A Hatchling for Springtide (Santaclaws Book 2)

by Marc Secchia

  A place where Dragons lived again.

  Chapter 6: Togetherness

  End Janus

  THE FIRST TIME SHE saw a lightning storm was at a month old. The hatchling had always acted skittish when thunder growled above or around Amarinthe Town, but this time was different. Keir and his father had been out in the barn, training. They always closed the tall wooden doors so that no passers-by would see what they were doing. When Kalar opened the doors that evening, once their training session was finished, there came a monumental flash of lightning that lit the countryside for miles about.

  She went rigid. Agog.

  The dragonet had piled on several more inches, taking her to an even three feet in length. Most of it paws, Keir had chuckled to himself this very morn as he buffed up her scales with a soft cloth. Those were definitely paws to grow into. She kept tripping over them and had developed a floppy walk as if she needed to kick up her knees enough that those big snow-patters would land properly with each step.

  They had developed a morning routine. After her usual dawn playtime with the kittens, it was pre-breakfast snack time. She invariably licked herself down, top to toe, after every meal – much like the kittens both in action and mannerisms. Then he took a soft cloth and rubbed her down. The idea had developed from the way she loved to be scratched. The tactile contact was all it took to make her purr endlessly; sometimes she even fell asleep while he was rubbing. If a scale came loose, she almost invariably noticed and wanted to find it or lick it off his fingertip, and eat it. Her hide was extremely sensitive. Even when she was asleep, if he touched her, she would respond by purring slightly or nuzzling against his hand.

  With a storm sweeping in from the North, sleep was not remotely in the picture. The hatchling quivered with agitation from the point of her muzzle to the tip of her tail. Visceral excitement. Her quartet of sharp white ears pricked upright. She leaned forward as if yearning to taste the awesome power at play out there, up in the sky. As the lightning struck again, she uttered a low, warbling cry he had never heard her make before, and her wings shivered, lifting from her back and stretching experimentally, as if the first volition to fly had somehow sparked into her system from that storm.

  Next, she produced a querying series of chirps. Talking to the storm? Holy Santazathiar!

  Exactly as if she expected a reply, aye.

  He caught his breath.

  The lightning flashed again, a great jagged spray of bolts that joined several dark amethyst clouds in the blink of an eye, scorching its path upon his retinae. Her scales flashed – at first, Keir assumed it was a reflection, but when the phenomenon occurred again, he wondered if she was not charging up somehow or responding to the power running rampant out there. Flash! Flash! The incredible, resplendent diamond quality was back in her scales.

  Despite his fear, he touched her back. “What is it, darling?”

  His scalp itched as the charge within the hatchling spread to his arm. Suddenly he had a wild desire to laugh and soar and play among the lightning bolts, to know the storm and taste it upon his tongue, to ride the buffeting winds and thunder with the awesome voice of Nature itself. Was that what she craved – a vital, visceral connection with a storm’s very heart?

  Holy Santazathiar! Incredible.

  He said, “Och aye, I ken ye well and good. It’s magical, isn’t it? I’ve always loved storms. That was where ye were born, my sweet diamond. Out there somewhere.”

  Keee-irr? she vocalised.

  Aye, little one. That’s home for you.

  Not that he understood how or where, but it made sense.

  Suddenly she turned to him, literally buzzing with excitement, her fiery eyes as huge and luminous as lanterns, and he sensed how desperately she wanted to communicate with him. The electric power of storm? The thrill of riding the winds? The … colours? The Northern Lights playing in a storm, if that was even possible?

  I don’t quite … understand. I want to, of course!

  Keee-irr? Again the images scurried into his mind, faster and faster. Curtains of glimmering aurorae sweeping across mighty, windswept peaks of a deep emerald colour he had never seen before. Towering amethyst armies of thunderstorm clouds cut by constant flashes of living lightning. Brutal, tempestuous storm chasms riven by lightning. The sonic shockwaves emanating from a lightning strike, between clouds, which was more complex than he had ever imagined. He was left with the impression of a fern-like spray of electrical brilliance growing organically out of a tiny, sun-bright spot. More images, many incomprehensible to his mind. More lightning. Always the lightning.

