Sea Dragon Heir

by Storm Constantine

  VARENCIENNE LAY AWAKE, her mind racing. She could not hope to sleep. It was as if she’d somehow stepped through a strange portal into a world very different, yet uncannily similar, to the one she’d left. Things did not make complete sense to her. What were these sea dragons? If they were creatures of water, why did they fly? What had happened in the past that Pharinet did not like to talk about now? Varencienne had a feeling that at one time, perhaps when Pharinet was very young, she had tried to reawaken the dragons. She would have done it for Valraven, whom she worshipped. Had something gone wrong? Varencienne could not dispel the impression that clues lay at Norgance. The Leckerys were involved. These secrets excited Varencienne. It was as if one of her own fantasies had come to life. She just wished Valraven Palindrake wasn’t a part of it. If there had to be a hero, why should it be him?

  VARENCIENNE QUITE EXPECTED THAT now she would be taken into the Sisterhood of the Dragon. What she had not accounted for was the fact that Everna was less enthusiastic about her participation than Pharinet was. Pharinet did not exactly say so, but Variencienne guessed that Everna’s response was an emphatic “no!” Or perhaps the other women of the group had refused her entry. Everna did not discuss the matter with Varencienne herself and outwardly her manner did not change. But Varencienne sensed something, and it had a flavor of the past about it. “Will you train me as a priestess?” Varencienne asked Pharinet. “There is little I can teach you,” Pharinet replied. “We can work together, performing little rituals and singing songs, but the one thing of importance I might give you, you have already experienced for yourself.” “What I saw on the beach?” “Exactly. I see that as a kind of initiation. Everna and her friends might choose to exclude you from their practices because of your bloodline, but the dragons themselves make no such distinctions. You are Val’s wife. That is the most important thing.” “Pharry, I do not feel like his wife. If I did, I’m sure I would care more for him.” Pharinet made no comment on this, but Varencienne sensed that in some way she was pleased. She did not want Varencienne to love Valraven, not really. Varencienne learned of the legends of Foy and her murderous daughters, Jia, Misk and Thrope. Were there any male dragons? No, there were only Palindrake heirs. “Surely not!” Varencienne exclaimed, misinterpreting Pharinet’s meaning. “It is a mystical union,” Pharinet said. “Have you seen the dragons?” Varencienne asked. “I thought so, once. I also went on a journey in my mind to the underwater city where the dragons sleep. I saw the Ustredi, the merpeople.” “Can I do that?” Pharinet eyed her thoughtfully. “There are dangers attached to it,” she said. “But perhaps one day, it might be feasible.” Pharinet showed to Varencienne all the little rituals that Foy reputedly liked. They made pools, not fires, upon the beach, into which certain significant items would be placed: shells, stones, food and liquor. Varencienne learned how to say, “Oh Great Foy, take unto yourself that which we offer. Look with gentleness upon us. We keep your waters clear in our hearts.” Varencienne knew that the Dragon Queen was a terrible creature. She was old and tattered and cruel. It was perhaps best to keep her sweet. At the same time, Varencienne noticed more frequently the odd wisps of smoke that seemed to haunt corners of the castle. She told Pharinet about this. “I smell burning, but there is no fire. I see smoke.” Pharinet was clearly uncomfortable with this revelation. “You are a daughter of fire,” she said. “Perhaps this is what you see.” “I never did before coming here, and if that was the case, you think I’d see it at home.” “You were asleep there. You knew nothing of the elements.” “It seems strange that fire creatures should manifest in Caradore, though.” “Perhaps you’re imagining it.” “Pharinet, I can’t believe you’d say that to me.” “I don’t know what it is, then.” Pharinet would not be drawn out on this subject, but Varencienne filed it away in her mind with all the other questions and clues she had gathered. While she and Pharinet rode over to Norgance every couple of weeks, and the Leckery women made reciprocal visits, Varencienne never got the opportunity to speak with any of them alone. Ligrana she was not particularly bothered about, but Varencienne felt sure that Niska was a person she should cultivate, someone who could be induced to talk, reveal things. She also sensed that Pharinet would not be wholly in favor of that, so one morning, when she knew Pharinet and Everna were going to the market at Mariglen, she rose early and rode over to Norgance on her own. The day was bright and clear, and a strong wind came off the sea, hectoring the trees in their late summer glory. As her horse cantered along the narrow road, with grasses blowing wildly to either side, Varencienne became conscious of how much she’d changed since the spring. Now, she could control a horse with aplomb and thought nothing of making this journey alone. She felt strongly aware of her own character, the way it was shaping and forming. She had opinions about things and her imagination didn’t just make her a fantasist, it gave her curiosity and insight. She was so much more self-reliant than before. She had servants, and she had Oltefney, but now she did more for herself. Oltefney, if anything, had become Everna’s paid companion more than her own.

