Dragonforge

by James Maxey

  During their rests, Graxen would find a spot of privacy to peruse the tome, his mood alternating between boredom, fascination, and a mild sense of terror. Some of the activity depicted looked as if it must certainly be painful. On an intellectual level, so many of the poses struck him as awkward and uncomfortable. Yet on a gut level, the process simply looked right. He almost felt as if he could have figured it out on his own if he’d been less timid.

  Their travel was also slowed by Graxen’s choice of flight path. The road leading to Dragon Forge would almost certainly have produced witnesses. Graxen was too easily identified and Metron was too well known to take the chance that they might be sighted. So, they took a path over less-traveled terrain, with Graxen trusting his long study of maps and his innate sense of direction to lead him to his destination.

  His faith in his navigation abilities were rewarded when, at last, the vine-covered tower once more loomed from the leafless forest. Graxen swooped down to a landing on the tower wall, near the gargoyle.

  Metron dropped from his back.

  “Why did you land on such a narrow wall?” Metron grumbled. “The structure looks unsafe.”

  Graxen sighed. Much of his life, he’d entertained fantasies of what he and his father would discuss should they ever meet. Most of their actual conversations on this journey consisted of Metron complaining of his weariness or discomfort. Graxen had expected that meeting his father would be a joyous event. In reality, his feelings were far more complex. He felt a sense of satisfaction knowing the truth; discovering he was the son of the high biologen was almost like discovering he was a long lost prince. Yet he also felt anger and resentment, thinking of how different his life could have been if Metron had showed more courage. Graxen assumed that Metron’s complaints were a manifestation of the guilt that tore at the elderly dragon. During his quiet moments, Metron had the look of a dragon being savaged from the inside by his demons. Rather than being overwhelmed by larger emotions like love or anger, Graxen mainly felt pity for his father, and more than a little annoyance.

  “Why couldn’t we land on the ground?” Metron asked, staring down at the leaves below.

  “You’re free to wait on the ground if you wish,” said Graxen. “I choose to wait here for Nadala.”

  “Ah, yes, your lover,” said Metron. “Are you certain we can trust her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that love can blind a male to the faults of a female. How much do you truly know about her?”

  “I confess, we’ve had precious little time for conversation. But the words we’ve shared resonate. She wrote a letter that revealed her most private thoughts, and the things she said could have come from my own quill. I trust her with my life.”

  “I believe you,” said Metron. “But, the very act of falling in love with you requires her to be a lawbreaker.”

  “Who are you to judge anyone for breaking laws?”

  “I’m not judging her. I’m merely expressing my concern.”

  “The passion I feel transcends laws. I can’t claim our shared passion is rational. All I know is that when I see her, I feel as if the world is a much more wonderful place than I have ever realized. When we’re apart, my thoughts can focus on nothing but her.”

  Metron looked wistful. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, that is how I felt about Sarelia. In truth, that flame still burns within me.”

  “Sarelia?”

  “The matriarch’s true name. It’s seldom used since the matriarch doesn’t enjoy the luxury of individuality. As the guiding force of the sky-dragons, it’s imperative that all the individuals who have ever served as matriarch seem to be of one mind and one will. It enhances their authority.”

  “You and she both possessed great authority,” said Graxen. “With a joint decree, you could have made your love lawful. You had the power to change the world. Why didn’t you?”

  Metron looked forlorn as the evening sun hovered over the hills behind him. He was a small, elderly dragon, shivering in the chill air. His voice trembled as he answered. “You make it seem simple. Can’t you see we were chained by the very authority we wielded? Perhaps we simply lacked the courage to overthrow the traditions that gave us our power. Now, I’ve discovered a certain bravery that comes with knowing my remaining days are few. I’ve lost everything that was ever important to me. I’ve nothing to lose in speaking to Sarelia. It may be that future generations have much to gain. I want to try one last attempt at making the world a better place.”

