by Marc Secchia
For the first time, the great, dignified Land Dragon seemed floored. Well, perhaps he already walked upon the floor of the world, Lia did not know. But his great jaw sagged and he produced an undignified mental splutter.
Then, Siiyumiel thundered, Who is thy shell-mother, little one?
One mother is called Azziala, the woman you saw. The other, I dream–
Two mothers? The monstrous forepaw withdrew to deliver a vigorous scratching to his lower neck, shaking their Island once more. Hualiama imagined she was standing on the deck of a Dragonship juddering in the breeze. Siiyumiel growled, Duality. A fascinating Harmonic nuance.
Annoyingly–of course–he refused to explain more. The light of his central eye shone, the paw returned, and the Dragon set about hypnotising her, as best she could tell. The Shell-Clan Dragon had her work through a series of increasingly bizarre visualisation exercises aimed at reintroducing Harmony to her being, while he sang a deep, intensely moving Dragonsong in words neither Grandion nor Hualiama understood. The wash of magic was gorgeous and compelling. Hualiama wished for health and wholeness and concord and the rising of her Dragon fires. Nothing happened. She imagined true flame and summoned white-fires to her aid. Failure. By their seventh attempt, she was humming along with Siiyumiel and wishing that by some miracle, she could dance. That would surely winkle out whatever strange malaise had infected her, wouldn’t it?
Sooner than seemed possible, noon arrived and Grandion brought her fresh kill, a giant rock hyrax.
Raw, bloody meat. Yum. Apparently irresistible to a hatchling, though her Human turned up her pert nose in disgust.
Over lunch, she explained the mystery of her existence, about her Human mother and her eggling-dreams and the soul-wrenching desire she had always experienced, to learn to fly. Siiyumiel suggested her new draconic manifestation was clear proof that she had always somehow been a Dragonish fire-spirit incarnated in Human flesh, impossibly, but the vibrant crimson swirls of colour which entered his eyes proclaimed his consternation. But as she spoke again of Amaryllion’s inexplicable gifts, the fifty foot wide eyes beaming down upon them cleared to a purer, almost translucent flame of a kind Hualiama had never seen before, emanating a magical or visual Dragonsong that electrified every bone in her body.
I begin to grasp a vision, said Siiyumiel.
Lia sniffed, How does any Dragon grasp the definitively ungraspable, Siiyumiel?
Lia! Manners, Grandion warned.
We were all hatchlings once, o Alastior, said the great Land Dragon, his lips curling left and right in a return of that smile which from their perspective, spanned three quarters of the horizon. Patience. I must reflect deeply and rapidly upon this matter.
And with that, his eyes shuttered and Siiyumiel appeared to fall fast asleep!
* * * *
Hualiama had never been much enamoured of the discipline of patience, as the monks of her monastery knew all too well. But now, tolerance was enforced. Ill health was a pitiless taskmaster. Nothing in her broad experience of magic could have prepared her for this sense of powerlessness. Inanition. The knowledge that all of her resources, all of her stubbornness, her heritage and gifting, had come to nought. All she had was the vague intuition that her life should not end so–and the wisdom of a Land Dragon.
Grandion snugged her in his paw and curled his body around them both, creating a warm, safe space. Her body felt glued to the ground, incapable of ever rising again.
As sleep claimed her, she heard the Tourmaline Dragon whisper, I couldn’t stand to lose you, Blue-star.
She dreamed of flying through the cosmos.
When Lia awoke, she found Siiyumiel watching her through the tiny space created by the bent of Grandion’s wrist, the sheltering curve of his shoulder, and the edge of the Tourmaline Dragon’s overarching wing; the Land Dragon’s expression, unfathomable.
Without a word of preamble, he said, “Hualiama Blue-star, the power of Balance or Harmony is, in essence, the power of seeing what truly is. We must see the true nature of the Island-World. No matter how it presents itself, it is this power of inner sight or as we say in Dragonish, true-seeing or even white-fire wielding, that underpins and informs our discernment of Harmony. I’d posit that without truth, Harmony cannot exist.”
Switching to Dragonish, he continued, We Land-Dragons call this body of lore ‘the Balance of the Harmonies’. We believe that all matter, all existence, and all spirit-forms of creatures both corporeal and incorporeal, exist in an enormous, yet delicate, Universe-spanning state of interdependence. All life is a function of Harmony. Chaos is disharmony. Events are stanzas and melodies in the song of Balance, and they can tip the Balance unexpectedly. Consider the departure of your friend Amaryllion Fireborn, or the imminent advent of Numistar Winterborn, the Ancient Dragoness, according to the sign ablaze in the heavens.