  SASKA WAS SURPRISED TO see Varencienne, but quickly hid this reaction with a more welcoming manner. “The girls are out in the garden. They will be pleased to see you.” Varencienne was not wholly sure this was the truth. Ligrana and Niska sat in an orchard, working on pictures they made from thread and shells. They were as surprised to see her as their mother had been. “Look who’s here,” Saska said. Varencienne wondered how she could get Niska on her own. But luck was with her because Ligrana was having a music lesson that morning. “What would you like to do?” Niska asked Varencienne, clearly unsure she could cope with the visit. “Are there any more places like the Ronduel? I like to look at old places.” “Well, we could go to the Chair,” Niska responded uncertainly. “What’s that?” “It’s a rock formation, not far from the Ronduel, and it looks remarkably like a big stone chair. In olden times, it was said that if you sat in it, visions would come to you.” “What kind of visions?” “I don’t know,” said Niska defensively. “They’re just stories.” Her manner told Varencienne that Niska believed firmly otherwise. “Let’s go there, then.” Whenever she was with Pharinet, Varencienne always felt awkward with the Leckery girls. Now, alone with Niska, she felt very strong and confident. She could sense that Niska was easily controlled. They climbed the same cliff path that led to the Ronduel, and this time Varencienne was pleased to note she did not get out of breath or suffer from aching calves. Niska walked ahead, her posture glum. At the top, they entered among the standing stones, and once again, the wind seemed to drop, as if the menhirs created a special space. The sky looked unnaturally huge above them, its shimmering blue studded with silver-edged white clouds. The sky never looked so big in Magrast. Varencienne sat down on the grass and patted the ground beside her. “Let’s sit here a while, Niska. It’s so lovely.” Reluctantly, Niska sat down, folding her skirts about her in a neat, feline way. “I feel like I’ve lived in Caradore for years,” Varencienne said, leaning back on stiff arms. “It’s the most beautiful place in the world.” “But there are beautiful places in Magravandias, too,” Niska said. “My brother told me about them: the Seven Lakes, Recolletine. Haven’t you been there?” Varencienne shook her head. “To tell the truth, Niska, I haven’t been anywhere beyond Magrast before I came here, other than to one or two important churches in nearby towns. Let?s just say royal women aren?t encouraged to travel.? “Well, I don’t travel much either,” Niska said. “None of us do. There doesn’t seem to be any need.” Varencienne sighed. “Sometimes, I wonder what other countries are like, though. Don’t you?” Niska wrinkled her nose. “I don’t really think about it. I like to make countries up. In my mind. I think they must be better.” “I like making things up too, but you know that already.” “Mmm.” Niska tossed back her head and closed her eyes, as if to sun her face. Varencienne studied the other girl’s face. So far, she had made some remarks that seemed designed to put Varencienne at ease. After a few moment’s silence, Varencie
nne said, “Can I confide in you, Niska?” Niska opened her eyes and looked at her, but she didn’t say anything. Her expression was guarded. “All I want is your word you won’t tell your mother or Ligrana what I have to say.” Niska frowned. “I’m not sure I can promise that. It depends on what you’re going to tell me.” “I know about the sea dragons.” Some of the wariness fell away from Niska’s eyes. “Oh, well yes. I know that. Pharinet wanted you to join the Sisterhood, but Everna spoke out to … to an important person in the group, and it was decided it wasn’t a good idea.” At the end of these words, she looked a little pained. “We have to go with the majority.” “You are part of the Sisterhood, then?” Niska paused, then nodded. “I suppose there’s no harm in you knowing.” “There isn’t. I’m no threat to you. I feel very much in tune with the dragons. I wish everyone would stop looking on me as my father’s daughter. I am Valraven’s wife. Doesn’t that count for anything?” “Perhaps people will change their minds in time. You should be patient. You’ve only been here a few months.” Varencienne sighed. “You’re right. I just want to belong. Is