A Hatchling for Springtide (Santaclaws Book 2)

by Marc Secchia

  “Ye want to ken?”

  “Aye, that I do.”

  “Ye roared, ‘Just stop yer infernal chatter, boy! Stop it! I dinnae want to hear every stupid thought that runs through yer empty head, ye little fool!’ ”

  His head dropped upon Keir’s shoulder. “Och nae. That was bad.”

  “I remember the look on yer face most of all –”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He had to speak, to voice it, that it might be let go forever. Keir whispered, “Ye looked disgusted, like I was an Ogre ye just wanted to slam back home to the swamps with one swipe of yer axe. Ye looked … crazed. I’m sorry too, but I remember being so scared –”

  “I cannae say how sorry I am for that, Keir. Ye see, it was fear. Fear shouted that day.”

  What? When his head shook involuntarily, his father explained, “Maybe ye’ll understand better one day when ye have kids of yer own, but all I knew was this terrible, debilitating fear that I had just killed ye. Murdered my own son. Never, in all my soldiering, had I come face-to-face with fear like unto that. And that fear ruled my tongue.”

  So that was it. His huge, tough, strong, ever-capable father had been afraid!

  The weight of a mountain lifted off his shoulders.

  They spoke more, but not for long. A whole group inside waited for them, needing to be told what to do, longing to follow a leader like his father. A leader who cared enough to cry.

  * * * *

  Quietly, like an unseen ripple running the length of the valley, the folk of the hamlet pulled together. Storage chests were ransacked. Clothing meant for the grandchildren or set aside for a needy day found its way out of closets to be dusted off and bundled onto the backs of ponies. They gathered up hard-won supplies to be shared out.

  There would be a polite knock upon the lintel.

  “We found something as we heard yer kids could use, Harik.”

  “Thank ye kindly.”

  “Cannae see as my lads will ever use these boots again. I was planning to throw ’em out next week, I was. Ye’ll put them to good use?”

  “That I surely will.”

  “Moths cannae get this ol’ tartan throw if ye take it. I fear those moths, I do.”

  “Bless ye.”

  “My Shazak will walk behind ye a ways an’ pick up any stray ponies as may be left in the dells.”

  Wink, wink.

  “I suspect he might be busy – aye, Santazathiar’s truth, around when the night wind blows.”

  “Och aye? May it blow ye safe home.”

  His father had drawn a line rather sensibly, Keir agreed, at trying to transport ponies across Drakabis Abyss. Sundry infants and crusty old-timers would be challenging enough. Ponies? No chance.

  That evening, a much larger migration began from Harik’s barn. Twenty-one ponies, one after the next. More people than he really dared to count. Most of them even had boots, hats and cloaks now, thanks to the generosity of the hamlet folk. Several of the men wore thick azure- or purple-patterned plaid cloths swathed about their bodies in the old mountains style, as did Keir. He refused to wear his padded snow jacket and see a child freeze. Besides, he carried portable heating all of his own. Sigh. On that note, he had a better idea.

  “Want to go keep someone warm?” Keir whispered.

  Keee-irr. Yrr-sss.

  “Good girl. Let’s go convince Grandpa Garamyssill that he wants to give ye a great long cuddle.”

  Grandpa resembled a small granite boulder perched improbably atop a zaribar pony, bundled as he was beneath his cloak and two blankets, and he was about as stubborn as a boulder too.

  Eventually, Keir flat-out lied. My father’s orders, honoured-father. You may share her with your honoured-wife if you see her become cold. Understand?

  A smile cracked his lips. I understand, my-honoured-son. Tell your father I’m grateful.

  I shall.

  The cavalcade moved out under the cover of darkness. Three Elves walked behind to brush away their tracks, while four scouted ahead. Keir skied and worked restlessly for a long while before he realised what bothered him so sorely. He meant to leave the Kingdom of Amarinthe, which had been home to him and his family all his life. The jungles that Shanryssill so looked forward to were not home to him, nor had they been home to many of these Elves for several generations. He did not know when he might be back. If he returned, would the reception be warm or a cold dagger in the back? Furthermore, as a half Elf, he had always been in the minority in Amarinthe. It would be the same in the jungle. He was tall for an Elf, and while little overtly marked him as Human, the differences were noticeable enough. Was he not more than a head taller than most of the Elvenkind here?

