The Dragon Circle

by Irene Radford

  Overcoming the inertia of the gravitons posed the single largest obstacle to space travel. Or atmosphere flight, or rolling a cart.

  Konner shook his head free of his fanciful thoughts. Dragons were planet bound. They might speak enigmatically with a great deal of wisdom, but they did not carry star charts etched into their wing membranes.

  “Now why did you seek me out?” Konner asked again.

  (Hanassa speaks to the stars. We need to know why.)

  “But Hanassa is dead.” Konner began to shiver with a new chill. Twice he and his brothers had thought they had killed the man. Twice he had recovered and come back to threaten their friends as well as themselves. The third time they had made certain he stayed dead. Two flywackets, purple-tip dragons shrunk to the size and shape of winged house cats, had dumped Hanassa’s body into the lava pit. The same pit where Konner wanted to dump the beacon.

  (The body of Hanassa died. Yet still he speaks to the stars. We need you to tell us why.)

  “Speaks to the stars,” Konner mused. “The beacon! You know where the locator beacon is. Can you take me to it so that we can destroy it?”

  (No.)

  Konner stared at the dragon, expecting the beast to fly away.

  Instead Irythros parked his haunches on the ground and returned Konner’s level gaze.

  “You may be able to see in the dark, but I need more light to see you properly,” Konner said at last.

  (Fetch it.)

  “You will wait?”

  (Yes.)

  For the first time in this bizarre conversation, Konner realized the difference between this dragon and Iianthe, the purple-tip who had helped him and his brothers through the last crisis. Iianthe spoke in bass tones very like a large bronze bell tolling across the landscape of his mind. Irythros was more of a tenor, sounded more like an Ubberlund doodlehorn chattering away with the crisp notes of a military march.

  Konner wasted no more time. He touched the keypad in his pocket to banish the cloaking field and open the hatch. He’d stashed the portable illuminator just inside. A simple matter to grab it and exit without taking his eyes off the dragon for more than three heartbeats.

  He blinked rapidly. Where had the beast gone? And why had Irythros contacted a human with such a very frightening and bone-chillingly cryptic remark?

  Kim kissed Hestiia lightly on the cheek. “I have some work to do,” he whispered.

  She looked at him sharply. “Will you use the weed?”

  “I don’t know. Depends on what I find.” He could not hold her gaze.

  “You know it is dangerous.”

  “I know that Pryth thinks it is dangerous.” He walked back toward their cabin, the one he and Hestiia had built for themselves the day they married. Well, actually, the village had built it for them as part of the wedding ceremony. They were still chinking the logs with moss and turf to insulate it against the winter cold. The moss they used was as ubiquitous as the red cow wool. It absorbed moisture in babies’ diapers, became good tinder when dried, and insulated against cold and noise quite effectively.

  Once inside the cabin, Kim pulled out his reader. It came to life precisely where he had finished his notes this morning. Before the hasty visit to the volcano, before the news of the beacon had upset the tidy life he had made for himself here.

  He took a deep breath and concentrated upon the reader. He needed to record today’s events.

  The woman, Dalleena, and her supposed talent drew his thoughts away from the implications of the lost beacon. The locals respected her claim to track anyone. How did she do it?

  For that matter, how did he achieve his own miracles of healing? Raaskan was alive because Kim, with the help of his brothers, had rebuilt the man’s crushed rib cage and pelvis, using only the power of his mind. He had cauterized internal bleeding. And he had pushed a dislocated shoulder back into place. All without invasive surgery or the technology of modern medicine.

  “Something born in me and my brothers lets us do this. So how do we access it on a regular basis?”

  This morning, Kim had been on the verge of doing that with controlled breathing. But once he’d fallen out of the trance he’d been exhausted, ravenous, and nearly incoherent. “My body lacked the fuel to perform the magic.”

