by Marc Secchia
‘Ordinary?’ Ja’al inquired with his eyes, causing her sentence to trail off into silence. “Father, shall I see if the Nameless Man will receive Hualiama?”
Ga’athar nodded; Ja’al disappeared behind the curtain. Hualiama heard him dispensing fond kisses to his siblings, before a door creaked and all went quiet. Ja’al’s father said, “Princess, your intelligence was accurate. About an hour ago, several captives we interrogated confessed to being Ra’aba’s men. This was clearly Ra’aba’s plot all along–to force us to commit our warriors in the fight against the Dragons, or to destroy us.”
“Aye,” said Master Jo’el, making a tent of his long fingers, a habit of his. “He’s without conscience. Ra’aba has also demanded our warriors join his forces.”
“There’s open war?” asked Hualiama.
“Aye,” grunted Ga’athar, “but not here, not yet. Over in the East, the Kingdom of Kaolili fights Dragons constantly. A month ago, Lyrx’s main city was attacked and sacked–by renegade Dragons, we’re told. That’s over five thousand people! Six months ago, Telstroy Island fared little better. Half of their main town was reduced to cinders. Sapphurion–”
“The Dragon Elder, the leader of all Dragons,” Master Jo’el explained.
“Aye, Sapphurion would have us believe he’s fighting these renegade Dragons and protecting us. And just this last week, news reached us of four villages just south of Gi’ishior, plundered and set ablaze by an entire Dragonwing of feral Dragons.” Ga’athar’s hands twisted into fists. “It was an annihilation. Pure, wilful murder. Just as would have transpired here, at the hand of our own people, Princess, had you not intervened.”
Lia shifted uncomfortably on her seat. The false beard itched mightily, but Master Jo’el had commanded her to keep it in place. She muttered, “Master Jo’el leads the monks, not me.”
Jo’el’s lean hand rose to indicate the curtain.
“Oh.”
Her soft gasp preceded her as she brushed past the densely-worked lace hanging. As Lia passed into the small, dim room beyond, she heard Yualiana say, rather acidly, “A girl at the monastery, brother? How’s that been?”
“Educational,” said Jo’el, dryly.
“I’d wager on that!” his sister snorted.
“She’s an extraordinary young lady. Quite remarkable.”
Lia’s ears burned at the Master’s praise.
Ja’al clasped her fingers. “This way.”
Her eyes had no chance to adjust to the dimness before he swept her through a well-hidden doorway into a completely blackened room. Hualiama sensed the presence of men with weapons. Then, a metal door scraped open and bright candlelight dazzled her eyes.
The room was bare, save for a green rush pallet in the centre, and a flat floor cushion off to one side. Lia’s eyes moved first to the cushion, where a girl of about her own age knelt beside a half-size harp, her curly dark hair spilling from beneath a modest white headscarf. However, that girl was not the source of power in the room. A stillness pervaded the place, as deep as the Cloudlands, and perhaps as perilous. Hualiama saw a small boy seated cross-legged on the pallet, who could be no older than seven or eight summers of age. His arms protruded like sticks from the depths of a sleeveless robe of midnight blue, his head balanced like a small blue egg atop an impossibly frail neck, and his eyes appeared overlarge in a sepulchral face–the eyes, she saw, of a Dragon.
Yellow. Flaming. Drawing her irresistibly into the ambit of his power.
A joke about the ‘nameless boy’ had been poised upon the tip of her tongue. Instead, Lia stumbled to her knees and bowed her head.
“Child of Fra’anior,” said the Nameless Man, in a little-boy voice that belied the gravity of his position, “the Great Dragon apprised me of your coming. Long have I awaited our meeting.”
Unbidden, an image of Amaryllion’s monstrous orb filled her mind.
The boy intoned, “No, one greater than he. Sit, and take tea with me, Hualiama. For we are kindred creatures, you and I, the foci of fates thrust upon us. We feel the fire of the Great Dragon. We blaze. We burn. History itself trembles on the cusp of a new era. You and I are its ushers.”
Lia shuddered.
