Dragonfriend

by Marc Secchia

  Horror piqued her gorge. She knew what was to come.

  The foremost pursuer wheeled with breathtaking agility to strike the youngster with his talons. Lia choked. Oh mercy, her soul should perish … it was the huge Orange Dragon who had attacked her, the one whose scarred muzzle reminded her so lucidly of Ra’aba! She would never forget him. The second aggressor, raking the Tourmaline Dragon’s wings with his talons, was an even more massive Brown. The battling reptiles clashed with monstrous power, snarling and biting each other, fangs agape. Fireballs seared the evening sky. Ja’al and Lia ducked involuntarily as the ferocious melee abruptly swept back toward their position. Despite lying beside a boulder, their exposed location was perilous. Molten fire splashed the ground not ten feet away, so close that the heat sucked their lungs dry. Bushes crisped instantly.

  Dragon thunder rolled over the chasm between the Islands. Battling two Dragons half again his size and weight–hundred-foot monsters–the Tourmaline Dragon was being chewed up, despite his most valiant efforts. Lia found herself unable to tear her eyes from the aerial combatants. So powerful! So majestic! How could a smaller Dragon even hold those two at bay? The juvenile fought with the strength of ten, punching with his claws and biting and shaking the larger Dragons off time and time again … but he was tiring. He suffered a vicious bite to the base of his tail, and now another that wrenched his wing, slewing him in the air.

  In the space between heartbeats, Lia’s breath sucked into a new, cavernous space. A soul-shift caught her unawares. Suddenly, she knew pain and gasping breaths and the prodigious boiling of Dragon passions in her breast. Blood-thirst! Battle-rage! The inrush of senses so sensitive and all-consuming that her little Human heart feared to burst. A veil slipped over her eyes. Lia saw the world in enchanted freshness, a hiatus of time as she became he, and her Dragon’s neck snaked about with great cunning, spraying fire into the Brown’s face. Enjoying a surfeit of time, she flipped about in the air to strike the Orange Dragon a talon-blow that opened a ten-foot gash on his neck. Her challenge boomed off the cliff-side. She mauled the Brown’s neck and hindquarters with claws that suddenly became his again and she yelped, ejected by an eruption of draconic rage.

  How dare you? The Tourmaline’s suns-white fury lashed her mind. All was fire. All was incandescent agony … the connection chopped off as the Brown Dragon thundered back into the fray, striking such a devastating blow with his left forepaw that the young Tourmaline shuddered from muzzle to tail. He sagged in the air before catching himself no more than a decent spear-cast from Hualiama’s position. The breeze generated by his wing-strokes ruffled her hair.

  “No,” Lia moaned. “Don’t kill me …” Him? Did she mean him? Confusion and disbelief surge as a dark tide through her mind, underpinning a rising song of grief at the Dragon’s impending doom.

  The Orange Dragon’s flame spurted out, lava-like. It stuck to the blue scales, burning the Dragon terribly, a scream of anguish cutting her soul to ribbons … the Tourmaline broke away with a supreme outpouring of strength, flying raggedly … he shot into a cavern in the lower mountainside of Ha’athior Island, and vanished in the blink of an eye.

  The Orange Dragon thundered, Bring it down, Yulgaz. Bury him.

  Aghast, Hualiama became an unwilling spectator to the enactment of her dream. Her scalp crawled; so surreal the moment, she knew it would be seared on her memory forever.

  The Brown Dragon hurled a torrential outpouring of magic at the mountainside. Rock cracked and sagged. With a reverberation that shook the volcano beneath the two Humans, a landslide tore a reddish-black streak through the foliage, wounding the holy Island’s cliff. It buried the Tourmaline Dragon alive.

  Sealed, o Razzior, said the Brown Dragon.

  Hualiama shook as though she had the fire-fever, which often caused violent convulsions in its victims. Ravaged, broken in spirit, she could only watch as the Orange Dragon scanned the avalanche site with manifest satisfaction. He said, Excellent work, Yulgaz. Teach that flying worm to plot against us.

  The scarred orange muzzle began to twist as the Dragon scanned his surrounds.

  Every hair on the back of Lia’s neck stood to attention. “No … he’ll kill me! Mercy, no …” Running would never work. The Dragons were too close. Lia felt as paralysed as a rodent facing a cobra’s mesmeric stare.

