Dragonsoul

by Marc Secchia

  Waiting upon a Star Dragoness, said Affurion.

  Oh. Her wings flicked anxiously. Lia stilled herself with an angry growl. Great Islands, there was just so much of her now, yet she measured only twelve feet from muzzle to tail-spike. What would it be to meet her father in this guise? Mercy, would he ever dare to raise a hand to her again? More likely, he’d fix a price on her lizard-head and point the Royal Guards at her scaly hide.

  “Grandion, how do you know I’m a Star Dragoness? If they’re so rare, how do the Dragonkind recognise one?”

  “Noble Sapphurion identified your qualities.” Grrr … she warned. “Your skill with Balance magic proclaims your heritage. Mighty Siiyumiel knows the same–do not allow doubt’s dark-fires to shade the clear light of your inner presence, Hualiama.”

  Did she scent another draconic half-answer? “Aren’t Star Dragons meant to be white, like my shell-mother?”

  Grandion tipped his wings to catch a warm breeze, speeding them toward the faraway Dragonhold. With a droll, negating gesture of his free forepaw, he snorted, “Aren’t hatchlings meant to accept the wisdom of their elders? Why no, she wishes to dance. This Tourmaline would never constrain that dance, for one might as well seek to enchain the beauty of starlight itself.”

  Stunning. She wheezed aloud at the piercing clarity of his insight, her little hearts suddenly pulsing in her throat, chest and stomach with a single, startled drumbeat. A promise to treasure. Aye, she must discern Fra’anior’s intent. To earn the lifelong enmity of an Ancient Dragon was no laughing matter.

  Shadowed of soul, she turned her attention to their destination.

  Sarzun Dragonhold slowly rose from the softly layered mists above the Cloudlands, a long, many-humped slab of black granite that brooded over its surrounds like a beast lying in wait for an unwary traveller. Lying in the north-western quadrant of Dragon Territory, it was still a number of hundred leagues from the Buffer Zone that separated Dragon lands from Human, warm from frozen. Sarzun lay on the rim of a vast, mostly extinct under-Cloudlands volcano, although there were several active vents on the southern and south-eastern aspect, called Jandibor and Qualizar, apparently named for famous leaders of the Lost Islands Dragonkind.

  The Island was more extensive than it first appeared, its upper parts robed in dense coniferous forests that housed myriad subspecies of draconic life, according to Azziala’s intelligence. These were sub-intelligent Dragon species; as they departed the Dragon’s Bell, Affurion had pronounced them worse than feral Dragons, and the forests of the Lost Islands as the deadliest realm in the Island-World, after the inside of an angry Dragon’s gullet. Many were powerful ground-burrowers, similar to the Anubam, but other Dragonkind grew rooted in place or in cracks and crevices, apparently belonging more to the plant kingdom than the animal. Another entire class were Dramagon’s prototype Grunts–massively armoured, massively powerful six- or eight-legged Dragon species Affurion called ‘Dracopods’ or more fondly, Dozers, as they were renowned as much for their ability to doze in the suns-shine as for their love of rampaging through the forest, apparently taking exception to anything that dared to stand in their way–rock, tree or cliff, it mattered not. Then came the exotics–climbers, slingers, insectoid Dragonkind, lake-dwellers, bat-like cave Dragons, and many more.

  Quite the menagerie compared to Fra’anior’s population of Lesser Dragons and dragonets.

  Obeying Grandion’s steady instruction, Lia focussed on the hundreds of Grunts lining the rims of the central caldera. Deep red in colouration, they appeared to absorb the suns’ lowering rays and reflect them from their metallic Dragon hides, which hung off their jowls and bellies in great folds of flexible metal. These Dragons, the Tynukam, ate rich metallic ores to supplement their diet. Judging by their size and squat, powerful stances, Lia realised they could not fly far. That was why Overminds like Affurion were required to wield Grunts in battle, hefting these poor fliers with their fabled Kinetic power and propelling them at the enemy to strike like living fire-bombs.

  Perhaps her devastating white-fire attack on Razzior and his renegades made her a Star Dragoness? Still, eyeing the thousands of Swarm and the seventy or eighty Overminds gathering above the Dragonhold, Lia felt an out-and-out fraud. Princess? Fraud! Truth be told, she was an adopted foundling. Dragon? Fraud also … maybe. She shrank into Grandion’s paw. No …

  Ugh. Suddenly, a thought sprang fully-formed into her mind. Say she was half-Dragoness, or wholly so–surely that meant she already possessed all the resources to be a Dragon?

