Dragon of Ash & Stars: The Autobiography of a Night Dragon

by H. Leighton Dickson

  Suddenly I was surrounded by the shrill voices of many little sticks, grabbing at the harness and pushing against the tiller’s frame. I saw the flash of a blade as the boy, Niro, leaned in close, his face covered in mud. I felt the jerk as one by one, my harness leathers snapped free and the many little hands grabbed at me from beneath, tugging wings, pulling legs and finally sliding me out from under the crushing weight.

  Samus shouted again and the little sticks scrambled out of the way as he released the holds. Immediately, the tiller flipped upside-down, harness leathers whipping, metal blade screeching as it plunged down the hillside, bumping, crashing and finally smashing its way to the bottom.

  I stretched my wings, jaws wide, chest burning, desperate for air.

  “Nightshade!” cried Tacita.

  Too tight, too hot. There was no air. “Samus!” cried Farida, one of the taller sticks. “He’s choking!”

  “The band is too tight,” Tacita wailed. “He can’t breathe!”

  Burning, stabbing, threatening to burst.

  Farida turned to Samus.

  “The metal cutters!”

  “No!” he shouted. “An unbanded dragon is death!”

  “He won’t hurt us!” cried Tacita.

  “Get the axe,” shouted Samus. “It’s the only way.”

  “No,” wailed Neve.

  Tacita scrambled to her feet and disappeared down the slope.

  Despite their little hands, I sank into the mud. No air, no food. The life of a farm dragon was too hard and I welcomed the kiss of the axe if only it would end this agony. My thoughts were spinning and my chest ached as though under water. My head was heavier than the entire world so I laid it down, tasting mud and rainwater and old, dead oryza.

  Stars popped behind my eyes, bursting like Lamoan cannons. Fire and crash, boom and burst, Rue falling to the docks under the no-faced man’s blows.

  I didn’t feel the tugging of the band. I didn’t feel the metal slide beneath my scales but suddenly, my chest filled like a balloonfish and my head almost split in two. Smoke rolled out of my mouth and I heard cheering from all the little sticks. I’m certain they planted many little kisses all over my face, but it was a fleeting thought, and I surrendered to their embrace, weary but breathing.

  And more importantly, unbanded.

  Chapter 7

  THE NIGHT DRAGON

  It was the middle of the rainy season when the night dragon came.

  I was sleeping in the aviary when I heard the cries of the shearers. They are stupid creatures, like noxen but less happy, and truthfully, any dragon who could eat them would be right to do so. But these were Gavius’ shearers and I was loyal to Gavius, and so when I heard the bleating, I raised the alarm. It was too late however, for in the morning seven of the flock had been butchered with only two eaten. That was curious. I couldn’t imagine a dragon wasting anything as tender as a shearer.

  He didn’t come back the next night, nor the next or the next so life went back to the way it was. Gavius always rose before the sun, along with Tacita, Farida and Samus. Together they fed us, cleaned the aviary and got us into harness for the day’s work. Gavius had purchased a new collar in Corolanus – a tiller-bolt, it was called and it fit me quite well. In those weeks, my appetite flourished and my growth nearly doubled. Now I was as large as a shearer, each wing as long as Gavius was tall. My scales were growing thicker, my spines longer. My skull was itchy too and I knew I was beginning the first buds of horns.

  Almost every day after work, Tacita would show me my reflection in the silverstone and I marvelled at my handsomeness. Self-importance is much more relevant when one has at least an idea of self.

  The red drakina had gone into season and while I was still young and barely aware, it made Stonecrop irritable and restless. At all hours of the night, the grey dragon climbed up and down his mesh walls, cooing to her and singing songs of love. Stumptail snarled and spat little wads of acid at him. Unfortunately, my pen was between theirs and his wads would end up sizzling the chaff on the bottom of my floor. Every morning, Samus grumbled about what a messy dragon I was but I didn’t speak stick and had no way to correct him. Besides, he was lazy so I was happy he had work to do, regardless of blame.

