Chaos Shifter

by Marc Secchia

  They trooped along a boarded gantry suspended high above the marketplace, everyone secretly praying they would not slip and fall into the slimy slug pits. Steersman Rekhoil and Infantryman Jazgugis had elected to stay with the Dragonship, so the party numbered four. Half a mile below them at ground level, Asjujian merchants bellowed their wares whilst crowds of Dragonkind lumbered along broad, slippery walkways, rubbing against each other with a sound like branches cracking amidst a localised storm. Great torches set upon bronze sconces six hundred feet tall kept the cavernous marketplace reasonably well illuminated. Every so often, a luminous orange or teal slug would be hauled out of a pit by woody appendages to be prodded and licked by a potential customer – success meant the provender slipping down a maw one hundred and ninety feet wide furnished by ‘crushers,’ or laminated wooden teeth the size of the average Human house. Farther afield as they walked along, however, the vaulted marketplace amphitheatre, its great overarching limbs being dracoflora plants that appeared to be flattened to join together into a single living building, developed into a somewhat more conventional affair offering spices – these managing to discover new and creative ways of assaulting the nasal membranes – decorative goods, building materials, and further along, minerals, gemstones, plant products and foods for export.

  Yazina said, “Are those Asjujians secreting slime the whole time?”

  Asturbar pointed below to a lighter tan behemoth apparently herding some kind of eight-footed meat animals along to a pen. “Yes. See how the legs slide into the cylindrical limb bracers beneath the body? Those act like pneumatic shock absorbers which are greased with that delightful slime. Mitigates against wear and tear, and allows those behemoths to move with a surprising turn of speed over the roughest terrain, whilst also proving extended reach for climbing. You couldn’t outrun or out-climb an Asjujian. Don’t even try.”

  She flapped her hands helplessly. “What do I do with the –”

  “Snot? Pinch it off with your fingers and flick it away, like this.” He demonstrated.

  “Ew … that’s foul.”

  “Snot rain,” Asturbar grinned. “Just greases it up more down there.”

  “You’re disgusting as well as foul-mouthed.”

  He glanced at Iridiana, who arranged her petals into a very fine smirk. He said, “Be quiet. You’re far prettier seen and not heard.”

  The flower tried to bite him.

  The gantry soon wound into a great wall-like structure of merchants’ premises apparently haphazardly grown atop, around and even through each other, all in the same light brown wood. Narrow Human-sized walkways, which served their kind and a number of other smaller draconic creatures, dragonets and dragofauna ranging from slim lizards to rolling green fang-bundles six feet in diameter and insectoid, dragonfly-like members of the Inzikas class, intersected the broad masterways, built for the Asjujians. The din was incredible. A babble of at least fifteen different languages underpinned the shrieks, hoots, cries and bellows of all the different creatures inhabiting or caged in this three-dimensional maze, and everywhere one cared to look, commerce hissed, cooed, cackled and buzzed at a frantic rate.

  Chanbar gripped his daughter’s hand to hold her back at an intersection. “In case you’re wondering, Asjujians do have right of way.”

  Her nauseous glance clearly communicated, ‘you have to be joking.’

  Her father steered her around a steaming puddle of mucus that measured up to her waist level. “Mind where you step.”

  Asturbar suspected that the ex-Marshal was starting to enjoy himself. He had never known the man to be jolly – well, ever. Now he had his hand upon Yazina’s shoulder, and the girl looked as if she had just seen the Star Dragoness in the flesh. Sweet.

  He, meantime, examined their surrounds with an experienced eye. The communications network of Syporian dragonets, fast-flying ochre creatures a mere foot and a half in length, was in full operation. They were also the primary spies for their Asjujian masters, making sure that every transaction and interaction was reported to the Master Mind reportedly located deep beneath the mountain – or perhaps, the mountain was the Master Mind. No-one rightly knew. He noted the additional security of Monitor Lizards scuttling here and there amongst the crevices and crannies that were so much part of this living structure; their striated brown scales providing such perfect camouflage that one had to look for the slightly mauve rims of their nostrils to be certain of what was actually Dragon and what was plain wood.

  Off down a gloomy alleyway two Lesser Dragons burst into a noisy brawl. That would attract the security detail quickly.

  “Let’s move,” he said quietly. “Seems a little tense around here.”

