The New Age

by Chris D'Lacey

  He need not have worried; Pine had heard it right.

  “Nay,” she tutted. “Blow the dust from your skaler ears and listen.” She wriggled clear of his tail and stretched out a hand. The “beast” nuzzled it gently. “The creature calls itself ‘Wyvern.’”

  Wyvern. The name ran well off the tongue, but it still meant nothing to Gus. He had never heard of such a creature. No per had taught him that a species like this could even exist. He wondered what the Elders of Ki:mera would make of it. The De:allus would be blowing their scales with excitement. But to any normal dragon, the beast was a weird anomaly. A glitch in Godith’s magnificent design. It was pleasant to look at, but a mutant all the same. A distortion of nature.

  A freak.

  By now, more Wyvern were out of their holes. Initially, they were all as cautious as the first. But when Gus allowed Gariffred forward, they clustered around the drake in total wonder. They wanted to touch his perfect scales. And see his powerful claws extend. Most of all, they wanted to hear his voice. His gentle graarks! caused much delight. One creature broke a fruit from its stalk and offered it to Gariffred, nodding to say he should take it. Gus had other ideas. “No!” he barked, making the Wyvern scuttle back. One or two flew to the stone pillars, to settle on top to watch. The fruit bearer looked puzzled. It sniffed the fruit and expressed its confusion to the others on the ground. Then they all did a very odd thing. They rose up on their hind legs and looked at the sky. Instantly, a breeze swept over them, making their delicate ears vibrate. Whatever was in that breath of wind seemed to determine their next course of action. The Wyvern with the fruit quickly stripped it of its peel, unwrapping a capsule of soft orange berries. It bit the capsule in half and swallowed as many berries as it could, licking off several that stuck to its jaw. Then all the Wyvern picked a fruit and offered it up—not just to Gariffred, but to Gus and Pine as well.

  Pine took one gratefully. She peeled it, ate it, and licked her one tooth clean of its juice. Gus refused the fruits he was offered on the grounds that “real” dragons only ate meat, but he did let Gariffred take one. The Wyvern with the white frills came to help. “Like this,” it said, showing Gariffred how to peel it. Gus watched the drake snap his jaws around the fruit (sending berries everywhere) and found himself praying that the wearling would not turn Wyvern orange. What kind of color was that for a dragon? Grendel would never forgive him.

  His thoughts began to turn to more practical matters. When it came to it, what was he going to eat? He could survive without a kill for many days, but it was preferable not to for a dragon of his size. And where would be safe for the drake to shelter? He’d seen no caves among the rocks he’d scanned. The Wyvern clearly liked their holes and no doubt Gariffred would like them too, though Gus could not allow the drake to go down them; anything might lie inside those tunnels. All of this begged a far bigger question: What exactly were they going to do here? Fascinating as the islands were, Gus couldn’t conceive of a less likely environment for a Wearle to inhabit. Where were the ledges, the caves, the mountains? No dragon could settle in a place where it did not feel it owned the sky. That sent a painful jolt to his hearts, and another when he recognized what the jolt meant. He had glimpsed a miserable future. One in which his only prospect was loneliness.

  “Who is your Prime?” he asked, floating his gaze across the whole troop. Was there a system of command, he wondered? Hierarchy? Bloodlines? Enemies? Guardians? Who controlled this colony? Most of the creatures were now happily going about their business, which seemed to involve collecting more stones to add to the pillars.

  “Who leads you?” he asked, rephrasing the question. The word Prime had seemed to confuse the Wyvern.

  “We have no leader,” one replied.

  “No leader,” said another.

  “We are what we are,” another joined in.

  “We are Wyvern,” they chattered.

  Gus rolled his shoulders. Well, at least he’d sparked some interest.

  “What are you?” said the one with the white around its ears. Gus was certain now that this was a female. She came up close and stroked his tail.

  “I am dragon,” he said in a low rumble.

  The frequency of sound just made her head wobble. She twizzled her ears and appeared to be confused. Her eyes turned a curious shade of green. “No,” she said.

  No? Gus snorted hotly, making the Wyvern wings flutter. Some held them out for another blast. They seemed to like the flow of warm air.

