Chaos Shifter

by Marc Secchia

  With a soft laugh of relief, he said, “Did you forget you’re a Dragoness for a moment there?”

  “It’s the lack of control that concerns me,” she said, her upside down eyes widening again as Asturbar raised her into the air effortlessly. “What’s this? Showing off our muscles, Big Boots?”

  Affecting a thick accent, he growled in a thick Yandoonian brogue, “Lookee what I caught me, lads! A tasty bittee wench-likee!”

  “Wench? Excuse me!”

  He tossed her over his shoulder with a hearty laugh.

  “You let me go, you oversized lout,” Iridiana protested, not managing to sound even remotely annoyed. “Here I am picturing reaching the bottom of the Cloudlands as some flowering form of protodraconic life, and you –”

  “To the bedchamber with thee, wench!” he roared, swatting her backside playfully.

  “Asturbar!”

  “Commander Asturbar.”

  “Well, Commander. Are you going to put me down?”

  “Indeed!” Banging open the door, he deposited her most tenderly upon the Marshal’s yellow silken sheets. “Since the good Chanbar’s currently occupying a storage room,” he explained, “I feel that we have full rights to what comforts this voyage may offer.”

  “Good?” she sniffed.

  “Erm … how did it go with the Marshal, may I ask?”

  Nyahi chortled at his blatantly torn tone. “I promise to brief you tomorrow, Commander. I believe you’ll find it most informative. I’ve given him something to decide.”

  “Excellent,” said Asturbar, tossing his boots into a corner. The trousers headed in a different direction. “Now, may I brief you first?”

  “Mmm.” She affected a coquettish glance beneath her eyelashes. “Sounds promising. Looks even better.”

  Landing his bulk clumsily upon the bed, he cried, “And, the pirate –”

  “Ouch,” yelped the bed.

  Asturbar stared rather wildly at the shadows in the corners. “What? Who’s there …” Rapidly, he rolled over a few unusual lumps and reached beneath the simple, low frame – still, it was better than anything the Marshal’s soldiers would have enjoyed on the voyage – and found a foot! “You! Who – get out of there, you sneaking little assassin …”

  Nyahi was also scrambling about, calling, “Boots, that’s not –”

  “A girl!” he snorted. “Oh!”

  Belatedly realising he was wearing not a stitch upon his body, he made a dive for the wrong corner. Freaking … a boot. That would have to do. After covering his nakedness somewhat ineffectually with an inverted boot, he stared at the teenager scrambling out from beneath the bed. Nyahi cast about for her dress, but that had been abandoned on the gantry. She plucked up a sheet instead.

  “You won’t kill us, will you?” spluttered the girl.

  “Last thing on my mind,” said Asturbar. Once Nyahi had lit an oil lamp and everyone had stopped blushing, he realised who she was. “Yazina? What are you doing – it’s one of Chanbar’s daughters,” he said. “Uh … Yazina, this is Iridiana, your …”

  “Cousin,” she supplied, smiling. “Our fathers are brothers.”

  Despite that Yazina was five inches shorter than Nyahi, had very dark brown eyes and curly black hair rather than the usual straight hair of her cousin, there was in her fine-boned features and build, a clear family resemblance. The girls smiled uncertainly at each other.

  “You’re mad Iridiana?” Yazina blurted out at last. “The, uh … sorry. Really, really sorry.”

  “Are you meant to be here?” Asturbar asked crossly. Poor Iridiana! The girl shook her curls vigorously. “Yazina’s thirteen, and –”

  “Fourteen next week. I sort of … stowed away.”

  The girl was trying very hard not to look at the boot, well, dangling in front of Asturbar. He did want to fetch his trousers, but that would entail sashaying past the girl with his unclothed behind waving in the breeze. Rather more of a man’s bare backside than he suspected any girl of her age would ever want to see! Nyahi was making irritated hand signals at him.

  “I’ll … uh … close your eyes, Yazina. Please.”

  Once everything that ought to be packed away was packed away, they sat down to a light repast with the teenager, who had discovered rather more adventure than she wanted. “I thought our ship had been taken by pirates!” she exclaimed, waving her hands excitedly. “All that commotion, and the shouting, then what I took for an interrogation of my father … he’s going to murder me! But it’s just so … you don’t understand what it’s like, growing up as the Marshal’s child – it’s like living in a golden cage. Nothing ever happens at home. Nothing! Before this, I’d never even flown to the next Island!”

