Dragon Space

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  No! Jael cried. I want you to leave me alone! Who are you, and why are you doing this? What do you want from me? She hunched low on the glider, drawing the net in close around the edges.

  Child! called the dragon. What a strange one! Do they send child-spirits to duel with us? Such questions! You want to know who I am, and—

  I am not a child!

  The dragon's harsh laughter filled the air.

  And you haven't answered me! she added fearfully.

  Nor shall I, said the dragon. But so many questions not to answer, all at once! Do you think you're the first outsider to come here, spoiling for a fight?

  Jael gaped at the creature. Then it's true, about the dueling! And you dragons . . . are real!

  The dragon made a noise that might have been a sigh or a snarl. Of course! Now duel, rigger! With deft wingstrokes, it climbed high above her; then, dropping one wing, it dived. It bore down upon her in the moonlight, its massive shape growing large, larger—

  Jael screamed.

  The dragon thundered as it dropped past, raking her with fire. Jael's skin sizzled, and flames crackled along the wings of her glider. Gasping, she changed the image: a sudden flurry of snow cooled her and quenched the flood of energy in the net. She changed the glider from wood to a fireproof alloy.

  The dragon approached from the side, flapping its wings slowly. It eyed her with a glowing eye. Not badly done, for a demon, it conceded. It banked away and put distance between them.

  Jael stared after the dragon, dumbfounded. Before she could gather her thoughts to reply, it turned again and streaked toward her in another attack.

  Jael froze, helpless. She tried to make herself small, to protect her flanks. The dragon grew with terrifying speed. STOP IT! she screamed.

  The dragon broke off its attack, veering away in surprise. And you wonder what I'm doing? it murmured. It circled back, warily. There is something different about you, rigger. What is it? In the distant moonlit clouds, the dragon's fellows looked like small dots, wheeling and maneuvering in the air. The dragon glanced at the others, with what looked like uncertainty. If you didn't want to duel, why did you come here?

  Struggling to keep her glider steady, Jael was dizzy with confusion, with fear and anxiety. Well, I . . . don't know. But I wasn't expecting anyone to try to kill me!

  The dragon banked closer. And just what did you expect?

  I don't know, she admitted, and wondered why, indeed, she had come into this mountain range. She thought, but didn't say, that she hadn't really been expecting dragons or any other living thing to be here.

  The dragon snorted, then spoke in an almost conciliatory tone. You don't know what you expected, but you didn't expect to duel. What, then? Do you want to talk? Do you want to just fly along and chat lightheartedly? We could do that, I suppose. I could promise not to kill you.

  Jael drew a breath. Can I believe that?

  Why not?

  She eyed the dragon, unable to tell whether it was mocking her or not. Can we really just talk? No dueling?

  The dragon tipped its head and winked its luminous eye. Jael nodded uneasily. She didn't know what to make of this creature, but she knew she didn't want to fight it. She decided to change her image again: the glider disappeared and she became a winged pony, beating into the wind. Very nice, said the dragon, drawing in close alongside her.

  She didn't answer. The night was changing, the clouds closing in. She could no longer see the other dragons. A moonbeam broke through the clouds to show a jagged mountain slope, very near, with mist swirling around it. Jael had not realized that they were so close to the mountains. Do you know where we're going? she asked.

  Yes, said the dragon with a crafty chuckle. Suddenly it sideslipped over her and seized her with its great talons. Jael's breath went out with a gasp. The dragon bent its head down to peer at her between its forelegs. Its jaws gaped, and its hot breath rushed over her. Jael struggled, terrified. She squirmed and twisted and managed to roll forward in the dragon's grip just enough to kick up with her hind pony legs. Her hooves caught the dragon squarely in the stomach and it wheezed, releasing her. Jael tumbled in midair, beating frantically with her wings but losing altitude. She was dropping headfirst through the mists. She glimpsed terrifying sawtoothed slopes rushing upward to meet her. Frantically she transformed herself into a hawk, warped her wings sharply, and pulled herself out of the dive. She climbed again toward a safe altitude, looking around in vain for the dragon.

