Tytiana

by Marc Secchia

  “Wedding’s the day after tomorrow,” the Immadian said tersely. “Lovely weather, eh?”

  “Where’s Jakani? He’s late.”

  “Can’t you feel him, Tytiana?”

  “Oh. Aye, I can.” She smiled thinly at the Princess. “Sorry. Bundle of nerves over here. He’s just landing outside. Come on. You get changed and we’ll load you off the first floor landing.”

  “Can’t do this in my castle.”

  Whoosh!

  “Suffering spiders!” snorted Zihaeri. “It’s a touch early for this much pink Dragoness in my hallway. Oh, who’s knocking?”

  “Another Dragon,” Tytiana said smugly.

  Her sister gave her a longsuffering look. “No, I am not building an entire wing onto my future house just to accommodate your whims, Tytiana the Radical Red. At least this front door’s a decent size. Father’s one stipulation in the design – something suitably grand that would no doubt suit those crimson robes he always loved. Crazy man. Lug your luggage lugubriously up those stairs?”

  As the doorman opened the front doors, the zesty breeze whirled inside, cool and moist. Jakani’s black and gold snout poked inside. “Room for a little one? It’s a mite damp out.”

  “Ha, clean for a change, Dirt Picker?” Tytiana grinned.

  “Hilarious,” he observed drolly. “And a very good morn to you all, ladies. Fetching outfit, Tytiana. I see we did not quite make it into the Dragon Rider trousers?”

  “The family tailor threatened to quit. They’ve been our tailors for seven generations.”

  “I see. One small revolution at a time,” said Jakani.

  “You just want to see her in trousers,” Shalanya teased, rolling her eye-fires comically.

  “Well, I don’t believe it’s against her religion, so aye, I do,” said he, taking all four saddlebags in one paw and bounding up to the first floor landing. “Let’s get that leather harness onto the Princess. Shame it doesn’t appear to come with a handy gag built in.”

  “One Flicker in this company was quite enough,” Shalanya said crossly, waving a delicately pink but decidedly razor-sharp talon in his general direction. “Behave. I’m twice your size and ten times more beautiful.”

  “Ooh, but Jakani’s soooo gorgeous,” Tytiana crooned, stroking his flank. Her Dragon promptly started steaming all over.

  “Hey!” he snorted.

  “Just helping you dry off.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tytiana and Zihaeri helped Shalanya with the unfamiliar harness that buckled beneath her torso in two places, and also ratcheted tightly onto her spine-spikes above her shoulders. This secured the waterproof saddlebags a couple of feet behind the main bulk of her flight muscles in her powerful shoulders. There would normally be space for a Dragon Rider or two at most on a creature of Shalanya’s size, but Tytiana had elected to ride in Jakani’s paw. He also carried his own, very much smaller bag with a selection of outfits she knew were guaranteed to make a Dirt Picker desperately uncomfortable.

  She ran over the information she had shared with the Princess last night. Right. Aranya’s family was perfectly enormous, but the people she was most interested in were Na’axion and his parents, Asturbar and Iridiana. Asturbar was a huge and powerful warrior from a tribe called the Azingloriax, while Iridiana, to Shalanya’s best knowledge, was also a Shapeshifter with ‘weird’ powers. Definitely ran in the family, she supposed. Unfortunately Shalanya was not a great source of genealogical information, by her own admission, having been a terrible recluse for more years than she cared to count, and not being interested in familial matters because it seemed that being stuck in faraway Immadia, she would never be able to meet anyone. Furthermore, many of them lived South of the Rift, in Herimor. How could they cross the uncrossable divide? Star Dragons had their ways, Tytiana was duly informed.

  Aranya was married to Ardan and they had a perfectly eye-popping twenty-one children, plus a further nine who had passed on to the eternal fires. When she inquired why so many infant mortalities, Shalanya told her a harrowing tale of Herimor Shapeshifter parasites and assassins, and betrayal by one who had been a close family friend. She shared that she herself was a single egg birth, of Imanya the Silver Dragoness and Sarangatu the Grey. Imanya was Aranya’s seventh daughter; both of her shell-siblings had been lost to complex Shapeshifter poisons.

  “Granny’s pregnant again, however,” she said glibly. “Clutch of six.”

  “Six? At once? What do you even call that?”