  Strange how complex the future and the past could be, all at once, intermingling in ways he did not fully understand.

  Each foot, each yard and each mile took him farther into an unknown future.

  Deeper into the night.

  * * * *

  Toward morning, Keir caught up with his father. He had taken to a pony again. A surreptitious rubbing of his right knee paused as he gauged who was approaching him, and then he said, “Keir. All good?”

  “Aye. The scouts took down a feral Snowgre. A wolf pack sniffed around our trail earlier, but we are many. They gave up.”

  “Good report, sol – ha ha – son. Did ye ask the Weapons Masters about teaching ye the ska’etaz?”

  “Aye, that I did. They openly stated that they lack the knowledge.”

  “Aye?”

  “The Elves of the Western Fringes regard the ska’etaz as an inferior weapon, unlike their Deep Reaches kin, which as ye ken, is Mom’s old stomping ground. Now’t that ye dare stomp on the ground in the jungles, mind, or ye would be the one being stomped on.”

  “Dracowurms? That old legend?” his father scoffed.

  “Mom swears they exist. Quite besides all the rest of the unpleasant carnivorous flora and fauna down there, as ye ken well and good.”

  Sevens-up! Kalar agreed, stroking his beard just like an Elf might stroke his chin. That was an old saying, which admonished young Elves to stay more than seven hundred feet off the ground. Fact. Elves did go hunting lower, but like many things in the jungles, one trod lightly in the lower reaches. Respect the jungle or be eaten alive was another popular proverb, particularly useful at communal mealtimes.

  Like the myriad types of Sea Dragons, the Dracowurms which lived beneath the jungle floor, burrowing between the mighty, tangled root systems of the jungle giants, were another draconic species said to be of lesser intelligence – only, Keir understood that no-one had ever approached one closely enough to ask the question, and returned to tell the tale. The oceans were not for sailing. The jungle floor was not for walking. And the Giantish Darûz – well, maybe the Giants were plain mad.

  Good thing General Ja’axu was not around to eavesdrop on his thoughts.

  Chewing his lower lip until he tasted blood, he said, “Dad, ye’d agree those attacks were well-organised, aye for a truth?”

  His father’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Battle bones?”

  “Aye, since I’ve never actually been in a real battle – ye ken, more like light skirmishes, and – alright, I’ll get to the point. I suspect a messenger hawk might long since have been sent out. To me that means danger on the farther trail and maybe, sabotage at the Abyss? As for Garrikar Town –”

  Kalar growled, “Thanks for the dose of cheer.”

  “Pleasure. Stay sharp, soldier.”

  That earned him a fond clout on the shoulder. “Commander, sir!”

  Toward dawn, they pitched camp in a sheltered draw. Soon, the heavy overcast clouds began to shed their load and the overcrowded tents were wreathed in drifting azure snowflakes. Auroral Storm Diamond nipped about, playing with and chasing the flurries with mock snaps and growls, until her lightning power flared once again and she set a bush alight.

  She approached him contritely. Keee-irr?

  That’s alright, lass. Just a
bush.

  Kneeling, he made to touch his forehead to hers, but she backed up skittishly as if she found the gesture unexpectedly threatening. An invasion of personal space? A low growl began in her throat. She hunkered down, beginning to flare her wings before pulling up with a startled, apologetic whine. Her brightening radiance subsided before he spoke softly to her; their eyes touched and fused as if the connection had been bathed in molten lava, and he sensed her agitation as she evaluated the fiery emotions within.

  Alright there, lass. Being fire is part of the whole draconic experience, I’m sure, he said. Raging about destroying unsuspecting bushes is part of the deal. Right up there with smoking Certanshi for breakfast.

  Cocking her head drolly, she regarded him askance before initiating the habitual touch with the air of one experimenting with an unknown danger.

  Lights played behind his eyes, but Tyanbran did not summarily explode. Her paw touched the pulse of his neck as if she wondered what manner of beast he might be, so different to her. Flashes of those unfamiliar, deep-bellied clouds played through his mind. Was this related to the imprinting process? Could she be trying to evaluate threats that might somehow be stored in a draconic species memory, against what she experienced here? Or even trying to connect directly with his mind? The whole matter of speech did strike him as an enterprise she found tricky, even unnatural.