  “We know dargon,” she said. “You are not dargon.”

  Dargon? Was this mutant mocking him now?

  Pine sauntered up. “Look, skaler. The Wyvern like flowers!” She had a garland around her neck, made from the many types of flower head the Wyvern had brought to her.

  “Forget flowers,” he said. And at last, he managed a minor growl. The sky seemed to darken a little in response, as if a small cloud had chosen to shade him.

  Pine sighed and put a hand on a Wyvern snout. “Do not listen to the skaler. He is old. His bones creak.”

  “Skaler,” they said, happily sharing the word among them. “He is skaler.”

  “No!” Gus repeated, loud enough to make the colony cower. “I am DRAGON!”

  So hard to shout. It would have been easier to push a stone between his teeth. What was happening here? He looked at the sky as though it were his enemy.

  All the Wyvern looked up too.

  Another breeze swept over them, slightly stronger than the last.

  “You must come with us,” the female said.

  “Where to?” said Gus.

  “We will take you to the dargon.”

  “Dargon?” said Pine, jumping in before Gus could chew off his tongue. “Did you hear the skaler right? His name is Gus. He is DRAGON, not dargon.”

  Again, the Wyvern looked at the sky.

  “We understand,” they said. “L’wen-Gar was mistaken.”

  They all stared at the female Wyvern. She, L’wen-Gar, wiggled the ear that had (apparently) done the mishearing.

  “He is DRAGON,” said the group.

  Pine nodded, pleased they’d gotten it right, if only to stop Gus stomping on something.

  But the confusion was not quite over yet. “He is dragon; the dargon is dargon,” they said.

  Gus blew an exasperated sigh.

  But Pine was deeply curious now. “The dargon is on this world?” she asked.

  “Aye,” they said, making her laugh. They were learning her words and using them. She liked that.

  “And you would take us to it?”

  “AYE, PINE!”

  She clapped her hands lightly.

  “Where is this ‘dargon’ creature?” snarled Gus. He glared at Pine, faintly disgusted by her easy acceptance of their familiarity. He also checked quickly on Gariffred. The drake was still eating fruit and paying no real attention to the argument.

  The Wyvern looked at one another and reached a decision. One of them said, “L’wen-Gar will lead you.”

  And they parted to make a pathway for Gus.

  A pathway that led to the arc of stone.

  L’wen-Gar flew the short distance to the arc, where she waited in front of it for someone to join her. Pine removed her garland of flowers and declared herself ready. L’wen-Gar opened her wings and flew through the space.

  She disappeared in a shimmer of light.

  “WAIT!” Gus bellowed.

  The Wyvern community leaned back like blades of grass in the wind.

  Pine dropped her shoulders. “You tire me, skaler. What now?”

  “It may be dangerous.”

  She looked at the arc. “’Tis a portal, surely?”

  And that division of the sky was a slit, thought Gus. And look where that brought us. “We don’t know what’s on the other side.” There was grass and erth and sky beyond the arc, but that was clearly not where it led.

  “Then I would go through it and see,” Pine huffed.

  “It might be a
trap.”

  Pine opened her hands. “Why would these creatures bring harm on us?”

  Why would they not? Gus had heard many sobering tales of Wearles being attacked in places they had tried to colonize. Why should these islands be any different?

  He was about to inflict this wisdom on Pine when L’wen-Gar fluttered back through the arc armed with nothing but a puzzled expression.

  “See?” said Pine. She kissed her fingers and patted Gariffred, then walked through the arc with L’wen-Gar at her side. Gariffred graarked in shock when Pine shimmered out of sight. Even Gus could feel his primary heart thumping. If the girl did not return …

  But she did. At least, part of her did. An arm came through the arc in midair and a finger on the end of it beckoned them forward.

  Gus rumbled quietly and told Gariffred to stay close.

  Together, the dragons went through the portal.

  Gus had raised his entire array of battle stigs in case they met danger on the other side, but all they found was more of what they’d left behind. Flowers, fruits, another large arc. The landmarks were very different, however, particularly out at sea.

  “This is a different island,” Gus muttered.