  “Sextuplets, or a double clutch,” the Princess had chuckled at Tytiana’s amazement. “Shifters usually give birth in triplets, but there are cases of single births or twins.”

  Tytiana said, “Isn’t she a hundred years old?”

  “More. Shapeshifters and Dragons live long, Tytiana.”

  So much to learn about this new world she was entering, Tytiana thought, hugging Zihaeri one last time. The Albino Dragoness had already stepped out into the rain. If anything, it had intensified and was driving in diagonally on a stiff breeze. Oh well, the weather over at Fra’anior Cluster was meant to be lovely at most times of the year – hot and tropical, unless they hopped over into the middle of one of the infamous caldera storms. But the Princess said Flicker’s instructions had taken that possibility into account.

  Jakani’s paw clasped her waist. “Ready?”

  “Not very.”

  All he did was press his hot Dragon lips against her cheek – fairly much kissing half of her face, but she did appreciate the gesture. “No need to swallow me whole.”

  “Oops. Tasty titbit. Veeeerrrryyy tasty.”

  “Despicable Dragon.”

  “Gorgeous girl.”

  “Pretty boy.”

  “Fiery … um, whatever. I’m flying now. Please don’t make me burst into flame or anything.”

  Walking down onto the lawn, Jakani launched into the air and joined Shalanya in the clouds. His flying in this adverse weather was not the best, but his draconic instincts did take care of most of the detail. One minute outside, and she was already soaked. Her titian braid stuck to the back of her azure riding gear, the skirts split for ease of movement and under-leggings added for reasons of padding, comfort and modesty. She had a spare foot in her bags, enough dresses for various occasions, and the hooped ball gown of her mother’s which she desperately wished to wear for Jakani. Best not to admit to anyone they planned to whisk a priceless family heirloom through a storm to faraway Fra’anior Cluster.

  Tytiana swiped at the water sheeting down her face. Right. Here came the pink Dragoness from upwind, spraying her sparkle power as she focussed on sending them to Fra’anior Cluster. Two miles above the Palace and a touch offshore was the aim. Simple, right?

  Just a few thousand leagues in a blink.

  Then she realised from Shalanya’s expression that something was not quite right – the downpour was washing her magic out of the air – Jakani’s despairing lunge into the pink-tinged rain was probably the essence of foolishness – the Princess bellowed, STOP!! – and then she was falling free, free through the rain. Fra’anior was nowhere to be seen.

  Pink wings fluttered furiously against the storm as Shalanya surged to her side. “Darn – I didn’t anticipate – where’s Jakani?”

  “Gone.”

  Chapter 30: Palace Raiders

  BRIGHT SUNS-SHINE smote Jakani’s eyes repeatedly as he blurred and slipped through reality, like a scene viewed through rain-splattered crysglass. One moment he seemed to be slithering between raindrops as the Princess’ unique magic did something indescribably weird to his being, and the next, he remembered thinking, Pull yourself together, Jakani! He did exactly that. Having hauleed himself back from places weirder and farther than he could imagine, there was a distinct sense of pause-before-coalescing, and then he was all back in one piece again.

  His Dragon hearts slammed wilfully about in his throat, deeper in his chest and somewhere near his stomach. The Onyx-Gold squeezed his eyes shut and shudder
ed. Close one. Teleportation held greater perils than they had ever imagined.

  Skanky caroli! His paw was empty!

  Tytiana! Ty … she was nowhere to be seen, but there was no profound sense of disconnection either. The inkling he had come to think of as her presence, dwelled inside of him, ineffable and serene, yet as alive as a bonfire’s shooting spark. Eternally shooting, never guttering. Curious how that sensation had become as natural to him as his own breathing. When had that happened? If she was safe, then they would come just as soon as Princess Shalanya lined up another shot of her pink sparkle power.

  In that storm? Maybe not!

  Opening his eyes, the small Dragon beheld Fra’anior Cluster for the very first time, and his heart vaulted back up into his throat for a completely different reason. Astonishing! Sublime! He winged above a crater of breathtaking proportions, so huge its smoking orange maw seemed more than capable of gobbling up entire Islands. From five or six miles altitude, he gazed down upon a slender coronet of verdant green Islands that curved away into the distance, lying along a rim wall which boasted secondary and even tertiary cones, most especially to his left paw. The ramparts of the Isles were sheer dark cliffs over four miles tall, all aglow in the light of an early dawn more luminous and vibrant than anything he had ever imagined.

