Chaos Shifter

by Marc Secchia

  He could not wait.

  Chapter 27: Mirror Images

  ARANYA ARRIVED DRAGONBACK, riding her Shadow Dragon. Though she still evinced that imperious posture that suggested a spine straighter than any spear, her face glowed right through her habitual full face veil – glowing with happiness, he realised, when Nyahi remarked upon it. Even her incredible rainbow tresses glowed in their myriad colours. Truly, she was the Star Dragoness.

  Seen through the crack in Leandrial’s slightly open jaw, the pair made a majestic sight as they swept in to their landing. The Shadow was a balladeer’s incarnation of the rugged warrior Dragon, muscled up to the eyeballs – noticeably more robust than any Dragon Asturbar thought he had ever seen. Gangurtharr had size. Ardan was as sinewy as a desiccated slab of meat. He bet the fellow wrestled Islands for fun. Aranya was every inch the tall, slender Princess, seated one spine spike ahead of a set of well-stuffed saddlebags that immediately made him conclude: he and Nyahi would not be returning. Not today. They had brought supplies, food and clothing, even the large mirror his girl had requested during Leandrial’s second communication with Yiisuriel – strangely. She was not the vain sort. His eyes appraised Nyahi covetously. Oh, those supple, wonderful ankles! The shapeliness of her calves …

  “No drooling,” she whispered.

  Asturbar’s eyes jerked upward guiltily.

  “Higher, if you’re searching for my eyes,” she needled.

  “I … wasn’t, uh … well, maybe I was! Moving to a policy of honesty in our relationship …”

  “Making yourself a public nuisance, more to the point,” she retorted, slipping her body a little into his lee. “At least you’re actually wearing clothing. I could do without that beast seeing me nude.”

  Asturbar immediately pictured charging that Shadow Dragon and rearranging his gleaming fangs with prejudicial intent. Ha. He didn’t like that he seemed prone to the odd attack of Green-Dragon jealousy around Nyahi, but he supposed it might be explicable.

  Shortly, the Shadow Dragon negotiated the turbulent, dull-voiced blast without, and Leandrial’s jaw closed upon a world of gloomy, flora-littered air currents seething past her body; she faced down-current, and he imagined her clutching the basal rock, as low-bellied as any tiny lizard enjoying a spot of suns-shine. The Shadow furled his wings and lunged deftly beneath her huge, hangar-door teeth, bobbling as he entered her pressure shield, but he recovered with enviable grace. Not just a lump of muscle, then. A beautiful flyer.

  The shining Star alighted upon Ardan’s upraised paw, laughing off Asturbar’s gruff offer of ‘help with the bags, Your Majesty?’ “That’s how one addresses kings in my culture,” she said, stacking Ardan’s paw with surprising strength. Did Dragoness strength reflect somewhat in the Human form?

  The Zuziana voice clarified irascibly, “Listen, you lump-tastic man mountain, I’ll have you know that this Princess carries her own bags, and she prefers friends to call her Aranya – and don’t think I haven’t noticed you rolling your eyes at the Star Dragoness worship business. Well, so do I, mind.”

  Nyahi snickered behind him.

  Asturbar’s lips twitched. “Greetings to you, other Aranya.”

  “Other Aranya? Of all the nerve! You – yes, you, fidgety silver girl with the incredible legs – slap him for me, would you? I don’t have hands these days, but if I had …”

  “She does have incredible legs,” Asturbar agreed. Slap. “Ouch!”

  Ardan rumbled, “As far as I’m concerned, there’s only one pair of legs in the Island-World for me. Trust me, I’ve looked – both sides of the Rift.” MMM-GRRR!

  To his surprise, Aranya’s facial glow developed a quite the hues of suns-set at this silly – even her wraparound face veil failed to conceal that reaction! Then, she descended and wrapped Ardan in some clever trickery of opaque shielding as the Dragon transformed, and rooted about in a bag as his disembodied laughter emerged from behind her screen.

  Ardan said, “Why don’t you come in here, beloved?”

  “Put some clothes on,” snorted Aranya.

  “They can’t see.”

  “Male Dragons,” the Princess explained succinctly. “Here, Iridiana, this is one of yours, I believe.”

  “Ooh, my trousers are stuck,” Ardan complained – with blatant falsity. “Aranya, will you help me, please?”

