by Marc Secchia
Horror rose in her gorge, thick and virulent. No! Lia cast herself forth, tenuous as starlight, desperate to bring a touch of light to the darkness of Dragon fires reduced to cinders. Did she touch him? Just for a heartbeat, did she sense in him the memory of a Dragon Rider laughing upon his back, of covetous Dragon eyes fixated by a prize he could never have but needed more than the breath rasping in his calcified lungs? It ignited his remembrance of a glorious expansion of spirit as the Tourmaline Dragon escaped from his bondage beneath the Island, as he touched a Human girl, breathed in her scent and revelled in the knowledge of her, she who was no Dragoness, yet who wrote melodies of white-hot magic in the secret places of a Dragon’s soul … the feeling was so visceral, so all-encompassing, that Grandion drew her to him now, wanting her yet sensitive to the tenebrous peril of the far leagues sapping her spirit and strength.
Not yet. His breath wafted her home. I shall wait for thee.
* * * *
Lia surfaced from her dream with an inhalation that fired her lungs and throat. Dragon! Where was she–low, in danger! It was already dawn. Her Dragonship skimmed over the Cloudlands, miles lower than it should have been. The cloying, dead reek of the clouds filled her nostrils, rising toward her like tendrils seeking to entangle and drag her down into the depthless abyss.
What had she done? The stove had burned out, the sails flapped listlessly … the clouds here were a sickly yellow hue, like the luminous cave-dwelling slugs Flicker had enjoyed showing her as they hunted through the Western Isles for her family.
Hualiama slapped the turbine switches. She adjusted the lift. Pedal. Pedal, ralti-stupid idiot! While she had been dreaming of the Tourmaline Dragon, she had almost sunk herself into the Cloudlands. The turbines began to rotate with a whup-whup-whup sound, but the drag of the cool air inside the sack was too much. She was still sinking. She had to light the stove and pour hot air into the system. Lia adjusted the rigging, but there was no breeze to provide lift. Where had she packed her spark-stone? Scrabbling through her travel packs, her hand fell upon a boot–a familiar boot!
“Elki?”
A groan came from beneath the sacking covering her supplies. “Eh, it’s too early.”
“Get up!”
“Mercy, a little more sleep.”
Hualiama kicked his foot. ARISE!
She clutched her throat in surprise. What on the Islands?
As though he had sat upon a Dragon’s claw, her brother Elka’anor surfaced from beneath her gear, gazing wildly about him. “Where are we? Short shrift, what have you done?”
“Shut the trap and light the stove, boy. Snip snap!”
“Don’t call me boy. I might be younger than you, but I do have a beard.”
He rummaged through his pockets, scowling as she ribbed him, “That scraggly scrap of goat-fluff signifies maturity?”
“I’m seventeen summers old and eleven inches taller than you–count them. E-le-ven!”
Lia rolled her eyes. “Islands’ sakes, I’ve never heard that one before. Fresh wood for the fire–”
“Shut your stove-pipe and let a man do the work.” Biting his tongue, Elki struck the stones together sharply, spraying sparks into the stove’s heart. “Give me some of that sacking. You got bark shreds? Honestly, can’t a fellow stow away in peace around here?”
Delight and exasperation warred in her breast. What did one do with such a scamp of a brother? Kiss him? Thump him over the earhole with the largest hunk of wood she could find, and drag him back to mother?
Lia snorted, “I see you’re having your usual morning grump.”
“Tends to happen when your sister boots you awake, hauls you about by some magical command and then starts shouting at you.” Elki flashed his lopsided, mischievous grin at her. “Where’s the thanks, the ‘this journey would be so much lonelier without the benefit of my awesome brother’s company,’ I ask you?”
“I was doing fine on my own.”
“Aye, it shows. Asking for help isn’t exactly your forte, is it, short shrift?” Hualiama answered this with a wordless growl, fine-tuning the rigging. “No, you’re flying off across the Island-World on your lonesome, hunting Dragons.”
“Exactly what do my socially unacceptable habits have to do with you?”
Elki drew himself up. “I’ve decided you can’t have all the fun, sister. I’m the second Prince of the realm. Kalli–he gets to rule. What do I do with my life?”
