by Marc Secchia
Those eggs would be a thousand years old, perhaps more. Yet the original First Eggs of the Ancient Dragons had survived unknowable aeons and the blackest reaches of time and space, to arrive safely on their Island-World. Could a Star Dragon’s eggs do the same?
Grandion interrupted her thoughts with a low chuckle. I thought a Tourmaline Dragon potent in magic. Now, I will have the tale of thy journey. Your brother stowed away on your Dragonship, you said?
* * * *
Hualiama’s voice was an invisible stoking of fires so long dormant, they had almost forgotten how to burn. The Tourmaline Dragon felt a lightness in his wings and belly as if he were flying. He could not help comparing Lia to Cerissae, the Red Dragoness of the Lost Islands who had brought him to the cusp of speaking the ascending fire-promises together, and then betrayed him with callous, stunning disregard.
There could be no fire-promises spoken with Hualiama. She was no Dragoness. But her fierce, understated pride as she told of rescuing her brother, and her service to the Dragoness and her hatchlings, was telling. She did not praise her own paws, whereas Cerissae’s boasts would have rung to the heavens in true Dragonish style. He told her Mizuki had the power of Shivers, a rare draconic power capable of powdering the stone of fortresses and, as Lia had seen, exploding the flesh of unprepared enemies. Grandion remembered the pretty Copper fledgling from his sojourn among the Dragons of Eali Island.
If Mizuki had grown as powerful as Lia described, perhaps she was the Dragoness to light his fires? Thinking this, he immediately felt unfaithful to the tiny Human.
Oh, how his bugle of pleasure at Razzior’s downfall made her chortle! Hers was the laughter of waterfalls, bubbling and pure. Cerissae had never made him feel like this. Lia had a gift.
When his companion was done with the telling, the Tourmaline Dragon was left shivering at the sensation crawling along his spine-spikes. He said, “Do you remember, Hualiama, how both the Nameless Man and Amaryllion called you ‘child of the Dragon’ and ‘child of Fra’anior’?”
“Um … what’s that got to do with the price of berry wine?”
Humans had the silliest sayings. Then again, the Dragonkind were obsessed with sayings about wings and talons and all things fiery. He growled, “I was just thinking that there may have been a Tourmaline Dragon who, with a dollop of acid worthy of a Green, told you that you did not in a million wingbeats merit such a title.”
“Aye.” She jabbed the surprisingly sharp point of her elbow into his jaw muscle. “Jealous, were you?”
“No.”
“Well, I certainly smell another back-handed–I mean, back-winged or whatever you Dragons say–non-apology being made right around now.”
“What I smell is the friction of Human effrontery sharpening draconic lethargy,” he retorted, but was displeased when Lia shook her head in clear confusion. Should he simplify? Grandion said, “I’m grateful for your abrasive wit to sharpen my own.”
In response, Hualiama sang:
Arise, thou prodigal son of dawn’s fires,
Enflame the Island-World with thy igneous breath,
Wing o’er the sky-fires in exalted majesty.
The Tourmaline Dragon purred with delight, for the magic of her voice hardly stopped at commanding words. But when he did not speak quickly enough, the Human girl said impatiently, “Explain yourself, lizard. What are you thinking about this ‘child of the Dragon’?”
“Only that your Nameless Man and our Amaryllion might have meant more by it than we can imagine,” said Grandion. “You’ve always dreamed of being a Dragon.”
She shifted restlessly in his paw. “Oh, Grandion. Little girls have to grow up and face reality.”
Always, she had seemed the one who slipped between the laws of reality like water grasped by a Dragon’s talons, that Dragons were bound by draconic law and Humans by the mores and principles of their kind, and Hualiama, Dragon Rider and Dragonfriend, somehow moved in a different plane of reality. He hated the note of despair that shaded her response. He hated that she was right. How could he respond? He yearned to hear again the birdlike trills of her laughter, to tell her sweet lies that aye, Humans could surely grow wings, and truly, they could soar like the Dragonkind.
All lies must, in the end, be shown to be hateful at their core. He could not bear to hurt Lia again. Yet her melancholy pained him, for the song of his third heart was joined to hers.
Grandion said, “Let me tell my memories of your early life, Lia. Then I would speak of these six long years which have passed. Will you stay awake?”
“Permission for you to sharpen me with your talons, should I snore,” she said boldly.