Chapter 13: Prophecy
HuAliama and the Nameless Man did not speak as one of Ja’al’s younger sisters brought them redbush tea sweetened with honey. The girl strummed the harp with tantalising skill. All the while, the Nameless Man’s smouldering yellow eyes measured her with a barely-veiled might not unlike what she had felt in the Ancient Dragon. Lia considered the childlike voice which wielded verbal blades, the simplicity of a boy’s words incising past and future with equal facility.
“Ask your questions,” said the Nameless Man.
“I have many,” Lia admitted. “Perhaps the most important is, how can I restore the King to the Onyx Throne?”
“Find him and defeat Ra’aba,” he replied at once.
Hualiama knew her inward scowl did not go unnoticed. “Nameless Man, you know what manner of man Ra’aba is–”
“I do.”
“Then you know I can never defeat him.”
“I repudiate that conclusion. Nevertheless, the future is clouded.” The Nameless Man reached out with his free hand, swirling the steam rising from his small cup of tea as though he could thus read the mysteries of the Island-World. “You’re a puzzling one, Hualiama. Hard to fathom. A soul shadowed by an evil so great–” His eyes flickered very rapidly, turning from yellow to pure white and back again “–I sense the touch of a foul, perverted magic … a past crime concealed, yet it will come to light. Were I a man, grown into my full strength, I could perhaps wrest these secrets from you. Your heart’s deepest desire is clear to me. You seek knowledge of your parents.”
“I do,” she repeated, feeling more and more the child before the penetrating gaze of a boy half her age.
“Discovering your heritage is paramount, child of the Dragon. Paramount.” His gaze drilled the word between her eyes. “A clue is revealed. Seek the Maroon Dragoness.”
“What? Sorry–would that be the Dragoness I dream about?”
“Tell me your dreams.”
Hualiama began, haltingly, to describe her dreams of a Dragoness singing over her clutch, when the Nameless Man interrupted, “Show me in your mind. Quickly.”
Why the rush? Images eddied through Lia’s mind as though his insistence had stirred up a flurry of leaves, flitting past the all-seeing yellow gaze. She became aware of his mental processes, of a mind so awash in power it seethed like a volcano, seeking to pare the truth from the bones of what she offered him–yet also, she sensed a vast frustration. Why was her future unclear? What prevented the Nameless Man from finding what he sought?
And now, his response communicated fear.
Words formed in her mind, similar to a Dragon or dragonet’s telepathic speech. There is a prophecy known to but a few Dragons, a prophecy concerning the unleashing of an aeons-old power upon the Island-World. Ask the Ancient Dragon if he can name it. Seek the Maroon Dragoness–perhaps she will know why you were brought up by Dragons. To stand a chance of defeating Ra’aba, you need to learn a technique rooted in the power of your dance.
Suddenly, the Nameless Man stood. “I must leave.”
“Wait!” she yelped. “What about the Tourmaline–”
“Follow your heart in that matter, Hualiama.” Old, melancholy, the boy’s eyes transfixed her. “Do not lose hope, even when your soul’s Island is cast into the abyss of despair. I promise to meditate upon all you have shown me. Should any new insight–”
“Wait. Why must you go?”
“He comes, and I cannot be found here.”
“Who?”
She knew. As an armoured fist pounded on the front door. A voice cried, “Open up in the name of the King!” Hualiama knew in her bones, her nemesis had come.
The Nameless Man’s hand moved in a strange form of blessing. Ja’al had
already sprung a hidden hatch, which opened on a narrow tunnel. He said, “May the Great Dragon’s fire breathe upon your life.” Tears wet his cheeks, great drops that seemed to pour from his soul’s own well. “A double portion of courage be thine, beloved child of Fra’anior.”
His weeping, more than anything which had preceded it, terrified Hualiama. Trembling, she turned, her hand falling upon her sword-hilt.
“Well, quite the gathering,” sneered a familiar voice.
Ra’aba.
Before she knew it, Hualiama was on the move, sidling beyond the reach of Ja’al’s grasping hand, darting through the darkened room toward a crack of light. Zing. Her sword rang brightly as she drew it. Surely, justice would guide her hand this time.
The Roc said, “You did fine work against those pirates today. A happy coincidence, Master Jo’el, that you happened to be–”
As he spoke, Hualiama oriented on that despicable voice. Fleet and soft-footed, she arrowed toward the curtain. The bright candlelight in the room beyond made her target stand out amply well. It was a long shot, but an overhand throw should spin the blade through the curtain … “Unh!”