  One night, I awoke to the sound of bone on metal. I looked up from my nest to see Ruby clinging to the mesh at the top of the pen, her long spiked tail slapping from side to side. Through the bars, there was another figure silhouetted by the moons and my heart stopped in its chest. I knew it was the night dragon, butcher of shearers and lover of red drakinas, gnawing at the bars with his dagger teeth. I thought for a long moment, knowing that if I raised the alarm I would have an enemy for life in Ruby but that if I didn’t, Gavius would lose more shearers. Gavius was good to me and Ruby was miserable at the best of times so the decision was truthfully not a hard one. I am wont to say that I debated just a little for the sake of peace in the aviary.

  So I bugled the alarm and Ruby’s head snapped down in my direction. She hissed, her lashing tail threatening to take out some of the stones in the wall as the night dragon lifted from the roof. Stumptail grumbled and Stonecrop yawned but outside in the rain, I could hear the thundering beat of wings and the terrified bleats of shearers. I knew Gavius had lost more of his flock and it was all because of Ruby.

  The next morning she was horrible, snapping and growling even at the sticks and I wondered at the reasons for having a drakina when there were so many useful drakes around for the purchase. Still, I told myself that Ruby was simply a strong, dominant dragon. She probably would have ruled an aerie had she been free and not for the first time, I thought of my mother.

  That night, however, Gavius did not put me away as usual. No, after he fed the others, he led me to the shearer pens carrying a large spear, an axe and an oil lantern for light. It was still raining, but being night it was a cold rain and I can’t say that I enjoyed it overmuch. (Neither did the shearers, having a dragon so close.) Gavius led me by the harness into one of the rain shelters. There, he leaned the spear against the wall, placed the axe in the chaff and dimmed the lantern. I curled into the chaff and in a manner that reminded me of my days with Rue, we settled down for the night.

  The sound of rain on a thin metal roof is a pleasant thing. I longed to gaze at the stars but Gavius had a basket filled with sliced moorsnake, a favourite of mine from the swamps. He sat with his back against my flank, feeding me slices of snake and telling me stories of the early days of the farm in a very quiet voice. Truth to tell, I wasn’t paying attention. The moorsnake was superb and I was happy to be away from the hissing, snarling drakina. Besides, there was another smell coming from the basket and it had set my heart racing.

  Arcstone.

  A working dragon is never given arcstone. It’s against the rules of sticks. With our fire, we are powerful and would never submit to a life of service. So when he slid the bolt from the collar and it dropped to the ground with a thud, I knew then that I was not simply enjoying an evening out under the stars. No, tonight I would be taking on the night dragon.

  Much later I came to wonder if this hadn’t been his plan the moment he laid eyes on me in the market. After Serkus’ exaggerated tales, it sounded perfect – a dragon brave enough to fight Lamoan pirates and able to hide in the night. It would have been a good plan, the perfect solution, with one exception. I was just a yearling.

  In fact, I wasn’t even sure I could fight Stonecrop and win. No, I take that back. I could win against Stonecrop. But against Stumptail? Against Ruby? And more importantly, against a mature dragon that killed for play?

  “I can guarantee you, Master Farmer Gavius,” Serkus had said. “That this dragon will not eat your flock. In fact, he’ll protect them.”

  The liar, the user, the beater of helpless dragons and soul-boys. Gavius went to the market to get a blue dragon and came home with the ‘Hero of the Pirate Raids.’ Only the ‘cannons had been too much.’ The no-faced man had spun a story that had hooked this
man like a gullible grey fish.

  I hated the no-faced man more than ever.

  Gavius pulled a small piece of the flaky silver rock and held it up to my nostrils.

  I had no idea what to do. I wanted the night dragon to find another willing drakina and leave the shearers of the oryza fields for another night. I wanted our farm to go back to the way it was, the routine and the rain, the singing and the sweet sleep after a long day’s work.

  Gavius nudged me, offering the arcstone once again.

  I took it and swallowed, embracing the burn that it caused as it went down my gullet and into my crop. It was a terrible sensation, eased only by the exhalation of a breath of fire. No one really knows how we make the fire, not even very old dragons. It has to do with the arcstone and the acid in our bellies – when they meet, you can either swallow or spit, and once the spit hits the air, it erupts into flame. A dragon can spit acid even without arcstone, but it is nowhere near as impressive.