  His eyes sought the basket in the corner. Inside lay the wilting leaves of the Tambootie tree. Once before, he had ingested the essential oils that seeped out of the leaves. They had opened his mind and his talent, allowing him to perform one last miracle to rescue the Coros from Hanassa’s control. He had read Hanassa’s mind from a distance of nearly ten kilometers.

  “Just a little. I need just a little of the leaves to experiment.” Without thinking about it, he had walked across the room and shoved his hand deep into the mass of leaves. His skin burned slightly from contact with the essential oils permeating the leaves. He withdrew his hand, grasping a particularly fat leaf dripping with oil. He licked it.

  Colors burst upon his tongue. Outside, he heard every word whispered by his people. He shared Hestiia’s concern for him as if experiencing his own emotion.

  His vision sharpened on the periphery at the same time that he lost focus on things directly in front of him; as if he needed to look at life sideways, around the barrier of his own emotions and prejudices to get a clear view.

  Halos enveloped every object in varying colors and brightness. He reached out slowly for the basket of Tambootie. His fingers had to stretch a long way into the corona, or aura, or whatever, before he touched the woven grasses of the basket. Further experiments showed the aura less deep on his bed and the stool in front of his working table. A quick peek out the door showed flashes of living fire surrounding the heads of all the people still gathered around the fire. He found Hestiia rapidly by the brown, rust, and orange flares growing out of her hair. Others he had to think about until he noticed distinctive colors and combinations for each person.

  Darkness yawned before him. A bright tangle of colored chains similar in color and combination of colors to the auras beckoned him to grab hold and explore. . . .

  (Be careful when you delve into the realm of dragons.)

  Kim thudded to the packed dirt floor and promptly vomited.

  CHAPTER 8

  DALLEENA EXCUSED herself from the rapt company of the village men. Raaskan, the headman, and Yaakke from the other village, both had questioned her intently about her talent. Trackers were not born into every generation. Her family had produced one in each of three successive generations. Both men wanted her as an asset to the village.

  Something bigger and more important drew her here. She had listened to reports of the Stargods for moons now. They offered a new view of life and spirituality. They offered freedom from the old ways.

  And the Stargods had lost something important. She had to find it for them. Whatever it was, no matter what dangers lay in finding it. Her talent would not allow her to rest until the lost was found and the Stargods were safe once more.

  Stargod Konner was not hard to follow. He had left a trail a child could see. She did not even have to engage her talent.

  She followed him across two fields separated by a narrow creek. She jumped the creek without even thinking about it. Then over a small hill, with just enough elevation to obscure from the village what lay beyond.

  Dim moonlight and a soft glow from the other side of the hill lit her way. She used her eyes rather than her talent to pick her footsteps.

  At the top of the rise she halted. Her throat froze. She forgot to breathe.

  Shimmering in the moonlight a long white dragon rested easily on its haunches. That sight alone was worth a second glance. But the other dragon, the one that was hard to see, the one that demanded that she look anywhere but at it was even more beautiful. Illuminated by the Stargod’s magical torch, she saw that dark red, the color of blood, outlined its horns, wing tips and veins.

  She swallowed and stuffed her hands into her pockets. She must not cross her wrists, righ
t over left, and flap them in ward against Simurgh, the winged god that had demanded blood sacrifice at every turn. Touching her head, heart, and each shoulder in turn, the ward of the Stargods, did not seem protection enough.

  Beside the dragon stood a lone man. Stargod Konner. The dragon was a worthy companion of a god.

  She swallowed her superstitious fears and walked down the hill toward the man and his dragon. A red-tip.

  Simurgh had been a red-tip.

  As she approached, the dragon took wing and disappeared into the night. Shielding her face from a blast of wind and dust raised by flapping dragon wings, Dalleena followed his flight path with her eyes. For half a moment she thought she saw a nearly transparent wing cross the moon. Then it was gone.

  “Irythros!” Stargod Konner called. “Irythros, come back here. I’m not finished with you.”

