by Kate Forsyth
‘Is that why the palace o’ the dragons is at Dragonclaw, because the mountain is warm?’
‘The dragons live deep down in the belly o’ the mountain where the stone walls and floor are warm. The palace is where they come to meet their guests. No human or faery is allowed past the surface halls. Even I have never done more than try to peep past the gate.’
The baby dragon slithered out of the loch, steam rising from her gilded back and water streaming everywhere. She was a bright green-gold and smaller even than the injured dragon, only twenty feet long from nose to tail-tip. Her eyes gleamed topaz, and she bounded along rather like a colt, her sinuous body undulating gracefully.
Meghan made the dragon a deep bow, but the youngest and smallest of all the dragons merely yawned and sent a few childish sounding thoughts to Meghan’s mind. I will take thou wherever thou wishes, she said. My wings need a good stretch and I can fit both Khan’derin and thee on my back. Mother says thou saved my brother from the evil soldiers, and for that I thank thee, though he be so rude most of the time. My name is Caillec Asrohc Airi Telloch Cas.
Asrohc! Khan’derin exclaimed.
It is permitted, Khan’derin. Mother said I could. Besides, thou hast already said it so thou canst hardly lecture me!
Khan’derin again flushed red, and Meghan stared at her scars in silent curiosity. Suddenly she was so tired she thought the ground was moving faintly beneath her feet.
‘Come, eat some food to fill your stomach afore we go,’ Khan’derin said. ‘The first time on dragonback can be truly fearful.’
As Khan’derin spoke she was harnessing the dragon princess with a complicated method of straps and padding that would give the humans something to hold onto and keep them from falling. Once the harness was strapped on to her approval, she laid out on a cloth some freshly baked bread and soft cheese, dried bellfruit and a flask of herbed water. Meghan ate thankfully, conscious of the steady gazes of girl and dragon alike, and trying to nerve herself for the flight. The tall girl eyed Meghan’s woollen dress and plaid, then stripped off her furs. Underneath she was wearing breeches and a jerkin, both made from soft, white leather.
‘It is very cold on dragonback, auld mother. Ye must wear my furs.’
Meghan eyed the white skins in horror, and shook her head. Although her hand-woven plaid had strands of white geal’teas fur entwined through the fabric, the fur had been gathered from where it had caught on thorntrees on the mountainside. Meghan could no more wear the skin of a dead animal than she could that of a dead human. Her stomach roiled at the very thought, and she continued to shake her head, despite Khan’derin’s repeated offer. The girl looked at her in surprise then shrugged and put the furs back on. She then strapped a short crossbow to her back, slung a quiver of arrows over one shoulder, and pulled on a pair of leather gloves lined with white fur. Against the grey of the stone and the blue of the morning sky, she was a dazzling figure.
As soon as Meghan had eaten, Khan’derin vaulted onto Asrohc’s back. She held down a hand for Meghan, who clambered up, using the dragon’s knee as a step. She only had time to tie the strap around her waist and take a deep breath, before being jerked forward as Asrohc launched off. Suddenly all the world was tilting below her, vaster than Meghan could ever have imagined, and far too far below for any degree of comfort. Behind them snowy peaks curved into a wide blue haze; over Asrohc’s crested head she could see the green valleys of the Sithiche Mountains and, far far away, a glitter that could only be the Rhyllster winding its way to the sea. The cold pierced her like a dagger, and she huddled her woollen plaid closer around her head and shoulders, and tried to keep her skirts from swirling up in the wind. Gitâ, huddled deep in her pocket as always, gave a protesting squeak, his sharp claws digging through her clothes.
Asrohc turned and dived, and Meghan’s heart plummeted into her boots as the horizon blurred. For one awful moment she was afraid she would lose her breakfast. Then Asrohc’s dive steadied, and she circled the peak several times before again plunging at a rate that had Meghan’s cheeks wobbling and her long iron-grey plait streaming behind like another dragon tail.
Let us go and see what my brothers have been up to, Asrohc said exuberantly, and raced around a jagged corner of Dragonclaw as if wanting to see how close her wing tips could go to the mountain.
