Dragonsoul

by Marc Secchia

  Dazzled, she used her secondary optic membranes to filter the light. Now she saw Siiyumiel’s beam streaming from the northwest, somehow bending around her body as though the light-magic had taken fright. It shot off between the Air-Breathers at a bearing of five compass degrees south of east, with a sharp downward angle. Dragonets skittered away from that powerful blast, much as she realised Land Dragons used their Harmonic light to frighten away predators. Lesser Dragons had no such skills. Dark shapes circled her with predacious tenacity. By the quality of the ambient light, she realised that night must have fallen in the world above.

  Where the refracted beam fell, angling around the flank of an Air-Breather, Numistar’s power was weakened enough for many dragonets to fall, especially those struck by the centre of the beam; the predators noticed this too, closing in with sharp thrusts of wings and fins. Smoke boiled from the area of impact. The faint, soprano shrieks of dragonets fell upon her ears.

  She shifted, feeling the peculiar shield ripple with her movement–who had built this unfamiliar construct? Of course. Grandion’s doing. Thank you, my Dragon.

  As best she could calculate, Hualiama played the beam across the nearest clusters of dragonets feeding on … oh! Oh, stinking windrocs, what was the Ancient Dragon thinking? Simple. No different to Azziala blooding Dragons, only this was more direct. What was the largest source of meat under the Cloudlands? Clearly, Numistar Winterborn needed to grow her strength. That was her exact plan. Siiyumiel’s light injured Numistar, but there were so many clusters of dragonets, Hualiama realised she was only clashing with a small percentage of Numistar’s totality. How did one fight myriad?

  A wounded Dragoness would lash out.

  Hualiama turned at once and fled, forging through the viscid air toward Siiyumiel. She should feel no shame, in this deadly environment, in sheltering behind the biggest, baddest behemoth she could find. Behind her, Numistar raised a monstrous, pain-crazed bellow.

  BLUE-STAR! YOU WILL BE MINE!

  She fled faster.

  For long minutes, her scalp behind her skull-spikes crawled with the expectation that Numistar would seize her by the wingtips and drag her off to that ghastly feeding ground. Yet Siiyumiel rallied his kin. Multiple attacks, though smaller and weaker than the mighty Elder’s efforts, radiated between the bulk of the Air-Breathers like beams of the brightest lamps Hualiama had ever seen, cleansing some of the nearer carcasses of predators and dragonets alike. The approaching Shell-Clan came under attack from their kin, the Welkin-Runners, who launched off the Islands to latch onto their larger brethren. They attacked the heads and under the carapaces where the Shell-Clan’s limbs attached to the body–groins and armpits, in a manner of speaking–with huge, punishing blows of their talons. Siiyumiel’s Clan remained in compact formation, helping each other peel off the attackers, crushing them between their monstrous bodies or scorching Dragon hide with directed blasts of their Harmonic magic.

  Power against agility, Hualiama realised. The Shell-Clan were all power grounded in the mountainous strength of living, breathing furnaces; the Welkin-Runners, fast and brutal, their thuggish individuality giving way under sustained attack to an instinct for self-preservation. They fought in fluid groups, trying to swarm the Shell-Clan by sheer weight of numbers and drag them to the flanks of the Air-Breathers or down to a more solid-appearing substrate miles below, where dozens more Runners waited.

  Siiyumiel’s light-beam abruptly cut off, leaving her without night-vision and alone. Dark shadows descended immediately. These were a class of under-Cloudlands predator scavengers called Borers, vastly elongated reptilian creatures that drilled their way into a weakened Land Dragon’s flesh. If successful, they laid their eggs within, and ate them from the inside out over a period of years. They had ten fin-like wings protruding from the upper body, a further ten on the midsection, and a large thicket of motile fins on their tail ends.

  Hualiama had half a second to think her shields might hold, when she learned how deadly these creatures were. Drrr! A drill-like appendage blasted through with a type of high-frequency, cutting Harmonic magic. She snapped her wing aside in the nick of time. Freaking feral windrocs! Drrr! She dodged again, shoring up her shields frantically but losing a two-foot diameter patch of scales on her left upper flank. Pain and panic accelerated every system, every impression, every reaction of her Dragon body as she raced through the press, before stalling amidst an overwhelming thicket of Borer bodies. She punched and pushed blindly but only ran headfirst into enemy after enemy, tearing herself free each time, desperate, unnerved.

