by Marc Secchia
Home. Did she even know what that word meant?
They bored into a biting headwind which swept in from leaden skies, promising snow before the morning was out, Nak avowed. Pip decided she would be an ice-statue long before then. Three hours’ steady labour in worsening weather saw the Dragonwing reach Sylakia’s south-easternmost isthmus. Here Emblazon took them a half-league offshore, appearing to be searching for some landmark. At last, he vented a snort of satisfaction that puffed a cloud of condensation around his muzzle, and bent his course toward a slanting crack in the mile-and-a-half cliff. Shimmerith pointed out an ancient Sylakian fortress standing atop that bleak headland, barely visible beneath grey sweeping cloud-curtains spitting flecks of white at the travellers. Freezing weather-dandruff, Duri muttered. Even he sported a blue nose.
Pip could not imagine a more forsaken location in all the Island-World. By some quirk of geography or atmospheric conditions, Sylakia appeared to suffer far colder conditions than the Crescent Islands situated just a few hundred leagues south. Why? Yet the crack reached further back into the forbidding granite massif than had been evident to the naked eye. It quickly turned into a passageway that led to a sheltered grotto, open to the sky far above, but warmed from beneath by a trio of scalding hot springs that fed numerous interlinked pools. Out there, the day had turned from freezing to a full-blown blizzard. But the sifting snow melted long before it reached the grotto’s base.
Pip grinned as nearly every member of the group sighed in anticipation. No freezing wind? Steaming hot water? Were they still on Sylakia?
Nak said feelingly, “Emblazon, you are the most magnificent beast ever to fly beneath the five moons.”
“I know,” the Amber Dragon agreed, as shameless as a courting parakeet. He carefully unwrapped Hunagu from the cargo net. As the Ape shambled off shedding puddles of snow-melt, the Dragon regarded him with carnivorous curiosity. Pip restrained the urge to slap him with the nearest handy Island. Grr.
“Oyda and I have booked the far pool,” Nak added. “The rest of you, sort yourselves out.”
“Ay, o fearless leader?” said Pip.
“Oh, alright. Girls over there, boys over there. Snip snap. I’ve things to do and stunningly attractive Dragon Riders to woo.”
“And the Dragons?” Kaia asked.
“Honestly, if Tazz and Jyoss need privacy to nuzzle, there’s another cavern and more hot springs right through that archway,” said Nak, growing peevish. “No, Silver, you will not ‘protect’ Pip. Go with the men, or transform and go with the men, I don’t care which.”
Silver growled, “What about Emblazon?”
With withering disgust, the Amber Dragon snarled, “Unlike you, I do not find Human hide in the least attractive. You Shapeshifters are the wind over another Island. Go with the males, youngling, and not another word will I hear. Chymasion, I don’t care what you say about magical sight. You see far too much anyway. No doubt you can see through rock, never mind clothing.”
“Hmm, haven’t tried,” said Chymasion. Pip was almost certain he was lying.
Ten minutes later, Pip found herself unthawing in neck-deep, slightly alkaline water with three Dragonesses effectively blocking any view the males might have enjoyed. Tik slipped underwater like a little river-otter, perfectly at home in water as most Pygmy children were.
“You can see why Fra’anior Cluster is so much more appealing than Sylakia,” Kaiatha said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Arosia? Duri and I should raise our children–”
“On the rim of the largest active volcano in the Island-World? Comforting,” said Arosia.
Kaiatha chuckled, “Ay, I’ll go with the volcano any day. What’ll happen to Emmaraz and Maylin, Shimmerith?”
“You saw them leave by Dragon-stretcher, little one,” said Shimmerith. She stretched as lazily as a cat catching the suns’ heat on hot bricks. “They’ll be flown straight to Sylakia Town. There’s a secret Dragon roost somewhere nearby, I believe–that’s the first place Kassik intends to search–from which those Blues appeared. Once Emmaraz’s shoulder is stabilised and Maylin’s bleeding has stopped, they’ve promised to provide a Dragonship to fly them down the Spine to Jeradia. It’s an ugly wound, but with Chymasion’s help I’ve already rebuilt the basic structure of the critical flight-joint. Poor function in that joint would cripple a Dragon permanently.” The Dragoness sighed. “Too many ifs–if the bones knit properly, if the ligaments repair themselves, if the shattered main wing-bone can regenerate internally, if the blood vessels are not restricted …”
“You accomplished a noble work, o Shimmerith,” said Jyoss. “Now, will you teach us the additional magic-dampening shield constructs we’ll need in the Crescent?”
