The Fly House (The UtopYA Collection)

by Misty Provencher

  "Do you think the Plutians would barter?" Flesh's chins wobbled with the question. Diem jumped to his feet.

  "There will be no barter!" His voice rolled like a crack of thunder. "These are people too! They are human, just as we are! Even one more word of a barter around this fire and I will kill the speaker myself!"

  "It would do no good to barter the spare humans anyway," Span said. "Do any of you think for a minute that the Plutians would take fifty humans and simply not want more? It would be worse for us all to whet their appetites."

  Impulse settled back on his stump and Diem relaxed. But then, Maeve spoke again.

  "You said you will need ground forces," she said, her eyes on Rha Shown. "I think you are right. If the Plutians attack, your Houses and your people are out in the open. The Plutians could scorch the surface again and wipe out all of you. But what if we gathered as many people as we could from your Houses into my Archive? The Archive already survived one Scorching. If we moved the people underground quietly, there is a good chance the Plutians would never even know. If something happened to the rest of us on the surface, at least we might be able to give our race a small chance of survival."

  The men stared at her in silence.

  "It's brilliant," Shown finally said.

  Flesh cleared his throat. "My dragon is not fit for flying, I know this. But he would be perfectly suited to guarding the entrance to this Archive."

  "That leaves only four dragons in the sky," Impulse said.

  "Five," Maeve corrected. "My dragon will be there."

  The men exchanged glances and Diem felt their tension. A woman in combat was something none of them wanted. Especially Diem. And especially if it was Maeve.

  But Impulse clapped his hands as he rose from his stump.

  "Enough of the talking then. You must teach us to fully control our dragons, dragon trainer," he said. The tension around the fire broke with and knit together in a warmer unity.

  "Yes," Span said, leaning in toward Diem. "Teach us."

  Diem rubbed his palms together slowly. He had to tell them everything he knew and he understood that with this information, any one of them could ultimately use what they learned to kill him and take control of his House.

  ***

  Diem sat forward, leaning his own elbows on his knees. Training a dragon was so simple, he'd been living for years wondering why none of the other Houses had ever figured it out for themselves. Maybe it was laziness. Maybe it truly was a gift. Or maybe it was that different people could all see different obvious things that were hidden to everyone else. He'd tried to explain it a few times before, but many just didn't listen hard enough to hear the answers they wanted from him.

  But Diem understood dragons from the way they moved. He knew, from their subtle nuances of breath and limb and twitch of tail, what they were thinking. It was as obvious to him as knowing when his skin was hot or cold, knowing when his belly needed to be filled, knowing that his body ached to have Maeve beneath him once again.

  "Your dragons are a reflection of our inner beings," he said. He expected the Rhas to scoff and accuse him, but they remained intense and rooted as they listened. He went on. "Your dragon becomes what you are. Impulse, for example, your Echo dragon is quick and impulsive, as you are."

  Impulse drew back on his stump with a scowl. "You insinuate that my nature is a crime."

  "I definitely do not," Diem replied with patience. "Your dragon is quick, but I've never known him to be intentionally reckless."

  "Exactly," Impulse said, straightening with pride.

  "However, your dragon is impulsive," Diem said. "I am not saying that this quality does not have its place, but I am trying to explain that each quality in us, if not under our control, can be either our advantage or our liability. It all depends upon the amount of control we have over it."

  Impulse's mouth twisted sourly. "Insults are not education. You said you would teach us how to control our dragons, but..."

  "He is teaching us," Shown said with a faint grin. "Listen."

  "Listen!" Impulse puffed. "To what? To be told that my character is at fault?"

  "Your character is your dragon," Diem said. "And he is currently misunderstood."

  "Absolutely ridiculous. What is to misunderstand about an uncontrollable beast? I need the commands to control it!"

  "I'm giving them to you," Diem said. As Impulse opened his mouth to object, Span growled at him from across the fire.

  "Be still for one moment and listen, you fool. It is the reason that animal burnt half of your face off. Be still and you may hear what the dragon trainer is telling you. He is saying that the answer is us. We must know ourselves in order to control the actions of our beasts."

