DragonLight

by Donita K. Paul

  She examined the horizon to the north. Black clouds obscured a ridge of mountains. A wind swept over Kale, scuttling dry leaves and scattering dust at her feet.

  “The sky doesn’t look friendly this morning,” she commented to Bardon.

  He stood from his chore of loosening the ropes that bound the tent to stakes in the ground. Squinting against the dirt hurled in his face by the stiff breeze, he followed her gaze.

  “No, not inviting at all.” He put his arm around her shoulders and sang.

  “If you follow the road where the merry dells grow,

  You’ll find a song and a dance as you go.

  But the path that is dark with a friend’s tale of woe

  Will profit you more than you know.”

  She joined him on the chorus.

  “I’d rather go home and sit by my fire,

  A good meal and warm bed is my greatest desire,

  But a world of ease when I’ve turned my back on a friend

  Is not a world of peace but a black void without end.”

  Kale sighed. “I’ve never liked that song.”

  Bardon hugged her closer. “Surely it is the unpleasant melody that puts you off.”

  “Surely it is the call to uncomfortable duty.”

  He kissed her forehead. “After we find the meech colony…”

  “We can go home.”

  “And after we put down the Followers’ uprising…”

  “We can sit by the fire.” Kale sighed again. “One can always hope.”

  37

  ENEMIES TO THE RIGHT

  A fine mist hung beneath the massive gray clouds, making their flight uncomfortable. Kale pulled her moonbeam cape tighter, not allowing even a wisp of chill air to enter. Toopka and the dragons huddled beneath the warm cloak. Sittiponder and Mikkai rode with Bardon. Kale worried whether the young tumanhofer had enough clothing to protect him from the cold. Like the rest of his race, Sittiponder had a sturdy-looking frame, but she always thought of him as frail. Perhaps because when she first met him, he was a ragged street urchin and undernourished.

  Bardon?

  “I’m warm enough, and Sittiponder’s warm enough. I’m concerned about Celisse and Greer, though.”

  Celisse says she’s all right, but I know cold makes her wings ache.

  “Perhaps we should make it a short day.”

  The hair on the back of Kale’s neck stood up. Goose bumps shivered down her arms. This wasn’t a chill but something more sinister. She stretched with her mind, trying to locate the source of her subconscious alarm. A buzz.

  She peered over Celisse’s right shoulder, examining the earth far below. On the ground, a large shadow moved rapidly across the hilly landscape. No sunbeams penetrated the thick clouds. There could be no shadow.

  Bardon?

  “What? Oh…how far?” He leaned forward to see with his own eyes what he had gathered from her mind.

  Kale searched the area for a safe haven. Do we have time to land?

  “No, they’re turning upward now.”

  The black dragon beasts rushed toward them, closing the gap at an uncanny speed. Kale heard Bardon’s interchange with Greer, so she wasn’t surprised by his command.

  “Into the clouds, Kale. We’ll try to lose them.”

  She pulled the hood over her head and face as they entered the heavy haze. Fear rippled through Celisse, and Kale shuddered. Would this attack be like the others? Would she be the only victim?

  I won’t have Celisse hurt by these nasty beasties!

  Would the dragons and Toopka be in danger because they were inside her cloak? Her moonbeam mantle had protected her many times. Would it do so again?

  Wulder, please! Give us a way out.

  A thump smacked her solidly between the shoulder blades. Her back sustained another hit. The impact jostled her but caused no pain. Several more tiny dragons thudded against her neck and shoulders, and then the barrage began in earnest. She’d read about people being stoned to death.

  The dragon attack forced Kale to bend over so that she lay on Celisse’s neck. The saddle horn poked into her midriff, and the bulge in her abdomen reminded her of one more person who could be hurt in this assault. She shifted to protect the child.

  Kale heard her riding dragon’s frenzied challenge to herself—higher, faster. Celisse demanded more of her body than Kale thought she could give.

  Tuned in to her dragon’s distress, Kale felt the pain in her dragon’s wings and the sting in her lungs as the air grew thinner and colder. The attacking beasts that inadvertently struck Celisse on the underside of her wings left poison wounds. Ice pellets struck the riding dragon’s scales. Only those hitting her eyes and nostrils caused enough discomfort to distract the big dragon from the strain in her shoulders.

