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

by H. Leighton Dickson

  His voice in my head.

  I crooned, allowed my tongue to trill like Summerday. Truthfully, I could have sung.

  My soul, he said. Ruminor gave it back…

  I breathed in his scent, that of blood and leather and oceans. Oceans. Seas. Big water. Rue.

  It was like sunlight through treetops, memories not mine flashing behind my eyes. Faces I didn’t know, old women I’d never met, children and bowls of soup and then standing on the blocks at the Corolanus markets. A younger Serkus and the fishing huts and the threading of nets and the removing of shells and the wonder of dragons. The lure of dragons, the delight of dragons, the training of dragons.

  And then me.

  And you, Stormfall, he said. Brave dragon. Clever dragon. Loved dragon…

  Loved dragon.

  Loved dragon?

  Love?

  Look. Selisanae, he said. She’s coming to take me to Ruminor…

  I looked and I saw.

  Sunlight, reaching her long fingers across the horizon, pink and yellow and orange and red. Selisanae, consort of my father, Draco Stellorum, sharing the sky and trading night for day without ceasing. She was coming for us on the beams of the dawn, flashing in and out of sight like a vision, hidden in the brightness the way I was hidden in the stars.

  It was a golden dragon.

  Summerday raised her head, trilled. The sunlight answered back as a molten shadow appeared from out of the light.

  My soul… said Rue. Is free…

  Aryss the magnificent lowered from the sky, the body of her rider in her claws.

  And it’s singing…

  His hand stopped.

  Wings beating a strong low rhythm, she laid Galla Gaius on the stone beside Rue, arrows riddled across the gold-clad back. And so we sat for most of the morning – Aryss, Summerday and I, not willing to leave but not wanting to stay. The drakinas took turns pruning the arrows from my scales. I’m not sure I felt them anymore. Soon, there was a small pile and I set them alight with a puff of my breath. I looked over at my boy and the woman who had been his lover. Whatever Ruminor did with souls, wherever he took them, I hoped that Rue’s was somewhere he could sit on the sand and play the pipes all day.

  Loved dragon.

  He was my boy. I had loved him.

  I set them alight as well. He and his woman and his pipes. Music and honour and love and fire..

  Aryss the magnificent sang a dragonsong of mourning, and Summerday the wicked joined in. I chose to watch the fire rather than sing, as it crackled and roared, sending ash up into the clouds. In fact, I’m not sure I had a voice. We stayed until nightfall, Aryss, Summerday and I, until the fire was little more than embers and bone, and the sky was filled with ash and stars. Ruminor had not accepted Galla’s sacrifice. Her hair lay on an altar two nights west, while two bodies fed my father, Draco Stellorum, with their ash. He was as greedy as Ruminor was cold. Ember and bone, ash and stars. That was the music of life.

  As the sun disappeared under the cloak of darkness, I felt the earth force tug inside me once again. I had no rider, I had no purpose but I had two drakinas who had never been free. Finally, after so many years of delay, detainment and detour, I was going home.

  So I, Draco Stellorum, launched into the night, Selisanae on either side.

  ***

  We flew for two days, sleeping on mountain peaks during the days, hunting shaghorns in the valleys at night. Summerday was an amazing hunter. Living in the dark made her other senses sharp and she could ‘see’ by heat, scent and sound better than most dragons could with their eyes. Aryss was ever vigilant, rarely sleeping, always watching and I wondered if she grieved the loss of her rider as I grieved the loss of mine. I could well imagine.

  We had all lost our sticks, I realized one evening as we left the Mating Peak for the Nameless Sea. While Summerday was grieving the loss of a very bad man, he had been her very bad man. He had treated her as an animal, but she had been his, saved from cruelty in Bangarden and from life in the soulless markets of Corolanus. Above all things, dragons are loyal. Perhaps that is what makes us to amenable to life with sticks. Our characters are larger than their shortfalls.