  “Asturbar’s right on his way,” Zuziana cut in. “Woof, is that half a dress you have there, Sparkles? Takes me right back to summer in Remoy. My poor ex-monk was so embarrassed by the attire – all Helyon silks, and not much material on display, either. Nice pick on the colour, girl. Truly suits your eyes. Is your skin natural?”

  “All mine,” Nyahi said drolly, helping herself to Asturbar’s arm for balance as she slipped on her underclothes – pretty, chic azure shorts just an inch shorter than her hemline. He liked to keep an eye on the details. Oh, yes indeed.

  “Azure is my Dragoness’ colour,” Zuziana added enviously.

  “It’s an effect of the iridium, may I conclude?” said Aranya, drawing a diffident nod from Iridiana. “Here. We brought supplies – food, pillows –”

  “For their love nest? Sweet of you, Immadia.”

  “Remoy!”

  “Yes, your Celestial Highness?”

  “May I have my mouth back, please?”

  “Not if it’s going to kiss that tasty dark warrior like you did for an hour this morning. Ew. Some things, even best friends shouldn’t share. Here he comes. I’m off. I’ll just talk to my other self in here.”

  Asturbar was having stitches as Ardan, shirtless – no surprises there – appeared through the opacity shield clad only in dark leather trousers. He aimed a blazing smoulder aimed at his Princess; Aranya’s eyes flashed as she threw a garment at his head, laughing, “Honestly?”

  “Blush away, Immadia,” Ardan returned blithely.

  Definitely a warrior, from some culture that scarified the cheeks and the hard planes of his pectorals with stippled scars. He had never seen skin as dark as polished ebony, and despite his thickset musculature, the man moved with that intrinsic grace of a Dragon as he strode forward to clasp hands rather than forearms with the Azingloriax warrior. He greeted Iridiana politely. And glanced at her legs, up and down.

  Their hands clamped together involuntarily, but Ardan just chuckled and clapped Asturbar upon the shoulder. “I dug my Dragoness up in a cave. Where’d you scare yours up?”

  “Seven hundred leagues from civilization, out in the Doldrums. She was lonely.”

  Ardan tilted a scarified eyebrow at Nyahi. “Oh, the poor little man was lonely, was he? How’s the stomach doing there, my friend?”

  “Sore,” said Asturbar.

  “And how was your birthing experience?”

  Now they were all laughing at him. Asturbar favoured this inquiry with a tetchy snarl, “Good! Aranya, can you check Leandrial with your healing power, please?”

  Leandrial snorted, “Did I ask for help? More importantly, how fared your summit meeting with Yiisuriel-ap-Yuron, noble Aranya?”

  “Frustrating.” Her face veil twitched as she made a face beneath it. “We learned much and achieved nothing. She is adamant, unapologetic and as stubborn as you’d expect from several million tonnes of rock. You are not welcome to return, Iridiana, and allegedly, I am a naïve dupe in your vile schemes to – I don’t know what! Desecrate the Island-World with your Chaos powers?” Aranya threw up her hands. “Apparently, in my boundless ignorance I thought the Thoralians were the malevolent power of the age, but no, apparently you represent some ancient lineage of illimitable evil banished beyond the mountains by Fra’anior himself. What did you want this mirror for, anyways? If you’re planning to shred Thoralian’s gullet with its shards, I’m in. Oh, Leandrial, you should have spoken up earlier! You’ve a nasty fracture right across your upper jawbone.”

  Asturbar had the impression that this intense young woman was not often given to outbursts, but she suddenly shouted, “She questions m
y authority! Mine! Not – not that I have much, really. Just my lineage and the whole Star … thing. I’m sorry, Iridiana. This is meant to be about you, not me.”

  Her glances at Nyahi were so chary, as if she could not bear to gaze upon Chaos. Even now she dipped her eyes, apparently overcome with embarrassment or self-directed anger. No. Asturbar rubbed his bald pate with his right hand as he tried to puzzle it out, eyeing first one girl and then the other. Why so skittish? Almost wary, but not in a way that suggested danger. Both Shapeshifters were acting markedly out of character – the Star shuddering at the force of emotions he could only guess at – but he appeared to be the only one among their number who was sensitive to the tensions rife in the air.

  Ardan massaged Aranya’s shoulders with his powerful, blunt-fingered hands as she leaned against his stalwart chest, sighing heavily. He said, “Suggestion, my beloved. Heal Leandrial first, and then let’s work on the easy parts.”

