by Marc Secchia
“Lia, are you –” Saori gulped. Her hands covered her small bump protectively. “I could’ve sworn I just heard you talking to my baby. I didn’t understand – but I heard – didn’t I?”
“You did.” Listen, Saori. This is Dragonish. Can you hear me?
Saori shook her head. “Alright, that’s weird. Get out of my mind, or whatever you’re messing about with in there.”
Dragon Riders developed telepathic powers? She shook her head slowly. The Dragons would be less than impressed, for they regarded the ability to speak telepathically as far more than a cultural heritage. It was a key element of draconic tactical thinking. “Saori, keep this secret to yourself for now, alright? It’s important.”
The Eastern warrior pasted on her very best unimpressed look. “Sure, Princess.”
“Saori, have you thought about what happens when you marry into a royal family?” She winked at her friend. “Princess-to-be … Saori? My royal sister?”
Her speechless expression was worth a thousand leagues travel through violent storms.
With that, Hualiama glanced up as the scouts, flying ahead of the main army, voiced a chorus of bugles to alert them of Dragons – friendly Dragons.
Xinidia was a low Island, rising just a quarter-league above the Cloudlands, but its rolling green hills were an attractive prospect, especially for hungry Dragons from Fra’anior Cluster, Grandion noted, with a humorous slurp of his tongue about his fangs. The quantity and variety of buck and other prey was the stuff of draconic fable. Looking ahead, Hualiama decided that the legend might have just become the fodder of recent history, because Affurion’s forces occluded the very skies above the Island. That number of hungry maws? Neither mouse nor vole would be safe, never mind greater bushbuck, summer deer and the giant ochre hamsters that inhabited seventeen cave complexes in the interior in their tens of thousands.
She peered ahead, and then chuckled as Grandion supplied a hugely magnified image of a buck standing petrified before a stalking Green Dragon, before retreating to show the larger picture. Now she saw the expected legions of Grunts, Overminds and Swarm-Dragonkind, the subspecies peculiar to the Lost Islands. Thanks, you hulking monster.
He said, Any time, enchanting imp.
Dragonsoul decided this was time for an arms-folded virtual pout. Are you still flirting with my Dragon?
When do we tell Grandion he was kissing two souls at once?
The Dragoness within chuckled throatily. Indeed. So, are we enjoying the taste of epic, miserable failure – what we know is that magic travels and targets its victim, and we’ve no clue how to avoid it. We haven’t worked out how to summon Istariela when we need her, and the best defence we can think of is to have another Dragon undo a Command-hold, but if mother dearest explodes our grey matter all over the nearest Island, it would be better we were not actually there. Beforehand. Having travelled through time, or having prophetically read her intentions in advance …
What about stealing into her psyche via the Haters’ mind-meld?
You know how closely that’s controlled and monitored. She could equally just steal everything from us, Humansoul. Then we’d be –
Toasted?
The Dragoness spat, All hail mama’s heir, the mindless Empress of the Lost Islands?
Lia gave her second-soul a warm hug. Keep working on the problem, alright? I need to pay attention up here because Affurion’s approaching at speed with a delegation of his Dragons. Mizuki’s tail needs some tweaking.
Don’t embarrass her, Humansoul.
Lia bowed to herself. As you command, Your Celestial Highness.
Oh, go agitate some serious mischief – wherever, snorted the Dragoness. The kind that wins us this war without having to blunt a talon would do nicely. Duly ordered.
Oh, how I worship your tiny, glowing talons.
* * * *
Affurion was battle-scarred, but not much the worse for wear. Grandion greeted his wing brother with open enthusiasm. He introduced the elders of his Dragonwing, then Hualiama the Star Dragoness, Mizuki and Makani and all of their respective Riders, and finally the new Shapeshifter Dragons Jinichi, Brazo and Zanya. Affurion’s delegation snorted in amazement at this development, but welcomed the youngsters with a warm cannonade of fireballs that certainly made Brazo flinch, while his sister found herself hiding behind Makani and declared her annoyance with a loud growl.
“New fledglings are always welcome in the communion of the Dragonkind,” Affurion announced, which was as effective a way of squashing any loose talk as Grandion had ever imagined.