  Water is a great conductor of sound, so when I heard the thunder and boom coming from the west, I knew it was not the storm. The Remoan fleet had made Atha Lamos and cannons were firing long and loud across the waters. Soon, we could smell smoke and iron and burning flesh, and I debated changing our route to avoid the island altogether, as the battle was undoubtedly going on around it. I chose not to, however. There were dragons in the fray, noble dragons who’d been given no choice. Dragons, who had alternately raged and then sang with me on the Night of Dragonsong and Fire.

  Because of that night, I would give them a choice.

  It was evening as the lights of Atha Lamos came into view and we flew through acrid smoke to perch on the highest crag above the city. The sun was sinking over the moon-shaped harbour, painting everything in hues of red and orange. There were ships as far as I could see, all the way to the western horizon – Lamoan ships and Remoan ships. I could tell them apart by the eyes and the dragons. Flashes of cannonfire alternated with dragonfire and the thunder of both threatened to tear apart the very sky. The air was filled with arcstone and fire and iron and oil and blood.

  My heart leapt in its cage at the sight of hundreds of dragons wheeling and soaring in the skies. It was chaos but it was war, as ship rammed ship and cannons barked death with every iron ball. Ship dragons tangled in rigging, thrashing and flailing and sinking along with their vessels. Flight Dragons swept through the skies, torching docks and homes and ships as they went. Riderless dragons, ragged holes blown through their wings, crashing into those same docks and homes and water, trailing plumes of smoke as they went.

  Just like under the indigo dragon, houses echoed with the screams of children.

  I remembered the number of ships and dragons assembled for battle in the skies above Terra Remus. Now, there were half. These were the same drakes, the same drakinas, who had struggled with me under the nets of Terra Remus. They had raged with me, then sung with me, then lit the night sky with their fire. The same dragons, warriors all.

  Dragons fighting. Dragons dying, all for the vanity of men.

  I couldn’t leave them but I couldn’t stop them so from my vantage point, I closed my eyes and lifted my voice in song. Mournful and rich and melodic and sad, my song rang out over the moon-shaped harbour, carrying across docks and water alike. My drakinas joined in, adding their voices, sliding up scales and down octaves as our music carried on into the night. We didn’t have words. We didn’t have writing or maps or language, but we had music and in that music, we spoke victory and loss, sadness and rage. We sang fire and water, earth and sky. We wrote the history of the Battle of Lamos and told the story of Selisanae of the Sun and wove the tragedy of the lives and deaths of dragons in every land. It was marvellous.

  When I opened my eyes, dragons filled the skies before me, first a few, then dozens, then more, rising high above the cannons, hovering in place and listening to our song.

  Riders, kicking but powerless as Flight Dragons left their aerial attacks in a valiant act of corporate disobedience. Most swept low, allowing riders to leap off into the waters; others, whose riders continued to kick and haul on the rein, rolled mid-flight, disposing of them in altogether unceremonious fashion.

  Shipsmen rushed to release ship drakes from harness lest their ships be capsized as the dragons took to the air, joining the growing thunder in the sky. Some ships came with them, creaking then cracking at the end of their tethers, splashing into the churning waters far, far below.

  Dragons without riders swooped high above the city, darkening the twilight like a tattered cloak. Soon, ship fought against only ship, man fought against man alone, as every single dragon above Atha Lamos abandoned the battle to join the thunderous flight. They took up the dragonsong of our people and once again, just like in Terra Remus, it threatened t
o shatter every window and deafen every stick. The cannons targeted them, firing in an attempt to take them down but they succeeded only in raining destruction on the city of Lamos in the form of iron hail. The sky was black with the thunder of their wings and even the cannons were deafened as every eye in Atha Lamos looked to the stars.

  As the last of the red disappeared beneath the horizon, my father, Draco Stellorum, stretched his wings across the land. Draco Stellorum and his Eyes, the moons of Remus. And Lamos. And now, me.

  I rose up on the highest mountain above the city, stretched wide my starry wings. I was the Draco Stellorum, Dragon of Stars. I was also Draco Cinis and Draco Fumari and Draco Mortuis. I was a dragon of smoke and ash and death and all things dark and deadly. But like my father, I had the Eyes, my moons, my own Selisanae of the Sun. Aryss and Summerday, drakinas of fire and strength and pure, fierce, gleaming gold.

