Dragonstar (Dragonfriend Book 4)

by Marc Secchia

  The Tourmaline swallowed his grumbling in an instant. Flexing his wings with an air of studied laziness guaranteed to stoke a Dragoness’ fires favourably, he peered at the pawful peeking back at him. Her fire-eyes held that gleam which spoke to her strength-from-weakness gift – or more likely, that volcano’s-worth of vexation Hualiama was capable of, whereby she seemed adept even at out-vexing destiny itself so incorrigibly, it could but flee to another Island bleating like a wounded sheep.

  His third heart ignited as if she gazed right into his fires and infused them with pure starlight. “What?” he blurted out, quite forgetting his posture of magnificent masculine gravitas.

  With a pert flip of her wingtips, the midnight-blue Dragoness hopped up onto his muzzle and made herself comfortable! How many ways could a Dragon spell ‘rascal?’ This girl … this Dragoness! Grandion’s belly-fires betrayed his churned-up feelings with a low, eager reverberation. By the Ancients, how she made his Dragon-magic sing!

  Fire licked out of his nostrils, bathing her in his warmth.

  After preening in those flicking flames for a moment, she added, “Grandion, there’s one thing that’s always impressed me about you. You are a deeply perceptive Dragon. Evidence to the fore – your amazingly detailed Projection of a Human’s physiology, so accurate that you were able to shoot arrows and … uh, kindle a girl’s fires …”

  A very Human-like squirm accompanied these words. Realisation dawned. “Hualiama, who am I speaking to? Right this –”

  “Human-me.”

  And this is Dragon-me, said an identical voice, in Dragonish.

  He blinked. “You Shapeshift minds, but both minds are simultaneously conscious? Heavens raining fireballs, girl – and Dragoness – you continue to confound – Fra’anior’s beard!” he finished feelingly. “This Dragon’s spine spikes quiver!”

  “I don’t mean to vex you, Grandion.” She blinked back, flirting with her nictitating membranes before that expression turned into confusion. He had the distinct impression her inner Dragoness must be laughing at her chaotic Human manifestation. “I mean – uh, sometimes I do. More often than I should, probably. It’s a girl-thing. But right now, I don’t intend … look. We girls have discussed matters and since my Humansoul had an idea, we agreed she’d come to the fore and I’d like you to listen to her, even if she comes up with another wing-shivering conundrum –”

  “You’re schizophrenic?” he inquired.

  Five tiny talons cuffed his nose. “Grandion!”

  “I’m trying to understand.” One soul, two brains? Their squabble was instantly forgotten. White-fires seethed across his eyesight! Tilting his wings, Grandion caught a late thermal over the mountains, riding the air currents with an instinctive flexion of the broad flight surfaces. “Don’t Humans say there’s no such thing as a ralti-stupid question? You’ll have to expect a few from me.”

  “From my reformed, modern Dragon?” she returned tartly.

  “Grrrr … I’m imagining tasty Human steaks filling my feeding bowl,” he snorted.

  “My flavour of vinegary mischief would make your tongue curl.”

  “And how!”

  Hualiama said, “Besides, do you see a Human somewhere? Listen, I need to explain my soul space to you. In fact –” Now, her voice began to rush onward like an excitable Cloudlands-bound torrent “– I want to explain everything to you, Grandion. I want you to see every tiny detail of … me. All the nuances of Shapeshifting. Observe me, smell me, know me, and taste all the magic with every facility of that amazing draconic mind of yours.”

  “I already do,” he protested.

  If he burned truly for both of her forms, would that make him a polygamous Dragon like those Humans of the South he had read about, the Jeradians and Sylakians? True as suns-shine upon scales, he did not care.

  “Right. And here comes the gaily-leaping onto the Isle of Embarrassment bit.”

  How his greedy gaze, returned at last to its full capacity, drank in the beauties of Immadia. Roseate suns-light upon snowy slopes. The flurries of white where the dragonets dug their burrows, deep in the mountains behind the city. The remarkable turquoise quality of the Cloudlands lapping about this fabled Island – more a cluster, in truth, for he observed a scattered archipelago of ancillary, smaller Islets and boulders to the North and East of the main Island. Returning his slightly cross-eyed regard to the kittenish proprietor of the bridge of his nose, he scrutinised her intently, with all seven Dragon senses on their highest alert. Oath-magic was the oldest and perhaps least understood topic in the canon of draconic lore. Many Dragons spoke the ascending fire-promises, but did they truly grasp what they wrought in the most elemental, spiritual realms? No. They had but the merest inkling. Why should Hualiama stress this oath-magic now?