  Drrr! Her nose shook briefly; a reflexive lick of her tongue brought her the taste of her own blood.

  Away, sweet Dragoness, cried Humansoul, earning herself the umpteenth slap of their brief partnership in Shapeshifter life. Come on. One of us, five thousand of them. Perfect odds.

  Indeed, if I had any magic left! snarled the Star Dragoness. Yet tranquillity pooled within her breast …

  Please use our gorgeous wings together with our brains.

  Hualiama snapped something she had definitely not learned in the royal halls of Fra’anior. That Human! Snarky and right, the most annoying possible combination.

  This exchange occupied a conversational space as brief as thought. Her Human’s intervention brought clarity. Swirling away between the thrashing bodies, the tiny Dragoness pretended she was playing at her first hunt with the Dragon hatchlings and fledglings of Sarzun Dragonhold. She danced. Numbers worked against the enemy unless they worked as a team; these Borers were anything but. Frustrated, they tore and drilled chunks out of each other. The spurting blood maddened them further. Lia dug into a torso with her talons for a brief ride, only to discover that these creatures were able to twist themselves into knots. She barely escaped a chomping mouth with the end of her tail.

  Then, Siiyumiel’s unique magic swept the area nearby. Bodies blasted apart, swirling in clouds of vaporised, stinking flesh. With a dragonet-worthy flip of her wings, Hualiama arrowed for the open space. She barrel-rolled over an incoming attacker, stall-and-dipped beneath three converging bodies, and danced away from the grasping mouths and wings, into the open.

  The Land Dragon bathed her in polychromatic glory. Strength.

  Light and Harmony chased the weariness out of her limbs. Her body buzzed in surprise, in gratitude, as Siiyumiel’s healing power washed over her. She lowered her muzzle. Awe-respect.

  Tiiyusiel, take the Star Dragoness aloft. We will speak, little one, but your task now lies ahead. The roots of Kaolili begin but ninety leagues from this place, where the deep-bottoms rise. Soon, the Air-Breathers will truly walk.

  She snickered involuntarily as Siiyumiel revealed what he thought of her original idea that these living Islands walked on the underbelly of the world. The Cloudlands were so much deeper than she had imagined. Six, eight leagues deep in many places. Deeper still were the trenches that reached the very molten core of the world, and the apparently bottomless Rift which separated the North and Herimor. The relentless, massive pressures of those depths would eventually overwhelm even a Land Dragon; they supported entirely novel forms of life, mysterious even to the Shell-Clan.

  Light-beams played around her now in glorious display, as though stars danced with swords in the gloom beneath the Cloudlands, cutting and clashing, etching and burning.

  The Shell-Clan swept in, bold but beleaguered, cutting across the westerly flank of the Lost Islands as they pounded the Welkin-Runners with synchronised discharges of their eye-magic. Hualiama could not keep track; the strobe lightning confused her senses, but she oriented on the signature of Tiiyusiel’s magic and followed that to a meeting with the young Shell-Clan Dragoness. Blasts of green-tinged light from the Welkin-Runners tossed her about like a flea cast adrift in an ocean of dark and light, but she fought through nevertheless.

  As she finally shut her eyes against the piercing light-shocks, Hualiama managed to make an understated landing near Tiiyusiel–actually, right again
st the eyelid of her primary eye.

  Light-blink-light!

  So intense was the blaze behind her, Hualiama’s wings became almost transparent. She darted aside, gripping lightly with her talons, before Tiiyusiel had even formed the thought that resting in the eye of her light-cannon was not the wisest choice for a Lesser Dragon.

  Boom! Boom! The Land Dragoness lurched. Her detour, Lia apprehended, had taken her out of the pack and into danger. Four Runners clung to her carapace, pressing her down with their combined weight, while one quarried at the exposed skin of her nape. Tiiyusiel groaned, trying to fly a steady course.

  Fly? Swim? Float? Lia cried, Strength, Tiiyusiel! Let me help …

  The incredulous Land Dragoness had neither choice nor warning as a touch of Hualiama modified her shields.

