A Hatchling for Springtide (Santaclaws Book 2)

by Marc Secchia

  “Really?”

  Tucking back a strand of her lustrous silver hair which had become plastered over her left eye, she ‘tested’ his toes one by one, shushing his protests all the while. The sensation was not at all right, but sensation it was – a weird, prickly irritation of his abused nerves he could not bear. Curiously, he looked at her right hand and arm, which had been gnawed upon by the wolfhound pack. Not only were the silver patterns apparently created by Storm’s blood dripping upon her arm still present, but the swollen patch near her wrist which he had glimpsed before, had not abated. Her scars had healed well, but the discolouration and the evident swelling remained. What could this mean?

  His own wound from the stinging creature which had almost snatched up Auroral Storm Diamond for a snack, had also healed reasonably well, but he would definitely have four scars to tell the tale.

  Somehow, he imagined that this adventure of bringing up the first Dragoness seen in Tyanbran in over eighty anna, would not be the sort which did not leave scars – both the seen and the unseen sort. He was no longer that lad who had set out to save his kingdom not so long ago. He had turned fifteen meantime, but even that was hardly the milestone by which he knew he would forever measure these last few months.

  Eventually, he said slyly, “Rhyl, imagine Prince Zyran seeing ye in the noo, in yer underthings?”

  “Keir! I’m now’t nude!”

  “I said ‘in the noo,’ ye silly jungle fruit.”

  She made a face over his foot. “Noo, nude, nothing. Ye need yerself a girlfriend, Mister Dragon Guardian.”

  “Poor sweet Prince, I’m not sure he’d be prepared for such a sight,” Shanryssill put in, willingly joining in the teasing. “Would he blush like ye, niece?”

  “I am now’t blushing!”

  “Ye so are.”

  Keir needled, “Or is that the sunset reflecting off the waters, dinnae ye think? I ken nae fiercer glow.”

  Rhyl splashed water at him. With a roguish guffaw, Keir heaved two large handfuls back – revenge, plus a decidedly unfair extra dose. His diminutive cousin emerged spluttering and brawling.

  And that, as Elves would say, shook the leaves on every tree. Within a minute, not a single Elf from the youngest to the oldest could resist leaping into a rampaging water fight. Perhaps they had seen too much, and needed a moment’s release. Besides him five other Elves had been badly injured. They could not participate, and those deaths up in the mountains … how did a person ever forget? Keir slipped down off his seat and joined in rather gingerly, siding with the twins against his father, which really wasn’t fair. Buckets for hands. Honestly.

  Auroral Storm Diamond became far too wound-up by the massive storm and the boisterousness, chirruping his name at an increasingly shrill pitch and volume as she raced up and down next to the pool. She set off her lightning power three times before Kalar snuck up on her and tugged her into the water – probably with the intent of silencing her cries.

  To everyone’s surprise, including her own, after sinking to the bottom of the pool, the dragonet swished her wings and kicked all four paws, and swam off underwater!

  Well. Instinct ruled the animal kingdom.

  Although, not instinct enough to know to swim to the surface in order to breathe! Keir dived to rescue her, earning himself a simultaneous telling-off from his mother, cousin, father and the dragonet. He promptly tossed her into the water again, which was despicable behaviour of the worst degree, if Storm’s spluttering rage was anything to judge by.

  He had to apologise. But no grovelling. After all, being a mighty Dragon Guardian definitely involved saving his baby from drowning.

  Gnrrr! the dragonet complained meantime, worrying at her tail once more.

  Keir was about to make a joke, when to his shock, a whole strip of her hide ripped right off! Neat trick. Not one he would have liked to try for himself. Well, now it was stuck on the little spikes along her tail. Reaching down to help, he tried to tug at the hide with his fingers.

  Nrrr! she said crossly. Her whirl whipped her tail against the metal rod clamped to his shinbone.

  He went down as if chopped off at the knee.

  * * * *

  Apparently, he was the only Elf permitted to laze about whilst dinner was prepared for him. In Dad-speak, that sounded more like, ‘Move yer skinny backside one inch from this spot, boy, and I swear I’ll tie ye to that tree until eternity comes, hear me?’

