by Marc Secchia
No, it was one of those perky Kaolili slave-girls whose ministrations Grandion had enjoyed rather more freely than a reptile ought to. The girl was pretty and petite, with long, jet-black hair framing an oval face of elfin beauty. Her full lips curved upward as she slept. A contented slave? Hmm. The slave-girl slept beneath a thin, lime-green cotton sheet, and her pillow-roll was a kind Lia had never seen before, a carved block of jinsumo wood. Islands’ sakes, how could that piece of furniture enable comfortable sleep?
Lia settled back, swallowing down bile. She had to admit, she felt far worse than she had initially thought. Wounded. Fuzzy. Beaten. Further trying to identify the unfamiliar scents upon the night air, brought her no further illumination. She had no idea where she was, only that the Prince himself had whisked her away from his father’s kingdom to Dragons only knew where, and she had better …
“Mercy! Don’t do that.”
“I apologise, Mistress. I heard your breathing change,” said the girl, kneeling beside the foot of the bed.
“Uh … call me Lia. Please.” While she bade her heart resettle in her chest.
“That would be most improper.”
“What’s your name?”
“To address me by name would dishonour your great reputation, Mistress. I would be most honoured if you’d call me Thirteenth Slave.”
Before she could stop herself, Lia made a disgusted noise. The girl immediately looked crestfallen. Oh, mercy. How to rescue this? Serenity writ upon that lovely face could not disguise her response. Carefully, Lia said, “On my home Island of Fra’anior, I grew up in a great and noble house where we hold to many traditions, much like the royal houses of the East. Some you would find familiar, and some, most peculiar. For example, regard this dragonet. We sing with dragonets.”
Only a slight quiver of the left eyebrow betrayed the girl’s surprise.
“Our men kidnap their brides and carry them off in their Dragonships, and even Princesses are expected to train at weapons-craft and to become powerful warriors. I am a Dragonship engineer and pilot, as well as a warrior-monk, and a singer and dancer. In our culture, we know each person’s given name, which we believe shows respect for the individual. So I would know every member of our royal household, down to the lowliest kitchen boy. We are also very careful with titles. Moreover, we employ a great variety of formal and informal bows to indicate, without naming the person’s title, that we know who they are and the precise nature of their relative standing to ourselves in our culture, along with nuances for time of day, the formality of the occasion, and so on. In our love of nuance, our cultures are alike.”
Quietly, the girl interjected, “My given name is Isiki.”
“Was I that obvious?”
“The Mistress is always right,” the girl returned, with perfect composure. “May I bring you something for your comfort, Mistress? I am instructed to supply your every need.”
“What I need most is information. Where am I? What is my situation here?”
“Prince Qilong asked to be informed as soon as you wake. I am assigned to be your handmaiden. I am to assure you that you are safe, cared for and far from those who would threaten your life.”
Well. Lia knew of one pressing need that could not wait. But she had to rely on Isiki’s help to cross the narrow gap between the bed and the garderobe, and to suffer the embarrassment of having her clothing loosened so that she could relieve herself–uncovering bruises and bandages fit to supply a war-infirmary. Ugh. How weak? And how long had her Dragoness–mercy!
Dragoness? Dragonsoul, are you–
Humanlove! Oh, blessed be the wings that bore you hence! I was so worried, almost beside myself … Lia smiled as a warm sensation filled her heart. Ah, an invisible inner hug. Now there was medicine for the soul! Don’t you ever leave me like that again. Wasn’t your fault, of course. You’ve been unconscious for four days.
“Four days!” Hualiama gasped.
“Mistress?”
“How long have I been unconscious? Where are we?”
Moments later, she was shaking her head in disbelief. Four days out into the Cloudlands? At least–she checked herself rapidly–her bones felt as if they had generally returned to their rightful locations, even if every joint ached and every muscle felt like a cloth wrung out by a washer-woman’s strong hands. And she still had possession of the accursed ruzal. Lia exited the garderobe and shuffled to the bed like a woman seventy years her senior.
Moons and stars, what was Qilong’s strategy in this? “Girl–uh, Thirteenth Slave–please make me comfortable. Fetch food and water, and inform the mighty Prince I am ready to receive him at his convenience.”