  She gasped at an unexpected contact, skin to skin. Ja’al’s lips covered hers.

  The monk kissed Lia with wary, eloquent attention, one eye fixed on the two Dragons hanging in the void between the Islands, just a few hundred feet away. Against her mouth, between the mingling of suddenly overheated breath, he whispered, “A proper kiss, you silly ralti sheep …”

  Smart man. If she could not fool that Orange Dragon, she was dead. Shielding her face with a hand she brought up to cup Ja’al’s cheek, Hualiama of Fra’anior set about thoroughly decimating the promise she had just settled upon–please, let her not tempt Ja’al from his intended vows.

  Terror screamed its lonely counterpoint to the song of her excitement. Lia realised that this was her first kiss, a sweet, forbidden kiss with a monk–with two hostile Dragons for an audience. Mercy. What could be more ironic, or more perfectly sum up her life? For an unending second, the burning gaze of two Dragons dwelled upon a young man and an Isles maiden kissing on the edge of a volcano.

  Ja’al’s heart thudded against her fear-numbed chest.

  Bah, Humans, said the Orange Dragon. With a flip of his wings, he rocketed away to the north.

  The Brown Dragon glanced back over his shoulder, causing Lia and Ja’al to freeze in position, faces less than an inch apart. The Dragons vanished over the rim of the Island above.

  Ja’al coughed awkwardly. “You weren’t supposed to kiss me … quite so …”

  “Fervently?” Hualiama squeezed her eyes shut, breathing raggedly. “I’m so sorry, Ja’al. That was the Orange, the one who attacked me before, on Ha’athior Island. I panicked.”

  “The one you told me about?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well, Princess. You are not forgiven.”

  “What?” Her eyes sprang open.

  Treacherous monk. His face was still so close, she saw every detail of the very fine wrinkles edging his smile. He waggled an eyebrow suggestively at her, causing Lia to splutter, “Ja’al of Ya’arriol, if I’ve caused you to break … your beliefs are you. Slay me now. I could not live, nor could I ever forgive–”

  “You misunderstand.” His eyes, oh, his beautiful, swimmable eyes, so depthless that they took her breath away, crinkled as his smile broadened. “O Princess, I’m being obtuse. Forgive me. Holding you in my arms has only convinced me more than ever–despite that this was my first kiss, and undoubtedly the sweetest kiss in the history of the Island-World–”

  “Unforgettable, indeed.”

  “–that I must take my vows.”

  Hualiama gaped at Ja’al. By the innermost fires of Fra’anior, she lacked the power to change this monk’s convictions? Was this a fundamental insult to her femininity, or an even deeper relief? His hand moved to stroke her cheek hesitantly, a touch devoid of the passion she expected. Something had changed between them. A forever change. There was sadness, a sense of farewell.

  Delicately, Ja’al said, “Occasionally, it is given to me to penetrate the veil of the future, Lia. It’s a dangerous power, for it is easy to say too much. Know this. Our paths will diverge from this moment. I will take my vows, and–”

  “–become the next leader of this monastery after Master Jo’el,” Lia interjected.

  Rather wild of eye, he breathed, “You never fail to astonish. Are you quite certain you have no magic?”

  She replied, “I will find the Nameless Man, and he will name my destiny.”

  “Aye.”

  A simple word, and Lia knew there was more. Their gazes met, sparred, sparked. Why press him? Let the future care for itself, for knowing the future must certainly change
it, or change the person who held that knowledge. What a burden to carry. What a noble vessel to carry that burden–Islands’ sakes, and would her heart not stop asserting that for reason of being incorruptible, Ja’al was therefore infinitely the more appealing?

  On an impulse, Hualiama tilted her chin upward to press her lips to his cheek. “I know my opinion doesn’t count for a great deal in this Island-World, Ja’al, but I want you to know that I think you’re categorically and amazingly awesome.”

  He looked to the horizon, swallowing audibly.

  “Now,” she said, “we should return before your brother hatches any ideas.”

  As the monk rose, helping Lia to her feet, her eyes traversed the newly scarred cliff-side. Surely no Dragon could survive a mountain being dropped on his head? She had witnessed the death of a Dragon, a heart-wound which could know no stanching.

  Ja’al dropped her hands with a soft exclamation. “Hua’gon.”

  Barefoot, Ja’al’s brother sprinted away as though the Orange Dragon hunted him. He must have come right up to the boulder, spying on them.

