by Marc Secchia
Zaranna gulped in the face of his fiery wrath. Did she not, most of all, want him to leave so that she could stew upon her bruised feelings? Yet she needed his knowledge. Jesafion’s need was greater than her own. Kesuu’s Tribe required a new home. Righting her wrongdoings and warning the Pegasi – all of these came far above what she recognised now as simple, rotten selfishness. Yes, she hurt. Take it on the chin, Inglewood. Deal with life’s knocks, even minor ones such as freight trains ploughing through cars …
“Illume, today you saved my life and hundreds of others,” she soothed. “I am so grateful, it aches. What I want … I don’t know how to say this. Maybe, your word as a Dragon, however you swear upon your Soul-name or whatever, that you will strive to … to …”
“Treat the Dreamer with integrity and honour?” he rumbled.
“Exactly. And to tell the truth, as best you know it.”
His smile, the upward curve of the corner of his mouth, was as tentative as hers. “Only if I may extract a promise from you, Dreamer.”
“Oh?”
She voiced a one-syllable challenge, Illume’s inner fires echoed her tone. He growled, “Aye, a promise – that you will strive to treat all parties fairly, from the strongest to the weakest, and that you will bind your Dreaming power to no favourite. By which, I include Dragons. This will be a difficult course to navigate, Dreamer. And I request the privilege of challenging you if I see you leaning awry, as boldly as you have challenged me.”
She thought this over, before saying, “I so swear … upon my heritage, I guess … and upon this gift of Dreaming which has been granted to me, and by all I hold sacred.”
A thread of butterflies departed her mouth as she spoke, making Zaranna stumble over her words, but she observed that the motes in Illume’s eyes stilled as she spoke, as though even the magical fires of his inner Dragon-life heeded her oath.
The Dragon echoed, “And I, Illume the Stars of the Bluewing Dragon Clan, swear to serve and mentor you wholeheartedly, Zaranna, and to speak truth and act with my utmost integrity in all our dealings. This I swear by the sacred crys – by the sacred fires of the Dragonkind.”
Sacred crystals, did he mean to say? One part of Zaranna’s mind filed this snippet – duplicity even at the moment of a holy vow? The rest of her was captivated by the wonder of carmine-and-yellow butterflies mingling in the space between them, briefly forming the separate images of a Horse and Dragon to the accompaniment of a wild song of unfathomable beauty, before the images collapsed together and vanished. Her whole body tingled, every hair standing on end as though electrified. Then her mane, forelock and tail swished into their usual places. The music left a void in her soul. A dark void, even more inexplicably, filled by specks of fire exactly like Illume’s, swirling at hypnotic, hypersonic speeds.
They sighed in perfect unison.
Seemingly deeply moved, the Dragon stammered, “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of Dragonkind and Equine sharing oaths in this manner … I-I … I’m speechless.”
Zaranna could not resist. “You, o majestic exponent of the tortuously creative insult?”
The tenor of Illume’s glance and answering laughter told Zaranna he thought she had missed the significance of the moment entirely. She had not, but like him, had no earthly idea what it meant.
Shortly, the great Dragon rumbled, “Indeed, I must meditate upon this development. Now listen closely, Dreamer. I shall attempt to be brief – and no disbelieving snorts from you. Insolent Equine! The draco-centric creation legend goes thusly, in its simplest form.”
“Untold aeons before our time, before life existed as we know it, the great proto-draconic spirits swam amidst the streaming matter and energies of the Universe, and their names were Daikon, the Blue Dragon of Order, Tuzazz the Black, of Darkness and Chaos, Magioran the Red Dragon of Fire, and Aphasia the Green Mystic, Sage of Life. I shall not dwell upon their mighty deeds of paw, or upon the exceeding magnificence of their form and magic, but simply say this: that Order and Life did struggle mightily with Fire and Chaos, and in this struggle was the voice of the Universe’s endless raging and tumult. Daikon and Aphasia did love each other with a fierce, eternal love, and in the course of time, determined to create for themselves, for their pleasure and delight, a haven away from the destructive influences of Tuzazz with her love of Chaos, and Magioran, who delighted in the annihilating power of his matchless Dragon-Fires.”
