Aranya growled something unintelligible, deliberately deep in her chest. But she crooked her paw so that Zuziana could use it to step up onto her shoulder. From there she clambered nimbly up into the saddle. Zip fastened the thigh straps through the buckles Nak had carelessly cut off an old leather-bound trunk back in his storeroom. On second thoughts, she fastened the dangling ends with an extra knot. Aranya swung her head around to observe the process.
“Making sure I don’t fall off?” Zip asked.
She sighed so gustily that Zuziana blinked at the breeze she created. Aranya said, “I can’t get it out of my head what Nak said about that Rider falling off into the Cloudlands and his Dragon not even noticing. When the Dragon realised, she flew after him and was never seen again.”
Zip nodded, cinching her waist belt. “I’ll give you something else to worry about, if you like.”
“Oh–don’t.”
“You asked earlier whether or not we’ve been spotted.” Zuziana patted her flank. “I’m in. Let’s fly. I’d be more surprised if we weren’t spotted. The Sylakians must have guessed where we’re headed. A little eastward swing over the desert? That won’t fool them. With these beautiful moons the night’s lit up like the heart of a meriatite furnace. You and I don’t look a whole lot like a Dragonship. Who’s missing from the Tower? Who dropped her Immadian forked daggers on the battlements when she changed into a Dragon?”
Aranya, coiling herself to spring away from the ledge, half-stopped with a gasp of realisation. She very nearly somersaulted over the edge as her forepaws clutched only space. Aranya corrected mid-air with a furious, back-wrenching manoeuvre.
Once she was stable, she hissed, “Sorry.”
Zip said, “I’ll just fix my head back onto my shoulders.”
“Sorry!”
“Joke, Aranya. I should’ve stopped to pick up your daggers. But I was too busy fainting like some vapid party-Princess who forgot to eat before the big dance.”
Dragon-Aranya poured her anger into a long, shallow dive that accelerated them to a wind-whipping velocity. Zip said nothing, although Aranya knew that she must be eating insects back there. She eased into a glide, bleeding off the speed.
Aranya said, “Right, that’s out of my system.”
“Good. Can you see the Crescent yet?”
“Zip, thank you for stating things as they are. You’re no coward and I won’t have you saying it.”
She could almost hear a smile emanating from Zip. “I’m rather fond of having you alive,” Zuziana said. “I’d like to keep you this way. Even if it’s in the form of an ancient reptile.”
“Who needs daggers when you’ve got words, Zip?”
“Aranya, will you promise not to take offence at what I’m going to say?”
“Zip? Er–no offence, of course.”
Zuziana, with a self-deprecating chortle, said, “Back in the Tower, you were so very intense, Aranya–every inch the Princess of Immadia, and about as friendly as those mountains you Immadians claim are so wonderful. You’d disappear into painting for days on end. The way your eyes blazed–it was truly like fire. You scared most of us. I would never have picked you for a friend. But now …”
The massive, striated flight muscles of her shoulders and chest worked steadily as Aranya waited for her friend to continue. The Dragon in her measured Zip’s tiny weight atop her shoulders as almost negligible, but Human-Aranya measured the substance of their friendship with a melancholy inner sigh. She had never had a friend like Zip. She had never had many friends, period. Too intense. Too scary. Too self-absorbed. Now their friendship was developing so many different facets it made her dizzy to think about it. Dragon and Rider. Was this what Nak and Oyda had hinted at?
“I sense a deep joy in you, Aranya,” Zip said, at last. “You’re happy–infectiously so. Perhaps this happens in every person if they’re released into their true form. If they’re allowed to be who they should be. You always were a Dragon. You just needed to know it.”
Aranya pondered this for over a hundred wingbeats. “Thanks, Zip,” she murmured. “But tell me, who would Zuziana of Remoy be?”
“Well, now there’s something to think about, Dragonback, with my hair streaming in the breeze,” her friend said lightly, but she was silent for a long time after that.
