Sunshine in the Dragon's Heart

by Jaime Samms

  That got Sunny’s heart beating, but he forced himself to remain still. The change in his heart rate was apparently enough, however, because Glimmerleaf lifted his head and blinked rapidly, swinging around to eyeball Sunny. He snorted a nearly white puff of smoke into Sunny’s face. Through it, Sunny caught a glimpse of Emile, a long, sinewy body glowing in pinks, oranges, and purples, with long, slender coal-and-twilight wings superimposed over his bipedal form, like he was seeing a reflection of a dragon shimmering in a lake. Then the smoke dissipated, and it was just Emile again, as human-looking as ever, purple-burgundy hair pulled over one shoulder and cascading to his waist, Fernforest now standing, leaning on his legs. The afterimage of his dragon sizzled in Sunny’s imagination, igniting all kinds of excited interest. He squirmed, surprised by his own reaction.

  Glimmerleaf’s long, slippery tongue came out to touch Sunny’s cheek, then play with one of his curls. After a bit more exploring, which distracted Sunny from that unexpected epiphany, he rubbed his muzzle against Sunny’s cheek and let out a soft sigh.

  “You have to move, baby,” Sunny murmured to him, motioning in an outward spiral with his hands. “I can’t stand here all afternoon.” He had things to do, not the least of which was explore the arousal that glimpse had set off.

  Even as he thought that, though, his belly rumbled. One hunger at a time, he supposed. “You see? I have to eat.” He ran fingers in a tickling path down Glimmerleaf’s jaw and neck. “Think you can uncoil for me?” He made the circular motion again, like he was stirring the air.

  After a heartbeat Glimmerleaf shifted, loosened his coil, and Sunny was able to step free.

  Fernforest moved behind Emile’s legs, flopped to the grass, and let out a heavy sigh. He lay with his back to Sunny and Glimmerleaf.

  Glimmerleaf peered at the dog, head on tilt, a stream of silvery-grey smoke rising from his nostrils. “That’s better, isn’t it?” Sunny asked, pointing to the dissipating cloud.

  “It is.” In all the time Sunny had been standing in the centre of Glimmerleaf’s coil, Emile had not approached any closer.

  “What do we do with him?”

  “They aren’t pets, Sunny.”

  “Shush.” Sunny rubbed Glimmerleaf’s jaw. “Don’t pay any attention to him. You’re welcome here.” He shot Emile a look. Just as Emile was welcome, so was this creature, also in need.

  “You’re right, of course.”

  Why was Emile even entertaining the thought that Sunny would turn Glimmerleaf away? Hadn’t Sunny kept him?

  Emile moved closer to them, and Glimmerleaf watched him, eyes bright. “You are calmer than I would have expected about all of this,” he remarked to Sunny as he lifted a hand to touch the salamander’s neck.

  Glimmerleaf allowed a brief caress, then wandered off, nose to the ground, tail swishing behind him in slow arcs.

  Sunny considered as he watched the salamander crawl slowly around the yard, tail sweeping in his wake as he investigated every corner. Fernforest rose and followed him at a distance of a few feet, sniffing at everything as the salamander moved on.

  “I knew this place was special,” Sunny said, keeping his voice quiet. “I felt it as soon as I stepped foot on it. It felt like… home, I guess, but more than that. It felt like I’d found a missing piece of something. Ever since my parents died, I’ve felt… lost. I worked so closely with Mom, and she had a way with growing things. Plants, animals—everything responded to her, and I learned a lot from her. I didn’t have her innate way, but she taught me so much. After I lost her, I didn’t want anything to do with plants or gardening. I thought it hurt too much, that I would never live up to her legacy, but then I found this place, and I knew the lack was what hurt.

  “This place saved me. When I found you in that shack, I knew I had to help you. If the land was here to help me regrow my heart, I owed it to whatever brought me here to do what I could to repay that. I think he’s the same.” He held out a hand, and the salamander brushed the length of his body along his palm. “He’s lost, and he needs help. He found us, so it’s up to us.” He knew in his bones this was right. And the more he thought about all of it, the less it shocked him that magic was drawn to this place, or even that magic existed at all. He knelt as Fernforest sidled up to him, tail wagging tentatively. He took the dog’s face in both his hands and scratched behind his ears. “Do you understand?” He was looking at the dog but tuned when Emile answered.

