A Hatchling for Springtide (Santaclaws Book 2)

by Marc Secchia

  Rhyl dabbed at the corners of her eyes. You …

  Aye. Hopeless dreamer.

  I wouldn’t have put it quite that way, Keirthynal-my-heart.

  At last they strode beneath the great natural archway, five times Keir’s height and ninety feet wide, where even soft Elven footsteps echoed as if they were ten times their number. Seen through the arch, the cloudless sky gleamed poignantly mauve and the sprawling jungles, an impossibly vibrant patchwork of variegated colours. While the jungle vista was predominantly green, on the horizon he thought he discerned the living wood-mountain of vermilion and flame-orange leaves that was the Mariân-Tyrime-tay-Vænar, the immense Sacred Tree that towered head and shoulders above even the greatest jungle giants. It was called the Elven heart, or the heart of Faifarathi Elvenholme.

  As they emerged from the cool shade, it was as if they stood upon the shores of an ocean. Three-quarters of the full compass of their sight was sylvan glory, and the rest was mountains. A mile ahead stood the great wooden structure called the Bridge Beyond. It connected the mainland, as the Elves called the non-jungle realm, to the jungle, standing anchored upon the trunk of a tree which had once toppled against the mountain bulwark but continued to flourish with a dint of stubbornness that struck Keir as particularly impressive. Many branches curved right over the trail before dipping, rooting themselves on the far side, and shooting a quarter-mile up the mountain slopes in great, fragrant sprays of cream blossoms.

  As one of the few entry points to the Elven realms, the Bridge Beyond was symbolically guarded by the Border Rangers, a unit with a long and illustrious history. Commander Kalar had oftentimes wished aloud that they would ride to Amarinthe’s aid. His father’s jaw tightened as he gazed ahead at the immobile, green-robed guards.

  The Commander had business of his own with the Elven Council.

  He knew that coded messages had been despatched from Garrikar Town to King Daryan, keeping him up-to-date on events related to this claim of allegiance to Sankurabi Bloodfang, and the Certanshi shape-changers. Their copies were good, but thankfully not faultless. Pray they never perfected their dark art!

  Aramyssill and Narinyssill bounded ahead with the kittens and Auroral Storm Diamond in tow, but when they approached the stern-faced guards, they took pause and drew together shyly. One of the green robes stepped forward with a snappy salute, and then he knelt and spoke gently to the children. Recognition belatedly ignited his memories. Great-Uncle Garbanyal! What a great surprise – pun intended! He knew some of their clan worked for the Border Guard, but that used to be out West, on the border with the Human Kingdoms and the Dwarf Enclave, an isolated Dwarf Tribe that worked extensively with the Northern Pentate in their specialties of stonework and mining.

  As the small cavalcade drew up, welcoming smiles wreathed the faces of the Border Guard. Aye, there might have been a plan, right? One man broke into helpless weeping when he found his relative absent from among their number, and received the sad news with ululating sorrow that dampened the gladness of the others. Shanryssill hugged several relatives and introduced them to her children, while Great-Uncle Garbanyal allowed himself to be swamped by a Human-style hug from Kalar before wandering over to greet Keir.

  Tough journey, Keirthynal-most-treasured? he said, taking in the strapped leg. Welcome back! We’ve been waiting a few days extra for you. There are more relatives waiting at the first waystation within. Will you walk – will you be able to cross the Bridge Beyond?

  Traditionally, all Elves walked across the bridge, even if it was just a few steps. This was symbolic of a spiritual process of reconnecting with their homeland, or disconnecting when leaving. Even Granny grew twitchy when her relatives urged her to be carried over.

  I’ve put up with more pain than you youngsters can imagine, she groused. A little more won’t hurt. Yes, yes, you can support me. But I will take several steps myself at the very least. If that young rascal Keir can manage with his injury, then so will I!

  Ah, good to be dragged in by name, wasn’t it?

  As the first round of cheerful welcome began to show signs of abating, Great-Uncle Garbanyal gave a sharp whistle and his unit formed up again, standing exactly where the bridge met rock – half a boot on wood, half on stone. This was also tradition. Drawing themselves up, they shouted in perfect concert, State your names and business in the Elven territories!