He tapped her abdominals with one long, steely talon, finding the muscles startlingly resilient. “Beware what you promise a Dragon, o damsel most fair.”
She whispered, “I sought you, Grandion, because I promised to. I sought you because I care.”
Thou art the radiant embers of my soul, he breathed. And his fires seethed like ten thousand bees swarming in his belly.
Chapter 16: Six Long Years
Grandion stalked into the nursery with exaggerated, stiff-legged muscularity. His hide was sleek, freshly bathed in lava, brushed by the stiff-bristled rollers in the hatchling rooms, and then oiled with a quick dip in the bubbling jalga-oil baths, which helped protect against scale-mites and fungi, especially a hatchling whose scale-armour was not yet as thick and strong as his shell-father’s. He wanted his Mamafire’s eyes to whirl with fire the way they did when they lit upon the Human hatchling. Chattering pest! But a pretty pet, admittedly. Why did his shell-parents keep such a secret? He had promised them never to speak of her with his Dragonwing friends.
Grandi! The little Human girl ran to him, excited, her white-golden hair flying as she dashed across their roost. She could not pronounce the ‘R’ yet, not even in her mind, so his name emerged as, ‘Gwandi.’ Huh. An insult to a creature of flame. Grandion’s talons extended involuntarily. The metallic scraping on the warm granite floor of their roost drew a glance from his shell-mother, but not the admiring one he craved.
Grandion, claws sheathed indoors, Qualiana scolded. However, her eye-fires brightened upon him. Heaven’s wings, who is this beast who graces my halls?
Hug me. Paws up, Hualiama demanded.
Grandion sighed, letting the hairless monkey climb into his paws.
Qualiana added, arching her wings, Do I know thee, o Dragon most resplendent?
Grr! The Tourmaline hatchling, all twenty-two feet of him, quivered with the effort of producing a fine battle-challenge. His Mamafire’s belly-fires ignited with pleasure, causing an answering frisson to roll heatedly across his hide, all the way down to his tail-spikes.
Grr! The girl copied him.
Grandion could not help chuckling at the girl wriggling in his paws. Her smoky green eyes crinkled at him in what Humans called a smile. He said, Did I hear a mouse squeak?
Grandi’s a big mouse, she teased. Throw me. Higher! Again, Grandi!
He prodded her with a knuckle, claws sheathed. Squeak, little mouse. Display your mighty fangs.
When I’m big, I’m going to be a Dragon, the mite announced, as if by belief alone she could change the Island-World. Then I’ll bite holes in your scaly butt.
“Grandion!” Hualiama’s laughter drew him back to the present. “I didn’t actually say that, did I?”
“Guess who taught you that memorable phrase?”
The Tourmaline Dragon had always displayed an understated, undraconic tenderness he would probably never admit to. Human scrolls described Dragons as fierce, rapacious killers. Twenty years on, he still cradled her in his paw–wearing a few more clothes than that day, admittedly–and Hualiama still dreamed dreams which could never be consummated. Sometimes, the Isles saying went, life blew over the Islands; other times, it sucked. Lia’s face screwed up as though she had indeed sucked on rotten windroc eggs.
He said, “I misjudged you. Human developmental speed
is so different, Hualiama. I expected too much of one who was but a child.”
She said, “We’ve known each other all our lives, haven’t we?”
Grandion replied. “Dragons say, The fires of true friendship burn brightest. Aye, I know you, o radiant dawn over Fra’anior, yet I’ve always sensed something indefinable about your nature, a quality I wish I could trap in my paws …” Above her, the wall of his hard-muscled flank quivered. “Such fires cannot be fathomed. We must simply allow them to burn.”
“My Grandi,” she whispered.
After a long moment in which all she heard was the soughing of his belly-fires, Grandion whispered, “I’ll continue. The story has a point besides embarrassing you with childhood memories.”
Hualiama! Qualiana said sternly. We don’t use that language in our roost.
Sorry, Mamafire.
Grandion jeered, She’s not your Mamafire!
Grandion. The Red Dragoness moved like hot quicksilver pouring over the couches. We spoke about this.
I don’t understand, Mamafire. Grandion peered at Hualiama. Her eyes filled with grey smoke that eddied with hypnotic power. Why adopt a Human hatchling? It’s not right. He shook his head-spikes forcefully. No other Dragons keep–well, it makes my wings shiver. You say she’s not a pet, but a living soul, like us. Not a fire-soul, but a different sort of soul. I see that. I see more, for this girl-child has power–doesn’t she, Mamafire? Magical power.