But his greatest pleasure was reserved for the moment the obligatory greetings were completed, for Affurion turned at once to Mizuki, and said, “Thou true-fires-stirring empress of the Eastern skies, would you brief us as to all you have learned during your long journey to and from the North?”
This honour should have been his, but Grandion smoothly covered the Copper Dragoness’ inarticulate spluttering by trumpeting, “Aye, we travelled as far as the fabled Isle of Immadia, wing brother. Much has transpired. Like yourselves, we have fought and battled and some travelled to the eternal fires, may their souls burn brightly forever! We have battled great enemies and made new allies, but our fires are most agreeably intensified by our renewed meeting with the Dragons of the Lost Islands. For this day, our every fire has yearned.”
Glancing about, Hualiama said softly, “And our Dragon Riders.”
The Tourmaline said, “Great deeds lie before us, Affurion. Great honour shall be won. But now, I shall leave the telling of new lore to one more able than I – Mizuki the Copper Dragoness.”
The flight to Xinidia Island now proceeded at the stately pace of Dragonships, while the Dragons spoke earnestly, and interpreters flew close to the Human Dragonships, briefing the men, women and monks aboard when the discussion turned to Dragonish, and amplifying the faraway speech for those who could not hear at a distance. While Mizuki updated Affurion and his Dragons with studied dignity that failed to disguise how skittishly her fires misbehaved every time the Brown leader so much as glanced in her direction, Grandion dropped back to quietly instruct the Shapeshifter Dragons in the nuances of draconic communication – eye-fires, posture, gestures of talons, wings and the secondary nictitating eye membranes, the tone of the inner fires, and so forth.
Eventually, Zanya said, Are you saying Affurion loves –
Silence, fledgling! Grandion cautioned, Aye, I am. But it is not spoken aloud. You correctly observe his warm and fiery regard for the Copper. We call this phase of courtship ‘the first stoking of the embers’. Humans might share glances across a room, or hold hands –
Or kiss their beloved, Brazo put in boldly.
The Tourmaline puffed smoke from his nostrils. Aye. And just as the Human dance has many nuances, so does the dance of the Dragonkind, but ours is a more stately, circumscribed affair, whereas the beauteous Star Dragoness dances as she wishes, and she … ahem! She’s a terrible distraction. Obviously.
She’s listening, said Jin.
Is she? the Dragon chortled. Another day I might have advanced such statements deliberately, but today that was a genuine revelation of a Dragon’s inner true-fires. Usually, our way is subterfuge. Shamefully direct, I am.
He belly-laughed as footsteps tripped lightly between his skull spikes, crossed the armoured crown of his cranium, and tapped between his eyes onto the bridge of his nose. Seating herself in his line of sight, Lia said, Grandion, is it true that these Dragons understand Dragonish as though born to it? Isn’t this the finest marker we have discovered yet, that true-fires draconic life pervades each Shapeshifter?
Aye, he said, and do you know what else? A very, very noteworthy discovery I have made.
What? inquired his beloved.
Pfft.
Ooh, that’s gorgeous, she cried, her deep blue eyes lighting up.
Blowing smoke hearts? sniffed Flicker. Rank amateur.
* * * *
With the Air Breather
s of the easternmost Lost Islands, those which hosted Dragon Roosts upon their peaks and flanks, already having been dispatched for Fra’anior Cluster the day before, Grandion’s command tarried at Xinidia only as long as it took to snatch a couple of hours’ sleep, share fresh kill and make essential repairs.
The Empress waited.
This time, Grandion’s fellow puffers of the storm winds included seventy Overminds, who collectively possessed psychic power aplenty to scud the fleet along at the utmost safe speed as they turned their muzzles to the northwest, toward Fra’anior Cluster and the great glow of the Yellow Moon, steadily cresting the horizon behind the ancient citadel of the Onyx Dragon. The Tourmaline Dragon flew high with Affurion and numerous other Dragons, seeking that first glimpse of the titanic volcano. As Imaytha travelled for a space with the Immadian troops in order to brief and prepare them, her place was taken by Ja’al the Just, leader of the warrior monks of Fra’anior Cluster, the followers of the Path of the Dragon.