  Why should a Dragoness be uncomfortable in her own hide?

  Hsst. Blue-eyed monster? Wake up.

  To experience the waking of another consciousness within her consciousness, and to know it was also her–aye, that was upside-down rainbows beaming over the Island of her life.

  Hmm? Says the other blue-eyed monster?

  Human-Lia said, I wanted to ask if you wouldn’t mind handling this part for us? Actually, the whole Dragon … thing. It’s yours, really.

  There was a silence so prolonged, she wondered if she had caused herself grievous insult. Then, the inner voice said, I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to–

  Be a parasite? How can you be, if we are one? Uh–sorry. That came out badly. Aye, she knew better. They both knew. This is my final decision, Dragon-brain. Take it, or take it.

  Soft, relieved laughter filled her mind. Your negotiation doesn’t leave even a hatchling wiggle-room, does it? Then we understand ourselves. Let our entwined life be our strength. I will look after us–

  I know that. You’ve done so since before I was born.

  It needs saying. And, oath-making. Therefore, I swear this upon the fires of our soul.

  Souls, she wanted to say. Yet that would be a lie. This I also swear upon our soul’s life.

  An everlasting perturbation unsettled her twofold soul, yet Hualiama found herself in a place of inner tranquillity. Was this Siiyumiel’s Balance? Draconic awareness pervaded her mind, yet she was both part of that fabric, and the fabric itself. The music and the notes, inseparable. There was neither a sense of oppression nor loss, yet a paw had grasped the helm of her life, just as Lia had often piloted her solo Dragonship around the Fra’anior Cluster.

  She was Dragonkind.

  * * * *

  Grandion peered at the mite clasped in his paw. With a droll whirl of his eye-fires, he inquired, Afeared of a royal occasion, Princess? For though Dragons have no kings and queens, a Star Dragoness is royalty indeed. Will you not grant Affurion’s kin the honour–his voice cracked. What is it?

  As if she had shed one skin for another, Hualiama unfolded herself from that quailing position, stretched in a delightful rippling of midnight-blue scales from muzzle to paws, and assumed a confident stance upon his paw. Grandion sneezed a fireball of delight. Her strength-from-weakness power, the hallmark of her feminine mystique! Every fire in his body thunder-sighed at once as Hualiama examined the Tourmaline with unaccustomed boldness, gazing into his eyes as if beholding the mesmeric intensity of a Dragon’s gaze for the first time. Grandion shivered. Who was she, who clasped his third heart in her tiny paws and whispered her soul-fires therein?

  In a soft purr, she said, May I ride upon your shoulder, mighty Tourmaline?

  Grandion’s throat thickened; beside him, Affurion gave a gruff roar of approbation. Worthily spoken, little one! And he invited her to spring upon his wrist, and raised her to Grandion’s right shoulder, saying, Receive the honour due a Star Dragoness.

  She replied, Only when our work is accomplished, noble Affurion, will there be occasion for praises.

  Affurion lowered his muzzle with studied dignity. A draconic word.

  As the two large male Dragons swept toward the great congregation of the Lost Islands Dragonkind, Grandion’s gaze swept over the many thousands of pairs of fire-eyes silhouetted against the deepening evening, drawing closer and closer, until at a moment when they were barely a mile offshore, the waiting Dragons drew breath
and roared in a single voice, DRAGONS, UNITED!!

  Hualiama’s talons dug into his scales, but she did not falter.

  AFFURION! thundered the Brown, a great laugh of welcome. Come, wing-brother. Will you honour our tradition?

  Grandion’s entire length tightened with the ingathering of his Storm-power. When he announced himself, it was with a peal of real thunder that shook the air for miles about. GRANDION!

  On his shoulder, Lia shook her muzzle. Poser. Trying to deafen me?

  Affurion chuckled, Prodigious do the Dragons of Fra’anior grow, o Grandion. Now, mighty Hualiama?

  How on the Islands was she supposed to step into his paws? No Dragon hatchling possessed a battle-roar to speak of. Yet even above the wry snicker that informed him she perfectly understood the incongruity of this request, the Tourmaline sensed magic drawing together within her being, a magic that chased a great thrill of recognition along his wings like a delicate tracery of fire. She sucked in an everlasting breath and then held it, vibrating slightly with the deep concentration she brought to bear on her magic-weaving.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Grandion’s hearts accelerated. Strength–

  Thank you, Grandion.

