by Marc Secchia
“Ay.”
“Must?” Maylin and Yaethi protested in concert.
“Ay,” Duri echoed the Master. “Such a place has power beyond bars and mortar. It shadows the very soul.”
“Pip has no protection under Sylakian law,” Yaethi said.
Duri snapped, “She’ll have our protection!” He blushed as Kaiatha regarded him with undisguised admiration. “What? I’m only saying what we’re all thinking, right?”
“Mmm. I like this man.” Kaiatha curled her fingers around his left bicep, and though she kissed him decorously upon the cheek, what she managed to communicate made Durithion blush up a Fra’aniorian suns-set.
Pip whispered, “I have to. Also, we should try to find my tribe. Master Balthion is convinced my Pygmy battle name–” she pointed to the symbols in blue runic script which ran the length of her outer left calf, trilling “–Pip’úrth’l-iòlall-Yò’oótha, has some special, mystical meaning that will be revealed in the Ceremony of Second Naming. I’m not sixteen yet, but maybe we can convince them. The revelation of my true name will, as a matter of course, unearth an astonishing magical power which will topple Marshal Re’akka’s Island into the Cloudlands abyss and swat the Shadow Dragon back to whatever existential hell spawned it in the first instance. And life will become rainbows over Islands.”
Maylin looked scandalised at the bite of Pip’s sarcasm, but Kaiatha said, “Ay, that’s the Island of truth.”
“I agree. Waiting here at the Academy will win us nothing,” Master Kassik said. “We can best protect our refuge from outside the walls of this volcano. Here come our friends. Let’s wait. I’ll start the briefing once we’re all assembled.”
Pip sat cross-legged on her couch, there being no point in pretending her tiny legs could reach the floor. She turned to gaze past Kaiatha. Beyond the balcony’s edge, from the lush cliffs of the Dragons’ Roost Mountain, winged a group of Dragons that fairly took her breath away–Oyda riding her Emblazon, a young, powerful Amber Dragon, the mighty Red leader of Dragons, Blazon, shell-father of Emblazon, and Nak aboard his beautiful Blue Dragoness Shimmerith, who possessed grace unequalled amongst the Dragonkind.
A coterie of younger Dragons swooped from the darkling skies, including Maylin’s feisty Red Emmaraz, the shy grass-green Arrabon who had paired with Yaethi, and flying more gingerly than the others as the result of a pasting recently handed out by a certain Pygmy Dragoness, Silver, he of resplendent scales worthy of a Star Dragon, spearing earthward like the flash of a gleaming blade. Pip willed her heart to stop flopping about like a river salmon feeling the sting of a fishing spear, but her innards refused to behave. Then again, judging by the spots of rose that blossomed in Kaiatha’s cheek as she spied Tazzaral swirling in to his landing on the balcony, perhaps she was not the only one. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jyoss’ forepaw creep over the back of Durithion’s couch to lay a possessive talon upon his right shoulder. Duri squeezed the digit appreciatively.
As the Dragons descended in a great kafuffle of wings and a blast of wind and dust, Pip spied Casitha and Mistress Mya’adara slipping into Master Kassik’s rapidly overcrowding office. Briefly, through the doorway, she marked her three Jeradian trees. Great. No escape.
Mya’adara tossed a key into Pip’s lap before finding her seat. “Yah can free yah friends–Ah use the term loosely–when they’ve laid down a meaningful stretch of humble-rug.”
Pip blinked at the Mistress’ phrasing.
Opposite, Kassik stood to greet Casitha, a pretty Fourth Year student who had recently become his Dragon Rider, only to have her boot him firmly in the right shin. “No burning my paintings when you’re in a mood, Dragon,” she greeted him acidly.
The Master’s eyes bulged as though he had been made to swallow his own fireball.
Pip smothered a chuckle behind her hand as his apology turned into a tender kiss. If ever there was rightness in the Island-World, their romance embodied it. Kassik had been so determined to maintain propriety. He was Master of the Academy. Consorting with a student could not have been further from his thoughts when he had been ambushed by a spate of oath-magic, which swept them both off the proverbial Island cliff. Now they soared together. Beautiful.