The sight around the corner sickened Meghan. The wide, snowy meadow that she had laboured up that moonlit night a week ago was now strewn with the dead and dying bodies of the Red Guards. More than three hundred bodies lay there, their cloaks no redder than the bloodied snow, their bodies torn and charred beyond recognition. Three of the great bronze males were snacking on some of the corpses, a sight which made Meghan sick to the stomach. She leant over Asrohc’s shoulder and vomited into the air, causing the dragon to screech and whip her wing away.
‘I thought they were your enemies,’ Khan’derin shouted into the wind.
‘They were,’ Meghan said, trying to wipe her mouth without loosening her grip on the dragon.
‘Then why do ye weep and sigh and empty your stomach at their death? Is this no’ what ye wanted?’
‘Aye,’ Meghan said grimly. ‘This is what I wanted. Now I am sure that blaygird times are with us!’
A little taken aback that Meghan did not find the full-scale slaughter as interesting and exciting as she did, Asrohc turned away from the sight and flew steadily over the shoulder of Dragonclaw, heading due north. Meghan had a brief glimpse of her secret valley, its loch shining green in the morning light, then they were over the high range and swooping down the other side of the mountain. Meghan peered down, seeing a wide snow-covered valley split by a river which wound away to the north. All around was peak after glittering peak of snowy mountains, where the slopes would stay white all year. In the centre of the valley was a thorny forest.
‘That is the Cursed Valley below. From here ye can just see the tops o’ the Towers. Can ye see them?’ Khan’derin said.
Wondering at her words, Meghan strained to see but her eyes were old, and all she could see were trees. They began the descent, both shivering in the cold wind that blew straight off the ice plains to the north. ‘What is the Cursed Valley?’
‘Do ye no’ ken? Are ye no’ a Tower witch?’
‘Indeed, I was when there were Towers,’ Meghan replied. ‘But they are all gone now.’
‘No’ all,’ Khan’derin replied.
The small dragon dropped them at the foot of the northern Great Stairway, explaining that she could not fly closer because of the thickness of the forest, which would tear her fragile wings. Besides, I am forbidden to fly very far from the Circle yet, and we have a pact with the prides not to frighten their herds.
Meghan wondered how old the dragon was. The princess answered her unspoken thought, saying I am only a kitten, almost a hundred years old. I am the last of the dragons to be born, and mother says I must be careful, for all the other females are now getting too old to breed and so it is up to me to have many eggs.
How auld must ye be to breed? Meghan asked, and the dragon answered, I am almost old enough now, though I mislike most of the young males, who do not treat me with the respect I deserve.
As the dragon launched her sinuous green body in the air again, Khan’derin went behind a bush and dragged out a long, curved sled. Longer than her body, curved at either end and painted with the design of a ferocious red dragon, the wooden board must have been heavy, but she handled it with ease and dexterity. In the sled was a satchel of the same supple white leather as her breeches, and she rummaged inside, pulling out a variety of oddly shaped weapons and tools that she strapped tightly in place on her belt.
Meghan, feeling as finely drawn as a newly spun thread, sat down with her back to the great arch. She stared at the scrolled carving decorating the stone walls. Between every triptych was a device she recognised from her climb up the Stairway—two roses etched in waving lines of thorns. She studied these closely, wondering yet again what thei
r significance was.
‘Do ye ken what the pictures in the stone mean?’ she asked the girl.
‘Some,’ Khan’derin answered. ‘They were carved by the Red, o’ course.’
‘Why o’ course?’
‘Why, the roses and thorns,’ Khan’derin said in surprise, and Meghan nodded slowly. She remembered being taught the early history of Eileanan as a child, and how the Thirteen Towers had been established. There had been one, she recollected vaguely, or rather two, called the Towers of Roses and Thorns. They had been ruined long, long ago. There had been some tragedy, she remembered, and the Towers were lost.
‘The Red? Who is the Red?’
‘The Red Sorcerer,’ Khan’derin replied.
Meghan had learnt her history more than four hundred years ago, and much of it had been rewritten since the Day of Betrayal, so that it was hard to remember what was real and what was not. ‘There were brother and sister sorcerers, were there no’? Who came up into the Spine o’ the World and built their Towers there. Was one o’ those the Red?’
