And then, finally, free over the open water. I glanced back to see the Cliffs, making sure I could remember my way home. They looked like the scales of a great water dragon and I felt the earth force chime within me. It was like a tug or a pull and I knew that I would always be able to find my way home because of it. The earth force is a dragon’s best friend, next to wind and fire.
The sun was higher now, the water a gleaming gold and I dropped to fly just above its choppy surface. I concentrated on the rhythm of my wings, the focus of my breath, the beating of my heart. I could fly like this forever, I told myself. A creature of air and sky and water. The land was a prison, heavy like a stone.
There was a flashing beneath the waves, and I looked down, delighted to see a school of lemonwhites racing beneath me. I loved the taste of lemonwhites, so flew lower still, stretched out my talons, aiming to snag one but all I caught was water and spray. I flapped faster, dropping my legs into the water and almost flipped wing over beak with the drag of it. I had to think. My people were fishers so there had to be a better way. I angled my wings to take me up, up, up before arcing in the sky as I had seen the drakes do when they’d dance for the drakinas. My wings folded, my tail whipped and I plummeted, entering the water like a pebble. Instantly, all things slowed.
The thickness of the water was unexpected and when I gasped, water rushed in through my nostrils and mouth, filling my throat and splitting my head. Fish battered all around me and I flapped against their currents. Upside down and underside up, I flailed through the water until finally, my head then my body burst through the waves. I retched again and again until the water was out of my chest and back in the sea where it belonged. Dazed, I looked around and realized with surprise that I was sitting on top of the waves. Wings tucked across my back, tail fanned out behind, legs paddling instinctively beneath me. It was a remarkable sensation, sitting here between the worlds of sky and sea, but I realized that that was a dragon’s life. Sky and land and sea and fire. It was probably why we were the masters of all. Except the sticks.
I wondered about that.
It was strangely peaceful sitting on the water, watching the great expanse of blue all around me. There were light wisps of clouds in the sky, small white wavecaps on the water. The Anquar Cliffs were just a thin line of spikes on the horizon, scales along the spine of that great ocean dragon of my imagination. The earth force beat in my breast, strong and true like my heartbeat, and I rose and fell on the waves as though the waters were breathing. I was the only living thing in the world at this moment and for the first time in my young life, I was content.
Tickles on my paddling feet and I looked down to see the school of lemonwhites directly beneath me. I wound my tail around my body so that it splashed just below my beak. A lemonwhite rose to the surface and I could see its many black eyes bob and twist as it watched my tail. I arched my neck and dove, spearing the fish with the spike of my beak. Pride swelled my heart as I held it up for all to see; which is to say, no one for I was alone, but still. Vanity and youth are inseparable companions.
I tried to eat it, but in fact, the fish was impaled on my beak and my jaws could not reach. I tried with my tongue but it was too slippery. I tried with my back foot but I ended up head-down in the water, pathetically thrashing. At this point, I was very grateful that no one was watching. Finally, I caught it with the talon of my wing and was able to slide it from my beak and into my mouth.
Nothing can compare to the taste of a lemonwhite that has not been already digested by your mother.
And so, I spent the better part of the day fishing from my vantage point of bobbing water drake. I was happy that the fish didn’t seem to have a corporate memory. I was able to use the same technique to catch fish after fish, tossing some in the air until I was quite skilled at snatching them as they came down. Most I swallowed whole but some I crunched, enjoying the salt taste run across my tongue and down my throat. Soon, I was full, weighted down on the top of the water and rather sleepy. I tucked my head beneath my wing and dozed, the morning sunshine warm on my back.
I dreamed of stars, of Draco Stellorum battling the Dying Wyrm and eating the Fat Fish as a Dragon Flight soared across the entire night sky. It was a very good dream.
I’m not sure how long I slept but I awoke to a rocking of the water. Big waters, high waves. I looked around. The sky had grown heavy with clouds and in the distance, I could see the flashing that is called Hallow Fire. It is usually accompanied by Hell Down – a loud crashing roar that follows the Fire. I shook my head and stretched wide my wings but my belly was so full that my wings wouldn’t lift. I flapped and flapped but the drag of the water on my legs, tail and belly was too strong. The waves were lifting me higher and sending me lower so that at times I could see neither sky nor the horizon and for the first time in my life, I began to despair.
A sensation made all the worse at the sight of a set of dark scales slicing through the water toward me.
A wave lifted and crested, tossing me briefly out of the water and as a reflex, my legs began to paddle in the air. Once they touched the surface, I found I could run several steps before the water dragged me down again. The scaly creature was almost upon me. It was almost impossible to see because of the darkness of the waves and the darkness of the skies but I could tell that it was large and predatory and approaching me very quickly. I tried to call the fire but a belly full of fish oil prevented it, dousing even my acid with its slimy ooze.
I waited for the next rise and ran along the crest of the wave, beating my wings and cursing my gluttony. The wind was strong, the water stronger, but I urged my legs to be stronger still. I felt a rough surface under my feet and my heart blanched inside of me. The creature lifted me high and tossed me up into the wind, playing with me the way I had played with the lemonwhites. I would end up the same way if I didn’t take to the skies soon. A glance beneath me revealed rows and rows of flashing white. They were, believe me, incredible motivation and within a heartbeat, I was skyborn, rising above the huge waves with every beat of my aching wings.