Aye, I’m about ready to receive him too, growled the Dragoness, showing her mental picture of talons exiting their sheaths.
Exactly.
Lia caught an odd sidelong glance from Isiki. Surely the girl had not heard? Had she spoken Dragonish aloud? Add this peculiarity to Jin’s abilities and her neck was itching as if her Dragoness had a severe case of scale-rot. Something very peculiar was afoot in the Island-World. Hualiama meant to find out what it was.
“Is that boy Jin aboard this Dragonship?” she inquired, with honeyed menace.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Could you make arrangements for him to be hurled overboard, forthwith?”
Isiki bowed fluidly in the Eastern fashion. “I shall confirm your orders with the Prince at once, Mistress.”
Ooh. Good answer. Hualiama cracked all of her knuckles one by one, despite that they were hurt and grossly swollen, sending the girl scurrying out of the cabin in response. Jin had better have a story fit to out-con the cleverest con-artist in history, or he would be the unwilling beneficiary of flying lessons in the vicinity of the nearest cloud.
* * * *
When Qilong was done grovelling and explaining–a great deal more of the former than the latter–Isiki cracked open the door to permit the sweat-soaked Prince to exit, and Jin, equally pasty of complexion, to enter. Hualiama would have preferred a moment to herself to compose and calm her thoughts. Four days out of Kaolili, sailing a brisk following breeze which had forced the fleeing vessel onto a heading just three compass points shy of fully northwest–that put them on a direct course for the famed silk-producing Island of Helyon. Not massive Yorbik. Not unless they wanted to fly directly into Numistar’s tender clutches.
The Prince’s plan had been straightforward. Remove one Star Dragoness from the Eastern Archipelago in the hope that would ensure his nation’s survival. Admirably simple. Lia would have called his scheme naïve, save that it appeared Qilong had made exactly the right call. It was Numistar’s winds that chased them across the vast Cloudlands ocean between Kaolili and the central Islands, a distance that no Dragon would dream of covering in solo flight–except with the support of a Dragonship, and that was the Grey Dragoness Makani’s idea. She slept up top at irregular intervals, shadowing the Dragonship every hour she did not rest.
What would Azziala make of this? Lia had no idea on the Island or off of it. But with neither the ruzal nor a First Egg likely to be gained in the East, Hualiama concluded that the Dragon-Haters would either completely abandon their plans for Kaolili, or set up a base of operations in the East while they scoured the Island-World for rumour of the First Egg. She doubted the Empress would chase her problematical daughter across the leagues. Not now. She knew that Lia must inevitably come for her, and she held the Tourmaline, Elki and Saori hostage.
Now, she studied Jin as he stood framed in the doorway, his left arm encased in a sling.
Must she find mercy for the traitor-turned-rescuer? He had fled the Palace only as far as the barracks, where he had spoken to Flicker and Makani, and conceived the plan which had brought her this far, almost a thousand leagues from Kerdani City.
“Kill me,” he blurted out. “Kill me, great lady. The dishonour is too great. I shamed my people, my sword and all of the Dragonkind. I cannot live with this shame.”
&
nbsp; “Jin–”
“Kill me!” His scream echoed in the room, startling Flicker into wakefulness. Lia soothed the dragonet with a touch. “Tell me you hate me, tell me you will cross my unworthy neck with your swords …”
Her fingers tightened on the hilts of her Nuyallith blades, but she did not bare so much as a quarter-inch of metal from the scabbards. The temptation was agonising. He had cost her victory, her Dragon and her health. He had cost her hours of the most insufferable torture her ingenious mother could devise, delivered via the very mechanism that breathed life between her and Grandion. She had almost lost her mind and her soul to this boy, and what she saw in his eyes, made her want to spit.
Remorse.
Hualiama had always thought herself a merciful soul. Yet she realised she had secretly hoped Jin might be defiant, that she could summon her Dragoness and execute him in an act of clean, conscienceless vengeance. Remorse removed that power. It removed any possible peace of mind over the deed. It invited mercy, and this was one of the hardest decisions she had ever had to face.
For the longest time, she had no answer.
