer-woman’s oldest rag, Aranya still managed to catch her best friend in her arms. “Rascal!”
“Empress of the stars!”
Zippy Zip-Zap! squeaked Sapphire.
Aranya picked her up and spun her around several times, and for once, the Princess of Remoy did not mind that her best friend was too tall for her own good. She was so ridiculously happy, she was sobbing all over the place. Who cared if she soaked Aranya’s borrowed dress? She could blame all sorts of nonsense on her bump.
After a few minutes, Casitha tapped her upon the shoulder. “Ahem. Master Kassik did not send me in any capacity whatsoever to inquire when he might reacquire command of his Academy from the Remoyan usurper.”
“Ha.” Zip introduced her to Aranya. “Casitha’s from my end of the Isles – from Yelegoy. She’s with Kassik, wink-massive-wink.”