  Keir struggled to try to open his mind to whatever it was the hatchling was trying to communicate. They were so profoundly different. Bonded, aye, but as different as half Elf and Dragon could be. She was fire, he was blood. She was of the sky; he came from the earth and jungle. Yet they both had magic, he knew, and he could be a curmudgeonly sort when he was unable to have his own way, or when understanding eluded him.

  Come on. Concentrate, Keir! Figure out what it was that she meant to tell him.

  She bunted his leg with her nose. Keee-irr. Keee-irr!

  Yes, I know I’m being thick, but …

  The images swelled into a whirlwind in his mind now, each impression an emotion-laden thunderbolt. Being the storm, flung miles into the sky in an incredible wash of turbulence. Shimmering over the tundra, a play of light across hundreds of miles that turned endless snowfields into luminous jewels. The shockingly intense experience of shooting through the sky at a speed beyond imagination, of being light, of inhabiting a body that was somehow radiance come alive – and he was no longer sure if he was seeing or feeling or how exactly he perceived her thoughts, because to experience the world through the unfamiliar lens of her perception, stretched his mind in ways beyond imagination. How did one even begin to describe the sensation of lightning fizzing through one’s being?

  He knew one thing. This was the vital knowledge of being her.

  This was her essence.

  It clicked at last. “Och aye! Are ye trying to tell me yer name?”

  Keee-irr! She chased around in a circle, shrilling his name, and then evidently became distracted by her own tail. She chased that around several times more. Becoming dizzy, she wobbled and fell upon his feet. Keee-irr …

  “Sorry, this bedazzled lad is just a little slow on the uptake.”

  “Been saying that for anna,” his father put in helpfully, clapping Keir upon the shoulder. “Ouch!”

  A spark had leaped between them.

  “Sorry, Dad. So, what are we to call ye, then? Storm? Diamond? Storm’s Diamond? Am I getting close?”

  That loose-tongued, crooked smile celebrated his astoundingly insightful effort. Keir chuckled and scratched her behind several of her ears. Quite unlike a cat’s ears, they were hot and scaly. Interesting. Oddly, he preferred the silken, scaly sensation to that of fur. Even more evocative?

  “One or the other? Both? Add a dash of lightning? Whizz-Bang Beauty on Paws?”

  “Son, be serious.”

  “I am.”

  “This is nae just any lady ye are naming.”

  “Too true, Dad. Well, the point is, she’s now’t really mine to name. She’s her own person. I just need to figure out what she meant …” Keir scratched his chin. Nope. No beard now, none ever, thanks to his maternal Elven heritage. “Alright. Aurora for the Northern Lights, right? And for that particular gleam inside yer scales, especially when I look closely in the right light. Aurora suits, right?”

  Keee-irr!

  Kalar laughed. “Ye nailed it, son.”

  “Nae, but we’re on the leopard’s scent. She’s still … more. Like, um … I’m thinking, Auroral Storm Diamond?”

  Keee-irr! Keee-irr! Keee-irr!

  The hatchling started doing a funny dance around his legs, winding between them in a clear attempt to knock him over.

  His father protested, “Nae, ye cannae call her that mouthful, sweet as it sounds. Su
rely –”

  Auroral Storm Diamond?

  Keee-irr!

  “She seems to like it,” Keir laughed, giving up and pretending to fall over. The dragonet leaped upon his chest, trilling his name and doing her humorous impression of a smile. “See? Ugh, nae licking me in the mouth, ye rascal. That’s disgusting, all overheated Dragon slobber. What d’ye think, Dad?”

  “It’s a bit … silly.”

  “Why?”

  “In the thick of a battle, yer still going to be yelling something like, ‘O beauteous song of the auroral storm whom I make up sentimental sonnets for day and night, duck!’ when ye realise someone’s already sliced yer head off. That cannae be her name, son. It’s now’t … practical.”

  “Patience, young man. I am working on it.”

  Kalar laughed his great belly laugh. “Ye daft – that is now’t how I sound, ye scoundrel! Oh, and what’s this?”

  Pausing her licking at his chin, the dragonet stared across the barn, quivering. His eyes tracked her gaze. A fat grey rat loitered beside their loose straw pile, bold as any Snowgre, staring back at the trio. She hesitated; reading her mood instinctively, he said, “Aye, that’s prey, little one. Kill as many of those as ye – aah!”