With mouth gaping wide, the creature rushed the surface, leaping into the air but crashing back down with barely a taste of my tail.
There was no triumph however. The winds buffeted me like an angry mother and I remembered that while I was a drake, I was still a small drake, no bigger than the sea snakes that had hunted me. The wind howled and Hallow Fire cracked and I felt like a leaf caught in between, tossed as each saw fit. I briefly reconsidered settling onto the water again but the thought of the toothed creature filled me with dread and so I stayed airborne for the bulk of the storm, all the while my wings burning from strain.
At one point, I tried to fly over the clouds as I imagined the great drakes could do. I flew high, higher, desperately searching for a break in the winds. I needed to see my father, Draco Stellorum. I knew that once he saw me, he would help, but there was nothing but Hell Down, Hallow Fire and the roaring of the wind. The clouds were astounding, however – bigger than anything I could have imagined and rimmed with gold. For one fleeting moment, I glimpsed yellow and blue and pink but was immediately flung back into the dark that flashed with Hallow Fire and thundered with Hell Down. I searched the angry skies, praying even for a glimpse of a Dragon Flight. I would follow them anywhere but there was nothing, no one, so I tucked my wings, dropping back to the fury above the water.
It seemed like a lifetime and when it was finally over, any trace of the sun was gone. I had lost the better part of the day to the waves and the clouds, and night fell so quickly that I had no strength to fly anymore. I returned to the water, floating with my head tucked under my wing and prayed that if the creature did come back, it would eat me before I even knew I had been eaten. And so I dozed restlessly, fitfully, all night until the sea quieted and the sun lifted the mantel of night once again.
When I awoke, there was no land anywhere.
There was no land, there were no Cliffs, there was not even the tug of the eart
h force within me. There was nothing but sea and sky and a sad, lonely little dragon floating on the water. I remember calling to my mother, willing to accept what would likely be a humiliating return to the nest, but there was no answer, only my pathetic wail echoing across the sea. I was hungry but I would not eat. I was thirsty but the salt stung my throat. I floated like this for a full day, watching the sun cross the sky and dip into the sea, calling the night to follow like a love-sick drake. Follow it did, until the next morning, when the sun peeked out to begin the cycle all over again.
I awoke to the sounds of sea snakes, their shrill voices carrying across the water. There was also the sound of waves against a shore and the smell of fish strong on the breeze. I opened my eyes, blinked out the salt sting, and my heart did a flip inside of me at the sight. It looked like a forest of branchless trees, half submerged, half protruding from the water. At the tops of these trees, a roof of flat wood, wet and smooth, that created a canopy along the rocky shore and cast shadows across the top of the water. Nets hung from that canopy, along with baskets and ropes of twine and sea grass. It was different than anything I had ever seen before, but then again my whole world had been the aerie, so it was to be expected.
The sea snakes circled high above me and I knew they thought me easy prey, which I suppose I was. The fire was back in my belly however, and when one swooped down with talons extended, I welcomed him with a breath of flame. He shrieked and soared upwards when over the sound of the waves, I heard the trilling of dragons. My heart leapt once more so I spread my wings and in two beats was airborne.
From the sky, I could see that the wooden canopies were docks of a fishing village and as I rose over them, I caught my second glimpse of stick people.
I wasn’t entirely sure what to think. Like dragons, they moved on two legs but unlike dragons, they had no wings, no scales, no beaks or tails. As I flapped along the wood, they ran after me, pointing and shouting in their odd, unmusical language. I couldn’t understand how they could ride dragons as they did – they had no wings or fangs or claws or spines. In fact, they looked quite harmless as they chased me, grabbing nets from the docks as they went. No, with their pushed-in faces and no teeth or talons to speak of, I wasn’t impressed at all.
It would be a sad day before I let one of them ride me.
Besides, I was looking for dragons.
I spied the first sitting on a post, her wings spread wide. She was a gold and a little larger than me, so I swept between the fishing huts, flashing my wings before her. She trilled so I trilled back, urging her to join me in the air when I noticed a hemp rope knotted around her legs. It was puzzling, almost as puzzling as the silver band buckled around her throat. It looked far too tight and I thought she surely must be in distress. The look in her eye said otherwise, so I lit upon the post beside her.
A second trill came from the nearest hut and inside, I could see a young drake also larger than I. He was green and blue and trapped in a cage of wooden spikes. It was far too small for him, forcing him to fold his wings and hunch his spine. He also wore a silver band and I puzzled some more until the young drakina began nibbling the sea grass from my juvenile mane. It was distracting and entirely more pleasant than when my mother or sisters had tried.
A crowd of stick people gathered from behind and while I may have been young and foolish, I was not overly foolish. I sprang from the post and up to the roof of the nearest hut. One of the stick people reached for a sack tied to his waist. He was shorter than the others and thinner, with a mane of curling spikes on the top of his head. He looked young, although I had no point of reference at the time. He held a fish up to the early morning sunlight and I remembered that while I had gorged itself on lemonwhites two days past, it was two days past. I snapped my beak in anticipation, delighted when he flung it into the air over the roof. I launched and caught it easily, downing it with a single gulp .