  KAAAABOOOM! The entire underworld shook as Tiiyusiel’s Harmonic blast shifted into her shields and then flashed outward. The four grappling Runners exploded into thousands of charred chunks of Dragonflesh. Two miles away, the wash staggered Siiyumiel and kin, but more so their attackers. Talons unclenched. Mouths gaped in shock. A few of Siiyumiel’s command bellowed in anger at Lia’s interference, but most seized the opportunity to land unopposed blows and scrape clean their fellows’ carapaces.

  Poor Tiiyusiel responded as if Hualiama had slapped her across the muzzle with an Island, but Siiyumiel was already beaming in his healing power.

  Sorry, I didn’t mean–Lia coughed, and vomited weakly.

  No, it was bravely done. A tad clumsy on the execution, said Tiiyusiel, her voice shaking palpably. Human-Lia rolled her eyes somewhere inside the Dragoness. Inelegant Lia. The tale of her life. Watch this. If a Land Dragon should pinpoint-direct such Harmonic magic through the shield-construct–

  No, you need a more precise delivery mechanism, something like this, said the Star Dragoness, with an inner nod at her Human engineer …

  Excellent, Tiiyusiel agreed. All-round protection! Noble Siiyumiel–

  Already processing the idea, my shell-kin, he agreed, with a flare of excitement-indicators. Take our friend up-world quickly. Hurry. Truly, her deeds proclaim her the Dragonfriend.

  Lia was uncertain as to what her blunder had achieved, but the Land Dragons seemed inordinately energised. Tiiyusiel soared away immediately, the furnace-engines of her magic providing lift and thrust. She swam into the dark upper cloud layer. The battle vanished from Hualiama’s sight, but not from her mind. The flashes and detonations of magic continued as the Shell-Clan pressed home their assault. Had they come to save her?

  Not you alone, said Tiiyusiel. But you provided impetus for our assault. Numistar Winterborn gathers to herself an army of Land Dragons. We are uncertain as to her intent.

  Quickly, Hualiama described the existence of an unhatched First Egg, the vital information the Land Dragons had sought and failed to identify before. As she spoke she realised aloud that Numistar must know something of its location–why else would she require Land Dragons, if the First Egg were somehow accessible from the above-Cloudlands world? The mismatched group of Land Dragons which had travelled North from Herimor must have been seeking the unmatched power of the First Egg, but they too could not know its location–or did they? Did they seek to learn Numistar Winterborn’s intent and oppose her, or was their motivation more sinister yet?

  She and Tiiyusiel agreed that the truth of that matter remained unknown.

  From her side, Tiiyusiel confirmed the Shell-Clan’s reading of the Balance, that there were too many powers gathered now in one corner of the Island-World for there not to be an explosion of war. Already, war raged in the under-Cloudlands realms. Now, Tiiyusiel showed her the thought-memories of the Shell-Clan responsible for gathering intelligence from the South. Warlord Shinzen’s bulky Dragons served as rapid transport for his Giants, Island-to-Island. Seen from a low angle, the Giants overran and torched a Human village, followed by celebrations and the nauseating images of pairs of Giants spit-roasting bodies in the flames–she promptly threw up again. Yet the memories rushed on; Tiiyusiel’s attempt to be responsive to her shock, she suspected. From below, she watched a gigantic Dragon-battle rolling over a cluster of Islands, even catching a glimpse of Grandion storming mightily through the fray, flexing his Tourmaline muscles to smash the two-headed Oranges out of his path with electrifying disdain.

  Grandion battled a force hundreds of times greater than the Dragonwings he appeared to command–that too, was a revelation. Lia shook her muzzle, filled with disbelief. Even if they allied with all the Lost Islands Dragons, the magnitude of these forces–mercy.

  Half an hour later, Tiiyusiel breached the Cloudlands and surged into a realm of clean, scudding winds; several leagues to the East, a localised rainstorm broke over Yiisuriel’s dark peaks, sending great white torrents of water cascading down her flanks. After taking her leave, Hualiama launched into the teeth of the wind and beat her way to a Dragonship landing bay. Dispirited, agitated and sick to her stomach, Hualiama trudged up to her quarters.

  There, a white firebolt greeted her with aerial cartwheels of delight. Straw-head!

  She had to laugh.