Eventually, the silence forced her hand. Lia croaked, “Why?”
He tottered forward to the bedside, crashed to his knees. “Slay me, Princess. I’m begging you–”
“First, I need to know why. Why did you do it, Jin?”
Because they had convinced him that Hualiama was an inhuman monster, a Western enchantress possessed by a Dragoness. He had seen her change with his own eyes, he admitted. He had believed the lie that she had come to Kaolili to instigate a draconic uprising against the Humankind, aiming to drive Man off the Eastern Islands forever–just as his own people had been wiped out five years before, not by Giants as he had been told, but in truth by King Taisho’s own forces.
“King Taisho promised not to hurt you,” he said, sobbing brokenly at this point in his meandering tale. “But then he handed you over to the Empress, and she … and when I saw you shattered, there on the floor, lying in the pool of blood of the very monster you had slain in service of my kingdom, and still they betrayed you … I could not understand.”
What Lia could not understand, was the intensity of the connection she felt with this treacherous, tortured soul. She would never have made such a decision. He had. Yet what burned in her heart when she considered him? Nothing she had ever felt before. A sulphurous mystery.
He explained earnestly, “I saw her try to force the Dragon-spirit out, but it was not as they said. Spirits do not amalgamate with a living soul. They dominate and subjugate. Under such terrible coercion, any ordinary possessing spirit would have fled the mortal coil, leaving the subordinate creature to perish. My people know these things. Our lore is much concerned with the spirits–I could tell you many legends, Princess. Many. That day, four days ago, I saw something different. I saw one soul, one spirit, inseparable. I realised she was trying to rend a soul asunder, and that is a deed fouler than any under the twin suns. It was an abomination!”
He made to spit superstitiously, but discovered Isiki’s foot just nearby, and desisted. “Knowing my blunder and my dishonour, I set out to correct it before I killed myself. And I will do it. If you refuse to strike off my dishonoured head, Princess, I shall fall upon my own blade–”
“No!”
Jin’s hand held steady beside his lower belly. “This dagger is poisoned. You cannot stop me in time. Neither you, nor your slave-girl.”
Lia said, “Isiki, step away from Jin.” The girl obeyed, flushing at the public use of her name. “Jin, no.”
“I am honour-bound–”
“No, please.” He glanced up through his lashes. In a voice roughed by need and incipient horror, Lia grated, “I beg of you–”
“No!” His hand quavered in horror, but refrained somehow from piercing the flesh. “You cannot beg. That is … unfair …”
She said softly, “I am begging you. Jin, I’m not very familiar with honour-cultures. Let me tell you my history. Once, I was adopted. Someone took a chance on me and adopted me; it just so happened, that my adoptive parents were King Chalcion and Queen Shyana of Fra’anior. So I’m a princess, but in a sense, not royalty. Before that time, I was raised by Dragons. And from times earlier than I can remember, I yearned for flame. I yearned for an inner fire that burned within me whenever I felt angry or sad, or particularly happy, such as when I dance … this flame lived within me, and I did not know what it was.”
His eyes burned, a shade of lambent grey that made her think of lanterns. Though she did not hear the words, she saw him mouth, ‘I know.’
“Now I know that I am a real Dragoness, as much as I am a real Human. I have just told Qilong the same. I am a Shapeshifter Dragoness, Jin, and I know what it is to be alone, and to be the only one of my kind. Jin, look at me.”
He kept his eyes fixed upon the blade, yet his entire body shook like a reed in a flooding river as emotions coursed through him.
“Look into my eyes, or I’ll turn you into a dragonet.”
Flicker murmured in protest. Throughout this exchange, he had been watching them both very closely. Making his decision, he hopped onto Lia’s lip, and nuzzled her arm with a satisfied purr. Good.
More than good. I need to thank you properly later, you awesome dragonet.
Jin fought it, but a tight, sad smile had a grip upon his lips. So rife with storms were his eyes, Lia caught her breath. She was no mind-reader, but as best she could tell, sincerity shone in the tenor of magic she detected there. Agitation and anxiety mingled with white-fires truth.