  Actually, the whole place seemed a little tense. He slipped a hand into his pocket, smiling as Nyahi formed herself into that diamond wristlet form – well, she was a forearm bracer now. Very fetching. He had no doubt that clobbering someone with a diamond-encrusted fist would be as instructional for him as it would be deadly for them.

  Chanbar’s eyes popped as he took in this interaction. Asturbar said, “She does it for show.”

  Still, he touched his battle-axe slung at his side, and flexed his shoulders as they walked along. A tiny pinprick of talons assured him that Iridiana had picked up on his unease. Beauty, brains and serious case of bedazzle. Quite the girlfriend!

  After walking five rough ‘blocks’ they cut eastward into the maze, took a spiral staircase seventeen levels downward, and cut back a few hundred feet, wending their way between the bulging, spiky wares of the ponksu fruit vendors, down a shady alleyway frequented by arms-dealing Frash’kukid Dragons, and eventually fetched up at the circular front doorway of Grandutakkator’s not unassuming establishment. As a metals trader specialising in rare forms and ores, he had a reputation to uphold with his clientele. Such a wealth of gold and platinum was on display, the usual wood had been completely overlaid and hidden by years of haphazard additions, it appeared, of ingots and nuggets, bars and bezels, and specialised armour of all kinds affixed to the walls and ceilings, and piled thickly in every conceivable corner. At least the tunnel-like interior of his shop, towering as it was to accommodate even a fully-grown Lesser Dragon, was a haven from the ghastly stench outside. Asturbar noticed a few discreet scent braziers intended to keep matters exactly that way. Hmm.

  Grandutakkator, despite his fine-sounding name, was a small Bronze Reticulated Rock Dragon from Emzorki; a lissom, six-legged beast of some fifteen feet in length whose specialised exoskeletal armour put Asturbar’s infantry armour to shame. It was beautiful of form and function, like living golden-bronze Dragon scales in its own right, shimmering with his every precise movement. Emzorkian Dragons were renowned throughout Wyldaroon for their shrewd business sense – and judging by the gleaming eyes peering at them through the wire-rimmed spectacles perched upon the very tip of his extraordinarily elongated muzzle, Grandutakkator was no exception.

  Having made his grand entrance via a rotating doorway made of mirrored metal ores, however, Grandutakkator took one look at his guests and turned a decidedly unhealthy shade of puce. Chameleon scales, Asturbar recalled belatedly. This Dragon wore his emotions upon his hide.

  “Marshal Chanbar!” he gasped, in a voice like fingernails scratching upon slate. His semi-transparent wings flickered in agitation before resettling neatly upon his back. He made a welcoming sweep of his paw, sheathing his highly polished talons simultaneously. “What a pleasure! A very great pleasure indeed, yes indeed. Come inside, shut the door.”

  “I am not Marshal anymore,” said Chanbar. “I have acceded to Asturbar, previously Commander Asturbar.”

  “Strange times,” said the Dragon, slipping past them to pull the door shut. Asturbar did not miss how his eyes quickly darted up and down the alleyway outside, nor how he quickly checked his environs with a touch of magic. “Yes, strange times surround us upon all sides. Wasn’t there … another?”

  “Just us,” said Asturbar.

  �
�Did you come in flying the Mistral Fires colours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you are in great danger! Very great danger, yes indeed.” With his strangely jerky, rapid movements, he began to usher them toward the back of his shop. “We must hide you. Get help. I’ll need to fetch one who can help you escape undetected.”

  “Who wants us?” the Marshal asked.

  “Azhukazi the Iolite Blue, and every bounty hunter between here and the Pits,” he said. “How can you not know this? You have powerful enemies indeed, yes, you have. And the Asjujian Emoflits will have taken note, and they are not ones averse to turning a quick profit, oh no, they are not. Your descriptions will be circulating already. You are in grave danger, you and – this is your daughter, yes? Mount Morgu-Zayê is no place for a young woman, not today, oh no.”

  “We came for Dragonship fuel, in order to quickly reach the House of the Mistral Fires,” Chanbar put in. “Any word of what the Iolite Blue is seeking?”

  “The reward for your head, Chanbar, is ten thousand platinum ingots – forgive me.”