  Fra’anior’s breath! he exhaled slowly.

  This was Fra’anior’s own Cluster. This caldera, the creator-Dragon was said to have inhabited in all his onyx immensity – suffering caroli, what manner of Dragon would it have taken to fill this place?

  Compared to that, he must be a midget. A gadfly.

  This volcano made Helyon look … well, shabby. Even Immadia, famously unique and beautiful with its white-capped mountains, would barely have occupied a corner of Fra’anior’s backyard. Beneath a shimmering dome of peach, orange and crimson dawn skies, the Isles shone like a delicate bracelet, bursting with bird and Dragon and dragonet life that he could observe in amazing detail from up here with his extraordinary Dragon sight. Ah, there would be the Human capital city, dead ahead as Flicker had predicted. The quality of the light was incredible. He could not fathom what the exact effect was – Tytiana might know, he supposed – but it made everything seem resplendent, gilded, majestic. Beauty to smite a soul with the awareness of infinitude.

  Trimming his wings, Jakani settled into a comfortable glide as he goggled unashamedly. Now, Shalanya should make her appearance any moment, and –

  HOLD, FOREIGN DRAGON!

  The Onyx-Gold almost shed his scales in shock as a dark, sooty monster appeared right in front of him. He back-winged just in time to save himself a highly embarrassing and utterly futile collision with a humongous beast who appeared to share the Princess’ knack for appearing out of absolutely nowhere.

  By Fra’anior’s own wings, where in these clear, glorious skies did one hide one of those? The new Dragon’s mouth alone was big enough to swallow Jakani whole, no exaggeration. His dark, brawny magnificence made Excorion look like a fledgling in comparison, and that Brown was no month-old stripling.

  How did you come here, foreign fledgling? demanded the Black Dragon. How did you evade the Star Dragoness’ wards? What is your nefarious purpose in this subterfuge?

  I … um, flew here, noble Dragon, Jakani spluttered. Are you …

  He could do with a brainwave right now. All his Dragon’s mind could tell him was that this predator was lethal in a way he had never quite appreciated before, and that there were other Dragons scrambling toward them from every point of the compass, including high above. The watch on the wedding was far closer than Flicker had anticipated. And he was still floating right in front of a thicket of gleaming, four-foot fangs which looked all too recently polished for comfort.

  I bid thee speak, thou stumble-tongued fool!

  Well, Princess Shalanya sent me, noble – he pulled up in confusion as the huge Black Dragon started growling deep in his chest. What? Why are you –

  LIAR!

  Uh, no, I’m not lying, sir. Princess Shalanya, the Albino Dragoness, is just on her way here from –

  HOW DARE YOU? IMPOSTOR!

  An incredible peal of Dragon thunder pummelled him backward. Jakani had only just begun to realise that his ear canals had somehow pinched shut or reacted to save his sanity, when the biggest fireball he had ever seen hurtled out of that Black Dragon’s maw, all crimson and onyx-shot with malign power, a vivid and unstoppable expression of the creature’s near-feral rage.

  GRABOOM!!

  Despite the explosive power of a strike that swept him a half-mile backward across the sky before he was able to shake himself loose of whatever power the Black had unleashed upon him, the Onyx-Gold did not quite lose consciousness. He swirled out of the roiling flames with a furious growl of his own, bellowing, Now, listen here, you reckless savage, when I speak the truth, a Dragon of noble fires listens and does not respond with a fireball in the fangs!

  The dark Dragon gaped at him.

  Oh, I’m supposed to be dead right now, am I? Think again, you shrivelling little sap!

  Oh … not good. There were quite possibly a million more diplomatic ways to handle this situation than insulting a Dragon who had to be ten times his tonnage, and he had chosen exactly none of them. The dark Dragon’s bristling mien made that conclusion more than clear. He was about to be served up for dinner, diced and chargrilled the with ultimate prejudice.

  Mister Darkly-Furious flickered across the sky, closing the gap between them in less time than it took to blink. He could not fight that tactic! Pointing one huge talon at Jakani’s heart, the Dragon growled, Alright, youngling. You’ve gained my undivided attention. No Dragon calls me a savage and lives to tell the tale! I am Ardan the Shadow Dragon, mate of the Star Dragoness, and I have the power to rip your soul right out of your lying, craven body. Say your last words, little one.