  Rhyl waggled an eyebrow at him behind his father’s back. He kept his lips perfectly straight. A smile would not have been received well. Meantime, Auroral Storm Diamond tied herself into knots trying to strip her own hide off. Moulting, his mother said knowledgably.

  Moth-eaten rug, eh? Her scales peeled off in strange ways, but all those contortions meant she was making headway. She was also one frustrated dragonet. His offer to help was met with a snarl, Nrrr! Keee-irr, nrrr!

  I’ll help. Peel you like a fruit –

  She showed him her entire set of pristine fangs. Ah, the half Elf would be the one being peeled if he did not watch his tongue. He was learning to translate Dragonish very well indeed.

  The wind suddenly changed direction. Cool, moist air ruffled his spiky hair. Needed a cut, he reminded himself. Within minutes, the massively piled-up black clouds which had been playing over the jungles decided they would very much like to play somewhere else, thank you kindly, and that somewhere else simply had to be directly above their chosen campsite. Scooting over, the clouds dumped their gift of warm jungle rain upon the heads of the supposedly grateful Elves for twenty minutes in which the world receded in a lashing torrential downpour, together with a concussive concerto of reverberating thunder and strobe lightning, before hurrying on to hurl itself at the not-so-distant mountains in a final ebullient paroxysm.

  Kalar checked the campsite. Nobody wanted to be camping in a gulley or lower portion of the trail when the flash floods roared back from the slopes in an hour or two and returned most of that water to the jungle floor.

  As the darkness closed in, Keir could just about make out the leafy tops of the jungle giants to the North, stripped of their shroud of cloud and humidity for the first time since they had been able to see past the hills. The splendour of nature awaited. He smiled to himself.

  Tomorrow’s dawn would be something special.

  Chapter 20 To the Jungles

  27th of Marus Month

  Rising Springtide

  NO NEED TO WAKE with the dawn. His dragonet’s night-long antics had seen to that. She must have rubbed herself against every bush, boulder and tree within a hundred yards of the campsite, complaining at various levels ranging from irritating mosquito to marauding Crag Wyvern, as Keir dubbed her noises. He guessed he had drifted off at some point despite the pain in his leg, because next he was aware, the sky pinked up in the East and Auroral Storm Diamond wandered up to his pallet wearing what amounted to bunched-up Dragon-hide socks.

  To say she looked unhappy with her lot in life was an understatement. Her wings draggled upon the ground, the half-skinned tail, tucked down between her legs as low as it could go.

  He beckoned, thinking at her, Come here, my darling dragonet. Let me comfort you.

  She sidled over, murmuring, Keee-irr? Their eyes touched, re-establishing relationship. He sensed her guilt at how she had treated him, her deep frustration, her underlying concern for his condition. Bellying down, she licked the length of his wound thoroughly, keeping her head cocked askance so that she could continue to gauge his reaction. He smiled encouragement. Maybe a smile looked aggressive to a Dragon, a baring of fangs? Whether it was her saliva or magic, he did not know, but the tingling that penetrated the long scar had a peculiarly melodic aspect, shifting and playing in time with the swirling of red, orange and even blue flame in her lambent eyes.

  At length, he whispered, “Look ye to the dawn, my diamond treasure. Look ye well and long.”

  Glorious.

  Mauve’s rising burnished the treetops as if
the jungle were somehow backlit by the jaws of a furnace. The uncontainable radiance spread farther and wider before their wondering gazes, rippling across the green giants as he imagined that waves must travel across the ocean. This was such a realm, as vast and wide and wild as the Cyantar itself. Slight tendrils of mist steamed off the hot jungle. The perspective was deceptive. From up here, he imagined one simply could amble out upon the great leafy boughs with their leaves as broad as an Elf was tall, but in reality, the gigantic foliage hid a realm deeper, wilder and more dangerous than almost any other in Tyanbran. They sat eye level with the tallest jungle behemoths. These trees stood well over a mile tall, and several of the Sacred Trees, much taller still. And the colours! The eye drank in every imaginable shade of green, with some hints of canary yellow, deep burgundy and a wine-purple for the arazimbis giants, all seen against a backdrop of fiery-mauve sky.