  Regret-tones betrayed her true feelings. She was not strong. She had just recovered from a terrible experience. He must teach her how to understand, measure and control the magical potentials within her being. Even Dragon magic required time to recover and concentrate within the organs; as she grew, that window would reduce. He must not assist too much.

  The white highlights and edgings of her deep blue scales began to glow as though traced by the very white-fires he had seen through her eyes. The intensity of light emanating from within escalated rapidly, turning virtually impenetrable Dragon hide translucent, as if the tiny Dragoness possessed magical pathways unknown to other Dragons. The little chin lifted, an oh-so-Hualiama gesture, to view the massed congregation with her customary forthrightness.

  His wingbeat almost seized up. Star-power! He saw glorious starlight, now so brilliant that his secondary membranes shuttered instinctively, filtering the blue-tinted dazzle atop his shoulder. Dragon royalty, resplendent!

  And her song soughed over the Dragons, soft and compelling, declaring her name thrice:

  Hualiama, Hualiama,

  Hoo-ah-lee-yah-ma.

  Each repetition waxed more lyrical than the last, until every Dragon’s fire thrilled within him or her, and with one accord, ten thousand throats opened to echo the five syllables of her name in pure Dracotonic harmony. Lia’s wings spread, joyously trembling, to salute their response, and then as the Lost Islands Dragonkind continued to hum those five notes, her descant soared over all, wild and exhilarating and free. Grandion could not understand what magic allowed her to project her voice so effortlessly, but thrice over, the number of oath-significance in draconic numerology, she sang her name again, before changing her words for the final three repetitions:

  I will serve thee, I will serve thee,

  I will serve thee all my life.

  What a pledge! Grandion sang with the others as his tiny passenger unabashedly electrified the entire draconic population of the Lost Islands. The Tourmaline wanted to laugh, but he dared not. Oh, Lia! A Dragon might traipse around the Island-World in her slipstream merely to see what sleight-of-paw miracle she would conceive of next.

  Yet the voice that replied almost smashed him from the sky:

  SO ENTER THY ACCEPTABLE SERVICE, NOBLE STAR DRAGONESS!

  * * * *

  When the voice of the very Islands shook her marrow, Hualiama’s paws clenched so hard on Grandion’s shoulder, her leg and shoulder muscles cramped up. So enter thy acceptable service, noble Star Dragoness!

  She could not allay the fear that stabbed so deep, the shards of courage shattered and the willpower that absconded with her tongue and reason. Such authority; so familiar! It shocked her memories into startled focus. His was the manifold presence which had terrified an eggling; he was the Island-spanning storm which had sought her White Dragoness mother across the many leagues, hunting her, crying ‘traitor!’

  The voice said, Do I know thee, Dragoness? Doth my soul thrill to the verimost song of thy fires?

  Yet now his thunder seemed unaccountably gentle, a yearning of infernos rather than the fury of imminent destruction. Could she risk … Numistar returns, she said. Deflection. Classic Dragon logic. Her star rises.

  Aye, little flame, Numistar betrayed her brethren most sorely, came the reply. The sevenfold thunder, though infused with fury, conveyed notes of concern for a hatchling. Unmistakably, she spoke to the fabled Black Dragon. How? Even his Dragonish was like imbibing the richest of berry-wine, subtle and aged, rife with complexities beyond her comprehension.

  Still thy fears and align thy thoughts to mine, little mouse, he said. I know thy defiance in hiding my Istariela was enacted for pure-fires love; aye, I perceive thou art that eggling-spirit with whom I spoke, years of thy time ago. I know thee. As surely as she loved thee, Istariela used thee to fly to a hiding place beyond even an Ancient Dragon’s ken. She veiled the knowledge of her eggs from me, concealed her brooding and hatching and mothering–

  And this is why, great Fra’anior, you pursued her with raging Storm and–Hualiama bit her tongue painfully.

  Nay … he laughed curtly. White-fires truth? Partly, little Dragon-spirit. Aye. The restless raging of his fires, expressed beneath that all-conquering presence, quietened into a new Dragonsong. I grieve the forever-separation from mine kin. But there are greater dangers; the Nurguz who seek the ultimate destruction of the Dragonkind and the destructive warring of our own kind, and for these reasons, I and mine kin were forced to depart. Thus we sought to protect thee, and all Dragonkind. Yet now, thou alone must remain to oppose the advent of Numistar’s fervid fire-spirit.