  The exact price of his floor. Asturbar crossed gazes briefly with his previous leader. Aye, they both knew what that implied.

  Now, Grandutakkator rapidly shifted a section of his goods to reveal a previously hidden trapdoor. He released various locks, some physical and some based upon ward-glamour magic, before drawing open a hatch upon a dark hole. “Climb inside. It’s my little bolt-hole and it’s warded for all nine days of a week. You’ll be safe while I find help. Quickly. I hear paws without!”

  Chanbar was asking no questions as he urged Yazina to hurry. Had that been his daughter, Asturbar would have done the same, he realised. Family mattered. But his certificate of origin was back on that Dragonship. They had to go back for it. Had to. Would the Steersman and the soldier be alright? Shaking his head slowly, he made the descent. Grandutakkator was a trusted party. In a place as closely guarded as this, did they have any other choice? It had been a mistake to come looking for extra fuel – they should have made the push for the House under manual propulsion, even if they had to work shifts night and day. He had not anticipated that Azhukazi would move so quickly, nor had Chanbar stressed as much during his all-encompassing briefing – yet, why had he?

  As the hatch closed overhead, Asturbar had one last sight of a peculiar glint in the Dragon’s eye. Then the metal clicked shut, and bolts squealed in their sockets. A second, soundproof barrier hissed shut just above his head, and he sensed the wards come alive.

  Not so much for their protection, as to prevent escape.

  His eyes adjusted to the darkness as Asturbar took a moment to reprocess what he had seen and sensed. Every scent. Nuance. Movement. Most especially, the question, ‘Wasn’t there another?’ He knew. How? Why was the Iolite Blue moving so aggressively, putting up such a ridiculous reward that it practically screamed for attention? What did he fear? Did another power move against him – the Star Dragoness, or the shadowy Marshal Thoralian?

  In this form, Iridiana exuded a significant amount of light, enough for him to make out Yazina’s worried expression and Chanbar’s dark, troubled eyes.

  He said, “You thinking what I am, Chanbar?”

  “Aye, soldier – Marshal, I mean.”

  “What’s that?” Yazina blurted out. “I mean, I don’t understand, father. I’m scared.”

  Chanbar took her hands in his good right hand and squeezed hard. “I believe Marshal Asturbar would be referring to a particular itch, or a sixth sense, that soldiers and leaders sometimes get when something is not right. This would be the itch of imminent betrayal.”

  Chapter 17: Run for your Dragons!

  Asturbar set about examining the wards in the small chamber with great interest and limited hope. These magical protections would be designed to mitigate against almost any level of physical or magical punishment they could imagine unleashing in this small space. He could blunt his battle-axe on these mahogany coloured, strangely organo-metalloid walls for a year and make barely a scratch, or the floor for that matter. He stomped his foot angrily. Hmm, that sounded slightly hollow beneath, although the material had to be at least a foot if not two in thickness. Furthermore, while Grandutakkator and his true masters might not understand the capabilities of a Chaos Shifter, it was clear to him that any of Iridiana’s more obvious attacks would only rebound upon them with dangerous or even lethal consequences.

  He scratched his chin slowly. However, a slow attack … by pressure …

  “Say, Iridiana, how would you feel about shifting into one of your tree forms?”

  “Hesitant,” said his bracelet. “Why?”

  “Trees are enormously strong.”

  “What if I turn into a Dragoness and crush us all in this tiny space?”

  “A somewhat gruesome prospect,” he admitted ruefully. “Alright. Bad idea.”

  “No, it’s a superb idea.”

  Iridiana shifted into her Human form. While Asturbar began to fumble in his other pocket for her dress, Yazina cried, “Father!”

  “What?”

  “You … looked. She’s your niece!”

  When Chanbar appeared lost for words and his girl seemed to be sparking on the verge of an explosion, Asturbar said calmly, “Yazina, secret of life. Men tend to look. It’s kind of a reflex … but just before Iridiana buffets my ears right though my head, I want you to know that it’s much more about the how and the why of a look. You’ll know the right one by the way he looks at you, not in a possessive or a demeaning way, but in a manner that truly values who you are.”

  Nyahi laid an impressively violet-hued branch upon his shoulder. Luminous amethyst leaves. A smooth, velvety trunk in a fetching pale indigo hue. Her plants had always been … well, normal, for want of a better word. She said sardonically, “Wow, Boots, I was worried by the way that was developing for a minute there. No mind. You can sire my future children.”