  A light northerly breeze brought redolent, complex and earthy scents to nostrils eager to receive news of home. Myriad blossoms. Rich spices. Loamy earth. Giant leaves. The crisp tang of moisture. The slight vanilla hint that was said to originate with the mighty Dracowurms, but indeed characterised many of the dracoflora and subdraconic species of his native realm.

  Keee-irr … Storm cleared her throat. Keee-irr, brr-ii-fii …

  Beautiful? Aye.

  She could not produce the ‘L’ sound against her palate properly as yet. He wondered if that was a physical issue with her forked tongue, or a developmental one. Idly, he worked his fingernails beneath the loose hide along her spine, eliciting lengthy purrs of pleasure. Krrrr-krrrr. Mrrr.

  More? Of course, my diamond heart. Only if you promise to scratch my back in return from time to time.

  She gave him her quizzical, lopsided grin to show that she understood his humour, and arched her spine against the pressure of his hand. The new scales beneath the old were as soft as Yak butter, and must be incredibly sensitive, he realised now, for the sensation that reached his awareness was of pleasure bordering on discomfort. Like an itch which grew itchier the more one scratched at it – much like a healing leg, actually.

  He worked steadily, trying to separate the old hide from the new. It stuck in multiple places, leading him to think that the moulting process must not be quite ready to be completed as yet. Supple as it was, her hide was incredibly tough, and the new scales beneath were even more pristine than before, with an inner silken quality that varied in luminescence as the light changed. This phenomenon was called chatoyancy, he had learned from Councillor Varanthyal, who counted the study of gemstones and semiprecious stones of Tyanbran amongst his hobbies. He had been forced to leave his prized collection behind – but on the other side of the coin, had picked up nine previously unknown specimens amongst Santazathiar’s treasures.

  Were the new scales on her body thicker and more closely packed than before? Intriguing.

  His attention wandered from the spectacular, spreading dawn-fires to the encampment. Most of the Elves were beginning to stir now. Granny lay very still on a pallet like his, her hip immobilised as best they could and her arm heavily strapped. Too still? His own heart almost stopped before his sharp eyes caught the shallow rise and fall of her chest. He hated moments like that, when the acid fear spread in his stomach. There had been too many during the course of his mother’s illness.

  So melancholy.

  He stroked the Auroral Storm Diamond’s scales tenderly. Did parents sometimes wish they could protect their younglings from all of life’s travails? Impossible, yet one wished …

  Softly, but in rising tones, he sang the haunting, ancient paean of his people:

  I stood among the treetops, o Elven kindred dear,

  I saw the jungles spread beneath me, o Elven kindred who hear,

  Countless trees of oneness sprung, o Elven kindred near,

  Lifted by the boreal wind, this was my soul’s song:

  We are one.

  We are Elves.

  We are one.

  The dragonet attended with every pore of her body, utterly still for once.

  He had never sung for her, had he?

  When his rendition trailed off into silence, Grandpa and Granny Garamyssill said formally, Thank you for reminding us today, Keirthynal-our-history-keeper, that today’s wind is of the jungle, the boreal wind that brings scent of our home. Let us sing together.

  The Elves rose and knelt as one. Even Keir struggled to his feet and managed a very awkward kneeling position upon his right knee. No way the left would have taken that. The joint remained stiff and visibly swollen – but that concern vanished as he took in Granny’s expression.

  “Dad, could we raise Mrs Garamyssill for the singing?”

  “Good idea, lad.”

  “I’ll be nae burden to no-one,” Granny began to protest, but gave up with a faint puff of air into her cheeks. “If ye must insist.”

  Kalar tipped her up gently until she too could gaze out over the mighty Arabaxa Jungles; his great strength made a mockery of the task. “There. All good?”

  “I’ll be good as leaves on a branch once we enter the jungles,” she replied, her eyes filling with moisture as she gazed out over the endless treetops. Ah, my soul, my soul exults, that I should once more hearken to the wondrous dappled glades of my birthplace! Santazathiar’s paw rest upon you, kind-soul who raised my spirit.

  Keir bowed his head in acknowledgement.

  Reverently, the Elves repeated the verse together, twice more.

  * * * *

  Later, as they hiked along the final stretch of the trail together, Narini came up to Keir’s litter as he swayed along, and folded her hand into his. She walked in silence for a long time, unusually long even for the shyer, dark-haired twin, before she asked:

  “Keir, why did ye sing this morning?”