  Fra’anior, I–

  SHOW ME WHO YOU ARE!

  Without, she became aware of the touch of Grandion’s paw; of his soft, soothing interrogative. Yet within, her thoughts were fixed upon Fra’anior, the great seven-headed Dragon of Onyx. How could she be speaking to a legend? Where did he live; somewhere beyond the Island-World, yet clearly able to influence events and oaths … and he recognised her spirit, even though he did not acknowledge the truth as yet. Even Fra’anior did not see or know all, a realisation that provided perverse comfort.

  I am Blue-star, she said, using the ancient Dragonish form of her name.

  Formidable, thou art.

  I am called the Child of the Dragon, and the Dragonfriend.

  Thou art Dragonkind, yet more, the song of fire-beauty inimitable. How is this possible?

  She said, In my flesh, I carry the final gift of Amaryllion Fireborn to the nations before he departed for the eternal fires. Yet, I have never met my shell-mother, save in my eggling-dreams.

  Softer still, Fra’anior soothed, Strength to your paw, little star. I would know thy Dragonsong. I … must. Wilt thou honour this desire of mine third heart?

  Honour him? After a moment’s renewed tongue-chewing, Hualiama said, Seek the truth within your hearts, great Fra’anior. You yourself said, do you not know me? For I am she who was born twice, the daughter of a White Dragoness.

  Thou art Istariela’s … progeny? By whom?

  What? How could he not know? Jealousy-disbelief indicators shaded his speech. Yet there was in her hearts a song that knew no words, a rising tide of emotion mingled with inexpressibly sweet harmonies of fate and love and tragedy and hope, that caused her to splutter, I-I suspect … I-I fear and I tremble–

  Me?

  Could she stagger the greatest of all Dragons? So done.

  ME? Thou … from a world-shaking roar to a ravaged whisper, his telepathic voice switched in an instant’s penetrating insight. It is not possible. The final battle with Dramagon twisted mine flesh, injured me in ways beyond redemption. I could never sire another hatchling … could I?

  Hualiama had the sense of huge heads shaking and sna
king about in such a welter of disbelief, his long necks tangled themselves up in a fine knot.

  It is not … real, he gasped. It cannot be, my soul, my song in thee, yet I sense … I recognise thee and the dark-fires of regret shadow mine soul, for how cruelly I mistreated thee before … and what is this hope, this cherished-love that binds my hearts, oh my wings, have I woken to a living dream of joy inexpressible in all the tongues of Dragons and Men? It cannot be! Is it truly thee, thou who art the offspring of Istariela’s fire-life?

  Denials, great Fra’anior? she returned pertly, yet with a mental obeisance of awe, mingled incongruously with the merriment of respite. Truth told. Now, the courage to wag her mental tongue? You might as well slap your muzzle with your paw and see what is realer than this.

  At last, his answering laughter poured over her and through Hualiama like torrential rain. She was a tiny echo of his fire-life. She was birthed of his spirit, bearer of the unmistakable imprint passed from shell-father to shell-daughter.

  I have a beautiful hatchling! SHE IS BORN!!

  At the zenith of his triumph and prodigious delight, Fra’anior’s voice cut off as though a moon had eclipsed the suns. Hualiama became aware of a new presence, gazing toward her with the eyes of inner sight, and a voice as cold and deathly as the depths of a never-ending winter sneered:

  So, Numistar’s adversary is revealed. She is Hualiama, spawn of the not-barren Fra’anior!

  N-No! She must hide, avert, shield her identity!

  NUMISTAR RISES! roared the comet. SHE SHALL AVENGE! AND SHE SHALL REIGN FOREVER!!

  * * * *

  “All was glorious, until you fainted like a stunned deer,” said Grandion, sounding decidedly muzzle-out-of-joint. “You demanded too much of yourself. You are a hatchling with a hatchling’s resources and command of magic. When will you learn, Hualiama? When will you–oh, I breathe smoke into the wind!”

  He had no inkling of all that had passed between her and Fra’anior?

  “I’m listening with all six ear-canals, Grandion,” she protested, trying to rise. No single limb obeyed. Evidently, Dragons experienced adrenalin-fuelled stress as well; having encountered Fra’anior, she felt as if half her brain had combusted and the remainder was obscured by smoke.