  Graxen nodded. He could think of a dozen arguments, a hundred questions, and thousand frustrations he wanted to shout at this creature that stood before him. In the end, he knew words simply wouldn’t matter. The past was past. Metron now represented a slender hope for a better future.

  “The wind on this wall is worse than it would be below,” Metron said. “It cuts into me like a knife.”

  Graxen turned his back to his father.

  “Climb on,” he said. “I’ll take you down.”

  Once Metron had found a comfortable spot to rest below, sheltered from the wind, Graxen flew back up to the top of the wall. He didn’t know when Nadala might show up, and he wanted to be in plain sight when she arrived. He perched next to the gargoyle and unstrapped the enormous book from his chest. He placed it on the gargoyle’s back and opened its pages. During his many years as a student, Graxen had been repeatedly drilled in the art of debate; he suspected this training could prove useful. He thought it likely Nadala would react with disbelief when he explained what was involved in the mating process. He would need to carefully present each step as a logical extension of the step that preceded it.

  He lost track of the time as he studied the manual. The sun was nearly gone when he turned the page to find himself confronted with a detailed drawing of a male sun-dragon’s reproductive organ. The organ was depicted approximately life-sized, stretching diagonally across two pages, and was painted in vivid red and pink watercolors that seemed to glow in the dimming light .

  A shadow fell across the book.

  “What are you reading?” a female voice asked, full of curiosity.

  Graxen spun around. “Nadala!” he yelped. “I didn’t hear you approaching!”

  “I can land as silently as a dandelion wisp when I wish,” she said. “Is that a book behind you?”

  Graxen held his wings in such a way that he blocked her sight of the illustration. He didn’t know what her reaction might be to the lurid material.

  “It’s a work of anatomy,” he explained. “Of sun-dragons.”

  “Can I see it?” she asked.

  “I worry it might offend you,” he said. “It’s a matter of chance that…”

  “Stand aside,” she said, in a soldierly tone, snaking her long neck over his shoulder to get a glance at the concealed material.

  She suddenly grew very quiet.

  “Goodness,” she said, a moment later.

  “Please note this is not the organ of a sky-dragon,” he said. “I don’t want you to experience alarm. Or disappointment.”

  She took a step back and held out her fore-talons. Instinctively, he placed his own talons in hers. She squeezed them with a gentle pressure as they stared into each other’s eyes.

  “I find it charming that you’re embarrassed,” she said.

  “I hope you continue to find it charming,” said Graxen. “I fear I may embarrass myself repeatedly in the coming days.”

  “The coming days, the coming weeks, the coming years,” said Nadala, squeezing his talons tighter. “I’ve made my choice, Graxen. I’m leaving the Nest. You and I will carve out a new life together somewhere, even if we have to cross the haunted mountains.”

  “I’m happy to hear this,” said Graxen. “I’m even happier to tell you it may not come to this. There is a chance, however slender, that our love could be sanctioned by the matriarch.”

  Nadala shook her head. “You’re deluded to entertain such fantasies. I know you’re her son, but the
matriarch will never allow us to be together. And what if she did let us breed? It’s not a brief tryst ending in pregnancy that I desire. I want you as my life-mate. Why should only sun-dragons know the pleasure of a life-long love?”

  “It’s as if you’re speaking the words that dwell in my heart,” said Graxen. “The matriarch won’t listen to me. But there is one she may listen to. Indeed, someone she did listen to, once, or else I wouldn’t exist.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My father,” said Graxen.

  “Metron?” she asked.

  Graxen felt as if he might topple from the wall. “You… you know that? How can you know that?”

  “Everyone at the Nest knows it,” said Nadala. “It’s whispered in the dead of night, the tale of how even the matriarch once knew love. It’s a story that brings shame to some and hope to others.”

  Graxen trembled. Nadala stroked his fore-talons.

  “What’s wrong,” she asked.

  “This has been the central mystery of my life,” said Graxen. “I would have paid any price to know who my father was. And now I learn that everyone at the Nest knew the truth? It’s difficult to accept that the secret I most longed to discover was common knowledge to fully half our species.”