  Iridiana made a sympathetic noise.

  What? Encourage a runaway teenager? Asturbar suggested acidly, “Nothing, apart from a Necromancer taking over the House, say?”

  “Father tricked him,” she said confidently. “He said those rare jewels the Iolite Dragon wanted, must still be back in Yazê-a-Kûz. I think he convinced that freaky Iolite Dragon to fly off and attack that realm. Uh, your realm, cousin. Oh, that wasn’t so good, was it?”

  “No,” said Iridiana.

  Asturbar frowned at her doleful expression. “I don’t think so. Neither the Mistral Fires nor Azhukazi would have the power to attack such an illustrious realm, not without forming many, many more alliances. Subterfuge or infiltration is another matter. A more likely vector for any conceivable assault. But Azhukazi’s smart. He’ll either have figured out the ruse, or he’ll go there and sniff out the truth and return on the rampage … it’s a five day flight to Yazê-a-Kûz, give or take a day or two for diplomacy … or maybe, and worse, he was waiting for Chanbar to make the first move. Yes!”

  Yazina said in a small voice, “What are you saying, Commander Asturbar? Why are you looking so thunder-faced?”

  He said, “I think we’d better see how fast this old bucket of bolts can fly home, hadn’t we?”

  The girl inhaled sharply.

  He nodded. “Yes. You’ve nothing to fear from us, Yazina. I know your father exiled me to a living death, but you may be surprised to learn I don’t actually hold a grudge against him. He had good reason, which the Dragon supplied him.”

  Was that true? Did honour steal choice, or did it function as a convenient palliative to a conscience which knew better?

  “Father said he was bitterly enraged,” Yazina agreed soberly. She looked pallid. The seriousness of their situation seemed to have knocked the Isle from beneath her feet.

  “It was an immense slight to his honour. He could do little differently.”

  Hooded of gaze, Asturbar found his thoughts returning to his girl and to Chanbar. What was she up to? Something didn’t add up here, his every soldierly sense told him, but he could not for the life of him figure it out. Chanbar was an incredibly subtle player. Why the living death? Had he known or suspected Asturbar of that theft? What detail was he missing?

  Nyahi had the gift of a guileless face. Perfect for a gambler or a Dragon-baiter of the Gladiator Pits, he thought. Now, for the first time in their relationship, Asturbar was beginning to appreciate just how much mischief simmered beneath those guileless silver-skinned planes and contours. He would not do to underestimate this Chaos Shifter, not for all the adoration in the Island-World.

  Nyahi’s smile flickered slightly beneath his regard. “Tomorrow,” she purred.

  Dragoness!

  He raised his crystal goblet in wordless salute.

  * * * *

  The following morning, Asturbar put the Marshal, the soldier and the Steersman to work to supplement the meriatite furnace engine with manual labour as they fought to extract every ounce of speed out of the Dragonship. He tallied the supplies, checked the fuel levels and made his calculations. Not a pretty conclusion. By his best reckoning, they would miss the Iolite Blue’s return by fifty to seventy hours.

  He went to share his intelligence with Nyahi.


  She touched his arm gently. “I’m sorry. If I could reliably sustain a form for more than two hours, I’d fly you home myself, Boots.”

  “Thank you.”

  Another day where the beauty of a magenta dawn playing over endless cloudscapes above and below their altitude seemed designed to test the fortitude of his heart. Ahead lay nothing but barrenness – perhaps barrenness to some, but he was starting to see differently. The spread of colours was utterly flawless from horizon to horizon. They could have been alone in the Island-World, for even if he looked back the way they had come – well, he saw the mountains like fingertips above the horizon’s parapet. Almost perfect. The illusion was amazing, though. It was as if they hung in a void painted every conceivable, subtly mutable shade of magenta and rose and pink and orange, and while it was hard to imagine they must be making any progress at all through this endless space, the greater part of him never wanted to leave at all. A breath of beauty whispered into a man’s soul. Who could stand unmoved?

  She said, “I know it’s still your home.” He covered her hand with his. “I’ll go talk to my Uncle.”

  “Sure. I’ll spell him on the beast.”

  Even Yazina had come to pedal; her father just stared at his own feet as he departed at Iridiana’s prompting, his hands still manacled behind his back. Somehow, Chanbar looked smaller than ever before.