A line of jag-toothed Islands slowly spread out before them, peeking from beneath the Cloudlands as though a crescent moon’s mountainous back had lifted from the murky depths; or, Aranya thought, the neck-spines of the most gigantic Dragon in all creation. Every spine was crowned with a fantastic profusion of greenery. Her Dragon sight feasted on the details–the enormous fronds hanging from the sides of the Islands in fringes a thousand feet long, and the canopy of vegetation rising in layer upon layer above each rocky spire until they resembled fantastical mushrooms with long hair hanging from every possible crevice.
A cool airstream, presaging the storm sweeping in from the north, hustled them along on its skirts. Aranya thought to outrun the storm. They shot over Island after moons-lit Island, seeing not a single sign of Human habitation. Rich smells came to her flaring nostrils–damp vegetation, loamy soils, gritty pollens and fragrances she had no names for. Many of the Islands were connected by great looping hanks of leafy vines, easily visible in the bright moonlight. She saw apes the size of houses swinging from them.
“Oraials,” said Zuziana, reading her thoughts.
“Want a closer look?”
“Sure–oh, my stomach. Please don’t fly sideways.”
“I have to turn, Zip.” But Aranya levelled off.
As they drifted past the mammoth primates, both Dragon and Rider gazed in wonder. There was a whole community of the shaggy-haired apes, swinging on the vines, plucking huge melons and eating them, the little ones–who were already bigger than any adult Human–shrieking and hooting as they played among the vines and overarching branches. Suddenly a huge male, perched on a branch, bellowed a warning. He began thumping his chest. The hollow booming instantly broke up the play. Mothers grabbed infants. Juveniles raced for the trees. Within moments, the entire family had vanished into the jungle of their Island.
“Magnificent,” Zip breathed.
Aranya glanced worriedly over her shoulder. Dark cloud-mountains loomed in the night sky, cutting off the moons and stars. “So is that storm. We should find shelter.”
“We can’t just fly above it?”
“Not with you on my back, Zip. There’s a limit to the height Humans can fly before the air becomes too thin and cold. It’s–”
“All fine for her Dragonish highness.” Zuziana chortled at her own pun. “Not much more than a one and a half leagues above the Cloudlands, Nak said, measured by that scientific process known as dead reckoning. Somewhere above two leagues, I turn into a blue icicle and drop off your back.”
Aranya sketched a mid-air bow. “Another inimitable Zip-ism. Help me find a place to land.”
But a landing place proved difficult to find. Because of her inexperience, Aranya was leery about landing amongst the trees. But the Crescent Islands were so enveloped in verdant jungles that she could not find a suitable open space. The wind gusted alarmingly now. Drops of rain smacked her back. Aranya drew her wings closer to her body, struggling to control her flight. A low hissing came to her ears, the sound of rain slashing in diagonally on the squalling winds.
She knew she had made a mistake, getting caught out in the open. In seconds, the rainstorm engulfed them. The downpour blinded her instantly.
“Grab a branch,” Zip shouted.
“I can’t see.”
“Use your outer eyelids separately.”
Aranya only heard half of what Zip yelled at her, but the gist of the idea helped tremendously. Her Dragon brain knew how to operate her inner membranes and outer eyelids discretely. Her vision cleared. Abruptly she lashed her tail, flicking them beneath a hanging vine. Leaves slapped her face. Aranya rolled mid-air, taking Zip out of harm’s way as she scraped and
dodged instinctively through a dense tangle of overlapping vines and shot out the far side, shedding branches and greenery from her wings and tail.
“Zip? Zip?” she called.
“I’m–pah! I’m fine. Nice flying, girl.”
Part of Dragon-Aranya bridled at being called a girl. Strange–it had to be that difference between her two brains that Nak had alluded to. But how did the two forms exist alongside each other? Where was the Human part when she was being a Dragon, and vice versa? Now there was an existential problem to give her a beastly headache.
“Grab that branch, Aranya.”
Zuziana pointed to their left. When Aranya glanced back, it was to see water streaming off her friend. The poor thing, unprotected by Dragon hide, Aranya thought.
“How?” she called back. “I’ll just slip off.”
“How many ten-inch claws does a Dragon have, you nitwit?”
“Oh–right.”