  For his part, Asturbar turned a very unsubtle shade of pink.

  “I’m worried that you can turn into a tree,” Yazina giggled. “Thanks for the advice, Commander. Is that really you in there, cousin?” The unlikely Dragon tree formed a respectable pout, complete with leafy eyebrows that waggled at the teenager. “Holy janzi-dragonets! That must be so much fun.”

  “Ah … yes, hours of fun,” said the tree.

  Spreading her branches up to the hatch and flexing her roots against the floor, the Shapeshifter braced herself with a low creaking and rustling sound. “Hold onto your Dragons, boys and girls. This could get exciting.”

  “What will you do?” Asturbar asked curiously.

  “Grow up.”

  Perhaps her pun might have been aimed at him, because Asturbar happened to be thinking about unclothed feminine trees at that point. No idea why. But as he had suggested, the power of a living tree was an awesome force to behold. Roots could split boulders, change watercourses and penetrate the tiniest cracks within an Island and tear them asunder. Hers was not the force of an armoured strike, but a languorous, seeming endless acceleration of those natural processes. The hatch creaked. The wards flared and began to vibrate with an almost subliminal humming sound. The bolts groaned as Nyahi, gritting her – well, something within her tree mouth – ratcheted up the pressure second by second.

  So, thinking about transformation maps, where was the actual brain in this form?

  Asturbar felt the floor begin to buckle. It lurched.

  “Ah, Nyahi …”

  “I’m doing it, Boots! I am!”

  “Well, just hold on a –”

  GGNNNAAARRRGGGHHH!

  That was pure Dragoness, and more than the small chamber could stand. Bolted in place, the hatch only buckled a few inches, but he could not say the same for the floor. It must have been built hinged, for when the solid metal locking mechanisms gave way with a sharp squealing sound and tore bodily out of their roots in the living wood, the persons standing upon that large flap of metal tipped in a strange slow-motion effec
t, as though gravity belatedly scrambled in pursuit of reality. The floor swung away. Asturbar slid into Nyahi’s roots. He saw his right hand reaching for Chanbar, who in turn had a white-knuckled grip upon his daughter’s hair.

  The backlash of ward magic blew them softly into space. He did not understand what had happened until he saw the shock physically pulsing through Nyahi’s tree trunk. She had taken the punishment for them.

  Her branches flopped about without strength as the mismatched group slid down a short, dark tunnel before tumbling out into warm, ruddy airspace. Yazina screamed. He remembered glancing at her in surprise, inanely considering how thoughtful she had been to wear a utilitarian one-piece overall and sturdy boots for stowing away. Then, he looked down.

  His reflexive yelp mingled Yazina’s second, much louder scream.

  They plummeted from a height of over a quarter-mile into a canyon between tall cliffs of russet buildings, directly toward a six-way intersection of Asjujian Emoflit paw traffic. Dozens of the massive Asjujians congregated and milled about down there, squeezing laboriously past each other or pausing in the wide, oval space at the centre to greet each other with psychedelic sprays of undoubtedly pungent offerings. He saw a stand selling multi-coloured slug delicacies, and a spray station where the Dragons paused for a bracing blast of something – well, woody and juicy was his best guess. And nostril searing. Even up here the smell borne upon the breeze was a separate force to be reckoned with. Over the milling behemoths, a dozen or so smaller, light pedestrian walkways soared, allowing the smaller denizens and visitors to this realm safe passage over the heavy ground traffic.

  Then it suddenly seemed to him as if the air remembered he was falling and began to tear at his eyes and rush past his ears. Not good. They needed wings, and fast. Reaching out, he shook one of Iridiana’s branches. “Wake up, we need you!”

  “What, can she fly too?” shouted Chanbar.

  He could not tell if Nyahi was coming around or if it was just the speed of their falling buffeting her branches about, but Asturbar took a grip of one of those slender tree limbs near her crown. He reeled Chanbar in, and then Yazina, until they all perched like nesting birds amidst her leaves. The girl’s eyes were squeezed shut with terror, but she began kicking wildly at anything she could reach, yelling at Iridiana to rouse herself and fly.