  Asturbar worked single-mindedly for an hour before he heard a strangled yell – a man’s voice – farther forward in the vessel. He popped his head out to check, but Iridiana responded that all was well. Really? She was not moved to a spot of torture, was she? Mad Iridiana. He shook his head slowly. Maybe the girl had a few bones to pick with the Marshal after all, if that was what he had been telling his own family.

  She had spent just shy of a year in a dungeon cell. A year!

  Did she fear she was indeed that mad, magic-accursed creature their treatment had insisted she was? She must believe it on some level.

  A further hour passed, during which time Asturbar topped off the engine fuel and fed more crushed meriatite ore to the engine stills, before he returned to the pedalling. There was no telling exactly how much speed they were making except by the note of the whipping turbines, and those were achieving an excellent rate of rotation. Good. Little more could be done. Back to work. Pray Azhukazi was somehow delayed en route. Pray Uxâtate Shan-Jarad, Iridiana’s father, had kept him waiting for an unsubtle period of three to four days rather than the customary one.

  Hearing a noise at the door, he glanced up. Iridiana, looking as grim as death. She dragged Chanbar in and threw him to the floor. “Say your piece, Uncle!”

  He looked worse than death, ashen and sweaty and altogether spent.

  Like the others in that small common room, Asturbar stared at the scene. The bent head. The slumped shoulders. The grim white cut of Nyahi’s lips.

  In a choked voice, Chanbar said, “This day I, Marshal Chanbar of the House Chanbar, do call upon these witnesses present as I triple lihan-swear the word of my unbreakable oath. Upon my word of honour I hereby, irrevocably and forever, do give up all title and claim to House Chanbar, also known as the Mistral Fires, and do place the lives and service of myself, my wife, my harem and my children under the protection and goodwill of the new Marshal of the Mistral Fires –” he sighed quietly “– Marshal Asturbar.”

  The soldier’s jaw dropped.

  After a breathless few seconds, Asturbar said feelingly, “Maggot-ridden murgalizards!”

  Iridiana said, “Boots, you might want to rethink your first words as the new Marshal of the Mistral Fires. You know, for the history scrolls and suchlike.”

  Cracking open his mouth, he managed to say nothing intelligent whatsoever. Perhaps it was for the better. Asturbar shut his jaw again and tried to formulate a coherent thought, any thought at all.

  Chanbar said, “Do you receive my word?”

  “Father, you can’t!” yelled Yazina.

  “I must,” he said. Whatever it was she saw in his eyes, his daughter fell silent.

  Asturbar wet his lips. “Is this oath given under duress, Chanbar?”

  “No longer,” said he. “No duress other than the twin imperatives of heart and honour.”

  He feared to ask what she had done or said. He feared to move, that his knees would simply collapse beneath him in a wholly unseemly display of weakness. Chanbar’s unthinkable abdication opened whole new vistas to him, vistas of honour restored and Necromancers to serve – and, heavens spit upon it – he did not want to be a mercenary anymore, far less, the Marshal of a mercenary House! Yet, what could he do with a broken House? For the Iolite Blue would leave no stone upon another when he returned. The honour might well be hollow, but what if it was not? He felt as if he were trapped in a strange dream. From Commander to exiled thief to Marshal. Who could grasp the course of such a fate?

  The fierceness writ in Iridiana’s posture gave him pause. Why was this so important to her? Why was this moment so grave and critical and … grievous, if he did not mistake her expression? He searched her eyes for an inordinately long time, until she flushed and dropped her gaze, unable or unwilling to face him any longer.

  For her sake.

  For her sake, and then he would drag her outside, and they would have words. Many words.

  He gritted out, “I accept your oath. Hereafter, I shall be known as Marshal Asturbar of the Mistral Fires. Put this man to work.”

  Sweeping past the kneeling Chanbar and Nyahi, who began to raise her hand toward him as if she meant to speak, Asturbar stormed out of the cabin.

  * * * *

  He did not understand himself. He punched the air flowing past the Dragonship’s brow furiously, glanced at his reflection in the forward crysglass panels, and bared his teeth at himself. Marshal? Marshal of what? Why had he ever entrusted his love to that devious, irresistible, enchanting Shapeshifter? He wept. He bellowed his rage into the emptiness. Oddly, this made him feel better, and eased the queasy feeling the overheated eggs seemed to have created inside his stomach. Then, he just stared out over the Cloudlands for the longest time.

