At this, a sigh rippled through the other half-dragons. “The Dragon’s Son . . . the Dragon’s Son . . .” The whisper went around and they moved forward, not threatening, but eager and curious.
Ven had been about to flee. He had his back turned, ready to run, ready to leave this horrible image behind.
He told himself that to flee would be cowardly. He braced himself and turned around, faced them head-on. He swallowed the bitter bile in his mouth, felt it burn down his throat into his stomach.
The young half-dragon female advanced. Her human face was lovely. Her brown eyes were large and wide open to the world. The bone structure of her face and body was delicate, yet strong. Her long, glistening hair fell to the small of her back and stirred about her like a shimmering curtain when she walked. She moved with grace and elegance that was fluid and sinuous like a reptile and proud like a human, her human shoulders back and squared. Her iridescent wings quivered. The hand she held out to him was covered in scales that sparkled blue, like his own. Her hand ended in five small talons.
She wore no clothes, as did some of the half-dragons, those who were more human than dragon. Her scales covered her body, which had a human torso and thighs and slender dragon legs with clawed feet, like Ven’s. The scales ran up her stomach to cup around her bare human breasts.
Ven saw all this in a single, swift glance. Then he kept his eyes fixed on her face, because his stomach turned when he looked at the rest of her. He tried to keep his face rigid, to keep the disgust he felt from showing, but the young woman must have seen it, for she stopped walking. The hand she held out to him dropped to her side.
“I’m not a spy,” he said, the only thing he could think of to say.
The young female’s eyes softened. “No, of course you are not a spy. You are our brother. The eldest among us. We were told you had arrived in the city, and we were hoping that our father would introduce us. We were just discussing the ceremony we were planning to welcome you. As it is”—she blushed slightly, smiling— “you caught us unprepared. We apologize, Brother. We have looked forward to this meeting for a long, long time. You are welcome among us. Very welcome.”
Twenty pairs of eyes, of every color known to humankind, stared out from faces, some of which were human, some dragon. They regarded him with admiration, with respect.
They don’t see a monster, Ven realized. Looking into the eyes of the young female half-dragon, he saw pride, pride in herself. I’m the only one who sees monsters.
He was suddenly ashamed, for she was seeing in his eyes what he saw in the eyes of other humans when they looked at him: fear, disgust.
He couldn’t help it. They were monsters—all of them. Ven felt sick at the sight of them. He started to shake. His limbs trembled. His scaled legs grew too weak to support him, and he fell to his knees on the stone floor. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t. His throat was thick with tears he refused to let himself shed. He clasped his arms around himself and curled in on himself. He bowed his head and bowed his back, bowed himself before his siblings with a moaning cry that was not human.
They gathered around him, surrounding him, supporting him. Arms that were strong and scaled and cool clasped him and held him. His sister’s arms. His sister’s voice, soft in his ear.
“You will not be alone anymore, Brother. From now on, you will never be alone.”
17
THE CHILDREN OF THE DRAGON THEY WERE CALLED, THE half-human/half-dragon creatures that were Ven’s half brothers and sisters.
Ven spent a long time among them that day and listened and watched and wondered. He thought he should be pleased to know that, as his sister assured him, he was not alone in the world, that there were others of his kind. He wasn’t. He was repulsed whenever he looked at the grotesque monstrosities—bits and parts of human and dragon bodies joined together without rhyme or reason.
He tried not to stare at them, for he hated it when people stared .it him, yet he couldn’t help himself. He tried averting his eyes, but that was worse, for he, too, knew how terrible that felt. When a little boy came running up—his dragon’s claws scraping the ground and his dragon’s tail thumping the floor behind him—Ven felt his stomach heave, and he had to look away or retch.
Fortunately, the child didn’t notice. He sniffed at Ven, much as a dog sniffs, and said cheerfully, “Pew! You stink!”
“It’s the human smell,” said his sister as she might have said, It’s the garbage. “Their stench clings to everything.”
The little boy ran off to play with other children of the dragon—some older, some younger, some with tails, some with wings and tails, some with clawed hands and no tails.
If I held up a looking glass, I would see the same expression of shock and revulsion in my eyes that I saw in the eyes of my own brother, Marcus, when Marcus first looked on me. I despised Marcus for that look, but the truth is, I understood how he felt. I feel the same way when I look at myself.
What is strange, what I can’t understand, is that they don’t feel that way about themselves. They are proud of what they are. They are not ashamed.
He simply couldn’t fathom it.
He might have supposed it was because they had not been exposed to ordinary humans, but he was disabused of that notion when his sister, whose name was Sorrow, took him on a tour of their lair.
“My mother named me,” Sorrow explained, seeing Ven’s startled look when she told him. “Before she died. They say that our father, the dragon, was angry when he heard what my mother called me, for I was the first-born—after you, of course—and he was vastly pleased with me. But my name was the last word my mother spoke, and the silly human who was my wet nurse was very superstitious and said my mother’s unhappy spirit would linger with me if my name was changed, and she refused to nurse me unless my mother’s wishes were honored. Our father said I was to keep the name, ‘Sorrow,’ but he added to it so that now it is ‘Bringer of Sorrow.’ And so I will be known to those humans we conquer. You’ve seen our human army?”