  Impulse sealed his lips tightly, as well as crossing his legs and his arms, with a loud humph.

  "My dragon," Flesh said slowly. "Is fat because I am fat."

  "Yes, and more," Diem said, measuring his tone. "I mean you no offense, Rha Flesh, but I would venture to say that you have become complacent as a Rha. Your dragon shows me that you have become set in your ways, slow to change, and in many ways, you have lost your hope in change."

  Flesh scooted forward on his stump, mouth open. Diem braced for an argument, but Flesh only nodded. "It is my shame, but it is my truth. How did you see it?"

  "How do you not?" Span said. "Your Cork dragon bends the strongest trees and doesn't move. He scrapes his belly on the dividing wall. He is hardly able to fly any longer or even get off the ground."

  "Very good then," Flesh said with a nod. "Tell us what your faults are?"

  "You cannot see them in my dragon, because they are not there. My dragon is the fastest, the most stealthy. There is no fault in my dragon, as there is nothing but strength in me."

  "Ahhh," Diem shook a finger in the air. "Your dragon, Rha Span, has the fastest flight and is the most stealthy. And stealth is often used to evade a difficulty," Diem said. "Your dragon would burn the tendons from another to win a race. But you know that about yourself already, am I right?"

  "I am a strong opponent," Span said with a proud shrug.

  "Your dragon is the largest of all," Diem continued. "Its ego resists tight spaces. It is not so flexible. It has great speed, but shies from a fight. Your dragon is not strong, Rha Span, it uses its stealth to outrun its problems."

  "So you say," Span shrugged again. "But it does not ring true to me."

  Impulse whooped from his seat.

  "It is exactly true! Everything Rha Diem has said of Soar and Bark has been accurate!"

  "Oh, but nothing he said of you is true?" Maeve said. Impulse resumed his knotted physique.

  "No. Nothing," he said.

  "My dragon," Shown said next, "hides from others. It reveals itself when necessary, with flame."

  "Yes," Diem said and Shown nodded.

  "I understand."

  "And your understanding of what you are is why your dragon is the most tame," Diem added.

  "Aside from Forge, of course," Shown said with another grin.

  "Of course," Diem said.

  "How is it that we cannot see these shortcomings in our own dragons?" Span rubbed two fingers together.

  "It's always easier to see the problems in others," Diem said, "than in ourselves."

  "So you are a master of all your faults?" Impulse spat. "You know yourself so well?"

  "He's the Dragon Trainer, you idiot," Maeve returned. The Rhas turned in unison to look at her. Maeve shrugged. "Oh, come on! It's obvious! He's the one that trains the dragons! Of course he knows what his own faults are. He'd have to, since he's the only one that can make his dragon do what he wants."

  "But how do you control ours?" Span asked, his eyes shifting to Diem. It was the question Diem least wanted to answer, but in the spotlight of their curiosity and in the spirit of the meeting, he knew he must.

  "It is partly because I trained them from young," Diem explained, "but it is mostly because I understand what they are. Once you ac
cept them as the reflections they are, you can control any dragon."

  Maeve blinked and ahhh'ed. "You mean they are still a reflection of the person who is controlling them!" she said.

  "Exactly," Diem smiled at her.

  "Because the dragons are not them," she said, swirling her finger around the circle, "the dragons are still us!"

  "Yes!" Diem said. The other Rhas looked in confusion. Diem was relieved to see it, as it meant that the others would not so easily gain control of his dragon or Maeve's. It was not to say that they would never understand, but at least, it would take some time.

  "Let's think on what we've heard then," Shown said. "As we need to discuss the other plans for our impending battle."

  It was surprising when the other Rhas agreed, but Diem was satisfied that he'd instructed them enough. It was not his fault that only some were meant to hear.

  ***

  Maeve listened as the plans were made and cemented. The cold came up in harder and harder blasts as the night drew on. It was as if the Earth was a snow globe, suddenly turned upside down. Snowflakes came down in a wild flurry, sizzling in the dark fire. Maeve shivered.

