by Marc Secchia
Heat exploded in his cheeks. “Dinnae ye even –”
“Son.” His father’s hand gripped his upper arm. “Some folks are just plain stupid. It’s the way –”
“Calling us names, ye old cripple?” Chamos mocked. “Got something to say?”
Kalar drew himself up, his huge shoulders bunching as he glared at the youngster, who was too full of bravado to even think about backing down – or perhaps, he drew strength from the crowd. Keir had seen it before. Bullies needed backup. On their own, they were always less, but even the stares of silent onlookers were enough to make chests swell and all reason flee into the peaks.
The hatchling’s ears twitched sharply; her tongue flickered in and out twice, as if she were tasting the mood of the crowd. Sampling it. She drew back against Keir’s knees. Not a cowed posture; a vigilant one, but the teen misread it completely.
“Just look at that shrivelling weakling,” Chamos crowed, making fowl-noises against the palm of his hand. A few people laughed. “Freaking point-eared pretty lad’s got himself a dunder-pawed, dribbling idiot for a girlfriend.”
Tarik blustered, “Couldn’t do any better than that scaly rat, Elf boy? Figures.”
“What ye gonna do, white mop-head, run after us like yer lame old man?”
Crimson exploded behind his eyes. Fists balled, chest bursting with rage and shame, he tore right out of his father’s grasp and stalked toward the lads. This time, this anna, he would teach them a lesson. Before he had completed his third stride, a boot hurtled past his head. So hard was it thrown, when the heel struck Chamos’ jaw, it smashed the young man clean off his feet. A millisecond later, a gleam like a shooting star seared past at the height of his knees. Hunting. Bent upon blood.
That was when he knew a cold stab of fear.
“Nae!”
Running, screaming, begging in his mind – the dragonet stumbled, but her momentum and the fright of the sudden assault were enough to throw Tarik onto his back. Caught mid-leap onto his chest, she stopped and dug in as if paralysed, fangs agape against his throat. Seven weeks old she might be, but instinct served her well. She knew exactly where and how to make a killing bite.
Softly, he said, “This one’s now’t worth it, little one. Come away.”
He sensed the struggle in her, the craving to kill warring with the trust inherent in their still-developing relationship. He heard the crowd murmuring all around. People he had known all his life, only now wakening to the reality of mortal danger.
How could he desire to bring death here? In front of children, moreover?
Even more quietly, Keir urged her, To kill this lad would be dishonourable, Auroral Storm Diamond. He is a fool, worth even less than that rat you slew. But this taste would never wash out of your mouth. Trust me. Please, trust me on this occasion, as I will trust you when it comes to matters of the Dragonkind. His insults are nothing. Empty, pointless bluster lost in the wind.
Still, she breathed heatedly upon the petrified teen’s neck.
Keir reached out slowly, putting his trembling arm about her neck to draw her away. Her hide was searing hot, the diamond scales radiating pure white light and inner power. At the same time, he trapped Tarik with his gaze. In a deathly voice, he whispered, “Never bait a Dragon, hear me? Next time ye might now’t be so lucky, nor so alive.”
Their nostrils flared as one, the half Elf and the dragonet, taking in the putrid stench of soiled trousers and the acrid terror sweat dampening the teen’s armpits in dark, spreading half-circles.
Keee-irr, she agreed.
It was she who led him away. Shaking.
* * * *
Kalar shook his head slowly. “She’s a predator, Shanryssill. A lethal weapon. Took that lad down like a crossbow bolt, mark my words. That quick.”
Sipping the hot honeyed tea Rhyl had just passed to him, Keir tried to control the juddering of his hands as he reflected upon how she had sped past him – in the heat of fury, instinct had lent her paws wings. For once there was no awkward hatchling movement, like a Human toddler still uncertain of her balance when walking. She had reacted with terrifying speed. Also, he realised, he had hated Chamos and Tarik from the very first time they had shoved him into a snowdrift on the way to school. That hatred, clearly sensed through their bond, had very nearly cost Tarik his life. The hatchling might not have understood the insults, nor what had been going on, but she had been perfectly attuned to his feelings. Far, far more aware than him.