  Here came the formal greetings. Nothing like the family and clan greetings to come, mind …

  Grandpa Garamyssill stood first in line, due to his revered age. With a hugely wrinkly smile, he declared his name and clan, and paused to consider the question. My business? Why, nothing more than coming home, I suppose. What say you, wife-most-beloved?

  Home sounds wonderful, she said.

  Enter with joy! roared the soldiers, drawing aside to allow them to take their first steps onto the bridge.

  The old-timers had not been home for seventeen anna.

  When it came to his turn, he struggled off his litter and accepted his father’s arm for a brace. Great-Uncle Garbanyal roared, State your names and business in the Elven territories!

  Kalar Aryssillati, his father stated proudly. Here to bring my family home.

  Keirthynal Aryssillati, he said, and this is my magnificent Dragoness, Auroral Storm Diamond.

  Breaking with tradition, his relative and all the soldiers – faces alight with wonder – bowed very deeply to her, as if she were royalty.

  Garbanyal said, May the daughter of Santazathiar himself always be welcome in the Arabaxa Jungles. Enter with joy!

  She bowed back. Regal to the very tips of her talons.

  Then, they crossed the bridge together – one limping in pain, the other sashaying over as if she owned every leaf in the jungles. He could only chuckle and shake his head. Who was taking over whose life, here?

  * * * *

  Keir wanted to walk all the way to the first waystation under his own strength, but his calf and foot began to ache in the downward position. Even the slightest jolt sent pain shooting up his leg. He eventually had to give up and ride the rest of the way.

  The timbers of the Bridge Beyond were seventy feet wide and five feet thick, polished smooth by the passage of time and many, many feet and goods carts. A veritable highway in jungle terms. Auroral Storm Diamond trotted alongside his not-so-luxurious litter in full curiosity mode, as he had come to consider her behaviour. Head and tail erect. Oversized paws stepping sprightly, spine slightly arched, her eyes so alight with inquisitiveness that he imagined her wearing a pair of brilliant white lanterns. Everything she took in was, Wirrit, Keee-irr? Wirrit?

  Wirrit here, wirrit there, wirrit-wirrit everywhere. He chuckled at the old rhyme that popped into his head, explaining away busily as they passed through the first layer of foliage into a warm, humid green world. How had he forgotten the gentle quality of jungle light? The wonderful woody scents? The constant background concerto of birds chirruping and singing, and insects buzzing was broken by the odd throaty roar of beasts that dwelled lower down in the complex system of jungle canopy layers.

  And … wirrit? This for a bold teal butterfly, a little bigger than her in wingspan. Storm seemed torn between admiring its pretty wing patterns and deciding if the insect might be edible.

  “That one’s poisonous,” he cautioned. Although, who knew if what was poisonous to an Elf might be nutritious to a Dragoness?

  Entering the warm filtered light beneath the first boughs, Keir discovered he had forgotten the precise fruity-floral scent up here in the mid-high canopy. He breathed deep. Sigh. Here were the familiar overarching boughs, the lianas dangling from them used by Elves too impatient to move at a mere walking pace. Several of the Border Guard rushed ahead in long, swift loops as they lead from vine to vine, no doubt to warn the waystation of the new arrivals. He was not used to this degree of fuss over an arrival – word of their travails must have travelled ahead, surely?

  Here in the lesser light beneath the thick veils of
greenery, it became clearer than ever that Auroral Storm Diamond generated her own radiance. She flitted through the dappled shadows, pausing to snap up a careless dragonfly. It slid down her gullet, foot-long wings and all; the fluttering as it went down evidently amused her and she made a big show of licking her fangs afterward.

  The half-mile span of the Bridge Beyond brought them into the mid-upper reaches of a thao-uzæ giant nut tree, intersecting with a major bough that was again a walkway in its own right. Here the cavalcade, gathering relatives, friends and well-wishers by the minute from every possible direction including above and below, turned toward the waystation. This was a wooden building that entirely encircled the trunk, three hundred feet in diameter at this point, and in several places extended along further branches. According to the traditional Elven style, it was fashioned over a period of anna by master craftsmen and women who used their magic to shape the living wood into the desired forms, so that the spacious building became little more than a bulge in the great trunk, while creating no disruption to the natural flow of the tree’s nutrients to the heights.

