by Marc Secchia
“What is it?” Grandion unsheathed a claw.
By trial and error, they worked out a system of communication which involved many questions on his part and a great deal of mumbling and a few more kicks on hers. Soon, Grandion was holding his foreclaw firm while Hualiama bobbed up and down, sawing at the ropes binding her wrists. Ten minutes later, a series of muffled whoops announced her success, followed by the groans of returning circulation. Lia unbuckled the hood and flung it away angrily, judging by the sounds he understood.
A Human could be muzzled into silence. No Dragon would bind his own kind like this. In his third heart, as he listened to Hualiama fighting to free herself, Grandion bled for her. Yet, he cautioned himself, the power of the Scroll of Binding which they had sworn to find, was a similar, magical binding of Dragons. Leather or magic were only two ways of silencing freedom. There were cultural practices and power mongering, he reflected, and law and taboo, injustice and murder. So many ways freedom could be stolen. It was not so easily built or attained.
Taking his talon in her hands, Lia guided his claw-tip alongside her head, beneath one final, stubborn strap. “Hmm!”
He twisted, snapping the buckle with a tinny plink. Hualiama coughed, spat and laughed softly at something a blind Dragon could not see.
And then her hand warmed his muzzle. Aloud, in Dragonish, she said, Thou, my soul … united at last.
Thou, the myriad harmonies of my Dragonsong. Grandion’s paw curled hesitantly about her shoulders and back. Lia laid her head upon his foreclaw, and her long hair caressed the sensitive hide of his digits.
Tranquillity.
* * * *
Hualiama marched along the length of Grandion’s body, measuring him with her stride. “Tail straight, you trickster. Wow. Thirty-one paces. Ninety feet, give or take.”
“Seventy, with your stride,” he teased.
She patted his tail, affecting lisping baby-talk. “Who’s a big grown-up Dragon, then?”
Through a smoky growl, Grandion grumbled, “You’ve no idea how close I came to eating you.”
“I’d only stick in your craw and give you indigestion.”
“I was this close.” He illustrated with his talons. “I’ve never eaten a person. But I’m … famished. Captivity makes a Dragon crazy. I’m not a cannibal, neither of Dragons nor of Humans. But your scent–I don’t understand. You’ve changed.”
Hualiama did not follow his logic. “Same girl,” she said. “Freshly washed, too. A girl ought to look her best for her Dragon.”
But Grandion’s sigh only puffed smoke. In fact, Lia had concluded after a judicious examination of her Dragon, everything about him seemed subdued. His scales, lustreless. Fangs, yellower than she remembered. His hide sported many patches of scale-rot, and places where the mites infested him so thickly, they bulged beneath the scales like clusters of dark purple maggots. But his eyes–oh, his poor, milky eyes. What had become of the fires which had so charmed and captivated her? This beast was larger by half again than the Tourmaline Dragon of six years ago. The immensity of his presence made her tongue stick gracelessly in her mouth. His spine-spikes towered at least fifteen feet above her head. Lia shied from imagining how many tonnes of fire-filled, draconic muscle were trapped in the same small space as her.
Wetting her lips, she said, “Grandion, I know you despise apologies–”
“You’ve no cause to apologise!” he growled.
“But I do.” Islands’ sakes, would her voice not stop wobbling like a teenager giddy on berry wine? This was Grandion. She knew him. He was older, aye, and different, but still Grandion. “I would’ve come after you, had Amaryllion not stopped me. It hurts up here in my throat, Grandion, to think upon it. The Ancient Dragon has passed on to the eternal fires. Would you hear my tale?”
“If you wish.”
He had no better response after all she had suffered for him? Hualiama was certain the sparks of her anger spat against his scales, but the Dragon seemed so dispirited and soul-lost … she would bring him back. Rescue her Dragon. Because if there was one quality she possessed in Island-sized portions, it was stubbornness. Oh, aye. She could out-stubborn any Dragon, any day of the week. But first, in truly draconic style, she should shoot a verbal fireball across his bow–just to set expectations.
Grandion. His eyebrow-ridges twitched. In tones of saccharine steel, she said, I flew a thousand leagues to make you mine. Mine alone. And I will have no other.
I’m broken, imprisoned and blind, he muttered.