The two Dragons rubbed necks as they gazed at the mite, wide-eyed, sucking her thumb. The eye-fires mirrored the soul-fires, Dragons said. The draconic sense called intuition-certainty ruffled their wings simultaneously.
Aye, said Qualiana. You make me so proud, my volcanic shell-son. Magic swells in your breast. Mightier than your shell-parents, you will be.
How did you know her name, Mamafire?
Sapphurion’s low growl throbbed from the entryway, Ianthine, the Maroon traitoress, named her Hualiama.
Sulphurous greetings, shell-father, called Grandion, as his belly-fires sang their welcome.
So formal, my shining shell-son? Grandion wished he moved like his father, shaking the earth with every step. His power overshadowed and overruled, yet laughter was readier upon his tongue than fire. Sapphurion had wisdom beyond his Dragon-years. He had been elected the youngest-ever leader of the Dragons of Gi’ishior just two seasons before.
Thou, the breath beneath my wings, Qualiana purred.
Thou, my living lava lake, Sapphurion purred back, making the crysglass windows of their roost rattle. He shook his spine-spikes irritably. Council was dark-fires today. Dragons should speak with true, refining flame, or not at all!
The Red Dragoness said, You hate the politics, don’t you?
Aye. I’ll not trouble your hearts with their twisted words. Stumping over to his mate, Sapphurion twined necks with her. How fare our hatchlings today? Did I interrupt a story? I’m starving! Any fresh meat in the bowl?
Meat? Grandion’s paws jerked, spilling the girl.
Catch her! Qualiana cried.
Hualiama dangled by her fingertips from his talons, laughing. I’m fine, Mamafire. Look–whee! I’m a Dragoness!
Come, said Sapphurion. We’ll share a haunch. Shell-son, it’s time you knew this Human’s tale.
I’ll put you in the meat-bowl, Grandion whispered to Lia.
His shell mother cuffed the youngster a blow that would have squelched his Human cargo like a bird struck by a speeding Dragon, and snaffled Hualiama from his grip.
Over his mate’s back, Sapphurion snarled, Such dark-fires have no place in our family.
Just joking, the Tourmaline hatchling sulked.
Remember how the Maroon Dragoness returned from the East two years ago? Sapphurion growled, quelling Grandion’s sulk. She caused great upset. You know that Ianthine was banished, Grandion–but few Dragons know why. Are you mature enough to hear this truth?
My fires are yours to command, o shell-father.
Again, Grandion’s formality surprised Sapphurion. Nevertheless, the massive Dragon Elder gestured with host-generosity at the eating-bowl, twenty feet wide, laden with four haunches of ralti sheep and a whole spiral-horn buck. Eat to become strong, my kin. Listen and flourish in wisdom.
Qualiana diced meat deftly into slivers with her razor-sharp foreclaws, and cooked a portion with her fiery breath. Eat, little one. She fed Hualiama off her claw-tips, occasionally blowing on the meat to cook or cool it as needed.
The Maroon Dragoness was always a peculiar one, said Sapphurion. Rather than seeing visions, the visions possessed her. She became violent, as strong as many Dragons in her madness. Ianthine was powerful in magic–dangerously powerful. The Council decreed she must live in isolation, apart from the Dragonkind. The Maroon Dragoness travelled away from Gi’ishior for years at a time. She loved to sniff out the Island-World’s secrets, to gather a great Dragon-hoard of lore and treasures and experiences.
This last time, Ianthine returned to Gi’ishior and immediately sought counsel with the Dragon Elders. She raved about a magic she had learned–ruzal, the magic of the Dragon-Haters of the Lost Islands. The Elders said she was mad, that ruzal was legend. The Dragoness insisted the legend was true. She had seen the Scroll of Binding. Ianthine even read part of the lore, before the Humans stole it from her. When the Elders scoffed, she demonstrated her power on the Green Dragon Elder, Andarraz. No questions, no by-your-wings. Just raw control. She made Andarraz beg and roll over like a trained hound.
No! Grandion gasped.
Qualiana put in, They must’ve heard Andarraz’s displeasure down in Herimor!