  On a broad veranda surrounding the building, a great throng of Elves awaited them. At least a third of the Aryssillati Clan had made the journey en masse, he estimated, momentarily flustered by the throng of cousins and relatives, for Shanryssill was the third of seven sisters and also had four older brothers, eleven siblings in all. Keir had long since lost count of his cousins. There were new ones, too, since he had last visited the jungle. They wore forest green clothing in the main, sleeveless tunic tops and loose-fitting trousers or shorts for the men, and more tailored tunic tops and leggings for the women and girls. He could not recall seeing quite this many colours, however. The younger set must be stepping out with fiery orange flares upon the thighs, and a new material that appeared infeasibly organic and leafy – perhaps a kind of wearable camouflage? Many of the girls’ outfits especially sported leafy tailoring, and they wore silver flowers in their hair.

  Ah, joyous pandemonium!

  Uncle Kalar! Aunty Shanryssill! How well you look! came the shouts. Keir! Keir! Where’s the Dragon? The dragonet shrank against his litter in evident alarm, and promptly dived beneath his blanket. He shared a touch of her alarm, too. This was a great many Elves in one small space, some even swinging overhead on lianas to get a better view, and despite their diminutive Elven stature in comparison to the Humans he was accustomed to, when it came to greetings, they were neither shy nor quiet about the matter.

  His litter bearers set him down and vanished to go find their own relatives. Lost in a jubilant stampede, he sat forgotten, taking it all in. So very, very odd to experience this great homecoming at knee height! Auroral Storm Diamond quivered atop his chest.

  He patted her back soothingly. Nothing to worry about, darling. It’s just loud – family.

  Wirrit?

  Family, sweet-fires. Lots and lots and lots of family!

  His Clan had to be over two thousand Elves strong, and they were not even one of the more numerous Clans. The Elvenkind recognised some three hundred and sixteen individual Clans, but any number of other disparate and fragmented groups as well, right down to rebels, bandits, hermits and the ever-feared Wyldefey Elves.

  Six eager sisters mobbed Shanryssill. They all pinched her cheeks and stroked her hair as if she were five anna old all over again, clearly seeking reassurance that she was indeed wholly restored from the eskirêna-l’næ and not about to fade before their eyes.

  A poignant chuckle snagged at the back of his throat.

  Momentarily overcome by his memories, he shut his eyes and pictured being back in the family territory, recuperating in a hammock outside one of their neat little Aryssillati bough huts. That was what he was looking forward to, right? What he wanted most was a week or three of putting his feet up, while he contemplated the mysteries of Santazathiar’s Dragonkind and somehow finagled this wretched leg back into shape.

  Somehow, he doubted that budding Dragon Guardians often sat about with their feet up. Unlikely to find that anywhere in the job description.

  Santazathiar’s oath, a pregnant nephew!

  Keir almost leaped off his litter in surprise. Aunt … Alryai-most-beloved! How are you?

  Well enough to see you are hiding precious cargo beneath that blanket, nephew-greatly-expected, she snorted humorously. His mother’s twin, he should not be naughty and claim her as a favourite Aunt, but they did see eye-to-eye on most things. Love you. I missed you so much! So …

  So? he riposted innocently.

  Surrounded by six aunts and his mother, any sensible fellow ought to know he was not going to get away with anything short of the utterly microscopic. He did enjoy drawing out the anticipation.

  How’s your leg, Keirthynal-my-joy? asked Aunt Vailinryssill, who in truth, being the youngest of the eleven, was only five anna his senior. He always found having such a young aunt mildly weird. We heard the most awful news from Amarinthe, and again, more latterly as you descended from those horribly cold mountains, of a most treacherous journey –

  Never mind that, o sister-most-wordy! Aunt Meriaryssill chuckled. Go on, nephew. Show us the Dragoness. That’s who everyone’s here for –

  Not for you, nephew, before that ego bursts like a ripe seed pod, Aunt Alryai chuckled.

  Then they bent over him, kissing his cheeks, telling him over and over how much they loved him, pinching his arms, tickling his ribs and ruffling his hair as they very well knew he hated. Sweetest aunts in all Tyanbran! He could not exactly complain too much, could he? They were experts at winding him up, and besides, he loved them warts and all.

  Figurative warts. Ha ha ha.