  I ate another piece and then another, felt it stick to my tongue and coat my back teeth. Once swallowed, it is never completely gone. It can live in the crop forever.

  The night was cold and I lay my head down across my wings. Gavius was sleeping. I could tell because of the rhythmic noises he made when he breathed. I could have killed him then, I realized. I could’ve set him on fire and taken off into the night but I didn’t. Gavius and his little sticks had been good to me and I was a dragon of integrity. My pride was all that I had in this odd, stick-run world, and I would guard it with my life.

  It was late when I heard the first bleat. The rain had stopped and I lifted my head from my wings. The shearers were restless, bumping around like confused goswyrms and I knew that I would eat them too if I lived in foothills like this. It was then that I had a fleeting moment of self-doubt. Dragons have no concept of ownership. Territory, yes. Ownership, no. Food was food. You fought for it and if you caught it, you ate. If not, you went hungry. I was never certain how the sticks managed to barter their foodstuffs. It didn’t make sense, but then again, I wasn’t a stick.

  I heard the sound of wings overhead and looked up to see a shape pass across the moons. I also heard the groan and screech of metal and knew that Ruby was once again trying to gnaw her way out of her pen. I chirruped quietly and Gavius opened his eyes. He pushed off my flank, grabbed the axe and staggered to the wall where he had leaned the spear. He looked at me.

  “Are we ready, Nightshade?”

  Ready, I thought to myself? How could I possibly be ready?

  I rose to my feet and shook the chaff from my scales. My belly was burning with the arcstone and I knew the fire would be strong and yellow-hot tonight. It was a good feeling, for I hadn’t blown fire in over a year, not since the marauding sea snakes under the docks of the Udan Shore. Once learned, however, it is a skill no dragon forgets.

  More groan and screech of metal and together we left the shelter, looking to the aviary to see a shadow on the roof. My heart caught in my throat. He was large, perhaps five years old and easily three times my size. There was no way I could harm him, let alone frighten him. There was nothing I could do.

  “Remember the docks,” said Gavius in a quiet voice and he laid a hand on my neck. “You fought those Lamoan pirates when you were much younger. You are a brave dragon, Nightshade, and you are the colour of the stars. You are invisible.”

  He was right. While I was no hero of the pirate raids, I did save the silver dragon and his rider, tear out a throat and some eyes on the ships. All I needed to do was get this night dragon on the ground and Gavius, with his axe and his spear, would do the rest.

  I unfurled my wings and leapt into the sky.

  High, higher, the wind under me, careful not to beat too quickly and make a sound. There was no rain now and I blanched at the thought. We dragons are sensitive to sounds. Sometimes the rain was a friend, creating a constant drone under which I could fly. Other times there was a muffle as it hit my body, interrupted on its way to the ground. I could see the farm and all the fields gleaming silver under the wet moons and I flew higher still until the aviary with its interloper was right below me. Through the bars, I could see Ruby’s teeth and claws, glimpses of her dark red beak. The metal was almost chewed through and I realized that they had been at this for months. Dragon teeth are very strong and I was impressed to the point of second thought.

  Ruby was a captive drakina who wanted her freedom. It was natural, it was understandable and it was a death sentence. She had a band. She would die within weeks without its removal, and as much as I disliked her, I couldn’t let her die.

  I tucked my wings, summoned the fire and dove like an arrow toward the head of the night dragon.

  He turned his face and I breathed the fire, blinding him first and raking second, feeling the soft round flesh of his eyes slice under my talons. He bellowed and shook his head, scorching the air at my tail but I dipped down when I should have swept up and the flames missed me by a scale. I felt the heat, however, and knew that one mistake on my part and I would end up like a charred, twisting seasnake. I circled back around from beneath, spraying fire across his eyes a second time. His wings beat down and the force of them caught me, slamming me into the wire mesh of the roof. Stars popped behind my eyes at the sudden pain, when Ruby clawed through the mesh, raking long red ribbons along my back. I sprang off, dazed but spiralling into the night sky, praying that I was as invisible as the sticks said.