  You know how dragons love their gold.

  With that, I launched into the night and called my people to follow.

  They did.

  Chapter 27

  DRAGON OF ASH & STARS

  When there are a hundred dragons in the sky, it is Hell Down and Hallow Fire. It is the winds of a hurricane and the roar of the storm. We blot out the sun, we blacken the clouds, we churn the sea like foam. It is a magnificent, terrifying sight.

  In honour of the Torrent, I called them the Thunder.

  I followed the earth force northwest. We did not stop to sleep, not once, not even when we passed through the Wall of Moons. As a blind dragon, Summerday’s equilibrium was excellent, and she kept the Thunder high and level. I had not forgotten losing Jagerstone to the ship and Chryseum to the ocean. I was flying with a hundred war dragons. I didn’t want to lose a single one.

  Days later then, we were finally free of the Wall of Moons and approaching the southern shores of Remus. The earth force was calling me north but I couldn’t help but track west, just a little. There were two reasons for this. Firstly, we reached Terra Remus on the fourth day after leaving Atha Lamos and as we flew over the city, we called to every dragon down below. Whether Flight or working, whether banded or free, we called and they responded. We created chaos in Terra Remus that day and added to our number perhaps twenty Flight Dragons who abandoned their riders and as many cart dragons who lifted their plinti and carriages to the skies. We torched those carriages and watched them seed the clouds with ash and dust.

  The second reason we flew over Terra Remus was entirely juvenile and vain. But then, you do remember that while I had lived a difficult life, I was still at that point, quite young.

  I was then, and am still, vain.

  I took my one hundred dragons on a flight across the roofs of the Curia Terra Remus, where I shat as I flew over the clay tiles. Trust me to say that we did not need language in that moment, for the hundred following did exactly the same thing. Part of me wishes I had circled back for a look but I prided myself in knowing that our point had been well and truly made. I also knew that I’d never have a reprieve from the Emperor if I ever fell afoul of the centurions again, so it was a good thing I never did.

  Day after day, we flew along the coastline, calling to any working or fisher dragon we saw, snagging cliff bucks from the shores and fat fish from the sea. I knew that when we finally stopped at the Cliffs of Anquar, we would need to free those still in harness, saddle or band. Truth be told, I hadn’t given it much thought but the more dragons that left the earth for the skies, the more it became apparent that while they were free of service, they would die very quickly if not freed from the trappings of service. I remembered Bloodtooth cracking my band during our battle in the Crown and I wondered if I could teach such a skill to another, all without the benefit of language. That would be an interesting development for I was not sure I could sing that particular skill.

  Regardless, the earth force beat steadily stronger with each stroke of my wings and I pressed the Thunder long and hard without a rest. None of the dragons disappointed. They had no idea where I was leading them, but followed – no, joined me in the anticipation. Day became night, water became sky and the smell of salt and fish and freedom was life in my chest.

  My father, Draco Stellorum, watched as we flew under the Wide Eyes of the Moons and I remembered how Rue had spoken of the First Dragons. Selisanae, Nerisanae, Stellorus and Anquarus and I had listened with keen interest. Memories of the Cliffs and the nest and my mother and sisters led me with a ferocity that I had thought reserved for the Pits and I let myself wonder what I might do if I found the Fang of Wyvern occupied by another drake. I would leave him, I reckoned. After so long fighting in the service of sticks, I knew that I would never stoop to fight over territory. The world was big. My world was bigger.

  And all this time, both Aryss and Summerday flew with me, one at my left, the other at my right. My moons, my Eyes. Golden and fierce and mine.

  One night, with the Cliffs so close, I took the Thunder down onto the dark sea. The impact of such a number of great creatures displaced much water and caused such a wave that I knew any Monitors in the area would leave us in peace. Silverfins however, were another story and we ate an entire ocean of them, barely sating our hunger from such a trip. We slept on the waters that night, a hundred of us rising up and down on a warm, welcoming sea. With Summerday’s head across my neck, I was almost content. But with home so close, there was a fire in my blood that would not, could not, be doused until I set my eyes on the Cliffs of Anquar.