  He clutched his chest as the hyper-energised little diamond launched off his torso in a blur, every talon extended, crossing the six paces so fast the rat barely had time to blink before … wham! Tan straw shot into the air as the hurtling dragonet hatchling crash landed beyond her target, but after a breathless second, she emerged with the rat dangling from her mouth. So proud at her catch! Strutting, gleaming, a splendid arch to her neck!

  “Good girl! Dinnae ye eat it now,” Keir began, glancing down at his chest.

  Lovely. He had to have a dozen hair-fine cuts crossing his pectorals and abdominals from where Auroral Storm Diamond had dug in prior to her incredible burst of speed. Razor talons. Her glowing pride was spoiled by a disgusted curl to her lip. She spat out the rat. Pagh!

  “Told ye so,” he said.

  Now, she stared at the rat as if she could not quite believe anything in the world tasted so exceedingly offensive. When it twitched, she snapped at it again, and promptly spat, Pagh!

  He chuckled, “Och aye. Next time, maybe listen with the ears and use the claws?” He mimed making a tearing action. “Cannae imagine I’d want that taste swilling about my mouth. Few things in Tyanbran as taste that foul, hear me?”

  One more bite, a vicious shake of the neck, and the dragonet hurled the rat away from her. She gave it one final hiss for good measure, and stalked over to Keir to goggle at his wounds. At once, her ears flattened against her skull and the wings drooped in a clear display of misery.

  Keee-irr … krr? she inquired.

  “It’s alright, darling. Just an accident.”

  If he planned to be any use as a launchpad, he might need to take to wearing more than just a linen shirt.

  * * * *

  “She attacked ye!” Rhyl shrilled, upon spying the blood-stained state of someone who might have been trying to sneak in the back door, unseen. “I knew it! Och nae, that there’s a wild creature, cousin. A Dragon. Ye cannae trust her as far as ye can – oh. Oh? And what have ye to say for yerself, lass?”

  Auroral Storm Diamond slunk in behind him, the very picture of guilt.

  “She used my chest as a springboard to attack a rat. Got overexcited,” Keir summarised. “How do I get this –”

  “Shredded rag off yer chest?” his cousin inserted smoothly. “Ooh, clever lass, did ye hunt and kill yer first rat? What a good little dragonet! Aren’t ye just growing into those great paws of yers? Aye, that ye are! What a mighty hunter ye shall be.”

  Sympathy? A non-existent commodity in this household.

  Sulky boy. Keir chuckled at his own reaction.

  He debated teasing his cousin about her Human brogue. Och aye, it was developing nicely. However, much like his mother, Rhyl packed an inordinate measure of snark, fizz and capability into her diminutive four-foot-seven frame. Elves were slightly built in the main, but his Aryssillati Clan took that to the extreme. Not that Prince Zyran was complaining, mind. Nor his father. Both men falling over the Amarinthian Bulwark for women who flawlessly defined the word petite.

  On the other end of the scale, he had inherited his lanky height but none of the bulk from his father. Just nudging six feet in height was no great shakes in Human circles, but his stature had always made him stick out like a sore thumb amongst his Elven cousins and peers. Never mind the unusual, spiky white hair. Who wanted to look geriatric at fifteen anna of age?

  Keir tried, “I’ll have ye ken that these cuts hurt like the blazes –”

  “So, ye’ve been teaching her to hunt?” Rhyl shook her silver coils in apparent woe. “Excellent idea, cousin, but clearly lacking in the execution. Get over here. On second thoughts, lie ye down beside the hearth. I’ll bring ye some herbal antiseptic.”

  “But –”

  “But what? I’ll hear none of yer whining and bellyaching that it stings. It’s meant to sting. That’s the healing part.”

  “I think yer the Dragon around here,” he sniffed.

  “Lie still and stop moving.”

  “Can I breathe, at least?”

  “Breathe less. And talk less.” She winked at him. “Ye can strut more, however.”

  “Strut? I dinnae –”

  “Nae, ye never do. Awful failing in a future Dragon Guardian, d’ye ken? All the stories have yer kind reeking of arrogance –”

  “My kind now, is it?”