Had he truly loathed those lads that much?
Because he feared them?
They had cast colossal shadows over his younger anna. Now he had seen, and through the dragonet, smelled and even tasted a young man’s mortal terror. He had apprehended that moment when a life stood so poised, the merest breath could have tipped it over the edge.
He knew a Dragon’s hunting instinct.
It was beyond anything he had ever imagined. Sharper than his ska’etaz. Swift as the lightning strike in which she had been born. Bone-deep, visceral and unutterably deadly. Every sense blazed, whetted to an extraordinary degree, a sensation that faded reluctantly from his awareness. Aye, he found a fascination, a lethal beauty, in the way that everything within her operated at the very pinnacle of predatory prowess. Maturity would only sharpen those skills. The question was, how much intelligence came coupled with the, dare he call it, animal instinct? She was so much more than he had anticipated, more than he had dreamed a Dragon could be. Multiplying in complexity every day.
An animal would have killed in the heat of that moment, would they not? Did mercy not bespeak a quality of intellect, the presence of a soul, even?
He needed to think this through, when his head stopped pounding.
No wonder people had favourite expressions, like, ‘Santazathiar’s paws!’ or ‘By Mauve above!’ They covered a host of situations, most especially when life was just too weird to be understood.
His father added, “Our son handled the situation like a seasoned warrior. Saved that fool’s life. And ye ken, maybe that boy will learn something. Maybe.”
His mother said, “Keir, I’m so proud. That was a fine thing ye did. Did ye learn ow’t today?”
“Aye. I hated those lads. Always have. And she sensed that in me. That was why she attacked, Mom and Dad. It was all my fault.”
Kalar hissed between his teeth.
“Based on yer emotions?” she queried.
“It’s hard to explain.” The earthenware mug still shook fit to slop the contents upon the table. He placed it down carefully. “I sensed we acted … together. As if we were one brain and one organism. I am still me and she is still her, but … it’s kind of complicated and all intertwined like two jungle lianas … certainly magical.”
Shanryssill nodded slowly. “I wonder if the Elven magic in ye is interacting with her Dragon magic?”
“Aye,” Kalar agreed. “What d’ye think, son?”
He shrugged emphatically. “There’s a lot going on and I’m only just scratching the surface, just beginning to envision how it might work. I kind of wish she came complete with a detailed guidebook, but, ye ken, there’s nae such thing as a guidebook to women, is there? Nor Dragons.”
“Nae, nor to magic,” Rhyl interjected with a low chuckle.
Reaching out, Kalar squeezed his arm where it was bruised from his grip earlier. “I thought I’d handled the situation with my boot. But when she attacked, I saw that lad’s death written. Ye changed his stars, Keir. Dinnae ken how ye kept the presence of mind, but ye did. By Santazathiar’s own truth be wreathed, I’m proud of ye.”
The unfamiliar oath rocked him.
After a very long silence, his cousin put in, “I’ve been thinking about yer name for her. Auroral Storm Diamond. I was wondering – ye ken, if it’s like a clumsy word-for-word or concept-for-concept translation of some kind of Dragonish language she knows innately? I mean, sorry to call ye clumsy.” She flushed slightly, staring into her own fragrant cup of yellow tea. �
�Ye have a way with words, and ideas, cousin, that’s … breathtaking.”
He coloured as if he were the one possessed of inner fires. “Eh – well, if ye dream up any more apt names, let me know.”
“I will.”
Auroral Storm Diamond rested beside the hearth now, her muzzle flattened against the grey darmite stone as if that attack had required a supreme effort. How much did the magic, the intense connection, demand of a hatchling? And of him? He could sleep a hundred anna after that.
The lidded draconic eyes flicked askance to him. Meeting her gaze, he wondered at the darker, burnt-orange tenor of their fires, the way her pupils appeared smaller, almost shrunken …
Could this be shame?
Rising, Keir staggered over to the hearth and sat down just beside the fire with his back pressed to the stones, soaking in the warmth. At once, she poured into his lap like a gemstone unexpectedly turned to liquid, but her head drooped at once, resting upon his left thigh.