Every muscle in her body seized up. Hualiama landed hard, unable to throw out her hands to prevent her fall, the well-worn wooden floorboards abrading her right cheekbone as she tore through the curtain and skidded to a halt at the foot of Master Ga’athar’s chair. Though her body was as rigid as a petrified tree, she began to convulse, her feet drumming helplessly against the floorboards, her tongue sliding back into her throat.
Clearly, she heard Ga’athar say, “My son has these seizures. My apologies, Ra’aba.” He raised his voice. “Ja’al? See to your brother, would you?”
Someone was growling and frothing like an animal throttled in a noose. Panicked. Trapped inside of her own body. She heard everything, but had lost all self-control. Gnnnnaarrr! Lia bellowed at the darkness, breathless at the pressure of rock walls too close to her wings and ambushed by the madness of a creature entombed beneath a mountain. She broke her talons on unyielding stone. Back and forth she charged, driven into a frenzy as the rock closed in, looming, a visceral terror crushing her hearts and driving her panting, scrabbling and clawing up and down the narrow chasm, knowing only that she would perish if she did not escape, and she was … the Tourmaline Dragon?
The sounds of the room resumed. The sense of soul-crushing terror abated. Lia felt Ga’athar push her gently with his foot so that she did not break her teeth on the table leg. Was she meant to be grateful? Where was her sword? Heavens above and Islands below, what was wrong with her? Had she been the Dragon, somehow? This was beyond empathy. Beyond the Isle of wishing to be a Dragon, it was a lurch toward insanity.
Casually, Master Jo’el said, “So, how can we help you, Ra’aba?”
“That’s King Ra’aba to you, Dragons’ paw-licker,” growled a soldier. “Search the place, men.”
“Please don’t scare the children,” said Yualiana.
“How many in your sorry brood now?” asked Ra’aba. “Ten? Eleven? A few less after today?”
Dead silence.
Then, Lia heard the movement of heavily armed men shuffling around the house, checking under beds and peering into cupboards. Children whimpered. She hoped the Nameless Man–the boy–had escaped to safety. A hand turned her over, cradling her head. Fingers, scraping at the back of her throat, tugging at her slippery tongue. Sweet air flooded her lungs.
“Nothing, o King!”
“Curse it!” roared Ra’aba. Furniture shattered against a wall; splinters of wood spun past Lia’s nose. “Search again! Tear the place apart!”
Soldiers, going through the motions. Boots tramping past her head, while Hualiama helplessly tolerated the nearness of a man she could have loved. Oh, Ja’al. What if she had followed her heart?
“Curse her to a Cloudlands volcano!” screamed the Roc. Lia felt a dull thud through the floor, as if a body had slammed against a wall.
“Sire? Sire?”
Her body refused her command to look at the scuffles and grunts which followed. Abruptly, vile curses flooded from Ra’aba’s mouth. “I killed her with my own hands! Twice … the prophecy is broken. It must be. There’s no other way … no other person … the bane … that Dragoness brought it down on me … on us all …”
His voice broke down into meaningless babble, punctuated by more curses; now sobbing, the deep, rasping sobs of a man gripped by mortal terror.
“Tell us about the prophecy, Ra’aba,” said Ja’al’s father. “Perhaps we can help.”
“You’ll never have it. Never! I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you all if I have to.”
Sarcastically, aiming to rile, Master Jo’el said, “Ra’aba, no man can escape a word of fate spoken by the Great Dragon.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t understand.” Ra’aba’s voice grew fainter. Lia imagined his men were dragging him away from the house, down the path. Yet, his final wail carried to her hearing, “It’ll mean the end of us all … of everything we hold dear!”
* * * *
Hualiama knew Ja’al’s mother had noted the tender care her son bestowed upon the Princess of Fra’anior. Now beardless, she sported a hot red rash where her disguise had been glued to her much-abused cheeks. His mother was the least of her worries. She explained all that the Nameless Man had told her–or not–careless of the irritation boiling beneath her manner until Master Ga’athar crashed his fist down on the table.
“My son saved you from a reckless attack on Ra’aba!” he growled.