  He smiled across at her. “Because it was in my heart to sing.”

  Another very long silence.

  “I remember ye sang when I was little – littler than now,” she corrected herself, chuckling at her own joke. “Ye sang me to sleep so many nights.”

  “Och aye, that I did.”

  He meant to joke, but the unexpected softness in her mauve eyes – wonderful eyes, he decided on the spot – ambushed the silliness right out of him.

  Earnestly, she continued, “Why did ye stop?”

  “Stop what?”

  “Singing.”

  “Well … uh, I dinnae have the best voice,” he stumbled, realising he skirted the truth but struggling to give it voice. “I – I mean, cousin Rhyl has a wonderful singing voice, d’ye ken? And Mom. I’m more like Dad, all rough and burry.”

  He was self-conscious about it, too, especially when singing with so many musically capable Elves, but he did not say so.

  Despite that she was but a sprite, he could not bear the depth and wisdom of her gaze. When had Narinyssill learned to touch a person’s secrets like this? Or was this her growing Mystic power?

  He added, uncomfortably, “Truth is, it was when the sadness came upon me – because of Mom – that was when I stopped singing, Narini.”

  “Ye should sing more, brother.”

  Open mouth, catch flies, shut mouth. Did she mean …

  “The best songs come from here. Like this morning.” She laid her free hand upon his heart. “Like what ye did for Granny. That was a heart song, Keir.”

  Wordless.

  “Yer the bestest big brother ever,” she said, becoming small and five anna old and carefree all in the blink of an eye. “When yer gone, I’ll come find ye.”

  He clicked his jaw shut. Wrong impression. “Narini, whatever d’ye mean?”

  With a winsome smile, she said steadily, “Dinnae ye be afraid, Keirthynal. The heart of Santaclaws himself beats within ye, in the noo, and – ye see, that Dragonmas Day, Mommy’s wasn’t the only miracle we should be thankful for. Daddy had a miracle, too. And Arami, and me. Yer heart learned to sing again, Keir. We were all healed together. All the family.”

/>   “And –” his voice cracked “– Rhyl?”

  “Her miracle is coming, ye shall see – oh …”

  “Catch her!” he yelled.

  Grief! Somehow he landed upon his back with Narini slumped over his chest, and his bad leg still sticking up in the air.

  Instant promotion to court jester. Plus, he had yet another bump on his head. This was developing into a bad habit, but if it kept his baby sister from harm, could it be considered good?

  He hated being the centre of the kerfuffle.

  Shanryssill came alongside in a flash, together with Auroral Storm Diamond. Meantime, his father called the march to a halt. She said, “What happened – Keir – ye – did she?”

  “Aye, Mom. She was –” he switched to Elven to speak the untranslatable phrase, Infusing a soul by truth-spoken.

  Being a Mystic.

  “She encouraged me to sing more. She said I hadn’t sung since … before. Ye ken.”

  His mother touched his shoulder. “Oh, Keir –”

  “Actually, ye have a very expressive tone, cousin,” Rhyl said brightly. “In the noo, what damage have ye done to yer thick noggin this time?”

  “Nae, it’s all rough and –”

  She shot him a very Rhyl look, eyebrow arched. “Rough? Stop talking leaf-rot. It’s perfect for yer adorable poetic side.”

  He blushed furiously. Girls!

  “He’s a dab hand on the sayathril Elven harp, too, if only he’d actually practice,” Shanryssill teased, but her fingers squeezed his shoulder again. Solidarity. “Son, ye need to start being thoughtful about how much trouble ye throw yerself beneath.”

  The dragonet licked his cheek happily. Keee-irr!

  “Och aye, I’d belly-flop onto a boulder any day for my family. Jump under a tree, and – Rhyl! Honestly? I’m fine.”

  His cousin ruffled his hair fondly, and then tapped the side of his skull with her knuckles, making a hollow knocking sound with her tongue, exactly like a crimson-crested woodpecker. “Hardest substance in Tyanbran, I do believe.”

  “Thin ice,” he snorted.

  “Well, let’s get ye back up on yer royal carriage, yer Highness.”