  Well done, it said, right behind her.

  Panicked, she looped up and into inverted flight and twisted back down behind the dragon. You liar! she shouted. You promised and you lied!

  The dragon glanced back over its shoulder. Well, I didn't exactly promise—

  You as good as promised! Is that a dragon's kind of honor?

  Well—the dragon said hesitantly—where demons are concerned—

  You mean you all lie? she screamed.

  Only when dueling riggers! the dragon snapped—and what it did next, she could hardly believe. One moment it was in front of her, and the next it was above her, and then behind; and it curled its wing around her like a net and scooped her toward the mountain. Jael trembled and fluttered, a frightened bird, as they plummeted through the darkness. Abruptly the dragon lurched to a landing on a black outcropping of rock. Holding her loosely, it craned its neck to sniff at her with huge smoldering nostrils, to peer at her with its enormous glowing eyes.

  Jael fought to control her fear and rage. Shaking, she puffed up her hawk feathers and stared back up at the creature. You lied, and now you intend to kill me! Is that it?

  The dragon cocked its monstrous head slowly. I didn't actually lie, you know. I tricked. One is expected to do that with demon-spirits. Didn't they tell you that when they sent you here?

  No one sent me! Jael snapped. I just came! And not to duel! And I'm not a demon! Why do you keep calling me that? She choked in the dragon's breath; the air around her was suffocating, trapped by the creature's great wing. Would you mind letting me breathe?

  Hissing, the dragon opened its wing. You certainly are different from any rigger I've ever heard of. Not that I've personally met any before, mind you. Until now, I wasn't even sure that your kind really existed. Perhaps you had better show yourself as you really are.

  The world remained wreathed in fog, but the cool night air revived her somewhat. All right. Concentrating, she transformed herself back into the image of Jael LeBrae, human woman, in the nexus of a ghostly neural-sensory net. Haloing the net was a shimmering ethereal spaceship.

  Impressive, said the dragon. Is that all you, or are you riding some sort of magical beast? What do you call it? A spaceship?

  She made the spaceship disappear, wondering how many like it the dragons in these mountains had destroyed. She stood on the outcropping of rock, lonely and frightened and cold. My name is Jael LeBrae, she said.

  She felt a shudder, as though an earthquake were shaking the rock at her feet. The dragon's eyes opened wide. It gazed at her in astonishment, then reared its head back and roared in dismay. Its cry was deafening, reverberating through the mountains and the mist. I did not ask your name! it bellowed. Why have you given me your name! It blew a searing gout of fire up into the night, and scratched at the rock, its talons grating horribly against the stone.

  What's the matter? Jael cried, covering her ears. Have you gone mad?

  What's the matter? the dragon thundered. What's the matter? What are you? You're no demon! Demons don't give names! They never give names! Don't you know anything, rigger?

  Of course I'm not a demon! Why did you think I was? What kind of insanity is this? The ground continued to tremble at her feet. What was going on here?

  The dragon was clearly disturbed by the vibration, too. It tipped its craggy head this way and that, then angled a troubled gaze at her. Rigger, this is strange. Most strange, indeed. It muttered to itself for a moment, as though weighing contradictory thoughts. It is almo
st as if you were—but no. It shook its head. I'm sure that is impossible. Impossible! Angrily, as though frustrated, it vented flame and sparks from its nostrils.

  What are you talking about? Jael demanded.

  Never mind, the dragon snarled. It snorted out another blast of flame. Tell me, rigger—don't you know the power of names? You act so innocent! Names are everything! I cannot kill you for a demon, knowing your name. You are—and he growled a guttural word—garkkondoh—and fumed, a person! You are real! Its throat rumbled like a volcano threatening to explode.

  Of course I'm real! Jael shouted. You're not making any sense at all! What do you mean, names are everything?