  The black dragons fell back. Celisse continued on for a moment before drifting downward.

  Bardon! Celisse’s strength is completely drained. We must land.

  Kale caressed the dragon’s neck. Her fingertips picked up the inner tremor indicating the extent of exhaustion depleting her friend’s will. “It’s all right. You were magnificent, Celisse. Thank you. Everything will be all right now. Just get us down.”

  They broke through to clear air, and Kale directed Celisse toward the nearest field.

  Bardon!

  “We’re coming. Sittiponder and I circled to see if we could determine why the dragons cut off their attack.”

  Why did they?

  “They were dropping from the sky. Apparently the cold or thin air killed them.”

  The thin air hasn’t done Celisse any good. Is Greer—?

  “Greer is grumbling, but we weren’t flying as fast as Celisse. The black dragons hardly seemed to notice us.”

  Kale and Celisse descended rapidly. The dragon’s thoughts became disjointed as exhaustion overcame her. Kale mindspoke a steady stream of encouragement. The dragon stumbled as she landed and fell forward. Kale hung on and jumped from the saddle as soon as the great beast collapsed.

  She knelt beside Celisse’s head. The dragon gazed at her for a moment, and then her eyes closed.

  “Gymn! Gymn!” Kale ripped open the front of her cape. Toopka spilled out. The minor dragons followed in a more orderly fashion. Gymn sat first on Celisse’s throat, then wandered slowly down her neck to her chest, taking note of physical signs of distress. He relayed his findings to Kale.

  The other dragons stayed on Celisse’s shoulder, respectfully waiting for the healing dragon’s instructions. Toopka curled over the riding dragon’s leg, hugging as much as she could reach with her short arms.

  Kale stroked Celisse’s cheek as her great ebony and silver head rested in her lap.

  “Please be all right. You’re strong. You can make it. Don’t give up. Gymn and I will heal you.”

  Greer landed. Bardon, Sittiponder, and Mikkai joined those crowded around the fallen dragon. Bardon crouched beside his wife, and she took his hand.

  “Gymn is very worried.”

  “We’ll camp here until she’s better.”

  “Would you build a fire?”

  “Certainly. Crispin, come.”

  Toopka jumped up. “I’ll help.” She grabbed Sittiponder’s hand and pulled him toward the shrubs. Bending over, she picked up a branch and shoved it into the tumanhofer’s arms.

  “Ouch! Be careful. You poked me.”

  “Celisse is dying,” said Toopka. “We have to build a fire and get her warm.”

  “No one said she’s dying.”

  “She looks awful, so she’s dying.” Toopka thrust another stick at him.

  He shifted the wood so that it lay in his arms, across his chest. “Looking awful doesn’t mean someone’s dying.”

  “You don’t know.” She put two thick, short branches on his pile.

  A leafy twig slapped Sittiponder in the face. He pushed it down with his chin. “You don’t know, either.”

  “She’s not dying!” Kale cut into the argument. “Gymn
says she’s not dying.”

  Kale removed vials of medicine from her cape and removed the caps. She handed them to the minor dragons.

  “Rub this into the poison wounds beneath her wings. Don’t get it in your eyes.”

  The minor dragons scampered to do their part, wiggling under Celisse to reach the spots where she’d been struck by the venomous black dragons.

  Kale allowed herself to sink into a healing circle with Gymn and Celisse. Wulder’s wonderful presence completed the union. Metta sang as they concentrated on relieving the riding dragon’s fatigue and strained muscles.

  Bardon prepared a stew and, while it cooked, set up their tent. The minor dragons gathered their meals with less zeal than usual.

  “Let’s remove her saddle.” Bardon’s voice startled Kale. She’d fallen asleep. Whenever she engaged in a circle of healing, the wonderment of being connected to Wulder sent a rush of astonishment through her. The flow of energy, as it circled through those close to her and the One she could not see, stirred and soothed at the same time. But that exhilaration settled into a peace, and she often dozed during the process. The circle of healing drained her of energy while reaffirming her devotion to Wulder.