“Thus, Aphasia from her womb did give birth to the worlds we know, and she and Daikon did labour mightily and in secret to populate these worlds with fantastical creatures and places of grandeur that might draw creature-souls to beauty and knowledge of the infinite, and to design all the manifold expressions of life’s complexity and wonder – and you will agree, their work is astounding, surpassing imagination.”
Zaranna nodded eagerly. “And Equinox? What of Equinox?”
“Patience, youngling,” he reproved. “Daikon and Aphasia did give generously of their own life to create this life, for they breathed into each creature a small portion of their spirit – the fire of Dragons, the air of Equines, the water of creatures of the rivers and oceans, the song of Crystals, and so on. Life is costly, you see, and precious. It does not stem from nothingness, as those nihilist idiots would argue in their vociferous denials of … GRRRR …”
“What happened to Daikon and Aphasia?” she prompted gently.
“What? Daikon and who?” he growled. “Oh, yes, yes. But in the giving of their spirits, Daikon and Aphasia were fatally weakened. Tuzazz and Magioran bided their time, but soon they attacked and cast many worlds into the outer darkness; their battles raged for thousands of years, affecting all life, spreading disease and destruction and warring and seeding chaotic magic amongst the good. At last Aphasia formulated a desperate plan. From her womb she birthed one more world, the world of Equinox, and set about it a veil of mighty magic, which some call the birth-membrane of this world. And she and her beloved Daikon shaped this world into the pinnacle of their creative endeavours, and placed their children here, the Dragonkind, beneath the powerful protection of equinoctial magic. And into and through this world all magic and life flows, ceaselessly purified and renewed, through the very portals the Hooded Wizard seeks to close.”
“Equinox therefore functions very much like a heart, or a liver, for the Universe’s magic,” said the Dragon, clearly expecting Zaranna to be bowled over by this clever analogy.
“Amazing,” she breathed.
“Of course the whole design is very much more incredible, intricate and far-reaching than that!” Illume cried in response, waving his paws excitedly. “But that is the fundamental concept. Magic lives and flows and grows – like storms, or rivers or oceans – in enormous cosmic streams that defy description or comprehension, that make even the mightiest draconic spirit bow in awe and sing worshipful Dragonsong …” Again, he shivered, and the colour of his eye-motes became effulgent, like fiery white pearls. “Oh, Zaranna! It stirs the very chiming chords of my draconic soul … and all this, is your heritage.”
Suddenly, the business end of his fore-talon addressed her nose and, not for the first time, he was being a Lizard of Massive Obtuseness. Well, Illume was clearly highly intelligent, but he did tend to jump around like a crazed grasshopper in his conversational asides.
“As in, daughter of the … uh, my Mom and Dad? My genetic heritage?”
Whoa. Down, tongue, and stop behaving like a bucking bronco!
“No, you silly nosebag, your Dreaming.” Back to standard-Illume complimentary mode. “Your heritage is to take your rightful place amidst this cosmological conundrum, to restore the rightful flow of magic through Equinox and to defeat the Hooded Wizard and heal our world and thereby bind the paws of Tuzazz and Magioran for all the aeons of the future!”
Uh … phew. Her glittering, numinous fate was about as comprehensible as a lake-full of that swamp Illume had been hiding within. Marvellous.
She pursed her lips. “Hrrr. So, Dre
amers are good? Protectors of all … that you said?”
“Good? I only wish,” growled the Dragon.
“And even Equinox has come under the corrupting influence of chaos – is that why you have Earthen Fires and chaotic storms and oh, Illume, is that swamp part of this bad magic which has polluted even Sentalia Vale itself, and what were you doing in that swamp anyway?”
“Being a great deal less muddled than you,” he retorted, with a smoky chuckle.
“Fair enough. Do you blame me?”
“That’s three ‘ayes’ and a punishment, little filly.”
Zaranna blinked.
“Yes, shiver my wings, the Earthen Fires arise from the heart of Tuzazz’ and Magioran’s magic. Earthen Fires corrupt good Sky-Fires and equinoctial magic, which has led to barrenness and poisoning of the land itself, even in the heart of sacred Pegasus territory. That swamp is a symptom of the world’s weeping, a bleeding heart-sore, a direct result of the depredations of the last Dreamer. She was the Russet-Earth Clan Pegasus Loxithia, who bent her powers to the elevation of the Pegasi. She was their absolute ruler, of course. She planned for the Pegasi to invade many worlds, my girl.” The talon wagged at her. “Does your world have legends of Dragons, giants, Pegasi and fairies?”