that so bad?” Niska’s face crumpled into a sympathetic expression, as Varencienne had guessed it would. ?No, of course not.? She reached out and lightly touched one of Varencienne?s hands. ?It?s just because of the history between your family and ours, that?s all. Everyone needs to get to know you as an individual. I?m sure that will come.? This was a delicate moment. Words spun patterns in Varencienne’s mind, but she knew she had to be careful. She gazed out through the stones, to the heathland where wiry heathers clustered between swathes of golden lichen. “I want to go to the Chair. I want to see visions, visions of the truth.” She got to her feet and Niska squinted up at her. “The truth?” “Yes,” said Varencienne. “The things that people won’t tell me.” She held out a hand. “Come on. Take me there.”

  THEY FOLLOWED A TRACK between the heather, and now Niska was silent again, clearly fretting. Varencienne did not know whether the old site would really show her visions, but one way or another, she intended to learn something that day. The track led into an old forest. Oak, beech and chestnut clustered together there, greened with the lichen breath of the forest, their trunks contorted by age. Sunlight came down through the canopy to make pools of gold along the dry dirt path. Nodding ferns skirted the trees, and the lush viridian grass around them was close-cropped by deer. Presently, through the trees, a huge spine of rock could be seen, which seemed to extend into the forest for some distance either side. It was like an immense sleeping dragon, with a warty grey skin. The stone was patchworked with moss and ferns, and in places spindly trees grew out of crevices. “It’s so strange,” Varencienne said. “It looks as if it doesn’t belong here. A piece of mountain dropped by a god.” Niska smiled. “It’s called the Mages’ Pike. Caradore is full of marvels like this. Wait till you see the view from the top.” Varencienne eyed the apparently sheer rock face. “Will it take long? Where’s the path?” “It’s quite a climb,” Niska said, “but not difficult. I hope you’re not afraid of heights, though.” “I don’t think so,” Varencienne said. “To the old magi, this place was sacred,” Niska said. “They hollowed out the rocks in places to make caves where they enacted their secret rituals. There are simulacra in the stone. A dragon, of course, but others too. An old witch, a sleeping boy. I’ll show you.” Steps had been cut into the rock, and led the way up a narrow channel. The steps were slippery and damp and often difficult to negotiate because of plants growing on them. The girls climbed for about fifteen minutes, before having to squeeze themselves through a slim aperture. Varencienne drew in her breath. They stood upon a wide platform, spongy with moss, beneath which was a sheer drop of several hundred feet. They looked down upon treetops. Caradore was spread out before them, miles upon miles of forest, mountains and heathland, with the occasional smoothed area of habitation. She saw castles, the old domains of the ancient families, clinging to sheer cliffs. She saw hamlets hidden in forest glades. People moved like ants along the roads. To the right was a rock wall, into which more steps had been cut. “The Chair’s up there,” Niska said, pointing. “If we go the other way, there are caves and tunnels I could show you.” Varencienne ventured towards the drop. She had never seen such a vista before. A bird must see the land like this. “Be careful,” Niska said. “People who go near the edge often can’t control the compulsion to jump.” For a moment, Varencienne’s head spun, and she laughed nervously. “The feeling is horrible, but strangely pleasant. It would be like flying.” “I think you’d better come back here.” Niska took hold of her arm. “I heard about your escapade with the sea. Are you drawn to dangerous actions?” “I never thought so, but perhaps I am.” Varencienne linked her arm through Niska’s. “Let’s go to the Chair.” “When we get to the top, don’t let go of me,” Niska said. “I don’t trust you.” They entered another narrow stairway, which led to a perilous lookout, on which a single dolmen stood. Here, the platform was much smaller, and Varencienne felt dizzy. The Chair was on the face of the Pike itself, approached by another narrow staircase, which