“Excellent question. Make mischief? Remove your rear end from the region of my nostrils, scoundrel.”
“Sorry. Well, I want a Dragon, too. There, smoke that for tobacco, if you dare.”
Lia shuddered. Her scamp of a brother breezed through life with ne’er-may-care ease, blowing where he wished. Of course he landed on his feet more often than not. Was she just jealous of his irrepressible spirit? Just wait until a Dragon sat on him! He’d whistle a different tune.
As Elki stoked the fire, Hualiama opened the valves to allow hot air to billow into the Dragonship’s limp sack. Still, it took a good half-hour before they began to notice the renewed lifting power. That half-hour they spent covering their noses and mouths with damp cloths and hoping that they had not breathed too much toxic gas. The Dragonship dragged itself begrudgingly out of the Cloudlands.
“Right, back to bed,” said Elki, curling up between the travel packs. “Call me when you need rescuing again.”
“That’s ‘if’–and I’ll not be lugging a lazy lump of lethargy around the Islands!”
Elki replied with an exaggerated snore.
Chapter 9: Over the Islands
XinIDIA ISLAND TOPPED the Cloudlands like a mouldy, discarded boot, according to her vocally underwhelmed brother. Lia laughed so hard, she was unable to complete her sets of pull-ups. Three days of Elki’s barbs and dry wit, and she was ready either to throw him overboard, or to hug him for distracting her from wallowing in wretchedness over Grandion’s fate. At least her throat no longer felt as though she were gargling a mouthful of splintered volcanic rock.
“Ugh, more exercise?” he grunted, shifting on the pilot’s chair. “Don’t you ever rest?”
“At least I do exercise, and I brush my hair. Yours looks like an abandoned windroc’s nest.”
Elki pretended to primp in front of a mirror. “Aye, because a hairbrush was the first thing I thought to pack when I was planning to abscond to the Eastern Isles with my prodigal runaway exasperatingly focussed Dragon-crazy sister.”
She teased, “Do you always gabble on like that?”
“Dear one, what happened the other day when we almost crash-landed in the Cloudlands?”
Lia knew she was about to be verbally sliced up for kebabs. She whispered, “I dreamed about Grandion. A weird, vivid dream–like we really connected, Elki. It’s happened before, and it’s scary because I lose track of everything.”
Bounding out of the chair in that lithe-rajal way of his, Elki strode around the oven which occupied the centre of their basket, and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Not a murmur about that beast for six years, and now you’re over the moons about him? I guessed it was some passing girlish fancy, like some girls take a shine to rajals or a pet dragonet, or … uh, sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Am I different?”
“Weirder than usual? Definitely.” Elki grinned down at her. “You tell me you’re all chummy with an Ancient Dragon, who made you forget the past. You break three of Father’s ribs–totally impressive. Basically, you walked out the door and came back a different girl. I don’t know. Still miniscule, though.”
“Elki!”
“There’s somehow … more. I can’t explain it.” He scratched as if mining his beard for fleas. “Like someone borrowed half of your spirit for a few years and returned it tenfold. Lia, you’ve gone pale. Are you alright?”
“Fine. No. I need to sit down.” Shaking her head, Lia dropped onto the pilot’s chair, trying to decide if now was an opportune moment to have a panic attack.
“You couldn’t put that more starkly?”
“Slip of the proverbial Dragon’s claw there.”
“Elki, why did you come along?”
“To buzz around my sister like an impossible-to-swat mosquito?”
She blazed, “Can I have a serious answer?”
“Down, o dinky Dragoness. I get carried away … and now you’re doing the smoky eyes thing.” Lia grimaced at him. Elki admitted, “Frankly, I was bored. And–moment of rare honesty–when you confronted Father and Uncle Zalcion, I saw you do something I’ve always lacked the courage to do. Dreamed it. Never did it. So I said to myself, if I could just hang onto my little sister’s skirts for long enough, maybe some of her courage would rub off on me. Then I’d also fight men like Ra’aba to a standstill, and go moons-mad for the flash of a Dragonish eye.”