You are my Dragon! Besides the oath-swapping business, which I do not regret for an instant longer than the flip of a dragonfly’s wing, I happen to care about you. Don’t think you can be rid of me so easily.
Grandion only hung his head. Hualiama stood, hands on hips, and fixed him with a glare fit to curdle milk. He could not see, but his Dragon senses would detect her elevated heart-rate and the irritable rasp of her breath.
Struck by a wild idea, she began to laugh. “Grandion, are scale mites edible?”
“I believe so,” he said doubtfully. “You aren’t suggesting–”
“I ate maggots for you, Dragon. The least you can do is listen politely while I harvest dinner from the region of your rump.”
At last, Hualiama heard the crashing disapproval of a proud young Dragon. His spirit was not completely broken. Did she dare to hope? Might a Human girl still occupy a place in his third heart? There must be something to the song of their names, and his breath which had fired her senses. She was so confused. What darkness had emerged to steal that joy?
Ruzal. Ianthine’s claw-mark upon her life.
* * * *
A cage of rust-red Dragon bones formed the arched walls and ceiling, joining together overhead in a hole large enough to accommodate a petite Human. The floor was hard flagstones cemented over more Dragon bones. And those bones, secured with massive brackets and hawsers of metal, also bound and subdued their magic–Grandion told her of the stench of ancient magic imbuing that metal, which Hualiama struggled to identify for herself. They had briefly broken through, however, when she cried Grandion’s secret name. Did that mean the cage’s magic could be overwhelmed?
The Tourmaline Dragon lay unspeaking, curled up in the shadows at the edge of their circular chamber. Lia learned to use the White Dragoness’ scale to easily carve away great scoops of scale mites, and in the fading light of evening, she cleansed his lower left flank as best she was able. He stoically accepted the paltry offerings she placed upon his tongue.
Wishing to enliven the taciturn Dragon, Hualiama began to tell him what had passed in the six years since they parted ways at Ha’athior Island. She asked, “What do you think of that, Grandion?”
He said heavily, “Amaryllion made you forget? We must bow to the Ancient Dragon’s wisdom in this–much as it dampens my fires to reflect upon how his decision changed you. The gift of Dragon fire is unprecedented. You see it personified, as though the dragonet lives within you?” Unexpectedly, he added, “I miss Flicker. His was a cheerful fire, a soul whose brightness could chase away even the shadows of a place like this.”
“Aye,” said Lia, her thoughts darkened, but for a different reason. Grandion’s thought processes seemed sluggish and unclear. Had the cage stolen that, too?
Returning to her tale, she related her confrontation with the Dragon Elders at Gi’ishior. He chuckled gruffly at her impressions of the volcano, and much more loudly as she related how she had blasted the Dragons with Amaryllion’s name-power. Grandion called her a ‘proper little Dragoness’ and seemed inordinately proud of her actions. When she told of her sojourn with Sapphurion and Qualiana, he rubbed his muzzle with his paw in a draconic gesture betraying his swelling emotions, and his wings flicked and rippled restively.
Lia said, “It was precious to hear from your shell-parents about my early years at Gi’ishior. But I’m sorry I stole their love from you, Grandion.”
“Stole?” he snorted hot air past her legs. In D
ragonish, he added, Bitter, these scale mites. As bitter as my hearts back then. I had no right to feel so darkly-jealous. My shell-mother counselled me otherwise, but I was too full of the roaring of my own fires to listen to her–or to any Dragon. They tried, Hualiama. But I had a skull of diamond and thoughts darker than a moonless night. I was a cruel little beast.
Hualiama reflected upon this. I hardly remember that, Grandion. I do remember playing with you, and–she coloured unexpectedly, hoping he could not sense the heat upon her skin–I remember playing at tickle-fights over the couches, and you tossing me into the air and catching me in your paws. You were neither cruel nor unkind.
Despite my worst efforts, I remember that time as being often filled with bright-fires and goodness, the Dragon admitted. You are goodness.
Uh … right. You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I did to my father.