  “I’m beginning to.”

  They watched a few minutes more, and Sunny was pleased to see that the smoke trailing off his new scaly friend was much lighter than it had been before his nap. As it rose into the late-afternoon air, the shimmering view behind it caught Sunny’s attention. The forest was so much more vibrant viewed through that veil, like there was more than simply leaves and branches moving just beyond his sight. As Glimmerleaf paused at the rose bush next to the drive, a distinctly not-rose bush shape moved in its depths.

  “What is that?” Sunny pointed and moved a few steps closer.

  The bush—all of it—froze, impossibly still in the light breeze.

  “Softly,” Emile whispered. “That’s a dryad. They tend towards shyness, especially singles.”

  “Singles?”

  “This rose bush is isolated here. Single bush, single dryad. He—at least I think it’s a he—would have to cross a lot of open space to find another of its kind. They tend not to like doing that.”

  “Does every tree and bush have its own dryad?” Sunny asked, peering at the forest again. Without the screen of smoke before it, he saw only trees and bushes moving in the ways the wind dictated.

  “Not exactly. It depends on the species. Willow trees, pine trees, they would each have their own dryads. A poplar grove, like yours, it depends. The trees themselves shoot up from suckers in the roots of their neighbours, so really, a grove theoretically might be all one plant.”

  “So one dryad.”

  “In a grove this size, a very strong dryad, but yes. Although it’s also possible there is more than one grove intermixed here. We wouldn’t know unless the dryads chose to show themselves and tell us. The willow, on the other hand, is a single dryad for each tree. And given your tree’s age, it’s also a strong one, because that willow has long outlived its natural nonmagic lifespan.”

  “So, like, a birch tree that lives to be about eighty would never have a strong dryad? Do they die when the tree dies?”

  “I don’t know that ‘die’ is exactly the right word. My understanding is that the healthier the tree, the healthier the dryad, and that if the tree begins to fail, the dryad lends its strength to its tree. They thrive or fail together. But… dryads don’t die, per se. If your willow tree were to be cut down or destroyed in a fire, the dryad would… sleep? Its magical energy would be released back into the flux, but the awareness, while no longer corporeal, would still be there. If the tree sprouted again, the dryad would wake, regrow with the life of the new shoot. Or if you planted another tree, the consciousness of the ancient dryad would be there for the new dryad to draw on. It would, I guess, become a part of the new dryad. It’s complicated, and I don’t understand it all. I’m not a plant. I’m a dragon. I do know that the salamanders feed off the flux the trees produce, and the dryads draw on the refined energy the salamanders create.”

  “How does that work? We don’t have salamanders.”

  “Perhaps your other wildlife serves the purpose our salamanders do? The squirrels maybe? I don’t know.”

  “Or maybe that’s why we don’t have dryads here.”

  “But you do.” Emile pointed to the rose bush, then more expansively at the forest. “I’ve seen them.”

  Sunny studied the rose bush. It was watching him now, and he didn’t need the screen of Glimmerleaf’s smoke to see the dryad within. “I promise if there had been a dryad in this bush a week ago? I would have known. If there are dryads here, it’s probably because he’s here.” He pointed to Glimmerleaf. “Maybe there’s a co
nnection.”

  “Maybe. Like I said, I don’t understand it all. Dryads are not the most outgoing of magical folk, plus we don’t really speak the same language, so we don’t know a lot about them. I think they have to be very old and very powerful to communicate through speech.”

  “Even still.” Sunny watched the bush as Glimmerleaf nosed at it, and after a moment the dryad, a slim, prickly, humanoid shape of twigs and thorns, leaves and flowers, rose to a height that came almost to Sunny’s shoulder. It was a tiny, brittle-looking thing, with eyes the colour of pink garnet glittering in the late sunshine. It—he?—was beautiful in the way of all magically delicate but menacing-looking things, as he was covered in an impenetrable layer of thorns and spikes and carried an air of aloof permission. Like he was allowing Sunny this up-close glimpse but looking was all that would be permitted.