  Pine tutted loudly. Of course it was! You didn’t go through a portal and not expect change.

  “Why couldn’t we fly to this place?” Gus asked.

  “We have traveled far,” L’wen-Gar said. “Our wings are not strong enough to fly here.”

  Gus could understand that. He’d noticed from the start that the Wyvern wings were almost stunted, useless for anything but fluttering, really.

  “The arcs take us anywhere we wish to go.”

  And yet the light has stayed the same, thought Gus. Again, he wondered where this world hid its sun. He cast his gaze around. “Where is the dargon creature you speak of?”

  “Not here,” said the Wyvern.

  Gus looked hard at Pine. Was this a trap after all?

  Pine raised a hand for calm. “Then why did L’wen-Gar bring us to this island?”

  “So the dragon will not fear the power of the arc.”

  Gus immediately broadened his chest. “I fear nothing,” he rumbled, pushing his snout so close to L’wen-Gar she was forced to squeeze down to nearly half her size.

  “Oaf! Don’t fright her!” Pine complained, kicking him in the belly (for all the good it did). “She means to show you the portal is safe, no more!”

  But L’wen-Gar, to her credit, had not tried to run. Her eyes widened and she rolled them skyward again. A breeze came over her, rustling her wings as she spoke back to Gus. “The Aether says you fear yourself, dragon. You fear your power. You have … killed.”

  Gus pulled away slowly. Somewhere deep inside, he was trembling. “Aether?” His gaze blazed across the sky.

  Pine rested her hand on L’wen-Gar’s back. “Gus will not harm you. Yes, he has killed—to protect the little one. But dragons oft speak louder than their size. Pay the beast no heed.”

  Although she looked grateful for Pine’s advice, L’wen-Gar pulled in her snout and whispered, “There is more. He fears the dargon.”

  “What?” said Gus, snapping back into the conversation. “How can I fear what I’ve yet to see?”

  “The Aether is never wrong,” said the Wyvern.

  “Take us,” said Pine. “Through this arc here.” She walked to it. It was much like the one they had just come through, the same rough size, constructed from stone. “We would see this dargon the Aether speaks of. Show us, L’wen-Gar.”

  The Wyvern nodded. “It rests high, in a cavern.”

  Gus raised an eye ridge. So there were caves here.

  “Many of us attend it,” she said.

  “Do you serve it?” said Pine. “Is the dargon your master?”

  “We have no master,” L’wen-Gar replied.

  Except the mysterious Aether, thought Gus, glancing at the sky again.

  “The dargon is sick,” L’wen-Gar said.

  “What ails it?” asked Pine.

  “We do not know. We wish to heal it, but we cannot. It is dying.”

  “You have flowers,” Pine said. “Leaves. They cure.”

  L’wen-Gar shook her head. “The darkness is too great.”

  “Darkness? What darkness?” Gus turned his head. Words of that texture made his scales lock down.

  “The darkness that binds it in misery,” said the Wyvern.

  There was silence then. Gus swallowed hard. One thing he hoped he’d left behind in the mountains was the disturbing rumblings about Graven rising. What if the dark one was hiding here, ready to launch an attack on the Wearle?

  “Take us to it,” Pine said bravely.

  “No,” said Gus. “I won’t put Gariffred in danger.”

  He glanced down at the drake. Gariffred was switching his gaze among the three of them, largely immune to what was being said.

  Pine turned to L’wen-Gar again. “Is there an island where the wearling will be safe?”

  “I’m not leaving him,” Gus snorted.

  Pine crossed her arms and sighed. “Then stay and eat fruit, if you fear this thing so.” Tossing her hair off her shoulders, she swept toward the arc with L’wen-Gar at her side.

  “Wait,” Gus said tiredly.

  Pine put a hand on L’wen-Gar’s shoulder.

  “All right. The drake can stay. But if anything happens to him, I’ll, I’ll …” Why couldn’t he say it? I’ll slay them all.

  Pine got the point. She repeated her earlier question to L’wen-Gar.

  The Wyvern replied, “All the islands are safe, Pine Onetooth. I will call others to play with the Gariffred.”