She wondered at Hualiama’s Gift, as the oldest scrolls called her magic–the magic which invited a Dragon and Rider to burn the heavens together. The Dragon-Rider oath was clearly made in the heart before ever a word trembled the air. How could this be? A meeting of destinies, of souls, even? A fate sealed by a form of words which released a power of magic unlike any other in the Island-World? This power which linked a draconic fire-soul to a Human soul so fundamentally, the bond gave a Rider the power to live decades longer than an ordinary Human life. Therefore, the oath was life-affirming, or even life-augmenting. This insight captivated Pip like the cool stillness of a forest pool.
Casitha slipped into the seat beside Pip. She tossed her honey-dark curls irately. “Dragons.”
Ay. Dragons. Pip grinned at Silver. Thou.
The Silver Dragon’s muzzle whipped around so fast, he thumped Emblazon’s mighty flank and earned himself a nip on the neck by way of censure. An image of multiple overlapping rainbows flashed into her mind. Thou … uh, girlfriend.
His mental stumble accompanied waterfalls of silver fire that swept across his eye-fires, a colour Pip had seen in no other Dragon. Mesmerising.
Kaiatha pricked Pip’s leg with her fingernail. “Pay attention.”
The Master waited for the Dragons, busy arranging themselves muzzle-to-muzzle while their enormous bodies fanned out upon the balcony. There was much shuffling and wriggling before every beast had his or her claws tucked in and wings not snagging upon each other, which was highly insulting in Dragon circles, Pip had learned. Lined up, the disparity in sizes amazed her. Tazzaral was massive, but Emblazon, the strongest of all Dragons, was one and a half times larger again–surpassing even his father, Blazon. Shimmerith made a svelte, gleaming contrast to her muscular mate, overshadowed but never outshone.
Without warning, the Dragons all settled in perfect concert. Mental command, Pip wondered? Their eye-fires blazed against the deepening night.
“The most sulphurous blessings of the Great Dragon, Fra’anior, be upon you, my Dragon-kin, and all gathered here today,” said Kassik, suddenly formal. “Three hours ago, I received a coded missive sent by messenger hawk from our agents at Tyrodia Island.” His deep tones carried to everyone present. Rising, the Master began to pace up and down, explaining, “Marshal Re’akka’s Dragonwings have descended upon the Crescent Islands in force, quartering the Islands in a methodical search for what we conclude must be information about the Order of Onyx. Emblazon suggested he seeks Dragon lore that will allow him to hatch the First Egg he holds inside that Island. Should that day come, we believe Marshal Re’akka would be unstoppable.”
Wasn’t he unstoppable already? Pip said nothing, but the dismay displayed on the faces around her conveyed much.
Jerrion rumbled, “Pip. Tell us about your dream.”
Great. Just the medicine to cheer everyone up. Pensively, she related what she had seen, grateful for an encouraging mental touch from Silver, but it was not devoid of a hint of jealousy. Silver did not approve that she shared an oath-bond with Zardon the Red, even if she had not understood the implications of agreeing to become Zardon’s Rider. Pip understood the flight of his thoughts. Had the situation been reversed, she would have been spitting jealousy like a banded copper-viper.
Blazon growled, “Strength to your right paw, noble Onyx.”
Shimmerith added, “We will find a way to defeat this renegade Dragon, my kin. We must.”
“Ay,” agreed Blazon, underscoring his agreement with a curl of fire between his fangs. “Kassik, we must use the respite this action affords us to gather our far-flung refugees and fortify the Academy. I will arrange to secrete our treasures in a different location, in Fra’anior Cluster.”
He did not say so, but Pip assum
ed Blazon meant Gi’ishior. No doubt the Dragons had many secret treasuries at their ancient home.
Kassik said, “Meantime, we must scour the lore-libraries for a solution to this magic-ravaging Shadow Dragon. There must be a clue, perhaps events or lore rooted in the time the Ancient Dragons departed our Island-World.” Yaethi raised her hand. The Dragon Elder nodded, “Speak, little one.”
Even in his Human form, Kassik slipped into Dragonish ways of communicating, Pip noticed.
“How does the Marshal control the Shadow Dragon?” Yaethi asked. “From all reports, it seems able to negate or parasitize draconic magic. What say our Dragonkind to this?”
Yaethi paused in alarm at the rising growl of draconic belly-fires out on the balcony, but Blazon said, At ease, my shell-brothers and sisters. To speak of evil is not to invite it to roost with us. “Continue, Yaethi, Rider of Arrabon.”