“I can help,” said Cinti. “Herimor magic is all about concealment and subterfuge. Can someone lend me clothes?”
“I thought it was all about subterfuge?” Kaia suggested coyly.
The Dragoness chuckled, “You and my Human manifestation should be of a size, little one. May I borrow a few items, if you brought spare? I haven’t been Human in so long.” At Pip’s soft interrogative sound, she clarified, “The Marshal’s magic corrupts draconic flesh and scale. Some Shapeshifters find they’re unable to return to Human form, others that there is no need. A Human form does require regular maintenance and feeding, just as a Shapeshifter must regularly feed her Dragoness or she might sicken and die.”
“What if she was poisoned?” Pip asked.
Cinti’s eye-fires mellowed to a vibrant orange colour. “Some Shifter poisons only dampen or block the second-soul magic, Pip, but most will do permanent damage unless you have a particularly strong innate healing power. We will only know when you transform.”
Balance. She must summon Balance. Drifting in the hot water, Pip began to recall Leandrial’s teachings–something had indeed arrived in that titanic psychic blast–and began to unpick what she could. So much was alien, a song of magic beyond her ken, but it was the overall pattern she strove to perceive, the true weft and weave of a Shifter’s flesh and soul, and the composition or recomposition of her person. It was too mystical to frame with words. Much of a Shapeshifter Dragoness’ existence seemed a mystery cased within a conundrum, as Master Kassik had put it, quoting from the ancient ballads of Hualiama Dragonfriend. Yet perhaps Chymasion’s power of seeing the exquisite inner magic of all material substance could help.
Chymasion? Silver? Can you help me see and identify–
Ay, responded the Dragons, already attuned to the needs communicated by the rich nuances of her Dragonish.
The Island-World’s night skies revealed never-ending filigrees of stars, the vast yet delicate dance of suns and moons and worlds like hers. Seeing into a person’s flesh was akin to diving into a well of endless depth and complexity, where thousands of miniscule systems interacted in a perpetual dance of such beauty it caused her soul to inhale sharply, then to exhale in endless, infinitesimal realisation. This was Pip. Spirit and substance. Chemical and eternal.
This place, said Silver, showing her. See the wrongness, then transform it in your mind into conditions under which only truth may exist–the not-yet truth, the truth which will become.
Pip saw within herself the wound created by Telisia’s arrow as it penetrated her shoulder. She saw pain radiating from the puncture-point, and decay, as if the physical wound were the mastermind behind a cancerous irruption of her flesh. Travelling deeper, she saw the distortion of fundamental pathways and balances. Deeper still, Pip came upon a realm she did not understand, perhaps in the same way as an Island’s shore demarcated the boundary between Island and Cloudlands ocean, so this unknowable border traced the conjoining of flesh and spirit. Or did she misunderstand? In life, were the two not always one?
And if she observed with the most sensitive tools of Chymasion’s unique magic and employed Silver’s intrinsic connection with the pathways of that most mysterious of monads, the mind, could she envisage a shining Dragonsoul, a tantalising hint of her othe
r-self? As Silver said, imagination must become reality. She must claim her future. Will the Balance into being …
“Glub,” Pip spluttered, coughing up a lungful of tangy, mineral-rich water.
“Fallen asleep there, Pip?” asked Jyoss, cupping her paw to help her stay afloat. Silver’s shell-mother sternly growled at him to stay put.
She began to laugh, then coughed and hiccoughed simultaneously, and had to submit to the indignity of having her back swatted by a Dragoness until the spluttering abated.
After that, Shimmerith decreed a ‘healing snooze’ for everyone. Pip had the impression that Dragons were rather partial to snoozing in warm places, like a pride of vast, scaly rajals slumbering in their lair. She slept, and dreamed of jungles.
* * * *
For the leg to Telstroy, Cinti rode Dragonback with Pip and Silver. Her Human manifestation was a tall, iron-haired matron clad in Kaiatha’s spare blue tunic top and Dragon Rider trousers, standing strong and unbowed despite her great age, with bright, laughing green eyes set in a fine-boned face of startling symmetry. Gazing into her eyes, Pip saw flecks of burnished bronze, as though a furnace had spit molten metal onto the green palette of her irises. Clearly, Dragoness. Clearly, beauty was not solely the province of youth.