  The dragon ignored him, of course.

  “Dragons obey only themselves,” she said as she came closer.

  “Who are you?” Stargod Konner whirled to face her.

  “Dalleena Farseer. I sensed that you had lost something.”

  “Sensed?”

  She shrugged. “I am a Tracker. I find lost things.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “You have my word.”

  He looked at her closely then. He focused on her eyes.

  “I believe you. I shouldn’t. But I believe you.”

  “What have you lost?” She could not break eye contact. The depth of his blue eyes promised her much. Promises she knew he would keep or die.

  “Um . . .” he licked his lips.

  She mimicked his action. Her throat still felt dry. She had to remember to breathe.

  “We call it a beacon.”

  “A bee-kan.”

  “Close enough. About this big.” He held up his hand and traced his palm. “It is made out of the same material as the shuttle.” He gestured toward the huge white dragon beside them.

  The beast emitted a low hum, but otherwise seemed strangely quiescent.

  “I do not know this bee-kan.” She placed her right hand flat upon the cool skin of the white dragon.

  Her hand grew hot. Tingles shot up her arm to her brain. A numbness grew from a knot into a broad band at the base of her neck.

  “Far away. I hear the bee-kan calling to its home. It calls to . . . a . . . king stone. It begs the king stone to come rescue it,” she whispered.

  She shook her head to free herself of the tracking trance. A little of the numbness eased. It would not leave her completely until she removed her hand from contact with the white dragon.

  She lifted her hand. It felt too heavy. She braced her arm with the other hand and pulled back. Her hand was heavier still. Then she wrenched her arm.

  Her hand remained glued to the shuttle.

  Kim wrapped his arms around Hestiia, tucking her beneath his chin. She just fit there. Together they stood for long moments watching the last of the daylight fade beyond the western horizon.

  “What troubles you, husband?” she asked.

  His senses still reeled from the Tambootie. He dared not mention his reaction to the weed. He’d cleaned up after himself as best he could. But he had to lock his quaking knees and pretend nothing had happened.

  “Kim?” Hestiia prompted him.

  “Trouble comes,” he replied.

  “What form does this trouble take?”

  Kim sighed. She’d not allow the subject to drop until he told her all. He did not like secrets. His family had too many. But some things were best kept private among his brothers.

  “Tell me.” She tried to step away from him.

  He pulled her back against his body, savoring her warmth and her love.

  “More people from my homeland approach. They will bring many miracles. But each miracle comes with a price. They will poison the air and water. Our ears will be assaulted with noise day and night until we can no longer hear birds sing or crickets chirp.” How else could he explain the cost of industrialization?

  Magic would do nothing to stop these people.

  “Many, many more people will come to live here. At first the land will produce enough for all, but eventually the fields will grow tired and give forth smaller and smaller crops. My people will poison the soil to force it to grow more and more crops. And still more people will come, blind to the pollution, blind to the conflicts that arise when too many people fight for the same small piece of land. They will destroy everything we hold dear.”

  “Then we must stop them.”

  “Not so easy.”

  “But you and your brothers are the Stargods. Surely you and your white dragon Rover can defeat them, send them back where they came from.”

  “There are too many of them. They have bigger ships and more powerful weapons than we do.”

  “There must be a way . . .”

  “We have one small chance. We have to find and destroy a small device before they find us.”

  “I saw the Tracker follow your brother Konner. She can help.”

  “I pray that she can.” But Kim doubted it.

  “Your silence tells me there is more trouble than a device that calls these Others.”

  “Are you sure you do not read my mind?” He kissed the top of her head.

  “I know you well, husband. What else troubles you?”

  “The beacon we seek was stolen.”

  “Who would dare!”

  “Who, indeed?”

  They both stared in silence at the silhouettes of trees against the last glow of light.

  “Hanassa died. Your brother killed him. Gentian and Iianthe dropped his body into the fiery heart of the mountain,” Hestiia said.