  "Why is it this cold?" she asked as a conversation that didn't include Diem sprang up between the other Rhas. His eyes swept over her skin. Although it was difficult to see him clearly in the shadowy firelight, she felt his gaze and shivered pleasantly from it.

  "This is just the beginning of the cold seasons," he said. "We have six months of heat, when we train the new dragons, and now comes the six months of ice and cold, so the dragons will go into hating and make the new eggs to start the process again."

  "Speaking of, we should all think of going, before Forge and our dragons become engaged themselves," Impulse said.

  "We call it that because their mating is so violent, it is as if the dragons hate one another," Flesh told Maeve from across the fire. His tongue flicked over the edge of his lip. Maeve looked away instead of telling him that Diem had already explained it to her. In more ways than one.

  "Quickly now, let's finish our business here." Impulse said.

  "I believe we are decided," Span said, "that we should wait to begin anything until the end of Cold Season One, if possible," Diem said. "The Plutians will believe we are training for a shipment and it will give us time to master our dragons."

  "The timing may be optimal," Shown agreed. "We must begin moving our Houses to the Archive, so as not to attract attention."

  "You are sure there is room in your underground?" Span asked Maeve. She shifted uncomfortably. She hadn't asked the Archivers to be part of this plan, but she couldn't see how any of them could refuse, considering there was no civilization waiting above ground. And Diem's people would bring their stocks of gorne. Maybe Casper could even figure out ways to grow it hydroponically.

  "We'll make room if there isn't," Maeve said. Was there really any other answer?

  The temperature continued to drop by the second and the other Rhas began to excuse themselves from the fire fairly quickly.

  "We truly must go before the dragons begin a hating and we are trapped for the night," Impulse said. "Tis the season."

  Flesh stood with a breathy chuckle. He nudged Shown. "Hating is the best warming, and not just for dragons, aye?"

  Shown's grin was polite. "I suppose," he said. Then to Diem and Maeve, "Well, good evening."

  The Rhas mounted their dragons and shot off in the directions of their Houses, finally leaving Maeve and Diem alone. The fire hissed out and the two went into Diem's cabin.

  Maeve rubbed her arms and blew into her fists. Diem took a pod from the lower shelves. He went to the center of the room and lifted a floor board. Maeve watched as he cracked open the pod with a sharp, black rock and carefully deposited the whole thing beneath the floor. He straightened up after replacing the board.

  "What did you do?" she asked.

  "I had only put a bit of a fire seed in the reservoir below. I added a whole one so it will heat the house for the Cold Seasons."

  "One pod?"

  He shrugged. "It's all that is needed."

  She shivered as the warmth was slow to creep into the room. "Does it stay this cold the whole time?"

  "Yes," Diem said. He took a thick blanket from the lowest shelf, beneath the sink. He crossed the room and flicked it out across the bed. Maeve wanted to climb beneath it because she was tired and because he was warm. Diem caught her eyeing the bed with her heavy eyes. "Tired?"

  "Yes." She gave in to her desire, pulling off her boots and shivering as she crawled into his bed, climbing beneath the heavy blanket, fully clothed. He slid in behind her, pleasing her as he curled against her back and pulled her to him.

  "You don't need your clothes on," he said as his manhood grew hard against her rear. Her lower body pressed to him like a human chair.

  "I'm freezing," she objected weakly as he slipped her pants off her. Her shirt was next, then his own clothing. His blanket was insulating and Diem's body heat quickly pulled a dew of sweat to the surface of her skin. She tried to keep her voice level as she said, "Tell me about hating."

  "Hating," he whispered as his chin moved in her hair. "What do you want to know? How it works?"

  "Yes."

  "You sure you want to know? It is violent."

  "I want to know," she said.

  "Alright. This is how it begins," he murmured. His voice was so damn deep, as delicious as a dark roast. "The heathen senses that a sheathen is in swol, or, ready to mate. He lands near her and moves in a wide circle around her. If she looks at him, he continues, but he makes the circle tighter and tighter as he moves around her."