  “Speak,” he demanded.

  At once, Lia said, “Not so very long ago, a most noble Dragon recognised the path that we have forgotten. Something Flicker said reminded me of this today. Listen.”

  Lifting her slender muzzle until her soft throat gleamed with rufescent tints where the white trim of her scales caught the suns-light, the Star Dragoness vocalised lightly:

  For if I love thee greatly enough, o song of my third heart;

  If I love thee more greatly and widely and deeply and intimately,

  Than a Dragon has ever loved his beloved,

  Then I swear I shall change my fires and magic for thy sake, o Hualiama of Fra’anior.

  A third time I swear, that if truly I do love thee, I shall become as thou art.

  I shall become Human.

  His own utterance! Grandion shivered from wingtip to wingtip, and from muzzle to tail; the Island-World seemed to leap in concert with his response. The white-fires of his understanding clarified afresh – o, portentous day! The very insight he had yearned for! How was it that this Dragoness always made his days brighter, and his fires burn whiter? His hearts’ song swelled with notes vibrant of inspiration, so much lighter and freer it was as if he bore no weight upon his wings anymore, but could soar eternally above the Islands and across the world. He was just more … more of a Dragon, around Hualiama, and this newfound vision shivered his every scale.

  Perhaps this was the preeminent quality of a Star Dragoness – a realisation only seven years in dawning upon this Dragon’s mind.

  Grandion ruffled his wings uncomfortably.

  Meantime, the Dragoness said, “It may be that the core magic of this third race cannot be learned, o Tourmaline, but if you and I can share so much through the oath-bond that we even borrow each other’s thoughts and powers …”

  He dipped his muzzle in acknowledgement. “Aye.”

  Perhaps there was hope after all. Perhaps, if he learned enough about the process and paths of being a Shapeshifter, and grew as close as the oldest and dearest of roost-mates with her, there might come a moment when a Dragon rose upon frail Human legs – and if that were possible, nothing could keep them apart, ever again. There would be no subterfuge. No unknown day of reckoning, when Dragons who regarded themselves as the sons of true-fires would be forced to end what they saw as a perversion.

  Hualiama was the harbinger of this race.

  Even as he watched attentively, witness to her fires flaring and the inward-folding of her Dragon form, Grandion knew a settling of his soul-fires into newness. Aye, she was embarrassed. The girl that appeared, balancing upon his nose, covered herself modestly before the Dragon’s gaze. There was an intimacy implicit in seeing and being seen that he had never understood so lucidly before. Could he begin to understand why e’er a Tourmaline Dragon had burned for this girl’s voice and presence?

  Squeezing his opaque outer eyelids shut, Grandion rumbled, “I believed that to slaver over your haunches was the ultimate fodder of chastisement?”

  Musical laughter trilled over his head and shoulders, lightening the load upon his wings.

  She could be seen. Her eyes gleamed with emotions he did not understand, but they certainly seemed ple
asingly fiery.

  Bidding his hearts to cease racing at battle-ready speed, the Tourmaline added, “I’m learning that it’s about how a female wants to be seen. Not just the cut of wings, or … well, outward features. The art lies in seeing the true tenor and quality of her inner fires – as you memorably said, a Dragoness must be true to her wings. I must meditate upon this insight, for it is hard, if not impossible, to separate the carnal, emotional and spiritual realms of perception. At this I fail … often.”

  His mortified cough blew sulphurous grey smoke about her legs, making it seem for a moment that the Human girl improbably stood upon a cloud.

  “It’s hard for both of us,” she admitted.

  Pleasure seized his wing stroke, causing him to dip in the air. “For your Dragoness, or your Human?” he probed, his belly-fires soughing with pleasure.

  “Both. It’s different for my Dragonsoul, but definitely both.”