And she had a special hug for Pip. “I hope you don’t mind my interrupting matters with Silver,” she whispered. “I know my arrival’s a nuisance. But I never dreamed I’d find my egg again, and it warms a mother-Dragon’s heart to see him with you, Pip. You’re gold. A jungle treasure.”
“Silver and I both wish you’d be more of a nuisance, Cinti.”
Pip wondered what it must be for a Dragoness to learn how she had given the Marshal unwavering and willing service for five years. Grief’s dark-fires shadowed her fires. Dark magic had etched its mark upon her hide, changing not only the colour, but the very nature of her scales–making them rougher and developing multiple spikes on the downward-pointing edges. Her talons were as gnarled as a vulture’s, her lips hard and prone to cracking, and her gums black. Foul magic indeed.
Traversing the Cloudlands to Telstroy was a matter of several hours’ flight courtesy of a stiff following breeze, by which time night had fallen and the climate had changed so radically, Pip was tempted to shuck her fur-lined flying jacket. She could not imagine wearing the garment in the Crescent–indeed, how would her people receive her if she arrived wearing actual clothes?
Pip rubbed her shoulder thoughtfully. Tingling. A good sign?
Suddenly, with a start, she realised Silver was making moon-eyes over his shoulder. He said, Ready for a date tonight, Pipsqueak?
Date? To her intense annoyance, a mental squeak popped out. Of course. What shall I wear, o bright-eyed muse–scales or skin?
Scales.
Really? Drat! Another squeak. Silver had the cheek to chortle up an involuntary fireball. She growled, Are you yanking my hawser? Or is this a serious proposal, noble Silver Dragon?
How would Nak put it? Skin, skin, there can be only skin?
Pip folded her arms and pretended to blow his smoky breath back in his face. I am not that kind of girl.
I beg to differ. You most definitely are, jungle girl. And I would not have it any other way.
I think you’re culturally confused. Pip pushed a mental image at him. How’s about you in a loincloth, Herimor boy?
Hey! The Dragon lurched in the air.
Mmm, I’ll have a slice of lightly clad boy-Shapeshifter, Pip teased. But Silver …
I’m as serious as an Island firmly sat upon its foundations, he replied. Shimmerith and Chymasion both think you’re ready. I think you’ve been able to shake off the poison’s aftereffects. You’re ready, Pip.
But what if fear ruled her heart?
* * * *
That evening the Dragonwing camped in another place Emblazon and Nak knew, a nameless Islet just a Dragon’s hop southeast of Telstroy, where a grove of mighty jinsumo trees planted by Dragon Riders three hundred and nineteen years before served as a memorial to a famous pair who had died in battle at that spot–Asturbar of Erigar and his Green Dragoness, Iridiana. Jinsumo trees were eastern giants, reaching heights of over four hundred feet, and their sap-sweet fragrance pervaded the grove tucked beneath those mighty, spreading boughs. Pip felt Silver’s eyes upon her and knew what thoughts preoccupied his mind.
Transformation. Simple. Think and become.
She ducked away. Wandering around Tazzaral’s hindquarters, Pip bumped into Oyda, who took one look at her and said, “Better out than in, Pip.”
Oyda had that kindly but implacable mien that served her well in many situations, not least in dealing with Nak’s hijinks. Pip hurriedly netted a few of her scattershot thoughts.
“I … well, I used to think it a kind of wisdom to charge into situations without much forethought, Oyda–as you know. I’d blame it on innocence, ignorance, or the zoo. Punching Shimmerith’s tooth loose. Sauntering naked up to the school buildings just because I was spitting mad at a few silly hatchlings. It was even fun annoying Master Kassik for a while, because it seemed I could do nothing right and there was just something ridiculously inevitable about that–and, I’ll admit, I enjoyed the attention. I was starved of real attention. Not the looking-through-crysglass sort, either.”
Pip gulped, realising Oyda had just received more of an earful than she had bargained for. But her friend only nodded encouragingly. “I understand.”
“And now I’ve become a Pygmy Dragoness–the Dragoness–and suddenly everyone has expectations and I can’t just rush in because I know better and I’ve learned a few things since then and oh, Oyda, I don’t know what to do with a boyfriend and I’ve no idea where I belong anymore and if one more person thinks I can just fix the ruddy Island-World with a powerful Word then I’m going to scream at them, I swear I will!”