Hualiama punched his arm, and then threw her arms around her brother and hugged him as hard as she could.
“Oof,” he complained. “Gently with the royal ribcage.”
“It strikes me on occasion, Elki, that you’re barely tolerable as a brother,” said Lia.
“Then explain why your eyes are all dewy?”
For that, she flattened him.
* * * *
Hualiama ticked off the days in her mind. Five days from Xinidia to forest-crowned Erigar was struggle enough. A further six days battling contrary winds brought them to Archion, exhausted and sweaty, and in Elki’s case, more than a little pongy.
Lia wrinkled her nose at him. “You stink.”
“That’s the birds,” her brother said, “and you can lay off the body odour insults, monkey mischief.”
“Now listen here–”
Elki stormed, “This basket is only so large and I cannot possibly smell worse than those millions of birds out there, liberally splashing their guano all over the Island. Last night, you started poking me at some unsocial hour claiming my heartbeat was too loud.”
About to snipe back at him, Lia pulled up short with a frown. Truly? Grandion’s hearing had been so amazing, he could hear her teardrops falling from the far end of a cave. Was this Flicker’s gift? To her, Elki smelled like the proverbial unwashed Sylakian tribesman, hairier than a hound and never washed until his burial day.
“Aye,” said her brother, evidently reading her thoughts. “You’re ridiculously sensitive and have probably been overcome by the ripe redolence of your own armpits. Now, lend an ear to your learned brother as he extols the wonders of Archion Island. There are 616 known bird species which roost on this Island-World marvel. The northern leg has fourteen levels of terrace lakes, while the southern leg sports no less than seventeen, making this a veritable avian paradise. Blackwing storks, blue-banded mallards and white-tipped herons are the dominant species, but you’ll also find a dazzling variety of flycatchers and bee-eaters, particularly the notable long-tailed greater yellow bee-eater with his fantastic two-foot tail …”
“Scroll-worm,” Hualiama teased. “Carry on, I’m almost asleep.”
As Elki listed further species, his sister adjusted the sails for a landing near one of the upper terrace lakes, on the ‘bridge’ level, where the two standing legs of the Island joined together four miles above the Cloudlands. Spectacular. Lia drank in the sight. The mid-morning suns-light reflected off the dazzling layers of terrace lakes, spotted with lily pads as wide as her outstretched arms, and the dense reed beds bordering the lakes played host to the uncountable birds that so fascinated Elki, who was still spouting like the famous geyser north of Fra’anior Town which erupted every hour. She listened with half an ear.
The Ancient Dragons must have had such fun building this Island. It was shaped as if a vast rocky sentinel, cut off at the waist in ages past, stood with his legs akimbo in the Cloudlands. And why such an unreasonable profusion of terrace lakes? Two or three, aye. Sensible. But seventeen? Had the Dragons constructed this Island specifically for the birds’ benefit?
“Ah, to the windrocs with sensible.” Lia smiled dreamily.
Elki chuckled, “You’re clearly three sheets to the wind, sister. Sunk in a keg of berry-wine.”
Oh. She had spoken aloud? “It’s only because I’ve been cooped up in a small basket with a chattering parakeet for fourteen days.”
At this speed, it would take them a month and a half to reach the Eastern Archipelago, she realised. Archion to Sylakia Island was a decent haul, after which came Syros but a short hop to the north, before the long crossing to the dangerous trio of Merx, Lyrx and Amxo. The latest intelligence had war raging between two bands of Dragons out there, and between the Dragons and the Humans of Merx. She would have avoided those three Islands altogether if she could, but the stormy Cloudlands ocean east of Sylakia made any other route a perilous proposition.
Blast this overheated weather. Wasn’t the season meant to be growing cooler?
They landed on a small stretch of meadow alongside a gorgeous terrace lake. Elki leaped out to secure several hawsers to a fallen tree, while Hualiama bled off just enough hot air to bring the basket to a gentle landing on the soft sword-grass just beyond. Right. She should bank the stove fire, ease the tension on the control ropes and check their supplies of food, water and wood.
After alighting, she patted the basket fondly. “Good girl. Shame you aren’t a Dragon.”