“Well, it was just to say, I don’t believe that even the First Egg’s overwhelming force could create a diametrically different type of magic–an opposite, as oil and water, or shadow and light, mighty Dragons, so I speculated–” she gulped audibly, then blurted out, “–and this will sound crazy, and I’m sorry! Helyon Islanders have an ancient creation legend. To sum up, they say Dragons believe life is created of fire, a fire fundamental to every physical manifestation of life in our Island-World. These are spiritual or mystical fires, called white-fires.”
“The concept translates exactly into Island-Standard, my beautiful Rider,” Arrabon lisped. “You’d say white-fires, or pure-fires. The inner beauty of every material substance.”
“Why teach us our own legends?” Blazon puzzled aloud. “Every hatchling knows these things.”
“Her words are truth-in-song, my shell-father,” Emblazon rumbled. “Let her finish.” And the mightiest of the Dragons raised his paw. “Be not afraid, Yaethi of Helyon. As a Rider, by oath, bond and deed you are adopted into the family of Dragons. I know I am the least qualified to speak of such matters–” his gaze touched Pip regretfully “–but the truth is, these white-fires are the richest and deepest expression of life, and are common to all the great races of this Island-World–Humans, Lesser Dragons, Shapeshifters and the Ancient Dragons themselves.”
All eyes turned to Yaethi as she said, “Thank you, noble Emblazon. Dragons speak of dark-fires, a darkening of the mind or draconic spirit similar to Human depression. And we know this for a complex malady of great power, with physical, emotional and spiritual symptoms. Yet I believe–I envisage–a deeper truth underlies the concept of dark-fires. A force, for want of a better word, which opposes these cosmic draconic white-fires. Brought together, the two annul each other. They are the ultimate foes. Perhaps dark-fires represent negation, annihilation, or chaos itself–I don’t know what exactly, but I sense the answers we need lie somewhere upon the Island of a philosophy of dark-fires.”
The silence that enveloped their gathering was indeed dark-fires, Pip thought. Every Dragon’s eye-fires darkened or turned toward crimson anger as they considered her words.
Shimmerith asked plaintively, “How can we fight an elemental force, Yaethi?”
“A creature born of dark-fires?” Silver whispered, shivering visibly. “Ay, my scales shudder with its truth; like Emblazon, my seventh sense …”
“Sings,” Emblazon supplied.
The Silver Shapeshifter said, “Thank you, shell-brother. My native Herimor is rife with creatures which parasitize magic. Rider Yaethi’s idea elevates the same concept to a greater plane of existence. This chills my belly-fires.”
Master Kassik tented his fingers again, staring at Yaethi with such a blaze of draconic calculation, the girl voiced an involuntary whimper and ducked her head. He said, “Yaethi and Arrabon, I must ask you to remain here whilst we fly on our mission to Sylakia and the Crescent. I would have you lead the scholarly investigation into–”
“Lead?” Yaethi yelped. “But Master–”
“Lead,” he repeated, in growl that booked no argument, “with the help of the Dragon Elders, and every resource at our disposal both in this Academy and Fra’anior Cluster. Masters Ga’am and Shambithion, and the Blue Dragoness Cressilida, shall be your overseers and mentors. Ay. And the Nameless Man, if we can recruit him. What say you, Dragon and Rider?”
Yaethi rose to perform a Helyon genuflection. “As you command, Master. I accept.”
“Bravo!” Arrabon bugled. “My Rider speaks for us both.”
Master Kassik said, “Nak and Emblazon, you shall lead our Dragonwing to Sylakia, where Master Balthion, Casitha and I propose to meet with certain friends in order to investigate a persistent, strong rumour that the Sylakian Shapeshifters have found a way to hide from the beast of Shadow. Meantime, the rest shall fly on to the Crescent. We’ll have many hours on the wing to discuss strategy, but I believe an incisive raid by a limited number of Dragons and Riders should offer the best chance of success.”
Or, it would limit the losses should their mission end in catastrophe. But Pip did not voice this concern. Failure was unthinkable. She could not, and would not, consider it.
“We must secure this knowledge hidden by the Order of Onyx before the Marshal does,” said Kassik. “Blazon will take charge of the Academy in my absence. We will use this evening to prepare, and fly as the first light of dawn illuminates our Island-World. May the fire of Ancient Dragons be our portion, and may we burn the heavens together, forever.”
Kassik gazed around his group, receiving a number of firm nods or affirmative rumbles in response to his passionate closing declaration. Pip’s thoughts, however, turned to Shimmerith.