led downwards. The well of the stairs hid the view of the landscape, but still Varencienne clung onto Niska’s hand. The platform onto which they emerged was covered in elderly shrubs with leathery leaves, which made it feel safer. The Chair was in a narrow cave, which had been shaped into a seat, complete with stone arms. Niska guided Varencienne to sit in it. Before her, the land of Caradore stretched out and away. Varencienne felt light-headed and shivery. Niska settled herself on the bottom step, hugging her knees. “Is this not the most wonderful view you can imagine?” she said. “They say the old kings of the land would sit here after they were crowned. They would be given messages for the future.” Varencienne gripped the stone arms of the Chair. She could understand why people might have visions there. The sense of danger, the fact that you could so easily slip and fall to your death below, conjured a strange state of mind. Niska said nothing more, and stared out at the landscape with a dreamy expression on her face. Varencienne breathed slowly and heavily. Now was her moment. She could use this opportunity to great effect. After a few moments, Varencienne drew in her breath sharply. Even though her eyes were closed, she knew she had Niska’s attention immediately. She breathed heavily for a while, and then expelled a small sigh. “Ren?” Niska murmured softly. “Are you all right?” Varencienne swallowed. “There are pictures in my mind,” she said in a faint voice. “It is astounding.” “What can you see?” Niska asked encouragingly. Varencienne wrinkled her brow. “It looks like Norgance. It’s as if I’m looking at a painting of it.” “Look closer,” Niska said. Varencienne paused for a few seconds, then murmured. “I can see Pharinet, only she’s much younger. She’s in the garden, and there’s another girl with her. They’re playing.” “What does the girl look like?” Niska asked urgently. “Like you.” It was the best answer Varencienne could think of. “Ellony, my sister,” breathed Niska. “It must be. What else can you see, Ren?” Varencienne screwed up her face, moved her head slowly from side to side. “I can’t see anything else, but I feel a great sadness.” “Yes,” said Niska. Her voice had risen in pitch. Varencienne could almost see the pictures she described. Pharinet would have played in the garden with Niska’s dead sister. That was easy. Perhaps she needed to say something else, something which would prompt Niska to tell her everything. She gasped and made her body go rigid against the stone. ?The dragons!? Niska made a sound of concern and even reached out to touch Varencienne’s knee. Varencienne herself was composing what to utter next, when a clear, vibrant image splashed across her mind. She saw a woman and a man struggling on a beach. The colors were all wrong: the sky looked like a monstrous bruise; the sea thick and dirty grey like mud. The woman was hideous, her pale face almost green, her eyes staring and dark, fierce yet empty. Her open mouth was shockingly pink against her pallid skin. At first, Varencienne thought the man was trying to harm this woman, but as the scene continued in her mind, she saw that the opposite was true. The woman was dragging the ma
n towards the sea. She was laughing. She meant him harm. There were other shadowy figures around, but she could not quite make out the details. Something evil and gloating seemed to hang invisibly over everything. It filled Varencienne with a terrible despair. Then she saw Pharinet’s face, etched with deep misery. Caradore was on fire and Norgance a dusty ruin. Everything was ended. Varencienne opened her eyes and expelled a short cry. “What is it, Ren?” Niska cried. She was kneeling at Varencienne’s feet, her face full of worry. “Something happened on the beach. A woman and a man. She dragged him into the sea. Her face was really strange, almost green.” “Great Foy,” breathed Niska. “That was Ellony too.” Varencienne stared at her in shock. “What happened?” Niska looked away. “Let’s go. I feel strange here now.” She stood up. “Niska,” Varencienne said. “You must tell me.” Niska nodded, her expression tight. “Not here, though. It feels as if something’s here. Something’s watching us.” Varencienne shuddered. She felt more disoriented than before and the yawning landscape before her