  She stood, stretching cautiously to ease the kinks in her muscles. Bardon unbuckled the straps around Celisse’s bulky body, and Kale helped pull the saddle from her sleeping dragon friend.

  She ran her hand over the smooth, hard scales of Celisse’s side. “She’ll be all right.”

  Bardon came back from putting the tack off to the side and embraced Kale. A soft laugh escaped Kale’s lips. The roundness of the baby kept her husband a bit farther away than she was used to. He leaned down to kiss her, and the baby kicked. Bardon’s eyes widened, and he pulled back.

  “Can you mindspeak to that child?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, as soon as you can, inform him—”

  “Or her.”

  “—that you were mine first. I’ll share your affections, but there will be some ground rules.”

  “Yes sir.” Kale giggled. “I’ll do that.”

  Within the next half hour, the overcast veil broke up and scuttled off to the south. Afternoon passed into dusk. In the west, trails of vibrant orange and rosy pink floated in a darkening sea of blue. Gold fringed the clouds. The evening star sparkled, inviting the rest of the heavens to bring out their lights.

  Kale and Bardon ate while Celisse continued to sleep. Greer stayed closer to the campsite than usual. Soon after everyone turned in for the night, Celisse began to snore.

  “Oh, great,” said Bardon. “I don’t suppose we could get her to roll over.”

  “You could ask Greer to give her a push,” suggested Kale.

  Bardon addressed the problem to his dragon friend.

  “He says the solution is to move some distance away, and that is exactly what he is doing.”

  “I know. I heard.” She turned over, trying to find a comfortable situation. The baby seemed to have grown just enough that day to make all her usual positions bumpy. “Bardon, could you rub the small of my back?”

  Celisse snorted, was silent, then let out a ragged snore that sounded like a farmer knocking down dried cornstalks.

  “Seems I’m not going to sleep immediately. I’ll be glad to massage your back. Do you want some of my ointment from Elma?”

  “No!” She shrugged. “That’s for you. For the stakes.”

  “I may not need it any longer. I only have an occasional twinge.”

  “As long as you have any twinges, the medicine is exclusively yours. Besides, we don’t know if it works on anything but the aches of stakes.”

  “That rhymed.”

  “Yes, and Metta could probably dredge up a song about it if she were in here. Why did you tell them to roost in the trees? Are you expecting trouble?”

  “Not really. I thought we’d sleep better without the crowd.”

  Celisse rumbled louder.

  Kale rummaged in her cape.

  “What are you looking for?” asked Bardon.

  “Something to use for earplugs.”

  The snoring ceased. Kale recognized the sound of Celisse stretching. The dragon flapped her wings twice. Dried grass rustled as the big beast moved. Silence.

  “She’s gone back to sleep?” whispered Bardon.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, now we can get some sleep.”

  “Not quite yet.”

  “Why?”

  “Something woke her up.”

  “Something?”

  “I should have said someone.”

  Bardon sat up. “Is he still there?”

  Kale nodded in the dark.

  “I should have said someones, plural.”

  Bardon pushed off the covers and reached for his boots. “Friend or foe?”

  “I can’t tell. There are too many mixed emotions out there.”

  Bardon put on his boots and stood. He buckled on his sword. “I’ll go ask them.”

  38

  MISSING LIGHTS

  “Not without me!” Kale wiggled out of the blanket and changed her soft nightgown into leggings and a shirt as she stood. She reached into her pack and apparently came out empty-handed, but Bardon knew she held an invisible sword.

  He wanted to tell her to stay in the tent, but that would only anger her. “Are the minor dragons awake? What do they see?”

  Moonlight filtered through the slit in the tent canvas. He watched her concentrate. “Pat is awake. He’s having a snack. He’s not seen anything, but I have him looking and rousing the others.” Her frown deepened.

  “Filia has spotted something beneath her tree.” Kale’s face relaxed, and she smiled. “Kimens.” She tilted her head.