  And so I waited for the first light of dawn, held my breath as the sun’s rays painted those daggers first purple, then red, then glorious gold and my heart leapt into my throat at the near-forgotten sight. I had only seen them from a distance once in my life, on that dreaded day when I traded the aerie for adventure. They truly looked like the spikes on the back of a great dragon. So many islands rising sharply out of the sea, waters crashing at their base, vegetation sparsely scattered along ridge and crest. Beyond the cliffs, a stretch of land extended beyond the horizon, made golden by the sun. I had never seen it before and I wondered if it was inhabited like Remus or wild like the dragons. Anquarus could easily have made his home here.

  As Selisanae of the Sun made her way out of the ocean, the sea snakes found us, swooping and worrying and raising their cries to the heavens. The memories took me back to my mornings as a fledgling – sea snakes and sunshine and gleaming over it all, the Fang of Wyvern. I would have laughed had I been able.

  In the distant dawn, I could see silhouettes circling the cliffs and my heart leapt into my throat at the sight. Wild dragons.

  The sea snakes fled as I rose on top of the water, beating my wings and barking to the Thunder. They had slept soundly, but within minutes the sky was dark and the waters churned beneath them. Those distant silhouettes whirled and grew larger as the Wild dragons took notice and rose to meet us. I prayed there would be no violence – there were enough cliffs for all. But then again, I would never have expected so many to abandon their sticks and follow me home, either. I knew so little about my people. We are unpredictable as we are proud.

  The Fang was between the Thunder and the Wild, so I rode the air up, up, up to its pinnacle with Summerday and Aryss on either side. It was, for the most part straight, striated rock, but moss grew in the ledges and on the peak. I circled first then landed, waiting for the largest drakes and drakinas to meet us. Soon, the sky grew black under wing as both Wild and Thunder circled each other, bellowing in agitation and threat. The air was sharp as a spear.

  Two drakes, a blue and a brown, wheeled above me before dropping to the mossy peak, wings wide, head low. Behind me, Aryss barked and Summerday hissed and I snapped at them both. I had been a working dragon for too long. I had a different plan.

  I raised my wings but bent them inward, arched my neck and averted my eyes, gazing at the mossy stone at their feet. A deep, respectful bow, an early gesture of respect. The sticks had enjoyed such things and these dragons, having lived their entire lives in freedo
m, deserved it.

  The drakes fell silent, unsure of their next move, when first Aryss then Summerday bowed as well. In fact, with over a hundred dragons in the air, there was little sound save the beating of wings and the crash of waves against the Fang. A shadow crossed the sun as a drakina landed between the drakes, larger than either of them and bringing with her a scent from my youth.

  I dared look up.

  Almost as large as Ironwing, my mother towered over me, as dark as the Cliffs of Anquar. She lowered her great head, scarred as if from some terrible battle, but I realized that it was just life and that she was old and magnificent and strong. I studied her grey scales, the spines and spikes that had never been filed, the throat that had never been banded. She breathed in my scent, made a rumbling sound deep in her chest and my heart threatened to burst from within. She leaned forward, opening her mouth wide and ever wider, strings of saliva swinging between rows of dagger sharp teeth. I resisted the urge to shrink back and those familiar jaws clamped over my head.

  Fish oil and arcstone. The fragrance of my youth.

  As long as she didn’t regurgitate bloodbass all over my head, I would be fine. Suddenly, she released me and threw back her head, warbling a song into the morning light. I followed suit, singing the dragon song with a joy I had never known and soon, the sky exploded as both Thunder and Wild joined the chorus. It was glorious and we alternated singing with blasts of fire, and the sky flashed light then dark with the smoke of our breath. Dragons wheeled and danced in the sky, dove into the waters, tugged at what little remained of harness and rigging. Young dragons flitted around the outer rim, bold yet equally terrified and full of the vigour of youth.

  I had been the same when I was young.

  Suddenly, a bellow rippled in from the outer dragons and a boom that shook me to my core. A second and then a third as iron balls whipped through the air past me into my mother. She barked and leapt from the Fang, a gaping hole in her chest. Blood sprayed from her heart as slowly she spiralled down, down and down into the water below.