  Lia said, “You don’t suppose he–”

  “There’s no doubt Master Jo’el’s about to receive an earful. There’ll be no stopping him now.” Ja’al sighed, rubbing his bald pate with a long-suffering air. “My sneaky brother. Do you have any siblings as delightful as Hua’gon?”

  “Implausible as it might seem, yes,” said Lia. “Shall we swap notes?”

  Would that her heart could be a strongbox, for she would lock and bolt it and throw away the key, rather than suffer this pain.

  * * * *

  Four hours before dawn the morning following Lia’s inadvertent witness of the Tourmaline Dragon’s destruction, eighty monks filed underground to the great storage caverns a quarter mile beneath the monastery. Four Dragonships lay at anchor there, gently bobbing in the cool breeze that trickled through the cavern mouth.

  Master Jo’el crooked a finger at Lia. “You. Get your sorry hide over here.”

  Somewhere amidst the cloaked, hooded mass of monks, Hua’gon would be smirking. Lia dragged herself over to the Master, fixing her eyes on a point near her toes.

  “Hualiama,” he said.

  She blurted out, “I’m awfully, awfully sorry, Master.”

  “Sorry? You should be, and worse,” he growled. “A highly unusual strategy to encourage a young monk to take his vows.” His long forefinger wagged beneath her nose. “Aye, blush like the dawn, you pint-sized Cloudlands pirate. We will have words, later. Right now, I need a competent Dragonship pilot. I’m short one, who was struck down with a bowel infection yesterday evening. Are you the woman to help us?”

  “Certainly, Master.”

  He snorted at her tone. “I don’t buy the meek and mild Lia. Pack her away, and go find the other pilots. We leave in ten minutes. And Princess, one more thing.”

  “Aye, Master?”

  “Nice beard.”

  Lia spluttered something respectful, and fled.

  Her face itched beneath her disguise, but Lia concentrated through the distraction as she piloted her hundred-foot traders’ Dragonship out of the cavern, one hand lightly resting on the levers controlling the airflow valves which governed hot air flow into the six main compartments of the dirigible’s sack, and the other on the wheel. She gazed through the forward crysglass windows, judging the tricky exit. Meantime, in the main cabin behind a panel at her back, ten monks peddled the machines that drove the six turbines, affixed in two clusters of three up the Dragonship’s port and starboard flanks. With severely limited fuel, they would have to rely on manual propulsion or a helping wind.

  This beast was so much less manoeuvrable than her Dragonship. Flying solo was one matter. Being responsible for twenty-five lives back there, including Master Jo’el’s … daunting. The crossing to Ya’arriol Island, however, should take only a couple of hours. The small Island stood a little apart from the main Fra’anior Cluster, west and a few points north of Ha’athior.

  “You know, that beard is amazing on you,” said Ja’al, from the doorway.

  Without looking, Lia flung a rolled-up scrolleaf at him.

  “How did you lose your curves?”

  “Padding on the shoulders, binding around my ribs, and what do you care anyway, you prissy, puritanical–”

  “I kissed a bearded Princess?”

  “Get out!”

  “Hua’gon wants to kill you.”

  “Tell him to stand in line! There’s Ra’aba first, an Orange Dragon next–” Lia’s hands jerked on the controls, swerving the Dragonship, but she recovered her mistake deftly “–after that, any other Dragon who figures out I lived on Ha’athior Island, and lest we forget all of Ra’aba’s troops …”

  Ja’al pointed at the crysglass window. “What’s that ridiculous dragonet of yours doing?”

  Lia tilted her head askance. “I do believe he’s calling you an egg-head.”

  * * * *

  Stop distracting me, Hualiama’s voice growled in Flicker’s head. Ever since she had learned telepathic Dragon speech, her mental voice had been growing stronger and more distinct. Are you alright, Flicker?

  I’m far handsomer than the egg-head, said Flicker.

  I kissed you first, remember?

  Fickle woman, he grumbled, mostly because of her alert perception. Flicker was not feeling well–the fiery scourge, dragonets liked to call this fever. It could kill a hatchling.

  He zipped through the doorway, making Ja’al duck, and alighted on Hualiama’s shoulder. He glared at the monk, making his expression as fierce as possible. Paws off my girl, egg-head.

  Lia made her cross clucking sound. He’s a good man. And how exactly am I your girl?