“I would’ve killed him!”
Ga’athar shouted, “You would not!”
“Not when I was thrashing on the floor like a speared trout, no!” Hualiama yelled back.
Master Jo’el said peaceably, “You simply aren’t ready.”
Lia roared to her feet, stung by his words, when realisation sucked the wind out of her Dragonship’s sails. The Master was right. The heat of righteous anger could only carry a person so far. Last time a thrown blade had fortuitously nicked the Roc’s skin. His reactions were quicker than a dragonet’s–she, of all people, should know. Ra’aba and his soldiers would have slaughtered this family. What a fool she was. She had to train. She must grow stronger.
Collapsing into her seat, Hualiama fought bitter tears. She would not cry on account of that man! Never again! Yet she was afraid, so dreadfully afraid. How could she ever face Ra’aba? Please, Great Dragon, lift this soul-shivering destiny from her life …
“It is said,” Jo’el added, “that Ra’aba has a mysterious, magical capacity akin to the rare Dragon skill known as stone skin. You told me of the legend that he had never been touched by another blade, Lia. Except yours.”
“He wasn’t prepared, that’s all,” she spat. Stone skin? None of her delving into Dragon lore had mentioned that ability, nor had it mentioned Dragon-empathy so deep-seated, it was as if she had inhabited a hide of gemstone hue … “You heard the Nameless Man. Much as I would have loved to hear, ‘Do this and your victory over Ra’aba will be assured’, what he said was, ‘To stand a gnat’s chance in an erupting volcano’–well, that’s my point. And what, by every Cloudlands hell in the entire Island-World, do my parents have to do with the price of silk in Helyon? Riddle me that!”
She glowered at the group gathered around the table. Fulminating. Fuming at the dragonet, who had just suppressed a purr of approval at her ire–she hardly needed his encouragement!
“Another sweetbread?” Master Jo’el offered her the basket.
“More spicy ralti stew?” suggested Hallon.
“A cheeky dragonet’s tail to stir the stew?” Rallon grinned, holding up Flicker’s tail. He had gently lifted the dragonet off Hualiama after Flicker arrived in a mewling mess, scratching at the front door, clearly feverish and delusional.
Flicker cracked open an eye. “What say you I stir your intestines with my talon?”
Lia grinned grimly
. Clearly the herbs she had instructed Ja’al’s nineteen year-old sister, Inniora, to prepare, were having the desired effect. “He’s touchy about his tail,” she advised. “Treat it as a sacred object.”
“He’s beautiful,” said Inniora.
“Mmm,” purred Flicker, switching laps with alacrity, nestling into Inniora’s sky-blue Fra’aniorian lace gown with an exaggerated sigh. “Tell me more, you lovely girl.”
She was the girl who had played for them in the Nameless Man’s chamber. Inniora had all the graceful height that Lia lacked, a mischievous twinkle in her dark brown eyes, and hands which appeared to be calloused from the use of a blade. She moved as though she knew how to take care of herself, but had a gentle air about her that belied the firmness of personality expressed in her definite chin and jawline. Inniora took possession of the dragonet in a way that made Lia’s blood boil.
Ja’al said, “Inniora, maybe you should play some soothing music for Lia.”
Mutinously, Hualiama grumbled, “When I feel like soothing someone’s head off their shoulders? I think not! You heard our report, Master Jo’el. I’ m sorry, but I didn’t expect to come to Ya’arriol to be told I can flutter my eyelashes at Ra’aba and dance him off the Onyx Throne!”
“Now, Lia–”
“Ooh, it’s my deep, dark destiny.” Despite her intent to keep a lid on her volcanic emotions, words tumbled over each other in a bid to escape. “I tremble on the cusp of a ruddy volcano! This way, I toss myself into the caldera; that way, I fall into the Cloudlands. Has anyone ever heard of a maroon-coloured Dragoness? Islands’ sakes, no! Red, aye! Crimson, of course! Greens enough to forest a hundred Islands. So I’m supposed to just march up to some mythical Dragoness and demand to learn about an ancient and perverted prophecy and trust it has to do with my parentage? How in anybody’s imagination does any of this make sense? How will the Dragoness not slay me on the spot?”