  Maybe Dragons communicated in pure emotions born of fire, and this numbskull was not exactly equipped to even know where to start.

  Keee-irr sssss-af, she purred at last, as if this decided some matter of importance.

  Auroral Storm Diamond is safe with me, too, he returned, startled as the statement came out as grimly as the sweep of his ska’etaz.

  She turned, scanning the campsite with eager eyes. Shrrr-shrrr sssss-af. Riril sssss-af! Isss … ssss-af?

  Checking her family one by one.

  We’ll do our best, lass. We’re fine here. Keir pointed to Arami and Narini. Father has set a watch. You can play. There are no bad men here.

  The dragonet inclined her head. Grrrr-dd.

  Off to play.

  Keir shook his head slowly. Alright. Just another something to pop into his mental digestive system. For those images … he had to wonder, was she even born of this world, and of elements known to Humankind or Elvenkind?

  A living liquid diamond.

  Holy Santazathiar, give him strength!

  During the course of the day, several inches filtered down, before an unexpected squall struck in the late afternoon and turned the beautiful drifting flakes into a tearing blizzard. Keir crouched with his family, Elf, Human and Dragon, inside their small canvas tent and listened to his mother tell the twins stories about the jungle. They did not remember anything, having visited when they were just one anna old. It was hard to imagine warmth, spreading green boughs and liana swings out here in the high mountains, with a brisk Winterfall squall whistling in.

  In the deep evening they broke camp, packed everyone onto the ponies and set off again. The wind had dropped, but the snow continued to fall in abundance. Kalar was keen to reach Drakabis Valley to check on the state of the zip line. The departing Elves had tried to trigger a rumour that they had travelled by the easier, more easterly route, but … they’d see soon enough.

  Late the following afternoon, the cavalcade reached the Abyss. The scouts had already reported back that the zip line was intact, but required readjustment. Keir’s shoulders slumped further and further as he considered Rhyl’s likely reaction to the state in which he had left the Mother Tree.

  Not his fault. Right?

  No, the mystical entity had merely picked him out for express delivery of a sky-fire egg.

  Had he not been present … sigh.

  That would be the point. The timing, one might suggest, was exceedingly suspicious. Keir had not generally been one to believe in serendipity, but when it practically Dragon-slapped him across the earhole, he would be pretty foolish not to sit up and pay attention.

  He startled as his own shadow appeared for the first time in several days. Mauve was out! Glancing up at the thin line of zaribar ponies, looking so tiny and forlorn against the backdrop of the towering peaks of the Amaranthine Bulwark and the almighty Dragon Kings beyond, he thrilled as many of the Elves began to glance about in surprise. A child’s merry giggling broke the deep silence. As if a mysterious, profoundly affecting signal had been given, bright chatter suddenly burst out here and a titter rose there, the sounds rippling over their column as if an aviary of songbirds had unexpectedly emerged in this snowy landscape. The noticeably warm sunshine spread across their path before scooting up the cliffs to ignite the great peaks. The great soaring slopes came ablaze with beauty, while Mauve burnished the peaks as if the gleaming run-off of a mauve and azure furnace poured down their flanks.

  It was disconcerting to see so many Elves together in one place. Blonde, silver and white hair predominated, apart from his father’s brown and Narini’s striking sable hair, rare indeed amongst the Elvenkind. Most had now thrown off their snow caps, the better to enjoy the unexpected gift of sunshine. Elven-white hair was pure white, like his; the silver, not the grey of aging Human hair, but a metallic, lustrous sheen, and the blonde, a pale cornsilk or platinum colour, no darker.

  Auroral Storm Diamond peeked out from beneath Grandma Garamyssill’s robe. The old lady bent close to explain something to the dragonet, waving her hand to indicate the glorious peaks for all the world as if she taught one of the children.

  Exactly as it should be.

  Every day the dragonet convinced him that she was more person than animal, but it was not easy to make that transition in one’s mind, was it? Not when the unseen mores of society, background, upbringing and attitudes informed a person’s worldview in ways deeper than conscious thought.