  Grandion cocked his head, pretending to listen. Grr. “Aye? Is that a gushing river I hear inside, or is that your Dragonsoul’s drooling?”

  Merriment.

  Her hands touched his scales, tracing them slowly across the brow-ridges, as far as she could reach. Her long hair tickled his sensitive nerve endings as she bent close to whisper, “I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for me to understand that loving me is about loving all of me, Grandion. I know that sounds somehow perverse and unworkable. By all means, look … uh, ruddy spitting windrocs, I can’t believe what my mouth’s spouting …” In a verbal blush that complimented her deepening colour, she stumbled, “Just don’t be too – Islands’ sakes! Too blatant about your regard, alright, mister delicate-Dragon?”

  His rumbling was an inarticulate statement of knotted-up emotions, but the girl only laughed a soft, melancholy echo of her earlier jollity, and said, “Perhaps we’ll learn ways for our Dragons to be soul-bonded lovers and for our Humans also to be rainbows over Islands for each other, as an authentic expression of both aspects of our soul. After all, since our love undeniably endures in all its complexity and adversity, we must be able to forge a way into the future – for, as Siiyumiel taught me, love is the white-fires essence of the Balance of the Harmonies.”

  When he raised his right forepaw, Hualiama leaped gladly into the curve of his talons. The breeze generated by his passage made her long sapphire-and-blonde hair fly behind her, but she tucked it down as she settled. Hualiama was right. That illicit regard for a Human’s form and flight which he had always rejected, settled into new patterns in his thinking. Principled. Draconic. Yearning. Aye, much of which she had spoken made a Dragon’s scales itch, but now he must turn his verimost labours to understanding, with all integrity, what it meant to love his crazy, mixed up, inexpressibly alluring oath-companion.

  How many times he had regretted those hasty oaths – wrongly, blind fool that he was!

  This day, he must embrace a new future.

  Lifting his forepaw once more, this time to his nostrils – so that he drew from Hualiama a wriggle and a squeal, ‘That tickles!’ – he inhaled her girlish-Dragonish scent deep into his lungs, into his bloodstream and brain, allowing it to delight his magical potentials and … the Tourmaline thundered:

  All of thee, beloved Blue-Star. All of thee.

  Her response was a soughing of wind across his scales, and the song of his three Dragon hearts. Oh speak the thunderous notes of thy love, my Alastior …

  This Tourmaline Dragon would not be content to be. He would become.

  * * * *

  Running through the full gamut of her Nuyallith forms was no trivial affair. Teaching them was quite another discipline. But in Jin and Isiki, Lia had two diligent students with that typically Eastern deference for the master. She only wished she was a true master! Ten thousand more repetitions and she might begin to approach the skills of he whose memories formed this body of martial arts lore in her mind. This evening, Elki had sauntered over, declaring a need to warm up his muscles, quickly trailed by Saori. As the Humans worked on their forms, Grandion, Mizuki and Makani mock-wrestled a good quarter-mile from the camp, which had sprouted a dozen Immadian military-issue four-square tents with a double layer of insulation for the comfort of those who did not carry about their own thermal shielding.

  Practical.

  Still, Lia gritted her teeth. She was not jealous of Grandion wrestling with two striking Dragonesses. She was … grr – not! She must concentrate on anything but tourmaline flashes and earthquake-like rumblings of draconic amusement …

  The Dragons shortly finished their mock-combat and walked back toward her small training group, discussing the method Lia and Grandion had worked out for the Tourmaline to navigate and see even when he was blind. That technique would be essential when they flew into the mysterious mists north of Immadia. Here came Flicker, flitting low across the packed white snow like a wayward snowflake. She must stop thinking of him as smoky green and grow accustomed to his white dragonet guise. Being a creature of no small conceit, the fact of his splendid reincarnation had to be acknowledged more times daily than a dragonet had scales on his body. Cue muscly little poses in every possible reflective surface, including Lia’s Nuyallith blades.

  Shrugging to resettle her unfamiliar Immadian garb after her exertions, Lia caught Flicker in her hands and placed him on her shoulder. With her forefinger, she scratched him beneath the chin. You’re so awesome, it must hurt!

  Flicker clearly had no idea what she was referring to, but his chest swelled immediately. Well, I … well! By my wings!