  “I didn’t know you didn’t know,” said Nadala, sounding apologetic. “When I told you that Sparrow was sired by Metron’s brother, I thought you understood that her aggression toward you was a matter of familial pride. She sees herself as the true inheritor of Metron’s bloodline. I promise I never meant to deceive you.”

  Graxen tried to control his emotions. There was nothing rational about the feelings swirling in his mind. Why should he be angry at Nadala? Why should he suddenly feel such a sense of loss? How would his life be different if she had blurted out the truth when they first met?

  “I’m confused,” Nadala said, looking concerned. “You obviously know that Metron is your father; I take it you only learned recently. Who told you?”

  “I told him,” a voice shouted from below.

  “A spy!” Nadala shouted, releasing Graxen’s claws. She leapt from the ledge, diving into shadows toward the voice.

  “Wait!” Graxen shouted, but it was too late. There was a terrible grunt below as Nadala found her target. Graxen leapt down to join Nadala, and found she had pinned Metron roughly to the ground. The old dragon had a look of terror in his eyes.

  “It’s a tatterwing!” she growled.

  “Nadala,” said Graxen.”That’s Metron.”

  Nadala’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. She released her grip on the elderly biologian.

  “My apologies,” she said.

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” said Metron, struggling to stand and failing. “I am nothing but a tatterwing now. I deserve whatever contempt is heaped upon me.”

  Graxen moved to Metron’s side and helped him rise. A moment later, the ancient biologian found his balance on unsteady legs.

  “Why is he here?” Nadala asked Graxen. Was there a hint of fear in her voice?

  “I want to see the matriarch once more,” said Metron. “Graxen has told me about your situation. You two are not the first sky-dragons to find your desires in conflict with the carefully crafted eugenics of our race. There was once a logic to our strict planning. A thousand years ago, the dragon races were birthed from a stock of fewer than thirty individuals. Inbreeding could have doomed our species. Instead, careful planning guided our kind through the dangerous maze of a confined genespace. However, a thousand years have passed. Mutations have arisen, and there’s been enough variation that one race became two—for, you see, sun-dragons and sky-dragons have both grown from this small group of common ancestors. Our race has flourished due to its intelligent design; but, in the long term, nature provides a more powerful shaping force through natural selection.”

  “I thought we were the product of natural selection,” said Graxen. “You yourself taught that we’re descended from the ancient reptiles called dinosaurs.”

  “All lies,” said Metron. “We were created in a laboratory by humans. The first dragons were designed to be hunted by men for entertainment. A thousand years of history have brought the cycle of predator and prey full circle. I shed no tears during the sun-dragon’s ritualistic hunt of humans.”

  “Humans… created us?” said Nadala. “How?”

  “It’s difficult to believe, I know,” said Metron. “Still, you would have to be blind not to recognize that mankind was once the dominant species on this world. A thousand years ago, they had access to technologies we can only imagine. The brutes who now toil in the fields once strode this world like gods.”

  “This is difficult to accept,” said Nadala.

  “Early biologians worked hard to obscure the facts surrounding dragon origins. I don’t expect two minutes of truth to overturn a millennium of lies. However, it’s not important. The important thing now is that I see the matriarch. I alone may convince her that our race no longer requires her guidance to thrive.”

  Graxen took Nadala’s fore-talon once more and looked into her eyes. “I believe him,” he said. “He wants to change the world. And it’s a world I would like to live in. However, the choice is yours. If you want to run, escape together beyond the mountains, we shall. If you want to stay and try to help Metron see the matriarch, I will be by your side as well.”

  “She’ll kill him,” said Nadala. “This is foolish.”

  “More than foolish,” said Metron. “It’s very close to insanity.”

  “We cannot fly to the island,” Nadala said.

  “No,” said Metron. “But, there’s a tunnel leading into the heart of the Nest. I traveled through it often, but time has washed its exact location from my memory. If I were inside it, I could find my way to the matriarch. You wouldn’t even need to accompany me.”