  The drake, whom I realized was not black but inky blue, launched from the roof as well, spraying fire in my wake and I rolled to avoid being scorched. He was seasoned, could follow me by scent alone so I swept downward to the pens, hoping to lose him in the mix of their strong aroma. Beneath us, the shearers scattered in terror. His wing beats were so strong that they caused the air around me to push out and suck in, battering me by force alone. My head was spinning and I misjudged my altitude, my wingtip catching the roof of the first shelter and stars popped behind my eyes. I spiralled to the ground and the flocks scattered as I hit the ground. Blindly, the drake followed, shattering the shelter into a hundred pieces under his weight. I sprang into the air but was yanked to the ground yet again, wing snagged in a piece of twisted roof metal.

  The indigo dragon rose to his feet, towering over me like a mountain.

  It was then that the aviary shattered upward as Ruby burst forth from the mesh. She clung to the roof for a brief moment, clutching the twisted metal that had once been her prison. The indigo drake swung his head and bellowed and she bellowed back before launching herself skyward. Shouts from the farmhouse as Samus ran out, lantern in hand.

  She arched toward him spiralling in the air, her wings almost dusting the ground. I watched in horror as she snatched him from the doorway, in her talons and flew up, up, up before letting go.

  I did not see him hit the ground.

  Above me, the indigo dragon turned back and coiled. I could see his acid breath ignite across his tongue and I shrunk low to the ground, fearing the rush of scorching flame. Suddenly his head jerked back as a spear savagely burst from his throat. Fire spewed from his mouth like blood and he tried to lift from the ground but Gavius was there, hauling him back down to the earth. The drake sprayed fire in all directions, flames catching wood, grass and shearers alike. Gavius released the spear and swung the axe now, striking the inky head once, twice, three times. The dragon roared, part of his beak severed when Gavius slammed the axe down once last time deep into the great blue skull. The drake rocked back on his legs, clawing at the spear protruding from his neck like a harpoon and sprang into the sky, spinning and twisting as he went. It was with horror that I watched him crash backwards onto the roof of the farmhouse. It collapsed inwards under his weight and screams rose like the flames from within.

  Gavius bolted across the field.

  I was still stuck on the wedge of tin that had pierced my wing. My back was torn and bleeding but there was nothing in the world now like the screams. Farida and Niro, Neve and Ta
cita. Mostly Tacita. The drawings and sketches, the silverstone and the kindness. She had fed me for months, patted me when I was weary, sung with me like a friend. I rolled and thrashed and sprang into the air, dragging my pinned wing as I made for the farmhouse.

  A massive weight struck like a fist and once again, I struck the ground. It was Ruby, crushing the breath from my body and trying to break my spindly neck with her jaws. In the moonslight, the silver band gleamed at her throat and I knew that while she was larger, she was vulnerable. I sprayed my fire into her face, increasing the heat from yellow to white until I was dizzy from the effort. Her lids sizzled and puckered under the flame and she released me, shaking her head and backing up into the shattered shearer hut. I rolled to my feet, dragging the tin and blasting fire until her spines were smoking and she sagged back down into the debris with a howl.

  A sharp boom cracked the night air as the blazing farmhouse collapsed in on itself. I could see the indigo dragon’s legs and tail thrashing above it, watched with a breaking heart Gavius silhouetted in the flames. The house was an inferno, the heat pushing him out at every turn. There were no screams anymore now, only the roar of his burning home and soon even the indigo dragon grew still. The farmer sank to his knees, merely a shadow in the fierce light. He stayed that way for a very long time.

  Beside me, Ruby moaned, clawed at her eyes with her wing talons. Finally, Gavius rose, picked up the axe and crossed the field, ending her life with a merciful few strokes.

  I sat there by her lifeless body as the farmer stumbled over to the aviary. I could hear the cries of both Stumptail and Stonecrop and prayed that they hadn’t kissed the axe too. They were blameless. In fact, as I looked down at Ruby, her lifeblood making rivers in the darkness, I realized that she was blameless too. She was a dragon, meant for better things than threshing and plowing. She had yearned for a life beyond Gavius’ oryza fields and the wet pressure of Under Weathers. The indigo drake had been wild and only doing what wild dragons do – soaring high in the limitless sky, eating what they can catch and mating with other dragons.