Sunshine in the Dragon's Heart

by Jaime Samms

  Sunny wondered if perhaps this would be one of those Bearers who went feral in the end. He hoped not. A little while after that, Ananth walked off along the clifftop to the path and disappeared over the edge, not even saying goodbye.

  That was the last he’d seen of any of the dragons other than Emikku.

  The brownies, though. They were curious. Sunny figured they were also afraid of the dragon he was leaning on. Or at least the older ones were. The younger ones seemed inquisitive more than anything.

  “You can come out, you know,” Sunny said, watching Rootstock, who crouched just in the shadows of the trees. “Even if he wakes, he wouldn’t hurt you.”

  Rootstock pointed past Sunny and Emikku. “Dragon waste.”

  “Yeah, I get it. They did some pretty terrible things. But not Emikku.” He didn’t know exactly what they had done, but he’d ask Emikku. Eventually. He stroked his dragon’s thick neck, still amazed at the glassy hardness of scales that shimmered with every colour of the sunrise. They should have felt cold to the touch but didn’t. “In fact, none of the dragons alive now did the things that hurt your people,” he guessed. He didn’t know, but he got the feeling that all things considered, the dragons were young and foolish when compared with the dryads or even the brownies. He wondered if humans must seem like children to the old brownie.

  “Waste,” Rootstock said, a stubborn set to his jaw.

  “They laid waste to your homes?”

  Rootstock nodded.

  “Emikku told me stories of captive salamanders. He said that was a long time ago. Before his time. That the dragons—most dragons—didn’t keep them captive anymore. Wouldn’t that limit the magic they can use?”

  That got him a harrumph from Rootstock.

  “I looked into their valley.” Sunny waved at the cliff edge. “It’s all stone. No green things.” He tilted his head to one side. “I think maybe dragons can’t grow plants very well.”

  “Burn and flame and dragon… short sight.” Rootstock waved his arms. His chest heaved, and his moon eyes flashed. “Rock heads.” He pounded his fist on the ground, making a few tiny pebbles jump. “No future think.”

  Sunny took a moment to parse that, but Rootstock went on before he could comment.

  “Life-sucking hot. Water steamed. Rootstock—” He thumped his chest, then waved his arm behind him at his enthralled family. “—all Rootstocks fled. Under earth, under root. Start new and tree seeds and trickles. Small life.” He plopped down on the earth, dug strong fingers into the hard, dry soil so it cracked and turned to powder under his touch. “Strong Rootstocks. Small life is big. Trees grow. Trickle to flood.”

  Sunny had to grin at that, watching as more and more brownies appeared from the trees behind the wrinkled, passionate little man. A flood of strong Rootstocks indeed.

  “Dragon fools have land top. Brownies have earth. Life. Safe. Let dragons turn husk.” But he lost some of his fire at that and looked troubled.

  “You don’t really mean that,” Sunny said. “You don’t want the dragons to die out and turn to husks. Not really.”

  Rootstock huffed, nostrils flaring. His wife folded herself cross-legged beside him and took his hand in hers. He said something to her in their rapid-fire pebble-and-leaf speech, and she frowned, glanced at Sunny, then turned back to her husband.

  Her reply was equally rapid, gentler, more leaf-and-grass, but vehement.

  He shook his head.

  She thumped his arm and looked fierce.

  He sighed.

  “Best and other,” Rootstock said, resigned. But he leaned over and kissed her cheek, patted her shoulder as he rose, then plodded out of the forest towards Sunny.

  He didn’t do much of anything, really. Just prodded Sunny to one side so he could grab hold of one of Emikku’s spikes to pull himself up onto his shoulder. From there, he lay on his stomach, reached down, and slipped a hand under one of the plates of Emikku’s armour. He grimaced, muttered “hot hell,” and pushed farther.

  “Ah!” He smiled grimly and reached back to Sunny, wagging his hand until Sunny realised he wanted Sunny to take it, then drew Sunny close to lean awkwardly between Emikku’s spikes.

  “Here,” Rootstock said and shoved Sunny’s hand under the armour guarding Emikku’s chest.

  The heat was excruciating. Sunny yelped and sweat broke out over his back. He tried to pull away, but Rootstock was a strong creature, and he pushed Sunny’s hand deeper.

  Then he felt it: a cool spot deep in Emikku’s chest. It pulsed in time with his breaths, slow, steady, but not strong. It was like a void. There was nothing to touch. Like Emikku had emptied himself of something in order to change into this impenetrable—or nearly impenetrable—being.

  “What is that?” Sunny wiggled his fingers but felt only that palpable nothing.