  She dipped her head into the nearest hole and made a whistling sound. Moments later, another group of Wyvern had surrounded the drake, looking as awed as the last lot Gus had seen.

  “They will take him undererth,” L’wen-Gar said.

  “Into the holes?” Gus didn’t like the sound of that.

  But the drake was gone before he could argue.

  Gus turned and studied the arc. On any other terrain, he would have marked this point so he might find it again with ease. He recorded an i:mage, but with no celestial object to orient by, coming back was going to be difficult—by flight anyway.

  He was still grumbling about it as they shimmered through the space and came upon a very different tract of land. Here, at last, was some height. L’wen-Gar had brought them to a rocky plateau opposite a compact gathering of trees. Rising out of the trees was a mound of stone. To call it a mountain would have been an injustice. To Gus, it resembled a giant row of teeth all fused sideways into one. From left to right, each “tooth” stood a little higher than the last. Every peak was bluntly rounded, except the one nearest the end, which sported a solitary spike. The rock itself was old and predictably orange. Gus could almost hear the different strata groaning. The whole row was marked with clefts and fissures where water had worn the stone away. Gus saw the cave L’wen-Gar had spoken of before she could point it out. A black hollow punched into the hard edifice, wide enough to admit a large dragon.

  Punched was genuinely how it looked. The cave was just below the treeline, and only visible from here because the trees in front had been broken down. Something had crashed through the tops at speed, likely aiming for the cave and the shelter it might bring.

  Pine, when she saw it, leapt to the wrong conclusion for once. “There must be a skaler in there,” she whispered.

  But Gus knew otherwise. “That’s no dragon,” he growled. And though the sky continued to work against him, he lit a small spark in his fire sacs and bared every fang and claw he possessed. His battle stigs rose again. Blood powered into his giant wings. “I can smell it,” he snarled. His fearsome nostrils doubled in size, their linings ready for the stream of heat.

  “Smell what?” said Pine as he rose for takeoff.

  “Goyle,” he said. “I smell goyle.”

  The slap of Gus’s wings was like the
crack of thunder. L’wen-Gar, who was already shying from the sound, was nearly blown off the plateau as the roamer launched. Pine, more used to the rolling surge of a dragon propelling itself into the air, had chased up to Gus and screamed at him to wait. He couldn’t hear her, and wouldn’t have obeyed if he had. He had fought against goyles in the mountains, seen dragons killed and maimed by them. Rumor had it they were the agents of Graven, and the sworn enemy of the Wearle. He was going to that cave no matter what. He was going to kill the “dargon.”

  Pine was lucky to get on to his back. She jumped for the nearest leg as he rose and only just made it, nimble as she was. He inadvertently helped her by pulling up the leg as he would for flight, but she still had a dangerous climb to his shoulders. She was twice nearly crushed as his wings beat down. By the time she had reached her “riding” position, seated between his largest ridge scales, she was in no mood for his bellicose behavior.

  “STOP, SKALER! THINK!” She tugged at one of his primary stigs.

  “Do that again and you’ll die,” he warned her. “It’s a long way down from here, One-Fang.”

  He twisted the stig and sent her sliding. Cussing in a manner that would make the sky blush, she kicked herself upright and scrambled back into position. “STOP!” She beat a fist on the back of his head. It had no more impact than a small hailstorm.

  He dipped suddenly, making her stomach vault. He was just above tree level now, blowing away the top layers of leaves as he hurtled over them. He was closing on the cave at frightening speed. Pine was terrified he might plunge, blazing, through the hole and they would both be consumed in a back draft of fire. But at the very last moment, he flipped his wings and turned away, issuing a warlike scream. He was calling the goyle to come out and fight.

  Once again, Pine tried to reason with him. “STOP, SKALER! WE DON’T KNOW IT’S A GOYLE!”

  “It is,” he said. His olfactic glands were not misleading him. He swept around, giving out another scream.

  Pine looked down as they banked. A few Wyvern were standing on the short patch of rubble that sat like a bib around the cave mouth. More were spilling out of the hole and fluttering away like seeds on the wind. All were wide-eyed with terror.