  Stripping his shirt efficiently, the healer examined the wounds before pronouncing them clean. Shanryssill popped over to offer her opinion. Shortly, they were gleefully discussing the merits of bandages, stitching or herbal glue to best treat his terrible wounds. Why could he not have a sweet girlfriend of his own to treat his wounded pectorals and abdominals, rather than his mother and second cousin? Clearly, he had not made the right deal with fate. Zyran had a girlfriend – Rhyl. Keir had no-one special, apart from his family, whom he loved to absolute distraction. Plus a four-pawed distraction.

  Which meant he was complaining about what, exactly?

  Keir announced, “She told me her name this evening. It’s Auroral Storm Diamond.”

  Both women gazed at him in surprise.

  “Glue,” said his mother.

  “Glue,” Rhyl agreed, and reached out to pinch Keir’s cheek fondly. “Yer such a sweet, romantic soul, aren’t ye? ’Tis Auroral Storm Diamond, ye say?”

  His pointy ears heated up until he feared they could be used for firelighters.

  Keee-irr? purred the dragonet, nudging Rhyl’s hand in a clear demand for affection.

  “Nae, I’m Rhyl. Say, ‘Rhyl’ – I guess that’s a hard –”

  Sh-rrr?

  No, that’s me, dragonet-my-beauty. His mother indicated Rhyl with a gesture. She’s called Rhyl. Say, ‘Rhyl.’

  Rrr …

  Raspberry, Keir chortled.

  Riril? chirruped his baby, and his heart melted like snow falling into a volcano.

  Even Rhyl sighed and placed her hand upon her heart. Alright, you are way too adorable for your own paws. You win. Call yourself whatever you like.

  What happened, Keir? his mother asked.

  Before he could put forward his version of events, his cousin giggled, Beaten up by a month-old hatchling. Totally embarrassing.

  Girls! Grit the teeth. Pretend the antiseptic cleansing solution did not sting a bit.

  Actually, something far more interesting than that happened, said he, and with that, he set about explaining what he had sensed as she reacted to the lightning. Perhaps a dram of female intuition might help him to understand what was going on? Chosen frozen shmozen. If he had indeed been chosen by mysterious powers, as the King had intimated, it would help if he had a ruddy clue about anything related to his destiny! Or Santaclaws, or Dragons, or …

  Failing that, he could just keep pretending.
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  And being amazed at every turn.

  * * * *

  Janus was the month of darkness. Februarus was known for its winds, and this anna was no exception. Storm winds whistled between the peaks, spinning flurries of snow this way and that, and driving the townspeople to distraction as roof shingles fell, fences blew down, shutters blew off their hinges, or doors and windows slammed so hard, they cracked. Several mornings, Keir had to hold his sisters’ hands on their way to school, or they would have been swept right off their feet. Late one night, a tree crashed down on a neighbour’s house, thankfully missing all of the people sleeping inside. He and Kalar went to see if they could lend a hand.

  That was the first time most of their friends and neighbours saw the dragonet.

  News had travelled. Amarinthe was no large town. Had their neighbours not believed what their ears heard, or simply put the matter out of their minds as the harsh Winterfall continued to bite deeper and deeper into the New Annum? As he helped opposite his father, wielding a large two-man saw to cut through the trunk which had caved in the living room roof, a crowd of curious onlookers gathered.

  “Look, mummy, a little diamond Dragon,” one girl, who was in the twins’ class at school, said. “Can I have a Dragon, too?”

  “So endearing,” said another.

  “A sparkly princess on paws. How adorable is that?”

  “Such otherworldly beauty!” a neighbour prattled to no-one in particular. “Like a living star, wouldn’t ye say? I’d seen this strange glow in Kalar’s windows, mind ye, and wondered if his Elven wife were making some wicked fey magic –”

  One of the older teenage lads drawled, “Beauty? Pah, there’s a laugh. That titch is pathetic.”

  “Och aye, totally pathetic,” another voice echoed.

  Keir’s neck jerked painfully. He had known those lads all his life. Thugs. Brothers who used to bully him at school, called Chamos and Tarik. He detested everything about them.

  “Any Snowgre pup would eat that glowing slug alive,” sneered the younger brother, Tarik. “Bet that hide’s worth a pretty fortune … or, it might find better use as a floor rug – what say ye, Keir?”