The golden drakina cooed at me and I snapped my beak a second time.
He flung a second fish, this time over the docks and I swept down like the Hallow Fire, snatching it before it hit the wood. The drakina was watching with interest so I tossed it into the air and flew in a circle before catching it in my beak and returning to the roof. I was proud of myself for my very newly acquired skill. I was a fisherdrake now. The Fang of Wyvern would soon be mine.
The fellow produced another fish, this one larger than all the others and I snapped my beak again. He waggled the fish in his hand and I leaned forward, clutching the roof with the talons of my wings. He waggled and waggled and the gold trilled and fanned her beautiful wings and the fish slipped out of the hand and onto the dock. The stick people fell silent at that.
I looked around. The sea snakes were circling. They wanted the fish but it was mine. The stick had given it to me, not the snakes, not the other stick people. They stood in a circle around the fish, holding a web of hemp amongst them. I didn’t wonder why. Clearly, they were afraid of my fire and thought a hemp wall a sufficient method of protection. It isn’t in the nature of dragons to be suspicious, although perhaps it is more in our nature to be vain.
I soared into the circle of stick people, snapping the large fish in my jaws and with one mighty stroke, swept upwards into the skies. It was then that I felt the hemp fall across my back, weighing my wings like the water in the storm. I dropped the fish and twisted, expecting the web to fall away but I was hauled down to the wood with a thud. I called the fire but the hemp was wet and it only sizzled with oily smoke. The people wrapped the hemp around and around and I remembered the little golden drakina and her bound legs and I remembered the blue and green drake and his cage of twigs and I knew that I had been a vain and foolish dragon. I struggled and fought but the hemp grew tighter and tighter until I could barely move. I cursed my wild stubborn pride and vainly bit at the hands grabbing and poking at my neck. When a silver band was snapped in place around my own throat, I bowed my head and relented.
Chapter 3
THE STICK PEOPLE
They are called Stick People because they build their world of sticks.
I learned that the docks were a large fishing market called the Udan Shores on the bridges, barges and waterways of a city called Venitus. Venitus was a water-city, with the sea clawing the edges of the land for miles. Fishing boat, dory and skiff were the ways these sticks got about, and for the most part, they pushed their boats through canals with long poles. Large barges were pulled by dragons, and it was the first time I’d ever seen my people as anything but creatures of sea and sky. It was an affront to my pride and I immediately despised the world of sticks.
It was also the first time I ever thought of my people as a people. I suppose self-identification finds root in many soils.
I was in a cage, much like the blue and green drake. It was small, so small that I was forced to remain curled and it wasn’t long before my spine began to ache. I was a sea dragon, used to tall cliffs and taller skies, so these days spent in a cage were a horror to me. There was no food, though the smell of fish was everywhere, and I found my belly rumbling with the thought of lemonwhites and silverfins and bloodbass. At this point I knew I would eat a sea snake and be grateful for it. That is how low I had sunk.
I never saw the stars in those first days, never saw the moons nor the hot sun nor the water. Only the inside of the hut and the cages of dragons. I thought much of my father, Draco Stellorum. I missed him but I realized with surprise that I missed my mother more.
Several times a day, a hard-faced man came with a basket of fish and a long switch. He removed the blue-green dragon from his cage and I could not help but watch the exercises they went through. The hard-faced man handled the drake roughly, checked the silver band and the hemp at the drake’s feet. The band restricted our fire somehow, keeping the arcstone from creating the spark that turned our acid to flame. Against our fiery breath, the stick people are helpless.
I watched with narrowed eyes as he slipped a harness over the drake’s blue head. Ne
xt, he pulled the wings through as though they were made of sticks, like everything else in this world of sticks. He didn’t appreciate the glory and the delicacy of dragon wings, for he had nothing glorious or delicate of his own. Unless you counted the golden drakina. She would sit on his shoulder or perch on his wrist, nibble tiny grubs from his hand. He would pet her and coo at her and she would trill back. She was glorious and wicked and wonderful and I found it difficult not to watch her when I had the chance.
Regarding the exercises, I vowed to do the opposite of what was expected of me, so I did. When the hard-faced man put his hand to the blue’s beak, the blue lowered his head. When he put his hand to mine, I bit him. I was rewarded with a whack of the switch across my neck. When the hard-faced man offered a spoon of mashed fish, the blue ate, licking it off the spoon with a rough tongue. (I realized then another reason for the silver band – fisher dragons were not meant to swallow any of the fish they caught, merely hold it in our throats until our sticks demanded.) I did not accept the mash offered, however and rather hissed and lunged and was rewarded with the switch to my beak. Where the blue leapt to the hard-faced man’s wrist, I flew at his face, straining with all my talons to paint that hard, leathery skin with ribbons of red. I cannot begin to tell you what he did with the switch after that.
Dragon of Ash & Stars: The Autobiography of a Night Dragon Page 2