  “Indeed. But Hanassa began life as a purple dragon, triplet to Gentian and Iianthe. But only one purple-tip may exist at any time. Gentian shrank to become a flywacket, Iianthe remained a dragon. Hanassa sent his spirit into a human body. Are we certain Hanassa’s spirit died with his body?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then he must have had more disciples than Taneeo. We know how much our new priest hated Hanassa. We know we can trust Taneeo. Another must be haunting the caverns and making mischief for us.”

  “We must ask Taneeo. He would know if Hanassa trained any followers.”

  “I hate to bother him. He has not yet recovered from . . . from his ordeal.” Ten drugged needles from Loki’s rifle had run all the way through Hanassa’s body into Taneeo’s. One hundred or more of the needles had lodged in Hanassa’s vital organs and muscles. The priest of Simurgh had died instantly. Taneeo had been knocked unconscious. Already weakened by months of privation while Hanassa’s slave, the apprentice priest had taken a long time to recover from the wounds and the drugs. Even now, after more than a month, he failed to gain weight or rebuild muscle.

  “We must still ask. Now better than later.” Hestiia insisted. Decisively, she grabbed Kim’s hand and led him back to the campfire.

  A quick look at the assembly showed Konner and the new woman still missing. Taneeo had not made an appearance.

  “I took food to his hut,” Pryth, the old wisewoman said. “He often eats alone and sleeps early.” She dismissed his behavior as normal.

  But it was not normal. The Coros lived communally. The evening gathering was important to them. They sang, told stories, and shared their lives as no one on the civilized planets of the Galactic Terran Empire would. Survival on this primitive planet depended upon mutual cooperation and sharing of burdens.

  “Perhaps I should examine Taneeo again. See if he needs healing,” Kim mused as he and Hestiia trudged over to the circular hut set a little apart from the larger, square cabins of the rest of the village. With a bit more of the Tambootie, perhaps he could leech some residual poisons from Taneeo’s body with his magic.

  Hestiia politely rattled the strands of beads hanging outside the doorway. Kim counted one hundred heartbeats. Then he gave the beads a more vigorous shake.

  No one answer
ed.

  “I’m coming in, Taneeo,” Kim called as he ducked beneath the low doorway.

  Inside, the single room was dark and deserted.

  “St. Bridget!” Konner cursed. The Tracker woman had merged with his shuttle in a way he never could. If the ship wanted a human partner permanently attached, it should be him. Not . . . not this female from an alien culture. A primitive alien culture that knew nothing of machines or electronics or space travel or . . . or . . .

  Damn.

  “Um . . . has this ever happened to you before?” Konner stared at Dalleena’s hand. He could not see where her flesh separated from the cerama/metal hull of Rover. He ran a blunt fingernail around the edges of the merge. One seamless bond.

  Puzzled, he scratched his head.

  “I . . . I do not usually have to touch the sheep and children who wander off to find them,” she said. A tiny note of apprehension crept into her voice. Not panic. Not hysteria. Neither emotion would help and so she kept them at bay.

  An eminently practical woman, to go with the sturdy broad palm, nails cut nearly to the quick, and shortish fingers. A sturdy hand used to hard work.

  “This certainly complicates life,” Konner grunted as he walked around Dalleena to study the problem from another angle. He also studied her figure. Nice curves were outlined beneath her masculine clothing. She stood quite tall for a woman, as tall as many of the men on this planet. The top of her head reached the bridge of his nose. All of those curves would fit very nicely snugged against him. “Perhaps I should call my brothers.”

  “No!” Now she sounded closer to panic.

  Konner cocked an eyebrow at her.

  Immediately, she seemed to realize how her hasty reply had sounded. She squared her shoulders and returned his stare, measure for measure.

  “Then what do you propose to do?”

  She swallowed deeply and held out her other hand. He clasped it in his own. A tingle shot up his arm.