“Yes, Earth does.” Zaranna ducked the unthinking swipe of his talon, which trimmed a couple of hairs off her left ear. Perhaps now was not the time to mention the Middle Ages fondness for knights hunting Dragons. Now? Never would do nicely.
“So you hail from Earth, a mudball named for the dust and soil you supposed Humans – which I don’t believe for an iota of a second, may I remind you – and even you know these things. See? That proves my case. Equinox is the epicentre of the magical universe.”
Right. Yols could have deconstructed Illume and his argument into their respective component parts. Zaranna would have to settle for remaining unconvinced.
Pricking up her ears, she said, “And the swamp? Odd place for a Dragon’s rest.”
“Oh, the swamp. Punishment, as I said, for killing the last Dreamer.”
“Whaaaaa …” she wheezed.
“What? Lopped her head right off her shoulders,” gushed the Blue Dragon, illustrating with another talon-swipe that hissed past her ears. “Snick-snap-whoosh! Glorious!”
“Whhooo …”
“Who? That vile Loxithia, of course. Stop flattening those ears and listen properly whilst I educate you in the realities of Equinox’s history. And sit up straight when I speak!”
All Zaranna could think was that she had just exchanged oaths with a murderer. And her class teacher was a ninety-three foot intelligent lizard with a disturbing predilection for chargrilling his snacks – or enemies. Heavens, imagine a Dragon teaching her Grade Eleven class? She was quite certain misbehaviour would cease to be an issue. Instantly.
Straightaway, Illume began to teach her about Loxithia. She had risen from a low-status Pegasus Clan and with unmatched cunning, first set the higher Equine Clans at each other’s throats before stepping in as the wise mediator and peacemaker to broker a solution where she became the de facto leader. A swift and brutal series of assassinations followed over a period of two seasons, blamed on Human Wizards, which culminated in Loxithia assuming the reins of power for the good of all Pegasi. Hailed by many as a true-blood saviour, her popularity waxed as massively as did her Pegasus army, and she expanded Pegasus control aggressively across a number of strategically important Vales before taking the step of initiating the first Wizard War with the Humans, seeking to break their power.
The Humans in turn treated with Illume, leader of the Dragons, for aid, promising to gift them Syntoi-Ix Vale, a place Illume described as ‘where the Sky-Fires came to earth’, regarded by the Dragonkind as a holy site and the nexus of many Dragon-capable Safeways. Another intriguing nugget for Zaranna to file away in her unreliable cranium. Yet in the very same breath, the Wizards stole Dragon technology and know-how to create a new generation of powerful Dragonstones. They never had any intent of handing Syntoi-Ix to the Dragons, Illume spat.
The rest was history. Together, the Dragons and Wizards brought Loxithia down and humbled the Pegasi. Illume, in a glorious battle he described at length, delivered the final, fatal blow to Loxithia. Then the politicians took over. The Wizards wasted not even a single sun-flare in betraying the Dragonkind and renewed war burst upon the Vales like an equinoctial storm. While they fought, a new leader of the Pegasi leaped into the power vacuum and established his rule – Jesafion’s ancestor, three generations back. The Dragons were defeated and cast down, tasting for the first time the terrible power of these new Dragonstones. Unable to resist the Wizards and driven to attack their own kind, the Dragons abandoned their former territories and withdrew behind the great barriers of magic, to the Beyond where even Pegasi would not dare to fly.
The Dragons held Illume responsible for this debacle, and banished him for a hundred years.
“Yet you did no wrong,” Zaranna said, appalled.
“A Dragon Elder’s mantle is not just glory,” rumbled the old Dragon. “Leadership carries responsibility, Plains filly. I trusted the Wizards. I took them at their word – the lure of Syntoi-Ix was too great. I chose banishment rather than see Dragons fight once more over the leadership. And I knew a new Dreamer would rise – I just never expected to hibernate for decades.”
“I’m sorry, Illume.”