  Fine, I’ll call you my talking perch, then.

  Oh, a dragonet’s perch? It’s all I’ve ever aspired to in life.

  Barely fit for the clasp of my claw, said Flicker, rubbing his muzzle contentedly against her neck.

  “Are you two talking Dragonish right now?” Ja’al asked curiously.

  “We are. He said–ouch, you flying earthworm!” The dragonet purred as he showed Lia the talons of his right forepaw. She shoved his paw away. “Honestly, Flicker. He said–aieee! My neck’s being held to ransom here, Ja’al. If I’m still alive, I’ll tell you later. Boys, I need to concentrate on piloting this Dragonship now. Can you kindly–”

  “Aye, Captain,” said Ja’al, throwing her a slipshod salute.

  Lia hissed wordlessly at him.

  After the monk withdrew, however, Flicker sensed that her thoughts dwelled upon him. Lia said, Flicker, you feel hotter than your natural temperature …

  I’m not well, he said, explaining.

  With a deft touch, Lia set the controls and locked them in place, freeing up her right hand–the left, she kept on the wheel. Flicker, are you fully recovered from what the warren-mother did to you? I worry …

  Too much, he said, nibbling her ear. You know how that scar on your back twinges sometimes?

  Aye.

  It’s like that. Now, memorise this herbal recipe, which should help my fever.

  * * * *

  Lia chatted a few more minutes with the dragonet before he fell asleep on her shoulder–unusually, for him. Just as a bird could sleep clutching its perch, the dragonet remained in place even when sleeping, his febrile body curled around her neck.

  As her smoky green eyes searched the farthest reaches of the Cloudlands, Hualiama felt her gut clench with a sense of foreboding. What would this day bring? At a Dragonship’s cruising speed of four leagues per hour, factoring in a slight headwind, they should cross the nine leagues to Ya’arriol Island in two and a half hours, arriving before dawn.

  Incipient tears blurred her eyes. The magnificent Tourmaline Dragon would never see another Fra’aniorian dawn.

  Just then, a jolt of insight struck Lia so forcefully, she tasted blood in her mouth from biting her li
p involuntarily. She had dreamed of the Dragon’s fate before she ever saw him; before ever imagining a Dragon of such a colour could exist. How could she anticipate the future so accurately? There could be no doubt. The moment of that dream was branded forever in her memory, for it was the day she had helped Flicker escape the warren-mother’s torture.

  She had dreamed a Dragon’s death. Dreams could foreshadow, but they could not determine the future, could they? A soul-lost chill accompanied this thought. No, the Tourmaline Dragon’s gemstone scales would nevermore gleam resplendent beneath the twin suns, the magical flame of his eye … snuffed out. Destroyed. Hualiama stared unseeing at the bulk of the Yellow moon, covering fully a third of the western horizon, as she relived the awfulness of the Dragon’s final moments.

  How could she bear yet more grief?

  He’s alive.

  Lia’s body jerked. “What?”

  A hand reached over to grasp hers, correcting the Dragonship’s course. “Lia? Are you alright?”

  “I–Master Jo’el?”

  “Do you have fits?” he inquired. “I came in and spoke to you, but you acted as if you hadn’t heard a word.”

  Where had the Master sprung from? Lia shook her head. “I … Master, I’m sorry! Mercy, all I ever seem to do is apologise to you. I’d never put your life in danger–”

  “I know that.” The Master bent, bringing his eyes disturbingly close to hers. “Why do I sense that the paw of the Great Dragon lies heavy upon your life?”

  “Master, did you just say, ‘He’s alive’?”

  “No. Who’s alive?”

  “The Tourmaline Dragon I told you about, Master. The one I thought was buried.”

  The Master gave a grunt of apparent satisfaction. Lia felt her eyes widen. Releasing her hand, Master Jo’el moved over to stand at the forward crysglass windows, wrapping his lean frame in his robe as though he had felt a chill.

  He said, “And will you obey the Great Dragon’s voice in this, Hualiama of Fra’anior?”

  Lia wished she possessed his faith. Whether it had been Amaryllion, speaking across the leagues, or Fra’anior himself, she had no idea–but an adamantine certainty lodged in her breast. The Dragon was alive. Only she had the power to save him. Perhaps Amaryllion had cast his thoughts into her mind? She would have no idea what the Black Dragon Fra’anior sounded like.