  The dragon shook its head unhappily. Finally it settled down enough to speak, its voice quiet in her mind. Perhaps that was an exaggeration. Nothing is everything. But—and it fixed her with its glowing, glowering gaze, before continuing grudgingly—I perceive, I am afraid, that there is more to you than meets the eye. I had not expected such an action from a dem—from a rigger. It glared in thought for a long moment, then sighed rumblingly, shaking its head. Perhaps, though . . . I should have. It would seem that I am obliged now by honor—it sighed again—or perhaps by more than honor—to give you my name in return. And then I will no longer be able to trick you, or to duel without—and he made another guttural sound—hakka, cause.

  Jael ground her teeth. What are you talking about? Never mind! I don't even want to know your name!

  The dragon settled down glumly. And I shall have to learn more about you. Very well. If it must be. I am Windrush-Wingtouch-Highwing—Terror-of-the-Last-Peak.

  I don't want to know! she snapped.

  I suppose you may call me Highwing. You might as well know that my name is of some note in the realm. And I am the sire of the four fastest young dragons in the whole of—

  You are a braggart, also, Jael interrupted, startling the dragon into silence. It shifted its position awkwardly; the crag was small, compared to the dragon, and there was hardly any room left over for a frail human. That, Jael thought, was as good a reason as any to take her leave. Look, I only want to be on with my flight, she informed him. You've been . . . most enlightening. But this isn't helping me reach my destination. I'm afraid I must leave now.

  Leave? Highwing rumbled. That is impossible!

  Why?

  Well—that is to say—you must make up your mind! The dragon scrutinized her with large, luminous eyes. You really didn't come here to duel?

  I told you. No.

  Highwing vented smoke, squinting. In that case, it must be that you have come here for . . . another reason. I am troubled by this, rigger. Jael LeBrae. I am . . . troubled . . . by the meaning of this. And by you.

  By me? she murmured. And she realized, but with only a dizzy half-awareness, that his eyes were shining hypnotically into hers. She wanted to turn away, but could not; there was a terrible magnetism in his gaze. She became aware of a strange sensation in herself, as though she had turned transparent, as though the dragon were seeing much more of her than the surface manifestation she intended to show. What are you doing to me? she whispered.

  There seemed to be a rush and a hiss around her, a flurry of activity that she could not see.

  She may well be the one, said a voice—not the dragon's.

  She tried to focus, to see who was speaking. She could not move her gaze.

  That is easy for you to say. That was Highwing's voice, barely audible. Do you know the trouble it would cause? Who am I to make such a claim?

  You must judge that yourself, whispered the other. But remember the words. Remember Skytouch.

  There was a long pause. Then Highwing: I remember Skytouch very well. There was renewed anger in the dragon's voice.

  Do you? It would not always seem so, from your actions.

  Iffling, speak to me not of things that are not your affair! hissed the dragon. Begone! And with those words, he blinked, releasing Jael from his gaze.

  She drew a deep breath and shook her head, trying to refocus her eyes. Something small and luminous and ghostly, hardly more than a flicker of light, floated in the air beside the dragon. As you wish, spoke the voice that she had heard moments ago. And the flicker of light vanished. Jael stared, dumbfounded, into the dark air where it had been. She looked slowly back at Highwing.

  Aahhhhhh . . . the dragon sighed, steam trailing from his nostrils. There will be unhappiness about this, that is certain. Great unhappiness. He stared at her for a long moment.

  What was that? she asked.

  What was what?

  That thing I just saw.

  Oh. The iffling. The dragon sharpened a foreclaw on the rock. Meddling creature. Still, I may have erred in sending it away so soon. But its words . . . Highwing hesitated.

  Troubled you, Jael said sarcastically.

  Highwing blinked. Indeed. And you—I must learn, now, what to make of you.

  You don't have to make anything of me. Just let me go.

  The dragon cocked his head. Oh? And if I did? Do you think you would leave this realm alive? You have already been noticed, you know, and not just by me. Did you not feel that shudder in the underrealm? You have placed yourself in great danger by coming here. Do you think they would let you leave? His eyes shifted to her left. You would not be the first outsider to die in their flame . . . if their boasts are to be believed.