  He was stroking circles with his thumb on the base of her neck and it was so relaxing, it was hard to speak, but she managed. "What if she doesn't look at him?"

  "Then he spreads his wings to draw her attention back and he circles her until she is dizzy."

  "Dizzy," Maeve repeated. She felt that way too, with his warmth of him pressed against her.

  "Mmm hmmm," Diem hummed in her ear. "When she's too dizzy to fly away, he latches onto the back of her neck, near her head, so she can't turn and bite him."

  He slid a palm to cup the back of her neck and applied a delicate pressure, holding her cheek against the bed. Maeve's breath tightened in her chest as he flipped her onto her back. The sudden shift knocked the wind out of her and his eyes were locked on hers, looming over her.

  Her instincts kicked in before anything else and she thrashed against him as he brought his mouth down hard on hers. He pried opened her lips with his kiss and his saliva tingled on her tongue like alcohol, spiked with a shot of adrenaline. She thrashed against him again, more because she thought she should, rather than wanting to get away, but he had her pinned securely beneath him. His staff lay thick against the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. She was drenched, ready for him, but she went still. He stared down into her eyes as if he were piercing her already.

  "When the Sheathen stops fighting, he enters her," Diem whispered. He pushed his tip against her, tapping through her sensitive lips without entering her.

  Maeve shook her head, squeezing her legs together as much as she could to prevent him.

  "This doesn't seem like hating at all," she said.

  "That's because it's not," he said. His eyes were suddenly too intense. Maeve squirmed beneath him, turning her head away.

  "When do they do it?" she asked. She stared at the thick bulb of Diem's bicep as if it had a face. He cleared his throat, but he supplied her the answer with patience.

  "Whenever they wish. The dragons hate for the next six seasons. We don't restrain them anymore. It does no good. The heathen break free and their hating keeps every House awake, every night. If the sheathen are restrained, the rattling of the chains is almost unbearable." Diem cocked his head and Maeve strained to hear what he did. It wasn't difficult once they stopped talking.

  The sound wasn't human. The shrill scream was distant, but clear. From the dire
ction of the Hold House. Diem looked back at Maeve with raised brows.

  "Hear that?"

  "That's them? It sounds furious."

  "They are," Diem said. "The sheathen is being held down and mated. But she puts up a fight. She's probably ripping the plates off the heathen. The plates are rooted in their skin, but he'll lose dozens of them and be covered in gashes before they're done. Some heathen have lost eyes and ears and even the ends of their tails in a hating."

  "Good," Maeve said. "The heathen deserves it for forcing her."

  "Oh no, no...it's not forced like that. She wants it," Diem said. "A sheathen in swol is miserable. Her back end is so swollen, she can't fly properly. If she does, she's so off balance she might crash because of it. The sheathen lay with their tails in the air, howling until the heathen come to relieve them. But then, she'll fight him for the honor."

  "How do you know what's going on in a dragon's head?" Maeve said. Diem settled between her thighs and she was reminded of his own swelling.

  "Because if a woman needs to mate..."

  Maeve cut him off with a shove that didn't accomplish anything. "Needs to?"

  "Needs to," he said with a nod.

  "A woman never needs to mate," she said, but he kissed her mouth shut. When he lifted his head, she took a breath to speak, but he lowered his lips to hers again. He repeated it until her mouth was soft and pliable, her tongue searching for his, instead of searching for words.

  Maeve's body turned to glue beneath him. His hips receded and hers pressed forward. Her fingers curled into his hair. He dipped his head to her breast and she rose up to meet his mouth, sealing herself to him. All the while, his erection rubbed against her, but he did not enter her. Maeve thrust forward, but Diem suddenly untangled from her. He pushed her to the opposite side of the bed, wiping his mouth with his fingertips as he watched her.

  "What are you doing?" she asked.

  "Do you need to mate?" he asked. One finger laced a lock of hair around it and he gave it a tug, just enough to make her scalp tingle. He was working her up just to prove a point. Bastard. Giving in was defeat.