  * * * *

  Hualiama retired that evening following another delightful interrogation-session with Azziala and her Councillors, which lasted five hours and left her with a headache better suited to a creature of Siiyumiel’s size than a small Dragoness. To her surprise, her Dragon form decided she had endured quite enough for one day and would prefer a disembodied head to one that threatened to drop off of its own accord. The transition seemed especially arduous; a deep inner wrenching, yet the relief to appear in Human form had never been sweeter. Her blinding migraine vanished as if tossed into the nearest volcano.

  Dragonsoul, that was bad.

  Doubly rubbish as a Dragoness, aren’t I? Stupid decision landed us in the Cloudlands. We were rescued by Grandion and the Land Dragons; sent back upstairs with my tail between my legs, only to enjoy a beating from our mother. Fabulous day.

  Human-Lia checked on Flicker, who slept pressed up against the fire-grating, snoring with a sound like a contented feline’s purr. She placed another log on the small fire. Which of us tattled about a First Egg to the mother-monster, simultaneously revealing its presence to Numistar?

  Who gets the prize for the lengthiest rash of poor decisions?

  Ugh. Get some rest, Dragoness-friend. Lia sighed moodily. Despite being exhausted, she also felt too keyed-up to rest. Off to bed. What further mischief can I cause there?

  The Star Dragoness’ guffaws faded inwardly. Hualiama grimaced. Sorry, Fra’anior, but for once she hoped to rest undisturbed. If only she had not chased Grandion away. Yet she had resources in this place, as evidenced by Elki’s ungentle snoring next door. The problem was that with so many conflicting forces swirling about her, she had absolutely no idea what to do next. Every action she contemplated seemed fraught with a million calamitous consequences; the potential for levelling Islands or annihilating entire populations. Therefore she did nothing. Where was her vaunted courage? Fled beyond the moons?

  She knew she must rise to dance, but instead felt muzzled, subdued, even paralysed.

  Blades. The Nuyallith forms were a kind of dance, highly prescribed yet flowing, as if freedom could only exist or flourish within the tightest of bounds. Hualiama turned to contemplate the blades, laid at her bedside by Saori–who was herself, the very definition of warrior-discipline. Some might call her predictable. Others, deadly. Within her forms, Hualiama had learned, Saori was almost unbeatable. But create a form which was slightly unusual or illogical, and her Eastern sensibilities began to fray at the edges.

  Stepping lightly across the room, she touched the well-worn hilts. Saori knew a secret. How many hours had she not spent learning it for herself?

  Dance began with form. Expression sprang from knowledge. Even Siiyumiel’s notions of Balance and Harmony did not spring so much from a mystical connection with the Island-World, as from a profound understanding of
its fundamental science. Of course, Land Dragons possessed brains the size of small Islands to contain and process the storehouses of knowledge gleaned from their extraordinary awareness of the natural world. The Dragonfriend, rather less so–but she had been a monk.

  Granted, Lia might have moved the brothers more to frowning, eye-rolling and the odd impious thought than to scaling the spiritual heights in meditation!

  Her fingers curled upon the leather-bound metal tangs. Blue blade in the left. Red in the right. Each dark length of metal was superbly balanced, inscribed with a neat line of runes down the centre channel, and more beneath the handgrip, she believed. Forged of meteorite ore in a furnace supplied by Dragon fire, the three-foot blades were both lighter and stronger than anything else in her experience, but held an incomparable edge and were undeniably magical. The blades slipped free in a faint whisper of metal that made her Dragon senses tingle. Barefoot, clad only in a thigh-length white under-shift and a waterfall of pale blonde hair, Hualiama crouched slightly into the ready position. The dry voice of Master Khoyal played in her memory, summoning the first of the Nuyallith forms. Water blocking light. Heron-strikes. Breaking the hammer. She spun into a whirlwind attack. The angry cat. Each form of defence or attack had a name, a form, often a flow of linked techniques.

  Even her fierce concentration must give way to instinct. Faster and faster, Lia whirled around her room, carving the air with increasing abandon. Released into dance. Even while drawing inward, her awareness expanded. Each flashing orbit of a blade, though finely controlled, sang of ruinous, explosive potential concealed within beauty’s course, imploring her for release–yet her soul could not allow release. Not now.

  She heard a light footstep outside her door. A rustling.

  Lia stilled instantly. The blades hung loosely at her sides. What? Her nostrils flared, taking in the faint redolence of Dragon magic coupled with a rank taint, one she did not recognise–

  BOOM!