  Then, she curled up to give herself a vigorous scratch down below. Ugh. Save a conversation about social niceties for another time!

  The eventide ride down into Drakabis Valley was incomparable. Rarely had Keir beheld such perfection. Thick beams of sunshine gleamed off every branch and pine needle, every rock was granted a raiment of kingly splendour, every dip and rise and variation stood highlighted by the changeable quality of the light. Even the birds rustled about eagerly, peeping out of their nests and winter holes in tree trunks, to raise a chirruping chorus of amazement. Beyond that, over the twin Dragon Kings, a formidable rampart of storm built toward the highest heavens, giving the sky in that direction an ominous, khaki-purple aspect so familiar to him. Yet, it was not shifting as fast as he would have expected. Darkfall threatened, but it was as though it held off a ways, and he did not think he sensed the paranormal powers that had prowled the skies that night.

  With a firm shove of the ski poles, he caught up with his father. “Behind the peaks. Darkfall, Dad. But I dinnae think it’s really moving this way.”

  Kalar pursed his lips, considering the sky. “Stuck over Garrikar Town?”

  “Aye, a true word,” he agreed

  Both their pairs of eyes turned to consider the trail behind one more time. No sign of pursuit in the offing, yet they both had the battle bones. Keir clenched his fists. Never let up on the vigilance. Not for one second, for that was the second which killed.

  “Reckon there’s time enough to make the crossing?”

  “Only if ye wish to do it after dark, Dad, which I wouldn’t recommend. Now’t with these in tow – it needs time and care, especially for some of the children.”

  “Aye, ye’ve the rights of that, lad.”

  Kalar whistled in the scouts. When they arrived, he said in fluent Elven, Find us a campsite in the trees, not too close to the Abyss. Warn all the parents and children not to approach within a hundred feet. We’ve no idea if there’s a cornice over that drop just waiting to break off. And, bid everyone buckle up for a storm. It might hit overnight.

  The following morning, the storm still lay in wait.

  Chapter 12: Onward to Gol
d

  11th of Marus Month

  Fall of Winterfall

  KEIR HAD NEVER CONSIDERED himself one for portents, but the sight of that almighty Darkfall storm looming behind the Dragon Kings peaks made his neck prickle as if he were being slowly spit-roasted for an Ogre’s breakfast. Deep purple thunderheads piled upon each other until they reached miles up into the sky. All that pent-up power gave him a visceral shudder; he sensed it made Auroral Storm Diamond skittish, too. Was that not her birthplace? Yet her behaviour betrayed mistrust, even fear – which did not square up in the slightest. He gave the phenomenon such a prolonged, suspicious glare that Rhyl in passing teased him about attempting to intimidate the storm out of their path.

  Girls. Simultaneously vexatious and indispensable.

  “Keir!” his father roared. “Stop yer lollygagging and get ye to work!”

  He barely had half a mug of fragrant tea inside his belly. Gulping down the remainder, he rushed off to get started.

  Father, being father, was bark, bustle and bite where needed. Quite the localised storm. However, with a hearty chuckle here and a comradely backslap there, he had the entire company up and running in far less time than Keir thought possible. Meantime, he clambered over the Abyss on a nice loose loop of rope, trying not to think too hard about how he had visited it last time around. Rhyl came close on his heels. She climbed ropes as if born to them – which she was, he supposed. Not much to choose between ropes and jungle vines.

  He should say something about a more important topic, however. Rhyllaryssill-my –

  She’s alright, Keirthynal-my-heart.

  Uh … As usual, his cousin stole all logic and reason straight off the tip of his tongue.

  The Lailan-Sarémia-tay-Vænar – that’s what you were concerned about, right?

  Is my every worry written upon my forehead? he asked irritably. Two nights with little sleep had given him a pounding headache.

  Quite. Keep trying to outpace a slug over there, slow-blossom.

  Slugs and blossoms? Hardly a way to improve his mood! Keir scrambled up the final section of the hawser, deliberately kicking down some snow to annoy Rhyl. She did not annoy easily. Instead, she just smacked his foot and bade him move his overstuffed Elf butt at a pace faster than bark peeling off a tree.