  Aranya said, “Did somebody spy an ‘easy’ somewhere around Herimor?”

  “Not me,” said Asturbar. Holy Fra’anior, he was starting to like this Princess of Immadia! Weren’t royalty supposed to be aloof, entitled and unapproachable? He opted for jollity. “So, a mirror. Nyahi, was this your idea? Some unsuspected vanity wriggling about in there that I’ve never detected?” She squealed as he prodded her ribs. “You are beautiful, ma’am! Yes you are!”

  “If you say so, sah!” she snapped back, with a very poor salute.

  “I do say so! Shall I hold the mirror like this?”

  “Yes, sah!” Turning, Nyahi took Aranya’s left hand from behind. “I have a very impertinent request to make of you, Princess. Possibly a hurtful one.”

  Oh! As they drew closer together, bereft it seemed of breath or even volition to command any other course of action, Asturbar was reawakened to that sense of connexion between the two young women; to the peculiar resemblance he had noticed peripherally before.

  Shadows darkened those amethyst eyes. “I … see.”

  “I hope you will,” Iridiana said tenderly, but not without a throat-bobbing warble of guilt. “After all, I haven’t much looked in mirrors for seven years. I sincerely hope my intuition is right. Otherwise …”

  Raising the tall, oval mirror in his hands, Asturbar peered curiously over its upper edge as Aranya raised her quivering hands to her headscarf, tugging the filmy material loose, before reaching behind her head to unfasten the tie of her face veil. Poor girl. The ravages of the pox lay heavy upon her, but … was that flesh-eaten pit upon her cheek healing up? She had numerous purpling knobs and lesions dotted about her forehead and upon her cheeks, jaw and neck, but he was right. She had once been a great beauty. Yet, they were of a height and so similar in form, compared side by side at last … his breath snagged in his throat as Nyahi gently urged Aranya to turn and, setting aside the injuries that made people stare with horror or pity; to see what she saw.

  Ardan gaped at their images as the girls’ heads touched. How thunderstruck was he?

  Someone gasped.

  Bending his head about the mirror, Asturbar peered at their images and then back at Aranya and Iridiana. He could not breathe. Twins! Must be. The identical planes of the cheekbones, the slight slant of the striking eyes, the generous curve of the lips as they smiled at each other’s reflections – simply uncanny. More than uncanny. A tear trickled down Nyahi’s cheek.

  The moment breathed wonder.

  After an exquisite stillness, Nyahi’s breath hitched and she said, “I was sort of … wondering … how this might have come to be?”

  Aranya’s hand rose to cover her mouth, the incredulous curl of her lips bookended by her fingers. “Oh! By the mountains of Immadia … it’s impossible …”

  Reaching up, Iridiana gently tugged back Aranya’s multi-coloured tresses. Then her own. They tilted their heads identically, checking the ears. Their distinctive, sharp-tipped likeness simply shouted, ‘We are the same!’

  Zuziana’s voice murmured, “Fra’aniorian ears! And if you superimposed the two of you – well, that’s freaky. Umm … good-freaky. Freakishly amazing! Aranya, you don’t have a sister, do you? A half-sister? Has King Beran been naughty, do you think?”

  “Zip-Zap, you take that back!” the Immadian huffed.

  “I mean, he could be a King in the Remoyan sense of –”

  “What’s about my ears?” Iridiana inquired meantime, her cheeks turning a fine shade of silvery pink as everyone stared at everyone else in the mirror. “Fra’anior’s ears, did you say?”

  “He’s not! My father’s a good man … I think,” the other Princess stammered. “Not that Remoyans are bad. Iridiana, I’ve no words. Uh, Remoyans practise polygamy, just to clarify – one man, many wives. Big families. Immadians are usually monogamous … holy Fra’anior! This is a shock. Quite incredible.”

  Aranya’s eyes could not stop leaping between their visages. She looked almost frightened, the first time Asturbar had seen such a reaction in this powerful young woman.

  He said, “If you do indeed trace your lineage from Fra’anior, then has he been naughty?”

  Everyone, including Leandrial, shouted at him at once.

  * * * *

  Insulting the Onyx of Ages, the seven-headed Storm Dragon of legend, was one way to introduce a kafuffle. After that foray into irreverence, Aranya, Ardan, Asturbar and Iridiana sat down to partake of a simple meal of nutty breads, orrican butter and jam, washed down with water from a spring upon Yiisuriel’s peak, and tried to make some sense of Nyahi, to borrow Zuziana’s memorable phrasing.