Then, stranger winds blew upon the Island-World, said Sapphurion. Ianthine began to shriek about proof, that she had brought a baby from the East as proof. A Human babe? Nonsense, the Elders thundered. The Dragoness’ eyes spurted fire–literally, Dragon fire–and her voice changed to the multiple-larynx thunder of the great Black Dragon himself. She began to declaim an obscure prophecy about the child of the Dragon and a third great race rising in the Island-World. She held us spellbound. When we recovered our senses, the Maroon Dragoness had fled the chamber. Qualiana tracked Ianthine to her lair. Tell your part, my third heart.
There’s little to relate, the Red Dragoness responded, but her talons clenched involuntarily, making the Human girl withdraw fearfully. Peace, little one. Qualiana eased her stance. I found Ianthine in an old Dragon-roost below the western cliffs of Gi’ishior, shaking this mite out of a reeking animal-skin. The babe was weak and sickly, and stank worse than windroc vomit. We fought, and Sapphurion came, and together we defeated her.
Sapphurion grunted, Brave heart, you defeated the Maroon Dragoness. I mopped up afterward.
Qualiana’s eye-fires gleamed at her mate. She stroked the girl’s golden head with the tip of a talon. Sapphurion soothed you, and popped you into his mouth in order to smuggle you into our roost. The Dragon Elders banished the Maroon Dragoness by the concerted magic of thirty Blue Dragons. But we never found out why Ianthine brought you to Gi’ishior. Nay. That’s a mystery, little one.
Hualiama blinked her smouldering green eyes at the Dragoness. Are all mysteries as nice as you, Mamafire?
* * * *
Lia dried her eyes on her sleeve. “Sapphurion the Dragon Elder put a stinking Human child in his mouth?”
“That’s how they tell the tale,” Grandion rumbled contentedly. “Ianthine knew nothing of Human babies. Apparently she fed you raw windroc eggs–that’s what kept you alive as you crossed the Island-World. My shell-mother says she had to spend two weeks healing the burns on your skin.”
“Charming.” Hualiama sighed moodily. “And I was living proof of ruzal’s power? How is that? Ridiculous. As if I want to be anything like my father. I hate mysteries.”
Thou, the mystery of my flame’s heart, purred the Dragon.
How his voice shivered her Island! Another mystery. Lia rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms, saying, I, the prekki-mush-hearted object of
my Dragon’s ardent regard.
Grandion’s guffaws shook the cavern.
At length, the Dragon said, “Leaving you at Ha’athior Island was one of the hardest choices I’ve ever made, Hualiama. You were so broken by Flicker’s loss.”
“I forgot.”
“Aye. But I remember with the eidetic faculty of a Dragon–powerful and painful as that can be.”
Lying in his paw, warm and safe in the cavern’s darkness, Hualiama could imagine–almost–that she lay in the arms of a lover, who spoke such delicate, searing truths they made her mind explode with colours and her limbs tremble. The forbidden, unspoken truth bound their souls. Physical reality bound their bodies. She touched her stomach, knowing that no Dragon eggs would ever swell her belly. Grandion would want a clutch of his own, one day. How could she deny him? Quietly, ignoring the desolation of her heartsong, Lia made her decision. For Grandion, she would make this sacrifice. He should have a Dragoness. He must.
Well, a Dragoness might have a Rider. Maybe she could fall in love with another Human Dragon Rider? Maybe such a fool had not yet been born.
A love quadrangle? Nonsensical dreaming.
“Will you tell me what happened after Ha’athior, Grandion?”
* * * *
The Tourmaline Dragon had flown on to Gi’ishior, where he took a commission to lead a Dragonwing of younger Dragons against the Dragon-rebels of Merx. They campaigned and battled for the better part of two years, hounding the wily Green Dragoness Hazzarak and her Dragons all over the East, from the Spits to Cherlar, and all the way north to Kerdani Town in the Human Kingdom of Kaolili. Grandion bloodied his muzzle in glorious Dragon battle, leading his Dragonwing to many victories despite the unimaginative strategies employed by his Wing-Leader, the powerful but stolid Bronze Dragon Gazzathon. Gazzathon was a strong contender for the leadership of the Dragon Council.
“Never have I seen so many Dragons fall, Hualiama,” Grandion reflected. “We’re our own worst enemy. What have Humans to fear if the Dragonkind war amongst themselves? We boast about scars and torn wings and brag with our fire-songs. Humans boast by populating the Islands abandoned by Dragons–no disrespect, Lia.”