  When a soft interrogative intruded upon his thoughts, he rounded upon her. “You!”

  She popped into a tiny iridescent orange draco-pollinator’s form, overcome by the shock.

  For a second, all was frozen silence. Then, Asturbar forced a grin to his lips, although it was a somewhat bloodless affair. “Truly is it said, women move in mysterious ways.” Stooping, he scooped the five-inch long creature into his clumsy paws. “Sorry. Man of undeniably thickset cranial structures just getting used to his fabulous girlfriend flying rings around him as usual.”

  In a second, the miniature talons and paws relaxed visibly, and Nyahi curled her threadlike tail about his forefinger. She dropped an apologetic Dragon-kiss upon the ball of his thumb. “Sorry,” she peeped, then giggled at the ultra-high soprano note of her voice. “Would you listen to that? I sound so silly to be talking about serious matters.”

  Asturbar grated, “Nyahi … why?”

  “As I told you, I’ve always liked the ring of ‘Marshal Asturbar.’ ”

  “Marshal of nothing?”

  “Huh. Even together, our titles still mean nothing,” she returned. “Uxâtati-a-Tân? Hollower than any drum. You, at least, might still have something to be Marshal over when we arrive.”

  “How did you do it? Why … did you?”

  She said, “Are we alright, Asturbar? You’re not too mad at me?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Liar.”

  “Alright, I am lying,” he chuckled, secretly furious at how easily she read him. He pinched his fingers together to illustrate, “Small lie. I’m a little angry, but mostly, I just don’t understand. Chanbar would not have given over for anything – not anything that I know of anyway. Did you threaten him? Actually, I’m not sure I want to know the answer to that question –”

  “Asturbar, no!”

  “Liar.”


  “Alright, I am lying,” she cheeped back. “No physical threats, though. I merely spelled out a few things I thought and a few conclusions I had drawn. I gave him options but let him know that there would be consequences. When he eventually saw things my way, he decided that the path of honour was to abdicate.”

  Asturbar considered her reply. “What were his reasons, Iridiana?”

  She said, “There was just one overriding reason, in the end. You see, it was as I began to suspect weeks ago, Chanbar knew the coordinates of the oasis to which I had been relocated for everyone’s safety. He deliberately sent you to the same place.”

  “And …”

  “You haven’t guessed? It’s simple.” The tiny creature glared ferociously at him. “He meant it for murder. And I do not take kindly to anyone trying to murder the man whom I love!”

  Chapter 16: Out of the Dragon’s Paw

  “MURDER?” Asturbar wheezed at last.

  “Murder. Execution. Slaying. Homicide. Manslaughter in the nastiest, most terminal sense of the word. It’s detestable, that’s what it is, and I’ll tell you –”

  “Iridiana, stop.”

  “Stop what? Protecting you? Boots, you’re the most un-cynical soldier – not that I know many – but you have far too much faith in the goodness of Humankind.” Nuzzling his thumb, she said, “Shall I tell you a little tale about jealousy?”

  “Ah … very well?”

  “Very well. Once upon an Isle, there were two brothers, heirs to a very fine and noble realm. The younger brother was favoured by the father, for he was tall and strong, handsome and brave, and although the older brother tried his hardest in all endeavours of his education and training to the rulership, he could never seem to win his father’s esteem. The older brother was eclipsed by the all-round magnificence of his younger sibling.”

  Asturbar interjected, “Let me guess –”

  “Hush. I’m telling the story.” Wriggling about in the palm of his hand as he raised her to eye level, before settling upon her paws with a miniscule sigh, Nyahi continued, “Yes. This tale is about Chanbar and Shan-Jarad, heirs to the Uxâtate Throne of Yazê-a-Kûz. Now, you need to understand that many of these events took place before and just after I was born, so I am reporting in many instances what I heard or what was told to me. It seems the jealousy that Chanbar, the older son, felt toward the younger, Shan-Jarad, ate away at his heart for many a year as the two brothers grew up. They were rivals in everything that mattered – in learning, training, war, passing judgement in matters of state or subjects’ personal lives, and they even became rivals for my mother’s hand. My grandfather never, to my knowledge, changed his stance toward his sons. Shan-Jarad was very heavily favoured indeed.”