  Jael followed the direction of his gaze. The other dragons were still wheeling in the night air against the moon. She had forgotten about them. She could see tiny billows of flame; the dragons were not too close now, yet close enough to attack, if they wished to. Do you mean . . . that riggers are . . . always killed? she asked, swallowing.

  Highwing answered in a mutter. Who knows, really? There is little enough that is certain, these days. He paused in thought. Though there is one, or I should say, rumor of one who . . . walks in the realm as a free demon. More than that, I don't know. But—

  He was interrupted by voices grumbling in the distance: Highwing . . . Highwing . . . why do you wait?

  Highwing's voice rumbled to full power. THIS ONE IS MINE! he thundered, blasting the air with fire. YOU MAY LEAVE US ALONE!

  He was answered by distant, haughty laughter. But the other dragons seemed to move farther off. Jael watched them uneasily. She turned to Highwing. I am yours? Is that what you think?

  Steam curled into the air from the dragon's great nostrils. Let us say that I fear that you are mine, the dragon said with evident reluctance. Something is greatly amiss here, one known as Jael. You have come innocently, it would seem. As the words say.

  The words?

  The Words. The speaking. The prophecy. As the iffling has reminded me. If you are the one . . . He sighed again, then raised his head, as though cutting off his train of thought. I have already done the unthinkable, in sparing you. And yet, it seems I must. To refuse would be to concede to those . . . to allow those who do evil to the realm . . . to prevail. Jael tried to interrupt; but he continued speaking, as though following disconnected thoughts, his voice growing deeper. Ahhh, and yet even so, I feel . . . I sense . . . still another force, another evil at work. Something that has nothing to do with me, or this realm. Something within . . . you! How strange! His eyelids closed and opened again. He seemed surprised. Perhaps several somethings. I cannot say precisely. He drew a long, rumbling breath and seemed to debate something in his thoughts. I almost fear to ask this, but . . . do you wish to tell me of it?

  Jael felt a growing sense of unreality. The dragon was making no sense to her. Tell you—?

  What is troubling you.

  I have nothing to tell you, she said, a little dizzily, except to mind your own affairs. His insistence was wearing at her. And every time he looked at her she felt naked, as though he were looking right through her, finding every one of her faults.

  I have received your name, and given you mine, the dragon said in an injured tone, as if that explained everything. You proposed the bonding, and I accepte
d, in honor. I trust you will not abuse the privilege. You may trust me, as well.

  After you lied and tried to kill me?

  That was when we were dueling. And before I knew that you were—or might be—He paused, then grumbled something under his breath which she didn't catch. Well, in any case, it was expected.

  Not by me, it wasn't.

  The dragon stared at her without answering. In the silence, she knew that she should be on her way. But something in her did not quite want to go, something apart from her fear of the other dragons. Something in her wanted to learn more from this Highwing. He spoke of things she did not understand. But he almost sounded as if he had . . . expected her, somehow. The dragon cleared his throat steamily. Some of the clouds broke and stars appeared over the mountains, Jael stared at them longingly, thinking of her dream: flying among the stars. That was what she was doing now. Wasn't she?

  A voice broke the silence, neither hers nor Highwing's. What's going on?

  The dragon peered around in confusion, but Jael recognized the voice with a shiver. I'm flying, Mogurn, she answered, her voice tightening.

  Jael, come out of the net at once, ordered Mogurn's bodiless, furious voice.

  I can't, she said, with a glance at Highwing. There are dragons close by. Very close. Please don't argue with me, she thought fervently. Our lives could depend on it.

  Mogurn's answer was harsh, but tinged with fear. Can you get us out of it? Out of trouble?

  I'm trying. If you let me.

  Do so. When we're out of trouble, you come and see me, Jael. I'm very disappointed in you. Mogurn broke the connection abruptly.

  Jael shuddered and gazed off into the night, not meeting the dragon's eyes. Still, she was aware of his eyes glowing at her, through the thin curls of smoke that rose from his snout. I think I begin to perceive, Highwing murmured. You must answer to someone . . . in your realm. Your spaceship. And that disturbs you. Am I right?