Just now, he scowled at Hualiama. “Are you expecting worship?”
“No! Ja’al …” Aye, she wanted to thump his overly serious, ascetic cranium with her Dragoness’ heel. “Ja’al, please listen to the heart of what I’m saying. I am not my shell-father. Frankly, he roars at me a lot, cuffs me about the earholes, and provides rather less instruction than I would like because it’s too ruddy dangerous – as in, we’d change the future, invite unspecified dark-fires danger to the shores of our Island-World, and the like.”
“You invited Numistar Winterborn.”
“That’s not true!”
“You treated with her. As good as, in my opinion.” His deep eyes, fathomless in the semidarkness of a three-moon night, flashed with his innate magic. “Don’t you be breathing Shapeshifter fires into any of my monks, I’m warning you. You trifle with lives all too easily.”
Her voice shook. “Ja’al … what happened to you?”
“Your mercurial mother happened to us, as I’ve learned,” he growled. “We lost many. So many good men. You remember Hallon and Rallon? Dead. You remember –”
“I am not my mother!”
So shaken was she, lightning flashed between them. Ja’al batted her electrical discharges away with a wave of his hand. All of his expression was set in condemnation.
“The hells with your insinuations! I am not Azziala!”
“Lia. Allying us with Numistar is no way to draw that distinction.”
She tasted blood from her bitten tongue. Had she invited this by seeking to speak with Ja’al? No. Like one of Grandion’s broadsides, this had more to do with his issues than hers. She would not spoil a friendship – if they even had one, these days – by wilting at his baseless accusations. Ja’al could speak harshly, aye. Words unhampered by wisdom.
She said, “Ja’al, long ago you chose your path and I chose differently. I am not butting heads with you over this. You serve Fra’anior in your way and I will serve him in mine. When this war is done, I want to train your monks in the ways of Nuyallith. It is a gift that should remain where it belongs. And meantime, you will learn that sometimes to serve well means to hold your tongue, and to speak with respect even if you cannot bring yourself to actually approve. I gave you respect. I accepted your vows. But I cannot unmake who I am.”
What she saw in his eyes, she left unspoken. Hurt. Doubt. He still carried that old flame, deep in his heart of hearts, and she could never disparage him for it.
Some choices must be made over and over again.
“If you’ve a problem with my being a Star Dragoness,” Lia added, “it’s all storms over the next Isle, by now. I am a Shapeshifter Dragon, the prophesied child of the Dragon. I carry the fires of Amaryllion Fireborn in my soul. I can no less deny those than you can deny your beliefs.”
With that, she rose and strode down Grandion’s back, past his Riders. How she wanted her Dragon just to herself. Just the two of them, with no fates hanging over their heads. A time for romance and for loving, not for war and dying. Shielding herself, she stripped off rapidly, bundled her clothing and weapons up using her belt, and passed them to Sumio.
No words would suffice.
No-one trusted her. No-one, save her own shadow – shadows. Her second-soul, and precious Flicker.
There, at her heart’s home of Fra’anior Cluster, in the shadow of her shell-father’s mammoth heritage and her Human mother’s unbreakable hegemony, how could she possibly find a way to shine?
* * * *
As the stark shadow of the volcano rose against the sallow, cratered backdrop of the Yellow Moon, Dragoness-Hualiama fell with shocking speed into a dream. First came Istariela, begging her one last time to release the ruzal to her. But before she could begin to express regret or negation – for she did not trust her own shell-mother, did she – Fra’anior appeared upon the horizon, thundering and fulminating with such fury that comets smashed down from the skies and the Rim-Wall Mountains shook and cracked, letting in a dark tide of S’gulzzi that poured over her world in endless, unstoppable waves of ravening mouths and sucking, hollow fangs. Dead, accusing faces floated past her in the wash, many people she loved and many more she did not know. Although she fought with all the strength of her inheritance, it was not enough. The S’gulzzi swelled as they swallowed up her starlight. Their bodies became grossly distended and befouled with power. She fought and railed and screamed at Fra’anior to help her, but his dark storm whitened as if filled with billowing ash, until she realised it was no longer him but Numistar Winterborn’s snow sifting down over the Islands, thick and stultifying, clinging to and suffocating everything that moved …
Blue-Star. We will raise the standard of Star Dragons. We will paint the sky with stars.