With his utmost gentleness, yet strangely intent, he said, “Ye did well today, my beauty. Ever so well. There’s now’t to be ashamed of, because ye sensed what I desired most and acted upon it. We’ve a lot to learn, ye and I, about how things are to work between us. It’ll take time. Ye see, come that day when evil rises against, we need to be ready. Then, there will be nae holding back. We will hunt together.”
Some kind of premonition? Shiver!
She huffed out a breath, as if to say, ‘I think that’s enough for today.’
Indeed.
Chapter 7: School
24th of Februarus Month
CURIOSITY OVERCAME FEAR. THE day following the incident with Chamos and Tarik, several neighbourhood children came knocking shyly at the door to ask if they might be allowed to see the little Dragon. Shanryssill invited them in.
Of late, Auroral Storm Diamond had taken to playing with the kittens with the air of an amused big sister. Just now, she was teasing them by twitching the tip of her tail to attract their attention. Flick. Hop. Pause … and twitch! The kittens were unable to resist. First the ears pricked up, then their tails wriggled madly, and their eyes tracked the jerky motion with compulsive interest. Soon they were crouching, stalking the tail tip along the floorboards, ready to pounce soft-pawed upon the irresistible toy!
The lads wanted to know if she could breathe fire, tear fifty Damask Yaks to pieces at the same time and destroy the entire Certanshi army with one swipe of her mighty paw. When Arami scornfully told them she was just a baby, they soon lost interest and took over teasing the kittens with a piece of crimson yarn most probably snitched from their Christmas decorations at home. The girls wanted to pet the hatchling, stroke her, and exclaim over how glorious her scales were, how cute her nose, and how soft her wings.
Shameless reprobate! Keir knew she loved attention, but she had never lapped it up with quite such a brazen air about her. Auroral Storm Diamond crooned and stretched her flexible spine exactly like a cat, and blinked her huge eyes to make the girls squeal, ‘So adorable!’ ‘So sparkly and pretty!’ ‘What gorgeous eyes!’ She nuzzled their hands peremptorily, demanding scratches in just the right places, and complained if someone let up even for a second.
He went back to fletching yet another pile of arrows. Apart from raising a minor world-changing impossibility from the egg, he would do his part. Besides, he found the repetitive work calming. Normal.
Was he a fool for wishing for the mundane, when their family’s Dragonmas miracles still stood fresh in his memory?
Soon, he overheard, “Is yer mother a real Elf?”
“Of course, straight from the jungle,” Arami snorted.
“She’s beautiful. So’s yer big cousin,” said another of the girls.
One of the lads piped up, “Well, my Dad says Elves make evil magic. Is yer Mom a witch?”
“Ye daft Snowgre!” Narini snapped, unusually for the shyer twin. “She makes people better. Didn’t she make Old Granny Garadi’s tummy ulcer all better last week?”
“Aye, that she did,” several of the children agreed, and one added in a singsong voice, “Now’t wrong with that.”
Growing a mite bored of the conversation, Auroral Storm Diamond nipped off to sharpen her talons on a chunk of old stump Kalar had found for her. Better that than the furniture or the kitchen table, which was where she had started. One of the legs was still looking sadly chewed up. She stretched her body and limbs with low, throaty growls of pleasure as she raked the blackwood repeatedly before a wood-boring beetle caught her attention, tottering off across the floorboards.
Family and children alike watched in fascination as she stalked it across toward the front door, belly low to the floorboards, eyes ablaze with predatory intent. Keir found himself holding his breath – somehow, her extreme focus in that moment made for an irresistible spectacle. Pounce! Munch! The children cheered!
She shook herself, licked her paws, and returned being a shameless attention seeker.
After a minute, a lad put in, “Well, I heard folks say them Elves done get what’s coming to them.” When Shanryssill glanced sharply at him, he muttered, “Dinnae mean I liked it none. ’Twas mean words and hurtful.”
Arami said, “Well, that’s plain stupid-like. Just ’cause we got pointy ears?”