  Storm, will you come out? he asked meantime, enduring the assault as best he could.

  Nrrr! said the mound upon his chest.

  His aunts – the colour of their eyes so similar to his mother’s, the effect was most disconcerting – exchanged wondering glances. ‘It speaks?’ ‘Intriguing!’ ‘What could be hiding under there?’

  Aunt Meriaryssill snorted, Well, nephew, bring her –

  Oh hush, Meria, Alryai interrupted, give the lad a second to breathe. You’re always so very insistent.

  He tried again. Nrrr-nrrr! she protested, flexing her talons to make her point.

  Hey, I don’t need any more injuries, missy. Now, come on, all the family’s gathered around and they’re aching to meet you –

  Keee-irr! Nrrr!

  With a meaningful wink in his direction, Shanryssill drew back the blanket to show his aunts his injury, which today had progressed to a fetching range of purples in keeping with the colour of an early evening sky. The holes were red-ringed, an ominous sign. Not too many bodies enjoyed having bits of metal sticking out of them, and his had definitely proved to be of that persuasion. As the aunts exclaimed sympathetically over the severity of the wound and expressed their concern and horror, he almost chuckled aloud as Auroral Storm Diamond grew stiller and stiller beneath the blanket. Ha. His mother was exactly right. Despite all protestations to the contrary, the dragonet could not stand being anything but the centre of attention for more than a minute. Unthinkable, right?

  Still chattering away, she folded the light azure blanket back a little more, exposing a diamond-white tail, pointy and distinctly draconic. Aunt Meriaryssill almost gave the game away with a wheeze, but an older sister trod politely upon her foot while another pulled her pointy left ear rather firmly.

  Ah, the gentleness of his family was legendary.

  Keee-irr? complained the dragonet.

  He told his aunts how his father had pulled him out of harm’s way, and all about the ordeal of being buried underneath the avalanche until help came.

  Apparently, this was the last hair on the Ogre, or something to that effect. Keee-irr nrrr! Storm growled unhappily. Nrrr – wirrit, wrrr … and with that, she wriggled out of hiding and made his relatives gasp in amazement as she sat upon his chest with a proprietorial air and gazed curiously about her, tak
ing in each amazed face separately. When she recognised Shanryssill amongst them, she poured off his chest and made a show of winding herself around his mother’s legs and purring loudly – well, her purr had a clearly draconic edge to it, to his ear – until she knelt to deliver the obligatory scratch beneath the chin.

  Sisters, I’d like you to meet Auroral Storm Diamond, the Dragoness who saved my life, Shanryssill said proudly. She’s just a few months old, having hatched on Dragonmas Day right next to our tree. She and Keir are inseparable –

  Keee-irr … mrrrn, Storm stated on cue, making an unmistakable gesture with her forepaw.

  With that, the floodgates opened and his aunts all bent down or knelt and vied with each other to express how beautiful, clever, amazing, magical, talented, sparkly and delightful she was, and Storm contrived to switch from her momentarily shy self to her usual silliness at the drop of a hat. How she gleamed and purred and stretched!

  Alright, he might have turned slightly green when Aunt Meriaryssill gushed that she loved Storm already.

  Soon, his other cousins and relatives and uncles and Clan members came over to goggle at the Dragon, until Keir lost count of the number of times people gasped, ‘She is a Dragon!’ or ‘So beautiful!’ ‘So magical!’ … and he had to explain all over again. So much excitement. What a hubbub!

  So exhausting, he thanked her quietly for drawing their attention away from him. How could he still be so weak from this injury?

  Through the crowd, he caught glimpses of other interactions – Rhyl speaking to someone, shaking her head and clenching her fists as the other said, as best he could lipread, ‘She was too sick, Rhyl. She couldn’t come.’ He had never seen his cousin look so disconsolate. Was that about her mother?

  Over to his left, Councillor Varanthyal spoke animatedly with a man who must be a relative. He was just as debonair, his clothing marking him an Elf of considerable importance, but Keir did not enjoy the glances he kept casting at Auroral Storm Diamond. He observed a quality in the man’s eyes he would not trust as far as he could throw a Snow Ogre. A … he did not know how to describe the look. Craftiness? Meanness? Calculation? The man never even looked at him. His only interest was the dragonet.