Humansoul spoke to her, but the Dragoness did not seem to understand. Istariela attacked Fra’anior! They clashed, the strength of Onyx assailing white-fires and starlight, raging with the bitterness of lovers and the fury of the Ancient Powers; she was just a speck compared to Fra’anior, her light shining so bravely, but his paw descended with cruel power to crush the fire-life out of her … Hualiama screamed! No – a white paw. White?
So shall I crush your pitiful bones, o daughter of the Onyx, Numistar cackled.
Her power was conceived in the unfathomable darkness between the stars. She was cold incarnate, and she destroyed Land Dragons with a touch. She drained the magic if every Dragon she targeted, feeding the blinding white storm that preceded her stately southward passage.
Time fragmented.
Her wings beat, but Hualiama did not feel them. What she felt was the weight of myriad stars, the most ancient of Dragons, splashed in thick bands across the brilliant night sky. They predated even the Ancient Dragons. When the world first formed, they had existed. They watched and waited. They shone unstintingly, unadulterated and inviolable. They did not condemn, for the deeds of her paw must seem as a blink within a blink before their billion-year lifespans.
Did she long to impress such as these?
Hualiama examined her hearts in wonder. Perhaps she could. Perhaps, if she shone bravely enough, she could forge a new way and a new future for the Dragonkind of this world.
Now, that was a dream to move a girl-Dragoness to dance.
* * * *
When he had finished briefing his dragonets and flirting with a few unattached females, Flicker flitted over to Affurion. The great Brown Dragon winged ahead steadily, watching the steaming spiracles of his Air Breathers not ten leagues to the fore, forging slowly through the brilliant white Cloudlands. Ahead, the mighty black ramparts of Fra’anior Cluster loomed greater and greater against the horizon, but the shape was unfamiliar to both him and Hualiama.
The great Land Dragons carved the face of the Island-World anew.
She danced above, and the beauty of the white-fires trailing like cometary trails from her wings, talons and tail held ten thousand Dragons spellbound.
It took more than pure, shimmering starlight to silence a dragonet. Natural
ly. Not that he was unappreciative of the perfection of her presentation. Even while enwrapped in the searing, thrilling forms of her dance, Hualiama carolled a song in a language he was not even certain she understood; a desolate, tempestuous anthem that evoked the stars above, he sensed, that roused and shaped a Dragon’s fires in ways even a garrulous dragonet could not articulate.
Affurion glanced aside at him. Fly a space with me, little wing brother of mighty-pawed deeds.
All he knew was that when she danced, the Island-World was a better place. The long leagues had no meaning, no power to separate hearts and lives. There was opportunity for beauty to replace ruin. Life supplanted death. Even amidst the indescribable bloodshed reported by Siiyumiel beneath the Cloudlands, hope lingered.
Flicker said, ’Tis a night the stars came out to dance.
Affurion replied, In philosophy, too, the manifold splendour of stars is amply eulogised.
She magnifies our white-fires.
Now, the Brown just shook his great head in wonder. How easily a Dragon forgets the wisdom of the tiniest paws. May I share this insight with my brethren?
Of course. Flicker bowed his wings – for once, without a trace of smugness.
He surprised himself.
They winged on, dipping gradually toward Sarzun Dragonhold, which walked at a steady two leagues per hour toward Fra’anior Cluster, angling toward the southerly rim where they would take a position several leagues away from the volcano. Already, the Dragonkind who knew the area had commented on the unfamiliar shape of the volcanic rim. Azziala had indeed blocked ingress to the caldera. Usually at night, the crimson glow of lava leaked from multiple points along the rim wall, pouring from the gaps between the Islands, and Flicker wondered if the caldera would eventually fill up. Warning, invitation, trap. The Empress clearly did not want Land Dragons interfering with proceedings inside the caldera when she confronted Hualiama and Numistar.