Whaaa … Grandion wheezed.
Equally staggered, Lia gasped, The comet is … it is an Ancient … no!
She had seen Numistar at the time of her Reaving. How could she have known? She had thought that but a hallucination, a product of Azziala’s magic and the deathly cold of Reaving wreaking havoc with her mind! Even Grandion had imagined fighting Numistar’s storm en route to the Lost Islands, she gleaned from his mind now. Coincidence? Let a hatchling’s wings shiver …
Let no falsehood blacken your tongue, Star Dragoness! Siiyumiel ticked her off.
At once, the Tourmaline Dragon’s paws enfolded her. Gently, Siiyumiel! You underestimate your strength.
Interpretation of visions is a shell-mother’s vegetable-pulp to her hatchlings, complained the Land Dragon, but regret-indicators moderated his tone. Hualiama. Tell Grandion what you sensed.
“I–I thought it was just a feeling. A fleeting fear.”
“And now?”
Angered by Siiyumiel’s challenge, Hualiama tried to struggle to her paws, but collapsed with a groan. “I sensed Numistar Winterborn travels within that comet–if not her body, then her spirit.” Shielding her with his paw, Grandion exhaled a stream of fire. “Aye, Grandion. I dismissed it as … as hatchling- nightmares. Silly fears. Siiyumiel, this cannot be. The Ancient Dragons departed this Island-World aeons ago. Amaryllion was the last.”
The Land Dragon said, “Yet one has evidently betrayed the Onyx Dragon’s purpose. You yourself told me, stars will plummet from the sky.”
Every scale of her hide cried out at once. Lia gritted her fangs, drawing a quiet word of support from the Tourmaline, even as his belly-fires reached a pitch that vibrated throughout his body.
“You thought the prophecy related to you,” Siiyumiel observed, in the quietest whisper he had yet essayed. “Not all is your fault, little Blue-star, nor is draconic hubris inexcusable. Some events are beyond even a Star Dragoness’ ambit. Aye, Numistar’s star shall fall upon this Island-World. You saw beyond what is apparent to the naked eye, quarrying the truth from a comet’s heart–and thus, I deduce your innate potential to discern the Balance of the Harmonies.”
“Some Dragons would shiver, proclaiming our ruin,” Grandion said, “yet I say, they have not yet beheld the treasure I have held.”
“Grandion!”
“You growled, Hualiama?”
“My paws are only this big.” She held up a forepaw to illustrate.
“Your hands were far smaller, yet mighty were their deeds,” he countered.
Unfortunately, a hatchling-sized Dragoness’ growl wasn’t about to scare her eight-times-larger companion. Grandion’s chortling told her she was just being cute, which was possibly the best way under the twin suns to fire up her anger.
“If you two have finished mingling fires,” the Land Dragon said indulgently, “our task is to seek your personal harmony, Hualiama. Do you remember when we first met and you saw my inner fire-form bowing to you?”
“No,” said Grandion.
“Yes,” said Lia.
Siiyumiel said, “I’ve baffled you by overcomplicating the issue. I want you to seek your true f
orm. Seek with the utmost strength of your hearts, Hualiama. Scour all that you know of your past and all that you are, as you summon this inner magic. Then, show us that truth.”
“Her true form is this Dragoness,” stated the Tourmaline.
Lia nodded slowly. “My spiritual form?”
“Aye,” rumbled Siiyumiel. “Gird up your courage. May you dive as deep as a Land Dragon.”
With this peculiar blessing, the Shell-Clan Dragon began his particular, multi-harmonic humming again. Hualiama wanted to protest. Had he snoozed an entire afternoon away to offer her such a simplistic solution? Had they not tried and failed? Was she not weary of the search for her origins, and truth be told, afraid of what more she might discover? She had searched and found Ra’aba, then Azziala. Who could know which of them had abused the other? Both were insatiably evil and selfish to the core; both had hated her with a consuming passion. Still, Siiyumiel had touched upon and clarified a conviction hitherto unvoiced in her conscious mind. Her life’s vision must not be to become what they were not. She must find Hualiama. The real Hualiama, whoever or whatever that was.