  Unlike with Glimmerleaf, Fernforest didn’t seem the least bit fazed by his appearance. Like he’d known about the dryad’s existence all along. Sunny was going to have to have a talk with him about keeping secrets.

  “Hello.” Sunny smiled, and the dryad made a slight curtsying gesture and lifted a hand to wave, petallike, in the breeze. His smile was kind, and then he swayed and vanished back into his bush.

  Glimmerleaf watched it all with an air of interest.

  “That was… wow. So much I didn’t know,” Sunny breathed. “We have to protect it.” He looked at Emile. “All of it. Including Glimmer.”

  Emile held out a hand. “Come here?”

  Sunny’s heart lightened and a smile crept over his face. His gut, in turmoil for the past days, settled as his fingertips brushed Emile’s. A shaft of golden sunshine broke through the trees and hit Emile’s face, lighting his eyes to a glittering sapphire shine.

  It was clear there was more to him, to everything, than the skin and bones Sunny could see—or even the scale and feather he could not, at the moment.

  The difference was that Emile could pass as human. Glimmerleaf would pass as no creature humans had ever seen. “What are we going to do with him?”

  Even as he asked the question, the salamander stopped moving, lifted his head, body perked like he heard something beyond Sunny’s senses.

  “Leeesin,” Emile snarled.

  Now he knew what Emile was, the draconic hiss to his words was obvious, and Sunny straightened. “What?”

  But then he did hear what Glimmerleaf and Emile had heard: crackling twigs in the forest.

  In an instant Glimmerleaf was gone, disappearing into the underbrush so fast Sunny blinked and could have been persuaded he’d never been there. Fernforest set up a cacophony of barking and dashed after the salamander, voice disappearing into the trees.

  “Whatever it is, Glimmer and Ferny don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it,” Emile said, and to Sunny’s alarm, a row of spiked, bony protrusions shimmered in the air along the tops of Emile’s shoulders.

  “Don’t!” Sunny gripped Emile’s wrist. “Emile, don’t.”

  Emile straightened, and the shimmering of the air around him stilled. “Very well.” He placed a hand on Sunny’s shoulder and pulled until Sunny’s back was touching his chest. “But I make no more promises if this is a threat.”

  “That’s very sweet,” Sunny murmured under his breath. “Shall we go see?”

  Chapter 25

  EMILE WAS much less enthusiastic than Sunny to go trekking into the woods to see what was out there. He already had ideas of what it might be and wasn’t sure he wanted to introduce Sunny to the less wondrous side of his world. He couldn’t say for sure if Hakko would dare cross the Fold himself, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t send minions of one sort or another to track Emile down for him.

  “Sunny?”

  “Come on. I can hear Glimmer, but I can’t see him. I don’t want him to get too far ahead of us.”

  “He’ll outrun us both if he wants to.”

  “Then he doesn’t want to, because so far, he hasn’t gotten too far ahead.”

  Emile pursed his lips but caught up with Sunny so he had a clearer view of what was ahead. Occasional glimpses of the salamander’s tail spikes flashed between the trees, so Sunny was right. Glimmerleaf was keeping a pace they could match. But he was also approaching the sounds of disturbance ahead without slowing.

  “Do you think it’s another salamander?”

  “I have no idea what it is, but generally salamanders aren’t that noisy.”

  “A dryad, maybe?”

  Emile cast Sunny a look. “Do you think a dryad would be that destructive in their own home?”

  “Good point.” To Emile’s relief, Sunny slowed. He took a huge breath through his nose and grimaced. “It’s not a bear.”

  Emile followed his example and sniffed. “You’re right.”

  “It’s smelly, but not bear smelly.”

  As they contemplated the stench, Fernforest barked excitedly and swirled past them, nearly knocking Sunny over as he dashed past between his legs.

  “Hey! The hell did he come from?” Sunny threw his arms into the air. “I guess he’s not afraid of whatever it is.”

  “Sometimes, Sunny, your dog doesn’t show the prudence of, well.” He sighed. “Any other dog, I suppose.”