She said, “I won’t pretend I haven’t been hurt by your betrayal, Jin. I won’t pretend there isn’t part of me that does want to wring your scrawny little neck, before dissecting your entrails minutely and scattering them for the windrocs. There’s two parts of me; I’m not sure my Dragoness feels the same way, entirely.”
She does, Flicker informed her, interrupting the Dragoness within. Dragoness-Lia had not stopped growling since Jin dared to enter the cabin.
“I’ll talk to her,” Lia temporised. “Now, I’m begging you because death … death is the easy way out.”
Jin and Isiki jumped identically, then glanced at each other with expressions that queried exactly which Isle of madness the foreigner on the bed currently inhabited.
“Aye, the easy path,” she said grimly, certain of her ground. “I am not enamoured with easy, cheap paths to honour, for they are fleeting and soon forgotten. Jin, I beg you to make the hard choice. Stay the course. Perhaps one day you might learn another kind of honour, one that involves much struggle and sacrifice, perhaps a notion of honour somewhat sullied and frayed around the edges, but infinitely the more precious for that it was dearly purchased.”
Besides, pouring out his life now would be a tragedy. A waste of potential. Lia still wanted to find a Dragon for him, but this was not the moment.
“Will you think upon my proposal, at least?” she pressed.
Still, the dagger did not move. She beseeched him with her eyes. The boy still seemed to be fighting the call of his heritage. Lia observed how skittish he and Isiki behaved around each other; how acutely aware each was of the other, despite their inability to even share a glance. Frozen teenagers. She wanted to hoot with laughter, but refrained. Oho!
She said, deliberately addressing the air between the pair, “Besides, we Fra’aniorians say that honour is like a woman, Jinichi. She is whimsical and multifaceted, possessing an enormous capacity to amaze. If you truly desire her, you must pursue her with all of your heart, soul and mind.”
Well, that was a free paraphrasing of the ballads, but close enough.
Rising, Jin bowed until he folded almost double. “Your wisdom is my anchor, o Princess.”
Then, he fled.
* * * *
Endless Cloudlands tan dappled with umber rolled to the horizon. Beyond the compass of Human vision, the Star Dragoness saw the very slight discolouration of bluish smoke which indicated Hum
an habitation. Helyon. Prince Qilong wanted to put down to re-provision there, but the storm which had pursued them for two further days since her reawakening, had other ideas. It had taken a day’s pause, perhaps for Numistar’s white dragonets to feed in the realms below the clouds, before racing after the fleeing Dragonship with renewed vigour.
Gale-force winds whistled through the rigging. The side-sails that gave a Dragonship its name and characteristic Dragon-like appearance had been storm-lashed, triple-strong, to the supporting spars, and the broad, white silk sails crackled and snapped with the action of the wind. The ropes thrummed and sang as if strummed by a whimsical lute-player. No chance to turn for Yorbik, Hualiama judged, given the wind sweeping relentlessly from a point East of South. Qilong was a capable pilot. Yet where did this mean Numistar Winterborn wished to drive them? Beyond Helyon and into the vast, uninhabited expanse called Immadior’s Sea, which ended at the fabled Isle of Immadia? Behind, a broad storm-front swept across the Cloudlands as if a vast animal churned and chewed up the toxic expanse, regurgitating greasy, polluted black clouds into the atmosphere above.
Landing in winds this strong would be tricky verging on suicidal. Flying aloft beside Makani, Hualiama found herself bounced about and buffeted by the changeable, icy breeze. As a result, her Dragoness felt as ornery as a feral rajal stung by a hunter’s arrow.
Yet to be flying, albeit stiffly, was a wonder. She had always read Dragons healed quickly. This was craziness. The ribs, just a faint twinge. Most of her bruises were yellowing up nicely. To think that two days ago she had been unable to rise from bed unaided …
Flicker, bravely fluttering alongside her, suddenly babbled, Ship stop-no? No. Danger. Dragons get water and nibbles, good yes, yes, very yes?
Uh–right. Lia checked with Makani, who waved an agreeable wing-tip circle. Do you mean, we should fly ahead to secure supplies without the Dragonship actually making a landing? Numistar would punish anyone who took us in, that’s for certain.