Child of the Dragon. Child of ruzal?
She had been the beneficiary of much love, too. Undeniably. Flicker, Amaryllion, Queen Shyana, Elki, Sapphurion and Qualiana, and of course, Grandion. Yet one person had always stood out as the oddity. Her other-self. The dream-twin with blue hair … or was she now the dream? Which of them controlled this life she lived?
The voice from her nightmare grated in her mind, ‘You stole my life!’
Had this Dragoness somehow stolen a Human’s life, becoming a ghastly mirror-image of the relationship between her father and Razzior the Orange Dragon? Horrific.
Never! she groaned.
With that, Hualiama summoned her deepest reserves of determination, the same willpower which had catapulted her across the Island-World in search of Grandion. Whispers of white-fire spread along the magical pathways of her draconic being. She was no life-stealer. Never would she conquer another being; she and Grandion had both learned that lesson, and lived with their regrets to this very day. Fire shone from her paws, scales and muzzle, wreathing her being with power, even as a star wrapped itself in its train of bedazzling majesty.
Grandion’s horrified shout broke briefly into her awareness. Hualiama! Don’t fly to the fires!
I fly to thee, she sang.
Blue-star must dance with Blue-star. They must embrace, and be one.
As the Land Dragon’s song swelled, the face of her Dragonlove receded behind veils of white-fires, shimmering as though seen through great heat. Help me, Grandion. Help me understand … to be …
Be what? Though he groaned, the Tourmaline Dragon poured the strength of his magic into her, helping Lia reach beyond what she was able in her weakened condition. He gave unstintingly, yet not without reserve, questions and uncertainty underlying a shining desire to be what she needed, no more and no less, and not to impose his ideas and will upon her as he had before. This was the meaning of fire-promises, she realised. The form of words was merely an indicator of the intense intimacy of sharing the fires of united souls, yet this fusion was in no way automatic. It was learned.
If she stole life, she must return life.
She must die to be reborn.
I waited for you. Be free, Hualiama.
She did not know who it was that spoke. It seemed two voices spoke at once, and with that, a newfound, fragile expression of magic flowered inside of her. Unfolding. Swathing some aspects of her nature as warm cloths swaddle a newborn infant. Unfurling other parts as a bud unfurls its petals to greet the suns’ warm kiss.
Grandion voiced a bugle of enormous surprise and grief.
Lia blinked. What? She felt most peculiar, as though her soul had once more traversed the Island-World and her poor, abused flesh had been forced to rush and stretch in unexpected ways to catch up.
The she looked down at herself, and screamed!
* * * *
When Hualiama screamed, all three of Grandion’s Dragon hearts leaped into the throes of a volcanic rage. Wrenching. Pounding. Drenching his wings and limbs with molten-fire rain. Should she not be pleased? No. She was horrified. Guilty delight at her response rose in his craw, rapidly engulfed by an inner flood of tangled, uncontrollable emotions.
Human again! How could this be?
Siiyumiel had betrayed them in the worst possible way.
Yet the enormous Shell-Clan Dragon appeared content. “This problem, I can treat,” he said. “Grant me a moment.”
“You stole my Dragon!” she wailed. “You … stole …”
Crimson splattered her lips as the girl collapsed against his paw. Grandion lowered Hualiama carefully to the ground. She looked ghastly, grey of complexion rather than the pink he remembered, and so emaciated, her skin was but brittle cloth drawn over skeletal bones. She was malnourished, he realised. Not just hungry, but wasted; lingering upon the cusp of death. This was the problem? This putrefying thing had been hiding within her draconic flesh, corrupting, even poisoning the Star Dragoness?
She rasped horribly, “How, Siiyumiel …”
“After minutely analysing the molecular structures of your being, I shall project and synthesize the exact micro-nutrient requirements to support a course of magical healing,” he replied, clearly misunderstanding her question.
“My Dragoness is gone!”
“Hush,” urged the Tourmaline. “Save your strength.”
“No, Grandion … how? Why? It cannot be. I’m sorry, I’ve failed you …”
Her whisper tore from a ravaged throat, no less wing-shivering than had she bellowed directly into his ear-canals. Grandion had no answers. For a few, glorious hours, she had been his. The very melody of his soul, unfettered, flyaway, yet so fleeting. Hope had made its habitation in his third heart. He wanted to bugle his grief and loss until the Dragon’s Bell rang for it, but he withheld for one simple reason. If Hualiama lived, all was not lost. Could her fire-soul be redeemed from this husk of Human flesh?