“Hey,” said Oyda, hugging Pip warmly.
“If this is what growing up is supposed to mean, can I rather suck on a few haribol fruits? Even worse, the Marshal’s his father, Islands’ sakes, so what happens if we encounter him in battle? Am I supposed to kill him? And how by all five moons and most of the stars, for that matter, do we expect to defeat a beast whose chief power is the diametric opposite of any magic this Island-World understands?”
“Hey.” The hug tightened.
“And what is this foul magic Leandrial hinted at, which Shurgal is supposed to have mastered? Could it be the same power which summoned the Shadow-beast here? Even if we stop the Marshal–which is as likely as stopping a Cloudlands tempest in its tracks–how will we destroy that beast before it strips our entire Island-World bare of magic?”
“Hey. It’s not all up to you. Fates, stars, Land Dragons, genocide prevention … honestly, Pipsqueak, you do have a way of trying to deal with all the world’s problems at once.”
Pip tried to keep a straight face, but the way Oyda was smiling at her–tender, funny and irresistible–was too much. A gruff chuckle waylaid her crabbiness. “Oyda!”
“Ay, that’s better.”
“I guess I’d need Leandrial-sized shoulders.”
“Trust me, petal, not even Leandrial could carry those burdens. But you’ve Pygmy-sized shoulders and those are good for a surprising load–of mischief.”
“Oyda!”
“Great, at least you’ve worked out my name by this stage of the friendship, jungle girl.” Oyda touched Pip’s cheek gently, her green eyes crinkling in the fondest of smiles. “You’ve one thing that poxy old Marshal and his pet beast will never have. Can you guess? Courage, disproportionate to your size. I know Kassik lectured you about great deeds, true greatness–but did he say that the heart knows no boundaries? Neither limitations of size nor heritage nor nature? Ever wondered if you’ll need shoulders like Fra’anior, the great Black Dragon himself?”
“Seven pairs?” Pip put in. “Sounds mighty useful.”
“Only the heart can carry the Island-World’s burdens, petal. The heart breaks, but
carries on. It can shoulder the most impossible burdens. Kassik taught me that.”
Pip gaped at her friend, shocked by the waves of hurt radiating from her words. Remembering Oyda’s story, her pain.
The Dragon Rider ducked her head, taking a moment to dry her eyes. Pip gently pulled Oyda’s head to her shoulder, saying, “And shall we speak of a heart’s true beauty? That’s what you taught me, Oyda.”
Her voice emerged muffled. “The other thing about hearts? They can join together. One may break, but others gather around, and from that fellowship stem healing and a manifold strength that creatures like the Marshal will never understand.”
“Humanity in community?” said Pip. “Ay, that’s beautiful. So, what do I deal with, Oyda? Which bit of the puzzle? You know me …”
“No, Pip cannot possibly sit still,” Oyda agreed, waggling her eyebrows to emphasize her point. “Tonight, you must claim your heritage, petal. Go be with your boyfriend. Be the Dragoness you truly are. Two manifestations of one heart.”
Pip’s eyebrows crawled at this word-play on the nature of Shapeshifters.
Oyda gave her a playful push. “Go shake a wingtip, Pip. Have fun. Bite that boy. He deserves it.”
They cackled together like a pair of conniving parakeets.
Tazzaral’s left eye cracked open near Pip’s shoulder. “Alright, I’ll stop pretending not to be listening,” he rumbled softly. “How can we Dragons help you, Pygmy Dragoness? Do you need Jyoss, Chymasion or Shimmerith to assist with the transformative magic? I could always provide a suitable fanfare, since with all immodesty, I do have the loudest voice in this Dragonwing.”
“Oh, Tazz!” Pip patted his scales near the eye. “You could teach Ancient Dragons a thing or two about nobility of heart.” Switching to Dragonish, she said, Shimmerith, Jyoss, Chymasion … will you help?
And me? asked Silver.
She paused in the act of undressing. Uh … yes, please. No peeking–mentally or physically.
Oh, the joys of Shapeshifting, which had a way of destroying forgotten clothing as the Dragon-form emerged from whichever plane of existence it vanished to during the ‘between’ times. It was both impractical and embarrassing.