Ven could only nod. He didn’t know what to say, feared saying too much, and did what he was naturally inclined to do: kept silent.
“You’ve seen other human armies in the part of Dragonvarld in which you grew up. How does ours compare?” Sorrow asked eagerly.
“What did you call it?” Ven interrupted.
“Call what?” Sorrow’s thoughts were on the army.
“The world. You had a name for it.”
“Dragonvarld. Dragon World, in the human language. Have you never heard that? It is what the dragons have called this world for centuries. I understand that the humans have some other name for it. They term it ‘Dirt’ or something like that. But, then, they don’t know the truth, at least not yet, so I don’t suppose we can really blame them.”
“What truth?”
“That the dragons are the true rulers of this world and always have been. Our father tells us that the humans fancy themselves the rulers.” Sorrow laughed, rippling laughter that caused the scales on her torso to glitter and sparkle in the patches of dusty sunlight filtering down through the air shafts. “All that will soon change.”
Ven could have asked more. He could have found out all about the army and when they were going to attack and where, but he didn’t want to know It was easier not knowing. He didn’t want to think about it for that would require him to make decisions. Sorrow wanted to talk about it, however. She persisted in her questions.
“So, we were speaking of our army and comparing them to the armies of other humans. Tell me what you think.”
“There is no comparison,” said Ven flatly, hoping to end the conversation. “Human armies do not have magic. They will think they are being attacked by demons from hell. They will run like rabbits. Or die of sheer terror.”
“That is what our father says.” Sorrow was pleased to have her information confirmed. “Our humans do very well—for humans. Of course, they have dragon-blood in them, so that is what accounts
for it.”
Ven’s thoughts went to his mother, Melisande, and to Bellona, the woman who had raised him. His mother had dragon-blood in her; that was why she’d given birth to the monstrosity that was himself. Bellona had not, at least so he guessed. Yet, she’d been raised with those like his mother who could work the dragon-magic.
“There is one human army who would not be afraid,” Ven found himself saying. He was immediately sorry he brought it up, but, oddly, he felt as if he needed to defend his race.
“What army is that? Not the army of Idylswylde?”
“No. The army of a place called Seth.”
“Ah, yes. True. We will not have to fight them, however. They are ruled by a dragon and so will be our allies in the upcoming war of conquest.”
“They don’t know they are ruled by a dragon,” said Ven.
“Of course they do,” Sorrow returned, amused.
“No, they don’t. My mother came from there, as did the woman who raised me after my mother’s death. Bellona told me that the people of Seth think that dragons are their enemies. They have been taught to hate and fear them.”
“But every month, the people of Seth send us their strongest male children to be raised here—”
“The babies are smuggled out in the dead of night. No one in Seth knows the truth, except for one—the Mistress of Dragons. And that’s because she is the dragon. Like Grald, she has stolen the body of a human and uses that body to keep the humans in ignorance.”
“Stolen a human body! What are you talking about?”
“Grald, our father, the dragon, stole a human body—that hulking piece of excrement known as Grald. The dragon uses that body when he walks among humans. He used that body to rape my mother and bring me into the world.”
“I don’t believe you!” Sorrow cried angrily. “Our father would never inhabit a human body. Our father is above such things. Grald is a human who serves the dragon. A human,” she said, laying emphasis on the word.
Ven shrugged. He couldn’t prove what he’d said. He thought it interesting that Grald hadn’t told his children the truth. Difficult to proclaim yourself human when you’ve taught your children to despise and look down on that race.
Ven wondered what the people of Seth would do when they found out the truth. He’d once asked Bellona why she didn’t return to Seth and tell the people what she knew.
“I will never go back there,” Bellona had told him harshly. “I would see your mother everywhere.” And then she had looked at him—something she rarely did, for she couldn’t stand the sight of him—and she had brushed back the hair from his forehead. “That will be your task, Ven.”
Ven. Vengeance. He had forgotten her words about “his task” until now. Even dead, she added to his burden.
Brother and sister walked through the “palace” in silence. He could tell by the flush on her face and the tight line of her lips that Sorrow was still angry with him. The high color on her cheeks faded, after time—when he didn’t say anything more—and she smiled at him.
“Are you teasing me?” she asked. “About Grald? I’ve heard it’s something humans do to each other. Teasing.”
Ven might have been accused of many failings in his life, but teasing people was not one of them. He didn’t know how to answer, and so he kept silent. Sorrow took his silence for acquiescence. “Just don’t say anything to the little ones, will you? I don’t want them confused.”
“I won’t,” Ven agreed. He had no intention of getting that well acquainted with the “little ones” anyway.
All this time, he and his sister had been walking through the “palace,” traveling up and down corridors and tunnels that crossed and crisscrossed, sometimes opening into chambers that were small and cozy and sometimes opening into vast, cavernous halls. They saw many of the human soldiers, as these men and women traversed the lair. When they passed these soldiers, the humans would bow to Sorrow, as ordinary humans might bow to Prince Marcus, treating her with marked respect and reverence. She received their obeisance and murmured greetings with careless dignity, making it clear that this was her due and she expected nothing less. The same respect and reverence extended to Ven, but he was as uncomfortable with it down here as he was in the world outside.