Grandion said, “Siiyumiel, we must–”
“Patience!” snapped the Land Dragon.
And with that, he released the floodgates of his magic. What had been before was a zephyr; now came the storm, yet so narrowly focussed upon Hualiama, Grandion felt the powerful wash as a play of colours teasing his senses, together with the tell-tale, scale-prickling side effects of intoxicating magic. The girl’s bare limbs twitched against the ground, but her sigh was the first truly peaceful sound the Tourmaline had heard cross her lips in more than a week.
“Now divide this, and feed it to her. Slowly. It is potent.”
Grandion’s paw snapped up to catch Siiyumiel’s offering as it rocketed forth from his mouth. Kinetic magic? Either way, he was not about to be struck down a second time! But a glob of a black, tar-like substance slapped into his palm and stuck there. He sniffed it curiously. Disgusting. Like one of those Human herbal concoctions they swore healed all ills. Moving with cautious haste, he slipped a digit beneath the girl’s neck to tilt her head, then with the smallest talon of his left forepaw, scooped up Siiyumiel’s medicine and brought it to her mouth. So delicate. So baby-birdlike in comparison to his maw. Grandion halved the amount, and then touched her lips with his claw-tip.
“Open.”
Her depthless eyes flicked open. “Qualiana?”
Grandion’s thought-memories filled with melancholy orange fire. Shell-mother! Oh, the loss … Lia must be hallucinating. “Eat.” A moist pink tongue licked once, twice.
“Ugh … foul.”
“The best medicine always is,” he said, with forced cheer.
The blue eyes lidded. Did she sleep? Grandion’s focus-magnification highlighted the moisture brimming beneath her eyelids. No. This was not slumber. In a moment, the pearlescent liquid touched her pretty eyelashes–he bridled at this suggestion of illicit Humanlove emanating from his third heart–and a glistening teardrop tiptoed the length of three filament
s and spilled down her cheek. The capillaries just beneath her skin appeared slightly flushed, indicating heightened emotion. Yet at another level, he marvelled, focussing even more narrowly upon the teardrop, down to the microscopic level. Aye, did he not detect tiny whorls of flame-magic embedded in that moisture? Aye! Her unique magic lived!
Humans saw tears as precious. Joyful, grieving, they cried at the oddest times. The Tourmaline shuddered beneath the force of a talon-curling urge to seize anyone or any creature who dared to make this girl cry, rend them limb from limb, and char the remains until they blew away as ash over the Cloudlands. Siiyumiel first. How dare he wrest Hualiama’s future from her grasp and toss it into the nearest volcano?
“Eat, Lia.”
She ate slowly, not without struggle, making hatchling-like mewling noises of distress every time he bade her swallow. Yet even as his thoughts darkened toward the Land Dragon, Grandion’s senses thrilled to the enlivening of Hualiama’s flesh. Her heartbeat deepened and strengthened beat by beat. Fine, fiery colour crept across her hollow stomach, expanding toward her throat and limbs, while a tiny frisson began in the atrophied muscles–a sensation Grandion knew twice over from personal experience–as Siiyumiel’s potent brew percolated into her system. Toward midnight, the Land Dragon produced another, smaller glob of ultra-concentrated nutrients.
Bid her eat this. Then, she must sleep, said Siiyumiel. All true healing requires sleep.
Grandion said, What of her Dragoness?
Do her soul-fires not burn within?
You know what I mean, o brother of the deeps. Yet … pride speaks. I am not unthankful. Hualiama and I would express due gratitude, Siiyumiel. Gratitude that transcends description.
The Land Dragon performed an obeisance with his eye-fires. May my service be acceptable, mighty Tourmaline. It is not without purpose, for the future of my own kind, I must secure also. I prophesy a crucial role in the future of our deep-dwelling kind–for both of you.
Grandion stiffened in surprise. White-fires truth?
I wish that true-fires would burn between us, wing-brother. Forever.
Rising slowly from his cramped position guarding Hualiama, the Tourmaline Dragon considered these words, and tasted their fiery goodness in his third heart. She will succour your kind, too? Then let us be wing-brothers, indeed. I am honoured to bind my wings to our oath.