Aranya overshot the first landing she attempted, courtesy of a swirling updraft that bounced her over the branch. She winged past several Islands in the torrential downpour, searching with her Dragon sight for a likely candidate. Ah, there–a titanic bough hanging out over the Cloudlands, which had several bare sections large enough to accommodate a Dragon. Approaching with care, Aranya touched down with all four paws, sinking her claws into the bark. Safe.
“Hold on, Zip. We’re going for a little walk.”
She clambered toward the Island, making sure she had enough claws sunk into the bark at all times to guard against slipping. Soon, they came beneath the overarching canopy and the rain slackened off, filtered by the overhanging greenery.
Zip pointed. “Ooh, big snake.”
“I see it.” Aranya growled at the large constrictor, which beat a hasty retreat. “Trust me, if anything wants to snack on you, they’ll have to get past me first.”
“Ooh, you’re a nice Dragon. There. There’s a dry hollow beside that tree, Aranya, that looks comfy enough.”
“By the mountains of Immadia, have you seen the size of this tree-trunk? It has to be twice as wide as I am long, Zip!”
Zip grinned. “Welcome to the Southern jungles, foreigner.”
Aranya gazed around them at the dense undergrowth. The towering treetops were lost in layer upon layer of foliage. “This is an awful long way from my mountains. I’m glad one of us feels at home.”
There was so much rain that Zip soon complained about water dripping down her neck. Aranya curled up, sheltering her friend in a cocoon created by the curve of her head back toward her body, much like a sleeping cat. She drew her wings overhead, creating a dark space inside which Zip opened their pack and tried to find some dry clothes and a snack. She paused to examine Aranya’s eyes.
“They glow in the dark,” she explained. “Pretty.”
“Pretty? Grr!”
“Fine, I understand,” Zip chirped. “Grr, I’m not a pet. Grr, I’m your friend.”
Aranya felt taken aback to have her emotions read so confidently by her friend. Perhaps this was the growing bond between Dragon and Rider–an unexpected vulnerability that no thickness of Dragon hide or sharpness of claw and fang could guard against.
They chatted for a while, as Zip ate, about how they might penetrate Remoy’s defences without creating danger for Zuziana’s family. Doubtless, Sylakian spies would be thick on the ground and even within the palace. Getting close to King Lorman would be a challenge. But equally, having a trusted go-between only multiplied the danger.
Soon, they both closed their eyes.
* * * *
Aranya awoke when a spear-point prodded her ribs.
Her stirring caused a shriek. Voices babbled around them. Bushes crashed briefly; then all became still. Aranya felt many eyes upon her. She stirred carefully, not wanting to cause any further alarm. A spear pinged her flank, but did not penetrate her hide.
Dragon-Aranya rose and yawned with the intent of displaying her fangs. She scanned the undergrowth. Small dark eyes peered fearfully at her from several places. They probably thought they were hidden, but her Dragon sight picked them out easily. If these were people, they were tiny. She was not worried for herself, but Zip was another matter.
“Pygmies,” Zip whispered. “I didn’t know there were any left. The Sylakians were supposed to have wiped them out a decade ago. Listen, I’m going to talk to them. Watch for spears, will you?”
“You talk Pygmy?”
“Ancient Southern, actually. You talk Immadian dialect, don’t you? I heard you and Beri.”
Zuziana moved out from behind Aryana and began to speak. Fascinating, thought the Dragon. Chirps, whistles and clicks all formed part of the language. A reply came from the bushes, much faster than the Remoyan had managed.
Aranya remembered Beri telling her about Pip, the Pygmy Dragon Shapeshifter. She had been a Pygmy girl, abducted from a Crescent Island much like this one, to a zoo on Sylakia. She had lived seven years in a cage before escaping. Imagine living in a zoo! Those must have been strange days, she thought, a time when Dragons and Humans lived together.
If only it were not all history. She and Pip would have been great friends.
After some discussion, Aranya was startled to see two warriors emerge from the bushes. They were tiny, perhaps only four feet tall, and clad in loincloths. Fantastic, swirling blue tattoos covered every inch of their mahogany skin. They turned to face each other. The slightly taller of the two punched the other in the mouth. Next, they laid down their spears and bows and knelt, facing Zuziana. She showed them her sword and dagger, and laid these beside Aranya’s paw. She moved forward and knelt.
More words passed back and forth.