seemed occluded by a dirty mist. Niska took Varencienne’s arm and pulled her from the seat. Varencienne could barely walk. Her limbs shook. “I feel so cold,” she said. Niska murmured reassurance and quickly led the way back to the lookout, and from there down onto the wider platform. Here, Varencienne collapsed onto the smooth, sun-warmed stone. Her head was pulsing, not with pain exactly, but a strange pressure. She felt disordered in mind and body. She had been prepared to lie, make up a convincing story. The horrifying, ugly images had been so unexpected. She sat with her head resting on her knees, while Niska stroked her hair. “What did I see?” Varencienne asked, her voice muffled. “Did that really happen?” “Oh yes,” Niska said and there was a hard, uncharacteristic bitterness in her voice. “I did not witness it myself, but it sounded like you saw the time when Ellony went into the sea. Some people say the dragons took her. She dragged Thomist with her.” “Thomist?” “Everna’s husband.” “The one that drowned,” Varencienne said softly, “yes, Pharinet mentioned that to me once.” She fixed Niska with a steady eye. Now was the time. She could not succumb to weakness or fear, she must pursue her inquiries. “How did it happen?” Niska’s eyes flicked away from Varencienne’s gaze. She shrugged. “I’m not sure exactly. Ellony wasn’t well. She had strange ideas. You should ask Pharinet, perhaps. She was there when it happened.” Niska looked back at her companion. “How much have you been told about Ellony?” Varencienne shrugged. “Very little. Just that she was your sister and Pharinet’s friend, and that she died.” “Not about her and Valraven, then?” “No, nothing about that.” Varencienne felt herself grow still inside. Part of her did not want to hear what was going to come next. Niska gazed out anxiously at the landscape. She appeared to be wrestling with an inner dilemma. Her hands bunched into fists, unbunched again. “They should have told you,” she said, as if to convince herself, “but then Pharinet wants the past buried. They all do, my mother, Everna, the other women …” “They should have told me what, Niska?” Varencienne queried gently. Niska hesitated, then said, “Ellony was Valraven’s bride, Ren. She married him in the same year that Pharinet married my brother, Khaster.” Varencienne shivered, remembering Twissaly’s words about always having serviced the “bride’s chambers.” Someone had lived in those rooms before her, but now she was dead. And Pharinet: she too had had a husband. Where was he now? ?This is a shock,? Varencienne said. She did not have to lie. ?Please, tell me all you know about what happened, Niska. It?s important to me.? “I understand that,” Niska said. She reached out and touched Varencienne’s hands. “I like you, Ren, and I don’t think it’s right things are kept secret from you. Some things, anyway.” She flushed a little, and Varencienne wondered what memory had prompted that. “I’ll be very grateful for whatever you can tell me,” she said. “Ellony adored Valraven,” Niska said. “She took her role as his wife very seriously. Perhaps too seriously. She became ill.” Niska rubbed her face with her hands. “One day, she and … she and Val and Pharinet were on the beach one morning, and Ellony went peculiar. She tried to run into the sea. Thomist saw what was happening and came hurrying to try and stop her. She took him with her. No bodies were ever found.” “Why didn’t Valraven and Pharinet stop her? What were they doing?” Niska looked deeply uncomfortable now. “I think they did, but it was no use. Ellony was too strong.” Something about this didn’t ring true to Varencienne. For a start, the name “Ellony” did not suggest a strong woman. Still, that could be deceptive. But Niska had implied through her reactions at the Chair that she resembled Ellony herself. And Niska was not a physically strong creature either. What had really happened? Perhaps Niska was right; only Pharinet could tell her, and maybe Pharinet wouldn’t want to. This was clearly one of her secret demons, a shameful secret. This tragic event could also be the reason why Valraven was such a cold man. It was possible he grieved for a lost first wife, the light in his world, which had been brutally extinguished. Involuntarily, Varencienne felt a little warmer towards him. “What