‘They were both the Red,’ Khan’derin said. ‘Or so I’ve been taught.’
‘Tìrlethan!’ Meghan said, and Khan’derin flashed her a strange, hostile look. ‘Of course. This place is Tìrlethan, now, is it no’? Dragonclaw marks the boundary on the map. Land o’ the Twins. They were twins, and red-haired too!’
‘Twins are forbidden,’ Khan’derin said in a stifled voice. Meghan looked at her aghast. ‘One is always left in sacrifice to the White Gods. That is another reason why the Firemaker was so troubled by my finding. What if I was in geas to the White Gods? But the dream told her to take me and so she did.’
‘But why are twins forbidden?’
‘There can only be one Firemaker.’
‘So the … Firemaker … is one o’ a set o’ twins?’
‘My great-grandmother says twins are always born to the Firemakers, and they are always red-headed. They are usually a boy and a girl; I have only ever heard o’ two female twins being born once before. But then, twins are no’ thought a polite subject to discuss. They are considered bad luck among the prides.’
Seeing the hard planes of her face and the thin line of the scars, Meghan realised she would have to tread gently with this strange girl, who looked so like Isabeau but was not like her at all. ‘Please tell me your story,’ she said. ‘I ken I am a stranger to ye and naught but an auld woman, but ye see, I have raised a lass who looks exactly like ye. I think your story will fill many holes in my understanding.’
Khan’derin looked her over and slowly nodded. ‘Indeed, it is a strange story. Ye must rest a little while I speak, for your cheeks are white, auld mother.’ She sat down on the stone platform, crossed her legs, and turned her palms upwards in her lap. She took a few deep breaths, visibly calming and composing herself. When she spoke, it was not in her natural tone of voice, but in an oddly sing-song manner. ‘Many years ago, at the height o’ the Dragon-Star, I was found on the slopes o’ the Cursed Peaks by the Firemaker o’ the Fire-Dragon Pride—’ she began.
‘I’m sorry, but I am no’ sure what all these terms mean,’ Meghan interrupted. Khan’derin explained that the Dragon-Star was the comet that had been flaming in their skies in recent days, and that the Cursed Peaks were the mountains on whose back they were now sitting.
As Meghan nodded, Khan’derin said, ‘May I recommence?’ Meghan smiled and Khan’derin began her story again. ‘Many years ago, at the height o’ the Dragon-Star, I was found on the slopes o’ the Cursed Peaks by the Firemaker, who had been sent a dream. In her dream she was told to come to the Cursed Peaks, and she saw there two roses, white and red as they are in the Cursed Valley, threaded through a magic talisman that was sometimes a triangle and sometimes a star. Waking the next morning she remembered the dream and so she set out alone to travel the high roads to the Cursed Valley. There she found me, half dead from exposure, and with me were my dragoneye jewel and my sheyeta. The Firemaker realised then that I was the babe o’ her grandson, he who was long lost in the land o’ sorcerers.’
‘How did she ken that?’ Meghan asked, and saw anger cross Khan’derin’s thin face. For a moment she would not answer then said reluctantly, ‘Because o’ the red, o’ course’.
Meghan was puzzled, but Khan’derin had already moved on. ‘And I had the dragoneye.’ She pulled off her white leather glove to show the wood witch the ring she wore there. ‘The dragons had given my father, Khan’gharad the Dragon-Laird, the stones long ago, and he had taken them with him when he left the pride. Such stones are very rare in my land and highly prized, as they are known as a mark o’ favour from the dragons.’
Meghan nodded to show her understanding. Khan’derin recomposed herself, and continued in the curious sing-song voice: ‘The Firemaker realised that I was the child o’ her grandson, he who was long lost in the land o’ sorcerers, and so she took me back with her to the pride and there I was nurtured and taught the way o’ the People. This brought much consternation to the Pride o’ the Fighting Cat, who had long expected the daughter o’ Khan’fella to inherit—’
‘Who was she?’