Speaking of King Chalcion brought fresh pain to her breast. Images assaulted her, of past beatings and hours spent in agony on the punishment board, of being locked in a weapons-room and having her legs beaten with rods until she could no longer walk, and the finality of her victory over her adoptive father. Hollow, and bitterer than a haribol fruit. Could she be glad of it? Rationalise her actions as necessary and even commendable? At least she had earned Chalcion’s respect. She was safe. And maybe next time, she’d bring home a Dragon to make her point.
The faint radiance of moons-light from the air hole in the cavern’s roof touched the Tourmaline Dragon’s scales, hinting at their former beauty. The scales beside his eyes were relatively tiny, Hualiama saw, peering at him in the gloom–just the size of her thumbnail. Before, their pattern had suggested delicate veins of minerals cutting through the underground glory of Ha’athior’s abundant gemstone geodes. Now the scales seemed wrinkled, like the prunes King Chalcion had once procured from a trader from Somax in the Southern Archipelago and proudly displayed at a feast–one made memorable, Lia recalled with a pang of shame, for the King becoming drunk, ranting at a guest, and then punching Kalli in the mouth when his son tried to calm him.
“Your eyes still gleam slightly,” she realised aloud.
Grandion rumbled, “Such afflictions are due to disease. It’s hopeless. My retinae are ruined.”
Lia bristled at his low, irate growl. “Don’t lose hope, Grandion. I found you halfway across the Island-World, after all.”
“Well done. You beat up both of our fathers and found a blind Dragon.”
Her teeth ground together so hard, Hualiama was afraid she had chipped a tooth. Rage blinded her as surely as the insulting, scabrous serpent was blind. Lia stormed off across the cage, afraid she might shout something she’d regret forever. For a long time, she struggled against the desire to lash out punish him. Words could sear like acid, twist and torment and pry … yet she withheld. She had her pride, too–whole Dragonships full of ralti-stupid, worthless pride no royal ward should have a right to claim. Lia was no curling night-pansy. She was the Dragonfriend, and the holder of Dragon fire.
Softly, he rumbled, “You may not know this, but in our culture, it is anathema to raise a paw to one’s shell-parents. Despite all he did to me, I never raised a paw against my shell-father.”
“Yet you wished him dead.”
“Aye, there’s a limit on paws, but not upon hot-tempered idiocy.”
No. As his snarl echoed around the fully dark chamber, the Human Princess knew his words for the truth–and for an apology. Dragons. She rolled her eyes in the dark, knowing it was safe as he could not see. Or could Grandion hear her eyeballs swilling about like liquid in a goblet? That was a tasteless image, but not beyond the capabilities of a Dragon. Yet he had been greatly moved by Sapphurion’s apology. He was not made only of fire. Grandion had changed. She heard little of the youthful arrogance which had driven him to clash with his shell-parents. Perhaps this signalled a more temperate beast? Or perhaps it was just depressing.
Lia’s feet tapped around the cave, bringing her full circle to where the Dragon lay. Lying down with his chin on the ground, the top of his nose stood taller than her head. She said, “Grandion, will you allow me to rest this night beneath your paw, as before?”
The Tourmaline Dragon let smoke sigh between his fangs. “Need you ask?”
“I must.”
“You may, if you wish.”
“I do so wish.”
She wished for many things. Did he? Lia snuggled into the space between Grandion’s neck and his forepaw, and wondered what the Tourmaline Dragon made of her boldness. Then, way down in the depths of his body, she heard and felt his belly-fires rumbling away soothingly. Aye. Not quite the rebellious reptile he pretended to be.
“Those are long leagues you travelled by Dragonship,” said the Dragon.
“Aye. Can I borrow a talon for a pillow?”
Grandion adjusted his paw as requested, providing her the outermost and smallest talon of his paw to rest her head upon. Comforts fit for royalty, she chortled inwardly. Creature comforts.
Unexpectedly echoing her thoughts, he said, “Creature comforts? By my wings, you’ve changed little.”
“You mean, I remain little.”
“The quality of a gemstone is hardly reflected in its size,” averred the Dragon. “It lies in the beauty of the facets and the inner structures, in the way great heat and pressure forged the mineral and the skill of the jeweller to craft that hidden beauty into life. Why did you seek me across the Isles, Hualiama?”
She wiped her eyes. “To hear you speak like that.”