  I’ll explain later.

  I’ll hold your right ear hostage right now, he squeaked, unable to bear not knowing exactly why this compliment had been received.

  Sumio approached, limping due to nine dragonet bites he had suffered on his lower legs, which Lia had treated with her healing magic. He brought three most welcome visitors to the camp. They glanced about warily, especially at the approaching Dragons.

  Stowing her blades in their shoulder sheaths, Hualiama called gladly, “Zanya, Brazo – welcome! Is your mother better?”

  Zanya walked tall, despite her barefoot and threadbare appearance. “Aye, she is much improved thanks to your healing touch,” she replied. “This is Varinya, our mother. She’s a jeweller and a fletcher by trade. Mother, may I introduce you to Hualiama, Princess of Fra’anior?”

  “I thank you for relieving my fire-fever infection, Princess.” Varinya’s Immadian accent brought the image of a songbird to Hualiama’s mind. Like her children, she was tall and raven-haired, with striking, lake-blue eyes. From her height of six feet, she peered short-sightedly down at the Fra’aniorian, for the illness had damaged her sight. “We are here to serve, if you will have us.”

  Hualiama bowed in return, a truncated Fra’aniorian genuflection interspersed with a mere four hand-twirls. “We’re so grateful to have you join us. Friends, last night, with their permission, I breathed Amaryllion’s gift of fire into Brazo and Zanya.”

  Jin almost choked; Isiki slapped his back gleefully.

  “Alright there, old boy?” Elki put in, giving him a few further whacks for good measure. Jin glowered at everyone.

  “Zanya and Brazo are twins of twenty-three years of age and strong in the traditions of Immadian magic, although they are not yet trained and versed in its ways.” Lia took a deep breath. “This warrior of the East, Jin, also possesses this fire-gift. I will need you to document with Jin and Isiki, its effects on your lives. And also, I believe Grandion the Tourmaline Dragon will enjoy this gift through the oath-magic we share.”

  The jovial Prince of Fra’anior gave this statement the benefit of a dagger-sharp glare.

  Flicker purred happily, Awesome-pants!

  Your idea, my third heart, Lia returned, mind-to-mind. You prompted me.

  I am –

  Running out of adjectives to express your humbleness? suggested her Dragonsoul.

  The dragonet thrust his little muzzle into the air. Pack the snooty scale-scrubber
away, Lia. I like your Human far, far better.

  Now, she moved among the group, feeling the weight of leadership of Humans and Dragons dragging at her soul. So many dead. So many battles fought. Her Dragon Hater mother had absconded toward Fra’anior Cluster, doubtless to subject the Dragons of Gi’ishior to her tyranny there, and Numistar Winterborn had vanished somewhere into the Cloudlands around Immadia. Tiiyusiel had sounded to investigate the troubles between the Land Dragons, and to try to determine what had become of the Ancient Dragoness. That was her first concern. The shell-mother she had never met, Istariela – another grief she bore, Lia knew – had charged her to beat Numistar to the Chrysolitic Dragons. They must prepare and provision this night, and fly at dawn.

  Night came so early in the North. As the group drew closer, conversing in low voices about the journey ahead, Grandion stirred restively. Visitors. Royal visitors.

  Lia said, Makani, Mizuki and Grandion, are you even willing to carry extra persons? We won’t have Dragonships and by the sounds of the route ahead, the mist is too dangerous anyways. I’m sorry I didn’t ask before. I’m so weary, I’m forgetting details …

  Grandion said, We’ll speak, my third heart. Focus on the Immadians.

  With a proprietary curl of his tail, Flicker took possession of her neck. Strength to you, Lia. Remember, it was I who stitched you up first.

  Aye, I’ve been truly stitched up by this friendship, she chuckled. Thanks, Flicker. What do you imagine the Queen wants?

  The dragonet purred, Immadia’s jewels against a blob of terhal-droppings, she wants what you have. Dragons, and magic. This is dangerous frontier country, my dear aerially challenged biped. And that Queen has not just an aesthetically pleasing countenance. Her ears are shamefully rounded, unlike your pretty ears, and she doesn’t … uh, she can’t dance, unlike you.