  Aranya was clear about her lineage. She was the daughter of King Beran of Immadia and Izariela of Ha’athior. Beran was descended from the Immadian Kings of old, and while from time to time there might have been significant naughtiness afoot in the palace of frozen royal backsides, Zuziana teased her best friend, none of the Immadians had previously been known to be Shapeshifters. Izariela, a famous beauty and the toast of Fra’anior Cluster, had been daringly kidnapped by Beran – plenty of mischief there, Zuziana put in, continuing to steam Aranya up – for they had fallen rainbows over Islands for each other. Ten nations vying over Fra’anior Cluster? More eager suitors for the Ha’athiorian Izariela than a warren of over-perfumed, strutting dragonets? No mind. The Northern rogue had moved decisively to secure his more-than-willing bride in a breathtaking raid combined with Dragon and Dragonship battles, a few handy manacles for the girl, and no clue that his intended was in reality a Shapeshifter Dragoness. How she must have laughed at those pitiful chains!

  A tumultuous beginning to arguably the greatest love-story in Immadian history.

  “Izariela has these pointy ears,” Zuziana clarified for Asturbar and Iridiana. “They are a distinctive of Fra’anior Island, and most pronounced upon Ha’athior, the Island of Aranya’s mother’s birth. You can’t mistake that. Unless those cheeky ears appear somewhere else in Herimor, Iridiana almost certainly has a streak of Fra’aniorian Islander in her. I’d estimate around about exactly half.”

  The Remoyan gurgled at her own joke.

  Iridiana made a face. “Only, for what it’s worth, it’s impossible.”

  Aranya had later learned that Izariela had two shell-siblings, the illustrious Hualiama and the less well-known Ja’arrion, whom she had recovered from the Thoralians’ underground storage beneath the Yorbik Island shipyards.

  Asturbar had started to question Aranya’s understanding of timelines in history, only to be informed that Star Dragoness gestation periods were … variable. For example, for Aranya to claim a six hundred year-old Aunt was a trivial matter. For Izariela to hatch many, many years after her shell-siblings was perfectly normal.

  One weird family. He started scratching his head at this point.

  Ardan said, “If Shapeshifters are ordinarily born as triplets, should you not technically have two other siblings anyway, Aranya?”

  “Well … I’m not sure it works exactly that way,” she said. “I’ve been making i
nquiries. The data indicates that Shifter-Shifter relationships have a ninety-eight percent chance of triplets, close to two percent twins, and an insignificant percentage of single births. For Shifter-Human relationships, the recorded data is scarce due to cultural practices and beliefs in Herimor, but it suggests those categories are ninety-four, five and one percent respectively.”

  Asturbar scratched his head more vigorously.

  Zuziana chirped, “So, there’s an ninety-four percent chance you have two missing siblings, Aranya? And, what percent chance of ancestral mischief?”

  “One hundred of course,” Ardan put in, grinning at the two girls holding hands. “King Beran is a notorious pirate who evaded the Sylakian tyranny for over a decade. Her mother’s a Dragoness. And just look at her character, if you want to ask that sort of question.”

  Aranya smacked his shoulder for that comment.

  “Excuse my ignorance, but how does one pinch a foetus out of a womb?” asked Iridiana.

  Leandrial said, “I can answer that. There is a class of very rare magical parasites in Herimor which are believed to be concentrated in the far North, which are known to parasitize Dragon eggs, and a few types specialise in exactly the type of theft that you have just outlined – most often, from weak or sick Dragonesses. The eggs are said to be used in occult rituals. We Land Dragons have our struggles with the terrible Theadurial, which magically parasitize our kind. It’s a Dragon-eat-Dragon world out there, to use a clichéd but accurate phrase.”

  “Or, we have the scenario where Iridiana’s mother might have been poisoned during her pregnancy,” Asturbar said.

  “Still requires a Shapeshifter in the lineage,” Aranya pointed out.

  “And the ears?” said Zip.

  Leandrial said, “I can help with that question, too. There are recorded instances of Shifters skipping a single generation, so we could be looking to your grandparents, Iridiana. It’s highly unlikely, however. And there’s the minor detail of you possessing Chaos powers.”

  “My unique damnation, do you mean?” Iridiana said bitterly. “To think I had hoped you could heal me of this … I guess not.”