  Jakani swallowed back a lump that felt bigger than any of these Islands. Great. Inside of ten seconds spent visiting Fra’anior Cluster, and he had managed to mortally insult none other than Aranya’s own mate, the Shadow Dragon of legend. He croaked, Uh, sir, Shalanya’s right behind you?

  Nice try.

  The Shadow Dragon raised his right paw threateningly. Jakani saw the remaining seconds of his existence ticking away in those pitiless orbs.

  SHALANYA! he wailed.

  Grandfather! she trilled in delight. Hey, gramps, come over here and see! It’s me!

  Ardan whirled with a wild bellow of amazement. Shalanya! Oh, sweetest of fires, thou … thou art here? I – I was just confronting this feckless Palace raider, here …

  Oh, noble Jakani? The Dragoness dimpled sweetly. Such a troublemaker. Don’t let him rile you, gramps. He says the silliest things when he’s stressed. But, look! Look at me! I’m flying without fear – don’t you see? And this is all Jakani’s work!

  Ardan fixed Jakani with a measured glare that suggested more than a few solutions to his alleged troublemaking, all of them savage, brief and unquestionably terminal. Then, he growled, I offer honour-restitution for my hastiness, youngling. He presented his cheek. Pointed to a spot on his jaw with one enormous talon, he said, Right here.

  Ah … what does that mean?

  You hit me.

  I hit you? I don’t really want –

  The monster’s eyes darkened. Be you a true-fires Dragon, or not? We must resolve this! Like you or none, you must deliver the buffet I am due, and I ask but one thing: do not stint! To offer less than your very best is dishonour everlasting.

  A blow for the fireball? Jakani said slowly.

  Your insult was grievous. If you knew me in the slightest, you would understand why.

  I am sor – he stopped with the apology unspoken. Was this not the way with Dragons? Did the ballads not say that they despised apologies? He glanced over at the Albino Dragoness. Shalanya was holding a flaming Tytiana at talon-tip’s length. Poor girl. She appeared to have completely lost control.

  Alright, he nodded sl
owly. Truly, I spoke with a fool’s tongue and desire to make restitution. Must I now strike you?

  Aye. This is how Dragons settle such a matter.

  Alright, noble Ardan. Uh … did you mean, as hard as I can?

  You cannot hurt me, boasted the Shadow Dragon, so summon your courage, youngling, and strike as Fra’anior enables the truest fires of your Dragon hearts.

  * * * *

  In the near distance, Jakani nodded slowly, accepting the huge Dragon’s proposal. Shalanya had warned her that Dragons never stopped growing, but this Ardan – her grandfather – was built on another scale entirely. Immense. Confident. Darkly beautiful, yet different to Jakani. Her Dragon was all gleaming onyx and flashy gold, with the compactness and explosive power of a small volcano. She wondered if Ardan quite realised what he was taking on. The Shadow was a matchless smoky black colour, a male Dragon of legendary powers who was married to the very Star Dragoness herself! Shadow to her light. The darkness behind the star. That lamko certainly knew how to pick on the biggest of them all.

  She saw no way out, and clearly neither did the Dirt Picker.

  Honour could be so restrictive, yet she understood also that once the blow was delivered, whatever insult he must have stupidly given this legendary Dragon would be forgiven – a Dragon-promise – and so the solution was quick. Painful, but quick.

  Jakani lined up the Shadow Dragon. She heard him mutter, My best. Alright. Fra’anior grant me strength.

  He seemed afraid of embarrassing himself.

  Yet his courage rose as always, a flash of his eyes seen through the cascading fires of her wayward magic, that signature jut of his chin, an inhalation of breath as he prepared himself. The loose readiness of the muscles. The fierce concentration. Nikuko warrior. Then, he flashed across the sky, and struck the Shadow Dragon such a monumental buffet, the nearing Dragons actually glanced about as if the crack of thunder had emanated from somewhere in the clear skies.

  Ardan shuddered from head to tail.

  Tytiana realised, with a sympathetic shock that quavered her own fires, that the Shadow Dragon had been struck on more levels than any of them understood, that there were perhaps sonic or physio-magical effects that amplified Jakani’s strength to an unimaginable degree.