Noble Shimmerith, what of your unhatched egg? Surely you cannot fly, yet? And will you not be required to nurse your hatchlings?
Dragons don’t nurse, little one. Shimmerith’s Dragonish expressed nuances of laughter, motherly-brooding-love and concern. Your interest is timely. Pip–
“Ay,” said Master Kassik. “Pip, go help Shimmerith hatch her egg. Snip snap, girl.”
“Me?” she squeaked, and lowered her voice, annoyed. “Me? Master, what do I know of Dragon eggs or hatchlings?”
“Enough backchat, you pintsized menace.” The Brown Shapeshifter smiled genially. “Pip, get out of my office before I thrash you with my Dragon’s paw. That is an order.”
She made quite certain her piping laughter had irritated him before she left.
Chapter 3: Hatchlings
Snip snap was the Master’s way of suggesting she should not waste a moment. Pip limped over to Shimmerith and Silver, who awaited her on the balcony.
Nak cried, “Pip, my favourite–oof! Let me go, you pile of draconic sublimity.”
Gripping Nak in her left forepaw, Shimmerith rolled her eye-fires at him. “Precious Rider, you cannot clap Pip on the shoulder. She’s wounded.”
“Thank the heavens for that,” said Oyda. “Uh, I meant–that you took your Rider in paw, so to speak, noble Shimmerith. Not you, Pip. Oh, why don’t you just do the talking, Dragoness?”
The Sapphire Dragoness unclenched her fist; Nak tottered out, rearranged his clothes and his dignity, and swooped to plant a kiss upon Oyda’s cheek. “May I further bemuse and befuddle thee, o most delectable of Dragon Riders?”
She shoved him playfully. “Later, you Cloudlands pirate. These are womanly matters.”
“But I like womanly matters.”
Pip blushed as Nak looked Oyda over with undisguised fervour.
Oyda, a petite Yelegoy Islander with fiery green eyes and madly curly brown hair, seemed quite in command of the situation. Swatting Nak so hard on the behind that he yelped and jumped three feet sideways, she bade Emblazon whisk the Dragon Rider away to their roost and the armoury, to pack for the mission. Nak’s parting words, floating back on the breeze as the massive Amber Dragon snaffled him away, had something to do with packing Oyda no shirts whatsoever.
With a soft whoop, Jyoss tipped off the balcony with Durithion seated on her shoulders, while inside Kassik’
s office, the Jeradian trio scratched their beards over the manacles. No key seemed to fit. Pip waved cheekily at her friends’ scowls. Revenge had been unexpectedly sweet.
Emmaraz growled, “Off to the locksmith, my Rider. Arrabon?”
“Granted. Shall I have the armourers ready your saddle and Dragon Rider tack, noble shell-brother?”
“And two Dragon lances.” Emmaraz, ever the hothead, let fire leak between his fangs as Arrabon lifted Maylin and Yaethi onto the young Red Dragon’s back. “I’m going to hunt down that Shadow Dragon and rend it limb from limb. Ready, Riders?”
“Don’t you mean, captives?” Pip sniped.
Thundering his testiness to the heavens, Emmaraz launched out over the caldera. Now, at night, the lava flows down at ground level were clearly visible, snaking about like bloody claw-tracks scored through Dragon hide. Pip shook off the image. This was no time for trepidation. Nor for recalling how Re’akka’s cold fireball had reduced thousands of soldiers to crimson lumps of ice within their armour.
Silver nuzzled her back. “Hey, mischief.”
So fiery-warm. Pip leaned back against his nose, sighing, “So it’s off to war for us, Silver? Don’t you start thinking I’m as troublesome as everyone says.”
“No, you only crushed my ribs, trounced me in strategy and in battle, turned my every Island upside-down by ensnaring my heart, and today, clapped your friends in chains. No trouble at all.”
Shimmerith snorted an appreciative fireball, but Pip observed she ejected it from the side of her muzzle, bathing Blazon’s flank in blistering heat. The Dragon Elder did not even appear to notice, deep in conversation with Kassik and Mistress Mya’adara. Hands on hips, she tried to scowl at Silver. His eyes made a fiery lurch that perfectly matched the action of her heart. She could not help herself. A force greater than the daily coursing of the suns above the Island-World turned the corners of her mouth upward.
If you two hatchlings have quite finished making moon-eyes at each other, I’ve an egg I’m concerned about, said Shimmerith.