Khan’derin paused for a long moment, eyes downcast, fingers clenched, then said, in a normal tone of voice, ‘She was my great-grandmother’s sister, rescued from the Gods o’ White by our enemy the Fighting Cats. She challenged for the godhead when the Firemaker, my great-grandmother’s mother, died. My great-grandmother defeated her in tests o’ power and the pretender died, showing the Gods o’ White had accepted her as sacrifice. Her death should have ended the question, but she had had twin daughters, while my great-grandmother’s daughter died in childbirth, and she had only a son, my father. One of Khan’fella’s daughters was given to the Gods o’ White, of course, but one still lives.’
‘So your aunt—the daughter o’ the one who died—she claims the … inheritance, because she is descended from a straight line o’ daughters?’ Meghan asked.
Khan’derin flashed her a glance. ‘Aye.’
‘But ye are the direct descendant o’ the existing Firemaker, and so ye think ye are the heir?’
‘Aye.’
‘And so the Firemaker is like our banrìgh?’
‘I do no’ ken. The Firemaker leads and protects the prides, and settles disputes between them. She can bring fire when there is darkness, and she can command the birds and beasts o’ the Spine. She can even speak with dragons and, as ye ken, sometimes fly them, as I do, and my father afore me. Her word is law, her decision final. The Auld Mothers and the Scarred Warriors may speak to her, but they may no’ cross her or thwart her wish. That is why I am the heir, because the Firemaker wills it so.’
‘So she is a witch?’ Meghan asked, and saw a strange look cross the girl’s face.
‘I do no’ ken much o’ ye witches,’ she responded. ‘I ken anyone who has power can be taught but that is no’ the case with the Firemaker. The Firemaker’s daughter will in time become the next Firemaker, and so will her daughter. If there is no daughter to carry on the line, then the eldest daughter o’ a son, though that is considered very sad, and has happened only once. There has never been two o’ the Red afore; at least, no’ since the Red Sorcerers themselves.’
‘I think I see,’ Meghan said thoughtfully. ‘So when your great-grandmother found ye, it meant there were two contenders for the throne.’
‘The discovery o’ the child o’ Khan’gharad brought much consternation to the Pride o’ the Fighting Cat—’
‘Aye, I got that bit,’ Meghan said impatiently. ‘Ye were saying they did no’ believe ye were really Khan’gharad’s daughter and thought your great-grandmother was trying to foist an imposter on the prides so the Fighting Cat one would no’ inherit. What happened then?’
This time the look of reproach was closer to anger. ‘The Firemaker showed the prides the dragoneye ring, and as I grew I had to show I could summon fire, for that is something no-one but the Firemaker’s get can do.’ Meghan pursed her lip
s thoughtfully. ‘On the eve o’ my eighth birthday, when the Dragon-Star was again crossing our skies, another dream was given to the Firemaker, and though she shook with fear she obeyed the dream and brought me to the foot o’ the ancient road between our land and that o’ the dragons. I was instructed to climb the stairway, and so came into the land o’ the dragons. At first a fear and a trembling possessed me, for the dragons spoke to me and told me I was to go to the Cursed Valley and live there in the Towers for one half o’ every year, to tend the sleeping sorceress and to study in the libraries. I was very afraid, for it was well known that the Towers o’ Roses and Thorns are evil, filled with ghosts and wailings. I was also sad because in the spring o’ the Dragon-Star the People travel to the Skull o’ the World for the Gathering, to barter and trade, and to organise weddings. There is much feasting and festivities, and I had heard much but never been, for the previous Gathering had been the year I was born. However, the Firemaker said I had a geas laid upon me, and that I must accept it, as is fitting. So for the past eight years I have spent the spring and summer months at the Towers of Roses and Thorns, studying and learning.’
‘And are there ghosts?’
‘Indeed, aye, and sometimes very terrible they are too.’
‘What sort o’ ghosts?’
‘The ghosts o’ rage and grief,’ Khan’derin replied. ‘Come, auld mother, it is still a long way to the Towers and we must be there afore sunset.’
Meghan sat on the sled, as directed by her companion, who tied her on with long leather straps. Gitâ burrowed deep into Meghan’s pocket and stayed there, complaining again about the cold. Khan’derin began to pull the sled, floundering through the thick snow until it began to move. She then jumped onto the front, moving the board down the slope with only the weight of her own body. The snowy horizon flew past, Meghan lost in surprise and admiration.