  Ahead, Fernforest tried to dodge around a tree and misjudged, bouncing off the wide bole and landing in a scramble of limbs in the leaves.

  “Seriously?” Sunny hurried forward, but Fernforest was up by the time he got there. “You’re acting a little doofus-y, Ferny. Not gonna lie.”

  Emile knelt and took the dog gently by the head. “Is it the giant squirrel again?” he asked.

  Sunny scoffed. “Giant squirrel?” But the question was barely out of his mouth when a tree branch overhead rustled wildly, dipping to tangle fine twigs in Sunny’s curls. He looked up to see what might, to a dog, seem like it could be a giant squirrel.

  It had as much area covered in brilliant red feathers as it did fur, along with a scaled, flexible tail and vestigial wings that glittered in the sun and that it held close against its back. It clung to a poplar branch that swayed precariously under its weight as it watched them.

  “What the—” Sunny stared into curious brown eyes.

  “Of course.” Emile moved delicately, putting himself between Sunny and the creature. “A tatzel.”

  The creature smiled at them, revealing more than one row of spiky teeth.

  “Not as cute as a giant squirrel,” Sunny said.

  “You have squirrels that get that big?”

  “Uh, no. We have… well. Pretty much nothing that looks like that, actually.”

  “But you do have animals that eat only meat.”

  “Like dragons?” Sunny winked at him, which was both endearing and annoying. He’d never met anyone who defused their unease with the kind of levity Sunny used.

  “Maybe animals not as intelligent as a dragon, though?” Emile asked.

  “Okay, yes, sure. Lots of animals who hunt other animals to eat.”

  “Any that fixate on a specific prey until they catch it and tear it to shreds so they can eat it in strips?”

  “Really not as cute as a giant squirrel.”

  “Well. The good news is that the salamander is too big for this one. This looks like a juvenile. Fernforest is too small for it to bother with. And it wouldn’t take on a dragon in any form.”

  “Perfect.” Sunny made his eyes very wide. “That makes me lunch.”

  “Which I am obviously not going to allow.”

  “How do you stop it? Feed it something else?”

  “No. That won’t work. Now that it’s seen you, it won’t stop until it catches you or dies trying.”

  “We have to kill it?” Sunny stared at the creature. “That isn’t fair. Why is it even here? What does it normally hunt?”

  “Others of its kind. Very newly formed salamanders. Bear cubs and the like.”

  “Of course. Because deer are too easy.”

  “Exactly.”<
br />
  Sunny made those wide eyes again. “I was kidding.”

  “There is one possibility I can think of that might save both you and the tatzel.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “If I shift—”

  “You can scare it away?”

  “No. When I shift, it will consider you under my protection. That will only present a greater challenge. It will want to hunt you to see if it can get you away from me.”

  “That’s a lot of thought going into this for a wild animal.”

  “Magic creatures are not as bound by instinct as a mere wild animal, Sunny. Being magic makes them something more than that.”

  “Of course it does. So what happens if you shift?”

  “We make for the Fold. Once we are close enough, we push it back through.”

  “Won’t it just come back?”

  “Very unlikely. As for salamanders, crossing the Fold is not a pleasant experience. It wouldn’t have even done so if not forced.”

  “You’re saying something forced it across to this side?”

  “More than likely. And once back on its own side of the Fold, it will get as far from the barrier as it can, as fast as it can.”

  “But it won’t want to cross.”

  “No.”

  “So you’ll have to make it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Will it hurt you?”

  “I sincerely hope not.”

  Sunny frowned. “I don’t like that plan.”

  “Sunny.” Emile cupped his face, detangling twigs from his hair as the tatzel looked on, tail swinging low enough to brush over Sunny’s bare arm. Sunny started and a red welt rose on his skin where the tail had touched.

  “That hurt!”

  “Its scales exude a kind of venom, most potent just after it—she, in this case—has given birth.”

  “Not fair.” Sunny shuffled away from the tree so the tatzel couldn’t reach him.

  “It’s not as potent on other magical creatures, and many of the nonmagical creatures it hunts have a far thicker skin.”