of Pharinet’s husband, your brother?” she asked. “Where is he now?” “Dead too,” said Niska. “But in battle. It happened very shortly after Ellony and Thomist died. It was a time of great tragedy for both our families. We thought we’d never feel happiness again. But life goes on. You can’t stop it.” Varencienne shook her head. “It’s almost too much to take in,” she said. “All those deaths so quickly. It must have been terrible.” Niska nodded. “It was. We have yet to get over it fully.” She sat back and wrapped her arms about her knees. ?I?m glad to speak of it, because we never do.? “You can talk to me, Niska. I’m more than happy to listen.” Niska’s eyes had become watery. “I used to have terrible nightmares about Ellony. She would come to my window and slide through the glass like a mist. She came to steal my breath, an ugly, monstrous sea woman. Her skin was greeny-white, and she had a mouth full of hooked fangs like a predator fish.” Niska shook her head, wiped tears from her cheek. “I loved her so much, she was so beautiful in life, it seemed unbelievably cruel that I had to become afraid of her. I would wake screaming just as Ellony stooped over me in the bed. She had cold saliva that smelled of fish. It fell onto my face.” “That’s horrible,” Varencienne said. “You poor thing.” Niska nodded. “I missed Pharinet so badly. She used to live with us, you see, when Ellony was alive. She and Ellony had to swap houses to be with their husbands, although Val and Khas were rarely at home. Pharinet moved into Norgance shortly after she married Khaster. Ligrana and I loved having her there. She was such fun. If ever I had a nightmare, Pharinet would always hear me, because her room was close to mine. She’d come to me, wake me up, and hold me in her arms. Then she’d tell me strange and lovely stories that took all the fear away. She used to be good at making up stories. After Ellony and Thomist died, she returned to Caradore to look after Everna. Valraven employed Goldvane as steward at the same time, for obvious reasons. Pharinet was supposed only to stay there for a short while, but then we got the news from Cos that Khaster had been killed, and Pharinet never came back to us. She stayed with her sister. She couldn’t comfort me any more, but Ligrana slept in my room for over a year. I think she must have had nightmares too, but she never admitted to it. She likes to appear strong, like Pharinet.” Pharinet was strong, yet she’d not been able, apparently, to prevent her best friend, who was ill, from running into the sea. “She should have told me all this,” Varencienne said. “It might have been painful, but she should have told me. It explains so much.” “I know, but you must understand it is a subject nobody wants to dwell on. Pharinet must believe she could have saved Ellony. I think she punishes herself even now.” “It does seem odd, given that Ellony was probably quite weak at the time, that three healthy adults could not restrain her.” “Well, people can find an unnatural strength in certain states of mind, can’t they?” Varencienne nodded. “I suppose so. What was wrong with your sister, exactly?” Niska frowned. “It was a strange illness. It began even before her marriage. I suppose we have to face the fact that she was a li
ttle mad. She suffered from delusions.” “What kind of delusions were they?” Niska sighed. “I’m not sure I should be telling you this. It’s very personal.” Varencienne gripped one of Niska’s arms. “Please, Niska. You can trust me. “She was afraid of the sea, of the dragons. That day, I think she thought they were calling to her, or something.” Niska’s voice rose with distress. “I can’t tell you any more, because I don’t know anything. Nobody does. None of us could see into Ellony’s mind. She was in torment.” “Hush,” Varencienne murmured, curling an arm around Niska’s shuddering body. “Don’t say any more. You’re upsetting yourself.” She sensed she had pushed Niska far enough. The information would come out a bit at a time, from this and other sources, including, it seemed, her own mind. Varencienne had never experienced a waking vision before. Perhaps the magical air of Caradore had drawn the ability out of her. “I wonder why that terrible time was shown to me?” she said. “You asked for truth,” Niska replied. “You got some.”