“I like yer ears.”
“Get off or I’ll box yer ears so hard, I will,” Arami growled, pushing the lad half-heartedly.
“My Mum says Elves is people same as us,” another girl, two anna older than the twins, put in. “Ye eat the same, sleep the same –”
“Poop the same,” laughed a lad.
“Ew!” yelled all the girls.
Across the table, Shanryssill’s eyes asked Kalar and Keir if they had heard that one particular comment. His father’s lips flattened into a grim line. Aloud, she said, “Funny thing, that – poop. Did ye ever see yer dragonet go anywhere, son? Like the kittens in their litterbox?”
Startled both by the acuity of the observation and the fact that it was made by his normally proper mother, he spluttered, “Nae. Actually, come to think of it … that’s weird.”
“Ye should check her, son,” his father said.
“Check what?”
“Lift her tail and check where our good Mauve dinnae deign to shine.”
Kalar, you old rascal! Shanryssill admonished. I see where our son gets it from. Will you please –
Aye. Keir, will you help me today, son?
Amazing how parents could do that. An entire conversation encapsulated in several words. He was still catching up in his mind, when his mother surreptitiously made a walking motion upon the kitchen counter with her fingers. His heart sank. Aye. This was not the first rumour they had heard in their small community. Two weeks back, one of the Elves who worked at the castle had suffered an accident – fell down the stairs. He did not remember what had happened, but a rumour circulated in town that he must have been pushed. Then, a dead rat tied to a stone had been thrown through the window of the Dalamyssill family house last week.
As they said in the mountains, the Wyverns circled.
Time to pack.
* * * *
When it came down to it, how did one make a decision to uproot a family from a community where they had spent most of their lives? Granny Garadi, who at a spritely ninety-three anna should have known better than to fetch her own firewood from the outside store during a moderate squall, slipped on the ice that same evening and struck her head. Shanryssill and Rhyl went to treat her.
Granny had an ear to the town’s pulse. She was not a gossip, but what she did not know about the local news and mood was not worth knowing.
Shanryssill teased her about being the King’s best spy.
Then, she returned and had a closed-door conference with Kalar. Father picked up his walking stick, and said he needed to go consult the castle’s archives. Keir had long since worked out what that meant: a private audience with the King – a properly private, man-to-man chat. As a former Co
mmander, his father still had the access accorded to his rank, and he was loved by many as much as he was hated by some, for his penchant for bluntly speaking his mind had ruffled more than a few feathers in the establishment over the anna.
Like father, like son, eh?
Still, the King’s Councillors had been quiet, content to let the family get on with the business of feeding a growing Dragon. Too quiet? One had to wonder. He also puzzled over how to train her for war. No issues in the intelligence sector, nor in the fiery instincts, but definitely a few challenges in the matter of stubbornness.
Like Dragon, like person … he chuckled to himself. Maybe he and the dragonet were even better suited to one another than he had imagined, although the additional responsibility still daunted him like Darkfall itself. If the King had meant to inject the fear of Trolls into his bones, aye. Success. He also knew he would not swap Auroral Storm Diamond for anything in all Tyanbran. Or Olde Earth, for that matter. She was a treasure – and raising her a zenith of honour – that still daily left him breathless.
Later, Prince Zyran came to visit and had a few jokes for the twins. Soon, another hushed conference proceeded behind closed doors; this time, the location being Keir’s old bedroom. He was quite certain he heard quiet sobbing in there. His best friend emerged more pasty of face than a Human who had spent five years locked in a dungeon.
He said, “I’ll be announcing my breakup with Rhyl to the court this evening.”
Keir made an open ‘O’ with his mouth.
“Dinnae ye look so devastated, ye silly … friend! It’s a cursed lie, alright? If ye must ken –” Zyran puffed out his cheeks, and then put his arms around Keir and held him tight. “Ye take care of her, alright? This is going to be …”
He left the words unspoken, but his moist eyes spoke volumes.
How could he be strong for his friend’s sake, when his heart had just flattened into a pancake within him? How could they break up? How could they not? His heart stung for his friends’ sake.