  Bardon felt the tension fall from his shoulders. His muscles relaxed, and he breathed deeply. “I’ve never heard of unfriendly kimens.”

  Kale frowned and shook her head.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Now that Filia has identified the intruders, I can tell where they are and something about their intent.” She shook her head again with her face screwed up in frustration. “Such turmoil. They are distraught, every one of them.”

  “It would be nice if Seezle had hung around.”

  Kale gasped. “Seezle’s one of them! She’s among the kimens hovering around our camp.”

  She pushed past Bardon and dived through the flap. Bardon followed her, still alert but not expecting anything dangerous.

  “Seezle,” she called. “What is this all about?”

  Seezle didn’t appear. Bardon and Kale scrutinized the perimeter of the campground. Shadows shifted among the bushes.

  “Seezle.” Kale’s attention focused on one spot. “Come out. What’s wrong?”

  Seezle’s small voice drifted to their ears. “Our lights have gone out.”

  Kale turned to Bardon. “I saw Seezle and another kimen trapped in a bubble many years ago. While the two slept, their light clothing disappeared. She’s probably embarrassed.”

  Bardon nodded. “Should I close my eyes?”

  “There are male kimens here too. We can’t all shut our eyes.”

  Bardon peered into the bushes.

  “You’re not naked,” Kale said bluntly. “Come out.”

  No response.

  “Your underwear is quite modest.”

  Again no response.

  “Seezle, really!”

  A bush rattled. Bardon tensed, squinting to catch sight of at least one of their visitors. Only one figure emerged from the undergrowth. Bardon heard Kale’s sharp intake of breath. Seezle’s tiny, lithe body shivered as she approached. A thin gauzelike cloth stretched over her from ankle to wrist and up to her neck.

  Kale sank to her knees. “Come. Maybe I can help.”

  With Seezle standing in front of her, Kale reached out and spun a thread of light, wrapping it around the kimen’s thin shoulders.

  “What are you doing?” asked Bardon.

&nb
sp; “I’m trying to create a light dress in the same way I grow a luminescent vine.”

  The string of light looked unsubstantial to Bardon. Kale seemed to be having trouble getting one loop of the thread to join with the next. After repeated attempts, she let go, sitting back to examine the problem.

  The glow dimmed to nothing. The dark thread shriveled and fell to the ground.

  “Odd,” said Kale.

  “Disastrous,” said Seezle with a sniff. She trembled and wrapped her tiny arms around her chest.

  Bardon turned his eyes away. “Kale, do you have something in your hollows we can give them? Handkerchiefs? Material we can cut?”

  “Yes, of course.” Kale plunged into the tent.

  Bardon met Seezle’s sad eyes. “How did it happen?”

  “We’re not sure. We can’t—” She broke off and swallowed. “We can’t run, either.”

  Bardon frowned. Kimens moved at an incredible speed. Folklore said they actually flew over the ground. Had Seezle and the others lost their swiftness when running, or was it more than that? Had they lost their ability to fly?

  Kale emerged from the tent lugging a bolt of fabric and two pairs of scissors. She sat cross-legged on the ground.

  “Can you sew?” Kale asked the kimen.

  Seezle shook her head, her eyes on the cloth.

  “This won’t be as soft as the light you wear, but it’ll do for the time being. How many kimens are with you?”

  “Thirty-three. I’m number thirty-four.”

  Bardon sat beside Kale. “What do you want me to do?”

  She gave him a large white handkerchief and scissors. “If you cut squares of material, I’ll reshape them into clothes for our friends.”

  She unrolled the bolt of solid blue on the grass. Bardon placed the handkerchief on the corner and cut a strip as wide as the piece. He turned the length and cut off squares. He stacked them next to Kale as she worked, reforming the first plain square into a gathered skirt.

  He watched her. “You’re going to make these clothes one by one? This will take all night.”

  “I’ll get faster with practice.”

  “Still…you’re going to be tired in the morning.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Why not make a shift instead of two pieces? A skirt and blouse aren’t really necessary.” He saw her pull out the piece and start again. When she changed her own clothing, she was much more adept. “Wouldn’t making one piece save time?”