“Thou art tardy, but most welcome,” he chuckled, misunderstanding what she wished to communicate. “Now, filly, we have half a flare until dawn. Interrogate me as you wish. Ask the difficult, nasty questions. I will take no insult. But at dawn, I must fly.”
“Your position amongst the Dragons remains delicate?”
“Like gossamer in a breeze.”
* * * *
After Illume the Stars departed, the morning’s travel brought them to the shores of a vast lava lake, where gleaming yellow and orange magma-ponies, creatures the size of small dogs, skittered across the bubbling surface, playing amongst the fires and flares. The Outland Humans eyed this phenomenon with the utmost suspicion; Zaranna, with delight. Imagine dreaming and manifesting as a magma-pony? The heat was ferocious, both underfoot and from the skies, magnified by a seething lava lake forty miles wide. In the early afternoon, a storm swept over the lake, a mighty torrent of Storm-Pegasi pouring through the heat in waves of black, flashing hooves and tossing manes, and the lightning steeds battled with the magma-ponies across the heaving surface, creating an awesome spectacle of fireworks that combined lightning and flame in rising whirlwinds and massed attacks one upon the other.
Kesuu carefully led the people as far as possible from the lake shore. Despite the lack of shelter, there was no immediate danger, for the storm appeared to be confined to the area above the lake.
That afternoon, Zaranna fainted from the heat and landed badly, spraining her foreleg. All she could do was ease the pain with her magic and limp on. She slept terribly, and failed to dream. Could she lose her ability to dream and be trapped on Equinox?
This fear and her worries about Alex preoccupied Zaranna entirely for the following four days as the Outland Humans hiked over thirty miles per day across the floor of Azoron’s Gorge, only twice having to make major detours where Jesafion’s instructions failed due to a new, impassable lava flow and a volcano which had appeared where none was supposed to be. The unrelenting heat gave the Plains Horse the most awful, persistent migraines she had ever experienced. On the fifth day, she discovered Sanu had been sacrificing her own water ration to give Zara more than her due. They had a stand-up shouting match worthy of the name. The following day, as the Plains Horse trudged on through an endless hell, she began to notice the ground rising by steady degrees.
Sanu said, “I’m not going to carry you up this slope, alright? Keep moving.”
“Brute.”
“One hoof in front of the next.”
Zaranna rasped her bone-dry tongue across cracked, bloodied lips. �
�Bully.”
The girl pulled out her dagger to pick dirt from beneath her fingernails. “How’s about I trim your tongue into a more suitable shape?”
“How’s about I leave a few hoof prints on your intestines?”
Slapping Zaranna’s withers cheerfully, Sanu said, “I predict cool waters and beautiful, lush mountain grass ahead, my friend!”
“Don’t tease …”
How could the time differential work between Earth and Equinox? Surely, she must have slept three days and missed Alex’s demise. She didn’t need to be Yolanda’s rocket-scientist boyfriend to figure out that it made no sense whatsoever – unless one’s consciousness travelled faster than light between Earth and Equinox, and what were the chances of that? She would have to arrive before she set out. Or was she travelling through a psychic or telepathic wormhole? Or was the whole thing a masterwork of her imagination?
But the real miracle, which required no wormholes whatsoever, emerged during the course of that afternoon as the Tribe ascended through layer upon layer of gases and grit and smoke into a realm that felt so blessedly cool, it gave Sanu gooseflesh.
Suddenly, she smelled water. Oh, mercy! With a shrill neigh that startled a hundred warriors into whipping out their daggers and checking the skies for Gryphon-sign and the ground for predators, the Plains Horse burst into an unsteady gallop. As she laboured upslope, angling toward that most beautiful and elusive of smells, she broke through a final cloud layer into a different world, it seemed. Not far ahead, the slopes were carpeted in a distinct layer of green fuzz. Directly ahead, a mighty purple mountain range assaulted the sky – the Chentik Rampart, which hid Chentik Vale beyond. Here they should find the entrance of a secret Safeway, but Zaranna could not have cared less.
Water! Grass! Her stomach’s shouting drowned out all else.
When Sanu finally caught up, Zaranna was standing belly-deep in tall blue river grass alongside an ankle-deep trickle of the freshest, clearest water in creation. Without pause, the girl flung herself down and drank deeply, then tossed her head back with a shout of delight. “Ancestors, it’s cold – my teeth!”