“I’m off to catch some trout,” Elki enthused, unearthing a fishing line and hooks from one of his many pockets. She might not care to admit it, but his packing had been rather resourceful.
“Wash first,” said Lia.
“You go ahead. Did you bring perfumes, oils, lotions, soft towels and a court musician for entertainment, your Highness?”
“Nay, good Prince,” she bowed with a flourish, “I brought but the clothes upon my back and a handsome rogue to lighten the leagues with his raffish charm.”
As she spoke, Lia began to divest her person of weapons. Elki whistled softly. “How many knives, sister?”
“Fifteen. And a few poisoned darts.”
“Warrior monk, eh?” He busied himself with the fishing line. “You need to teach me more of that Nuyallith zing-zang-zong you do.” Elki accompanied his sound effects with a ridiculous, foppish set of martial moves that had her in stitches.
Lia laughed, “Will you keep watch, brother?”
“Aye.”
The Princess strode down to the lake shore. All was quiet. Could it last? For her spirit felt the tug of the East as a craving and a frisson of danger. At least she would not face the long leagues alone. She swam far out into the lake, before churning back with all the power she could generate. Her body already felt stronger and more toned as a result of her daily training regimen.
Back near the shore, Lia washed herself in the cool lake water with admittedly first-class soap filched from the palace supplies, and worked hair oil through her troublesome locks. After all, a girl ought to look her best when hunting long-lost Dragons. And her cheeky brother could just eat mouldy windroc gizzards for daring to comment on her travel-stained condition.
“Is my sister slaughtering an animal back there?” Elki’s voice came floating on the breeze.
“Blasted hair … I’m fine!”
“So, tell me about life in a monastery surrounded by dozens of toothsome, loincloth-clad monks?”
“Elki,” she warned. “I was perfectly chaste.”
“Chaste or chased? Ooh–great Islands, you can’t go prancing about like that!”
“Elki!” Lia did not appreciate him standing there, gazing ostentatiously at the horizon, with a wicked grin curving his lips. “I’m wearing a decent minimum.”
“No wonder your poor Dragon went all googly fire-eyes and wobble-kneed when he saw–”
“That’s quite enough!”
He shrugged. “I was just saying.”
“You’re just being a man. I know. I am your sister and you will act gallantly or so help me, I’ll go running to Mom and tattle like when you were five and pinching my toys.”
“In all seriousness, short shrift,” he shifted uncomfortably, and Hualiama glanced up sharply as she heard his heartbeat rise, unmistakably, from twenty feet away, “without meaning to sound as perverted and sinister as our dear uncle, I’m your brother and I notice, alright? Strictly limited, of course, even if you’re adopted and not our flesh and blood …” He broke off with a gruff curse. “I swore I’d never make you feel second-rate, Lia, and I just did. I’m awfully sorry.”
“I understand. Go on,” she said softly, unwilling to break the mood. Her cheeks throbbed, she was blushing so hard. This was her brother Elki speaking? The mischievous dragonet with nary a solemn bone in his body?
“Grandion’s a Dragon. The very notion of him ogling you like some of our courtiers used to, just creeps me out. Is it the Dragon hoarding instinct–you know, pretty bauble, nice eyes, I’ll drag her off to my cave? Or is something weirder and more worrying going on?”
“Pretty bauble?” Lia quirked an eyebrow at him.
“I mean, you are very easy on the eyes, brave … and undeniably cute …” He spluttered to a standstill, turning a fine shade of puce. “Let’s try another Island, shall we?”
Laughing now, she said, “Elki, you’re the best brother that ever stowed away on my Dragonship.”
“The only one, you mean. Don’t avoid the question. Please.”
It must have tortured him, she realised, quickly donning her shirt. As they returned from the mine where her family had been exiled to a lifetime of hard labour, Elka’anor had helped her to slip away to fly with Grandion and Flicker. How mad she had been, throwing herself off the Dragonship and trusting that her Dragon would catch her. Of course Grandion had dived after her, and caught her in his great paw. But that act had required an equal measure of trust on her brother’s part. She had never realised how protective Elki felt toward her. It was sweet, and unexpectedly poignant.