He saw, too, that the children of the dragon did not mingle with their distant cousins—the humans who had the dragon-blood in their veins, but no scales on their bodies. The children of the dragon had their own living quarters that were set apart from those of the human soldiers. If the two met, the Children held themselves aloof. Once on their tour, Sorrow came upon one of the dragon-children playing with a human. She grabbed hold of the arm of the dragon-child and hauled him off to a dark corner and scolded him roundly, then sent him off to play with his own kind.
“The only humans allowed in our part of the palace are the mothers. Those who bear us.”
“I want to see them,” said Ven, the first words he’d spoken almost since they started.
“Why ever for?” Sorrow was astonished. “They are humans who are strong in the dragon-magic, but, apart from that, they are like any other humans, except that they have been honored by our father.”
“I just do,” said Ven. He could not tell his sister. She would not understand. He wasn’t sure he understood himself.
Sorrow shrugged and led him to where the women who were due to give birth to the half-dragon children were kept in isolation.
There were about ten of them. Sometimes there were more, Sorrow said, sometimes less. All of them were near the end of their time, their bellies distended and swollen, their faces haggard and pale, their bodies thin and wasted, for the dragon-child inside each was literally sucking the life out of its mother.
Ven looked at them and he saw his own mother, Melisande. She had also been “honored” by Grald.
“Do any survive the birth?” he asked.
“Not many,” said Sorrow in matter-of-fact tones. “Those who do are sickly and die soon after. Why do you look at them like that? They are to be envied, not pitied! The women of Dragonkeep vie for this honor! Only the very best are chosen, and they consider themselves extremely fortunate.”
“Do these women look like they consider themselves ‘fortunate’?” Ven demanded.
“They are human,” said Sorrow disparagingly. “I don’t look at them at all if I can help it.”
“The dragon lies to them, Sorrow,” Ven said, repeating what Draconas had told him. “The dragon tells the girls they are coming to live in luxury in this palace. Instead, he brings them here and impregnates them and, in essence, murders them.”
Sorrow was silent a moment, the flush of anger creeping back to her face. Then she said, quite calmly, “You think I should be shocked to hear that the dragon lies to them. I am not. Humans have no capacity to understand the dragon mind. You have lived among them. Do they understand you?”
Sorrow’s eyes softened. “I know your story, Ven. The human, Grald, told us. He said that they put you in a cage. That they mocked you and ridiculed you. He said that even your own foster mother told you that you are the devil’s spawn. And that you believe her.”
Ven regarded her in grim silence.
“I am sorry, Brother. I did not mean to bring up these hurtful things. Grald told us that it might make you sad.” Sorrow’s fingers touched his arm lightly. Her flesh was warm, the long talons cool by contrast. “Is he wrong in what he says of you?”
“No,” Ven answered, after a moment. “He is not wrong.”
Grald was not right, either, but Ven couldn’t explain that. His feelings were a jumble, his world turned topsy-turvy, so that black was white and white was black, good was evil and evil had been made good. Or maybe it was all just a muddy shade of gray. He envied his sister, envied her pride in herself. He envied her clear, sharply delineated view of life. He envied Sorrow her ideas about the dragon, far different from his. She had been raised to honor her father and disparage her mother. He’d been taught just the opposite.
Which was right? Both? Neither?
It was all such a tangled, twisted mess. He couldn’t sort it out. Life would be much easier, simpler, if he took his sister’s view of it. Yet, something about her life wasn’t quite right. Just as something about his own life wasn’t right. Fumbling for the answer, he spoke his thoughts aloud.
“If we are taught to believe that we are better than humans because we are half dragon, then doesn’t it follow that we are viewed by dragons as being less worthy than one of their own kind? Who knows but that, among themselves, they mock us and ridicule us the same as humans? We are neither, you see. And despised by both.”
“No, of course not,” Sorrow retorted. “Our father is proud of us! We are his greatest achievement.”
Ven shook his head. Sorrow seemed about to add more, but she clamped her lips and even managed a wry smile. “It seems we are brother and sister. We have been together only a few hours and already we are quarreling.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ven, and he meant it. “I’m trying to understand. That’s all. I’m just trying to understand.”
“Have you talked to our father about your feelings?” Sorrow asked him.
Ven wondered what she would say if he told her he was determined to kill the father she so revered.
Sorrow clasped his hand, squeezed it tightly. “Do so. Our father wants the chance to try to explain. He says that the humans have mistreated you so that you are all twisted up inside.”
Maybe that’s true, Ven said to himself. Maybe I should hear my father’s side of the story.
“I will,” he said suddenly. “I will talk to him this night. Thank you . . . Sister.” He spoke the word awkwardly, but found it felt good. It warmed a place inside him that had been cold almost forever.
He basked in the warmth, until one of the mothers gave a cry of agony, her back arching with the pain. The skirts of her dress were suddenly stained red with blood.
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