  “If you go alone, you won’t survive,” said Nadala. “I’m a valkyrie. I won’t shy away from a just course of action simply because it’s dangerous. I know of the tunnel.”

  She turned to Graxen. “Whatever this insanity is that drives you, I’m infected as well. Perhaps a single night of courage can change the future. Yet we must not lie to ourselves: taking Metron into the Nest will likely lead to our deaths.”

  Graxen nodded. He squeezed her fore-talon tightly. “With you at my side, I don’t fear death.”

  Nadala rubbed her cheek against his, holding it there for a long moment. He savored this touch, this tenderness. When she pulled away her eyes were soft, glistening, yet shining with determination.

  “I do fear death,” she whispered. “But I cherish you more than life. You’re a cause worth dying for. I’ll take you through the tunnel.”

  Chapter Twenty:

  One Day Love

  “I welcome you to the abode of the goddess,” said Gabriel. The timbre and cadence of his voice had a songlike quality. “You came here searching for Zeeky. As you see, she is unharmed.”

  “And what of Jandra?” Hex asked as he lowered his long jaws to within inches of Gabriel’s hat brim. As the sun-dragon spoke, Gabriel’s silvery locks fluttered.

  Bitterwood watched the angel carefully. Gabriel showed no sign of being intimidated by Hex. Indeed, against the backdrop of the white jungle flowers blooming in the trees behind him, Gabriel’s androgynous face looked positively serene.

  Gabriel answered calmly, “Jandra was invited to commune more closely with the goddess. I assure you, she hasn’t been harmed. She will return to you soon.”

  “It didn’t look like an invitation to me,” Hex said. “It looked like an attack; an obscenity was used. I want Jandra returned now, unharmed, or…”

  “Or?” said Gabriel, his pearly teeth gleaming as he smiled. “Choose your words carefully, dragon.”

  Bitterwood moved down the steps, clearing a path for Hex to take action. He glanced toward Zeeky, still standing near Trisky. If combat broke out, he could quickly reach her and move her to safety. The ju
ngle behind her was thick with ancient trees. Perhaps he could find a safe place for her amid the branches.

  He assumed that if Hex attacked Gabriel, Adam and Trisky would fight on the angel’s side. Bitterwood felt no loyalty toward Hex, but he also knew that Gabriel was lying. Jandra hadn’t been invited anywhere; she’d been taken away by force. If a fight broke out, was he prepared to take Hex’s side? Even if it meant standing against his own son?

  From Hex’s tone, a fight seemed increasingly likely: “Don’t threaten me, angel. You would do well to remember the Ballad of Belpantheron. Dragons long ago evicted angels from the domain of the earth. History is on my side should we come to blows. Tell your goddess to return Jandra. Now.”

  Gabriel’s beatific face hardened. Bitterwood stepped closer to Zeeky. Adam’s hand rested on his crossbow, his eyes fixed on the sun-dragon. Trisky paid no attention to the fight, munching contentedly on the handful of grass that Zeeky held out to the copper-colored long-wyrm.

  Suddenly, a disembodied voice once more rang through the air.

  “There’s no need for this argument,” the goddess said. Her voice was an ethereal thing. The syllables sounded almost as if formed by chance from the noise of leaves rustling in the breeze, the buzzing of bees, and the soft cries of distant birds. Yet as she continued, the words became more human, and gained more directionality. Bitterwood looked toward the entrance to the temple as the voice said, “You are all my guests. Jandra is unharmed.”

  The goddess emerged onto the temple stairs. She had reverted to a mostly human appearance, clad in a long flowing gown of spun emerald. Her skin looked liked flawless marble and her hair curled down her back in stony locks. She was ten feet tall, towering above even her angel, Gabriel.

  There was a movement further in the temple, half-concealed behind the goddess’s statuesque frame. Jandra stepped from behind the goddess. Her helmet gleamed with the blue of the artificial sky overhead. She raised her hand in a wave, looking mildly embarrassed at the commotion she had caused.