“I could speak of the way that life shapes us. Sometimes the jeweller must take his courage into his paw, and make an irrevocable cut.” Hualiama wondered where his oblique draconic logic might be leading. “We were rough jewels, six years ago. We’ve been cut and ground and polished. Neither of us is flawless. I ask again, why did you seek me?”
“Because I suffer from double vision.”
His laughter shook her, and the second and third digits of his paw, lying across her upper torso like a hot blanket, squeezed with care. “You confound me. What does this mean?”
The Princess nuzzled his paw as she imagined a Dragoness might. Deliberately switching to Dragonish in the hope that the language would better express her feelings–although draconic telepathic speech was more deeply communicative by far, Island Standard was still her heart-language–Lia replied, My physical eyes see thee struck down by circumstance, Grandion. Though the fates have wounded and sorely tested thee, thou art a Dragon most majestic. And now she spoke with the resonance of an Ancient Dragon? She shook herself mentally. The eyes of mine heart see thee twice. Once for the flaws, aye–but are we not all flawed, and our esteem swells despite those flaws, or even, because of them? No being upon this Island-World may claim perfection. Courage is only called courage because of our weaknesses–it is the greater for them, and nothing without them. And secondly, mine heart has the power to see thee as flawless.
Unexpectedly, Grandion sighed, Ah, by the Spirits of the Ancient Dragons!
When he said no more, the girl continued, unable to prevent the ancient speech-patterns from rising to the foremost position in her mind, Aye, Dragon thou art, and Human I am. Were one to look upon outward appearances, impossibilities and conundrums and insurmountable differences abound. But we two are living souls. Thy shell-parents saw this. I only relate that which the finest of Dragons taught me. The power of the third heart, Dragons say, lies in the art of tasting the soul-fires of another. I cannot claim to understand these mysteries. So I call this ‘double-vision.’ I see thee twice. Thrice. Perhaps I miscount …
His muzzle shook slightly against her, and the tenor of his fire-rumblings changed. Is this a Human power, Lia?
Which power?
The Tourmaline Dragon lay still for so long that Hualiama found herself having to fight the delicious warmth that spread lassitude throughout her body. Something within her had uncurled, she realised. Tensions fell away. Perhaps it was that as she sig
hed, her spirit sighed too. Grandion was imperfect. The royal ward he held was worse. The blunders she had made! The idiocies she had perpetrated, becoming his Rider, foolishly and unthinkingly condemning her Dragon to this fate.
On one side, the law. Unchanged for thousands of years. On the other, a magical vow apparently condoned by an Ancient Dragon, and a scandalous, exuberant rapport …
Grandion said, The fabled Star Dragons had a power they called the ‘Word of Command’. Once spoken, these words remained immutable. They could bellow commands of such suns-dimming, Island-shivering power–
They could knock Dragons from the sky? Lia bit her knuckles in fear.
Even Grandion’s voice caught in awe. Aye. No Star Dragon graces our Island-World now. They have passed into legend.
You speak of Istariela, the soul-mate of Fra’anior?
Aye, Dragonfriend, he agreed. But she was catapulted back to an old dream. Lia touched the White Dragoness’ scale beneath her clothes, warm against her chest. What had become of the eggs the Dragoness had hidden? A Dragoness, frantic to hide her young from a searching Black Dragon–had that been Istariela?
The Tourmaline added. I would speak of another power. For your words reach into a Dragon’s third heart. You sharpen me. You ignite my fires, yet I am dull-witted, and slow. I remember reading such a thing of Star Dragons. They were Dragons set apart for a task of maintaining the balance of our Island-World–
The balance of the harmonies. Exactly what Amaryllion had said!
Great Dragon fires! Grandion’s flame spurted from his nostrils, lighting the cavern briefly. The knowledge stuffed into that tiny brain of yours, I’m surprised it doesn’t frazzle and spit sparks all the time.
Was this her task? Suddenly, Hualiama wondered at this hitherto unidentified melody she sensed in her life. No. It was too great, too grand, for a mere Human to contemplate. But if the Ancient Dragons had departed for the eternal Dragon fires, surely they had thought to leave a Star Dragon to protect the balance? Her mother Shyana loved esoteric speculations. Her daughter? Not so much. Yet a tiny flame of hope flickered in her breast. Someone must find the Star Dragons, mustn’t they?