Presently, the discussion appeared to refer to the Dragon, who narrowed her eyes. She heard the word ‘Remoy’. Another Pygmy appeared out of the bushes, carrying a tiny girl, who was laid in front of Zuziana. She had a suppurating wound to her stomach. More gestures and burbling followed.
Zip returned to Aranya’s side. “So, the warrior who threw the spear has been reprimanded. Now they ask if the mighty Ancient One–” she made droll face “–can touch the girl. They mean you should heal her, I think. I don’t understand the word they’re using, but I think she’s probably some kind of seer or prophetess. For the sake of honour they insist on paying us.”
“Islands’ sakes, aren’t they poor? Wait, Pygmies are good hunters, aren’t they?”
“The best,” said Zip. “But they’re also afraid you might eat the girl.”
“Oh.” Aranya frowned. “Awkward. That explains the hunters in the trees who have their bows trained on us, Zip. I’ve no intention of having you swallow a poisoned arrow. What kind of edible animals do you get in a jungle?”
“Wild pigs?”
“Pig?” There were no pigs on Immadia. “I’ve never tried that before, but Dragon-me fancies the idea. Right. You and I need to put on a little show.”
The Dragon bent down to whisper in her friend’s ear.
Aranya reared up on her hind legs and began to rub and pat her belly with her forelegs, making hungry growls and lip-smacking motions. The dark eyes in the bushes became rounder and rounder as this continued for a while. Then she took a good, long look at Zuziana and sniffed hungrily around her friend, but then turned up her nose and spat sideways in disgust–which rather startled her as a large gobbet of phlegm rocketed into the bushes. By the mountains of Immadia, her new throat was powerful. How far would she be able to shoot Dragon flame?
Zip began to make very realistic pig noises. Chortling arose from the bushes. Reminding herself to tease Zip about her skills later, Aranya began to lick her lips with her long, violently purple, forked Dragon tongue. The message was perfectly clear. Two hunters immediately rushed off into the surrounding jungle.
Aranya inquired, “Do I try to heal her now, Zip?”
The Princess of Remoy shook her head. “I’m not sure. I think we should wait until we’re invited.”
“This jungle is
completely impenetrable,” said Aranya, looking about. “How did the Sylakians ever defeat the Pygmies?”
“When I learned the history of the southern Islands, it was always explained to me that the Sylakians used the Pygmy hunters from one tribe to lead their warriors to the other rival tribes, and to track down any survivors. They annihilated these people. The man who threw the spear says he thought I was Sylakian. The elder told him he was a fool to attack an Ancient One. Apparently, they venerate Dragons.”
“Ooh, every girl needs a little worship in her life.”
Zuziana made a disgusted noise.
After an hour or thereabouts, as evening began to shade the jungle and the noises of animals on the prowl began to sound around them, the hunters returned with a small but fine wild pig. Without ceremony, they threw the dead pig to Aranya.
“Taste it and look pleased,” Zuziana ordered. “Then heal her before you finish eating.”
Aranya bent to taste the pig. “Um, not bad. Strong and a bit salty. Zip, I’ve never tried healing in my Dragon form.”
“Nak told me that Dragon magic–your healing magic and fire–should be easier in your Dragon form. In theory.”
“Right.”
“You did a first-rate job on me. No, don’t be silly. You healed your wing as a Dragon, didn’t you?”
“So I did.”
Zip said briskly, earning herself a growl, “At least try to engage the brain, beast.”
Aranya bent to her task. It was different as a Dragon. Under the beady eyes of a dozen Pygmy warriors clustered around her and many more in the trees, she laid her paw lightly upon the girl and centred her full concentration to the task. Nothing happened. She searched her memories and tried to push power out of her, like she had pushed the fire at Garthion. That did not work. But the image of opening a door in her mind did work, rather suddenly. It was a strange sensation–not so much about strength, as before when she had helped Zuziana, but something else. Something vital, she felt. Hopefully it could be replenished.
She lifted her paw.
The tiny Pygmy girl’s eyes flickered. She said something. Aranya jumped as the warriors burst into a frenzy of chest-slapping and hooting.
Aranya (Shapeshifter Dragons) Page 15