  “Dragon-heart,” Rootstock murmured.

  “There’s nothing there.”

  “Love. And magic.”

  Sunny’s heart cracked. Emikku had done this, sacrificed his own magic, his own love, to save his brothernest-mate from going down a road that would have destroyed him. “Well, then.”

  Sunny reached deeper as Rootstock withdrew. He curled his fingers around the nothing and squeezed, as though force of will could keep it from getting any bigger.

  “Take my heart, Emikku.” He snorted at himself. Like he hadn’t already given the dragon his heart. “Keep it. It’s not a lot of magic, but it’s all the magic I have.”

  He took a moment to imagine that cold void he’d closed in his fist transforming into golden light even brighter than the Fold itself, and hotter than the sunshine they had played with after their first time together. He remembered what he’d said to Emile that day. “…Alive like this. Like if you reached out you could touch the sunshine. Cup it and hold it and form it into dreams that you can make come true. You know?”

  He’d thought then that Emile would think he was nuts, or a hopeless romantic. “You’re my dream come true, Emile,” he whispered. “I’m not ready for it to end.” He imagined all that light leaking out between his fingers to fill the void he couldn’t see. As insubstantial as hope, as intangible and as ruthless, it bled into Emikku’s chest to simmer and heat him from the inside out.

  Beneath him, Emikku gave a great shudder, then went still again.

  Sunny withdrew, sliding his hand down the hard scales, a last, lingering touch. “You know where to find me when you can,” Sunny told his dragon. “I can’t leave Daisy behind. She’s not ready.” After moving to Emikku’s head, Sunny kissed his muzzle. “Under the willow,” he whispered.

  When he straightened, the sun was slanting towards setting. The brownies stood on the cliff, watching the dragon. Emikku glowed as though the full light of the noon sun still bathed him. His scales held jealously to that light, though this body remained nearly motionless.

  “You have to help them, Rootstock.” Sunny turned to the eldest brownie. “I know they don’t understand what they did. They don’t know everything. But Ananth and Emikku, they aren’t bad. They need teachers, and I bet brownies know more, are older and much wiser than the oldest, wisest dragon.”

  Rootstock huffed, his expression declaring that the obvious truth.

  “I know. It’s scary. So is leaving him here.”

  Rootstock reached for Sunny’s hand and led him towards the trees. When he was under the branches, he looked back. Emikku’s scales blended with the sunset until he was nearly invisible, just a shimmer on the very edge of the world. Like a dream that had almost come true.

  AT THE far side of the ancient cedar grove, Sunny stopped by the fallen tree. He searched until he found a handful of viable seeds. The Rootstock clan watched in silence as Sunny knelt, poked a finger-sized hole in the soft earth near the torn ground at the tree’s ripped roots, then dropped a seed into the hole. He pushed the dirt back over the seed, wishing with all that was left of his heart that it would be enough for the dryad to cling to until a new tree was born.<
br />
  “I know it’s not a lot.”

  Rootstock patted his shoulder. “Seed and Tree. Trickle to flood.” He nodded sagely, laid a hand over the pocket of hope, then motioned to the willow tree across the clearing.

  “Yeah. Time for me to go home.” His smile was hard to force and quick to slide away. “Thank you for your help.”

  Another pat from Rootstock, and then Sunny was wading through the little rill at the edge of the clearing, blinded by the light and heat and chill of the void, then stepping through to soft, dry moss on the other side.

  If he’d expected dryads and water sprites to greet him, he was disappointed. But only partly, because he found Daisy lying under the tree, her head propped on Glimmerleaf’s side, Fernforest curled against her ribs. She was reading a book, tipping the pages towards the fading light.

  “Hey,” Sunny whispered.

  All three of them tackled him, and for a short time, it was enough to stave off his heartbreak.

  Chapter 34

  A CONSTANT patter of pebbles fell to earth, leaves rustled, breezes wafted through tall grasses. It had been going on for a while now, even though no breeze rustled his feathers. Although sunk in an inky darkness, the feeling of warmth brushed over him occasionally, and the sense of light wound through the black voids deep inside. The weave of light and dark followed no discernible pattern, but even when it seemed the light was distant, cold, it never truly left.

  Weight pressed down on every breath, forcing the air into a thin stream. Sometimes he thought it might almost be easier not to take the next breath. Then that light, like a thousand pricks of energy, would make him gasp, air would rush into his chest, and he was he again.

  He jerked upright, forcing weakened forelegs to push upward, to fight through the sharp agony of pins and needles as blood rushed back into his extremities.

  Around him came the hard clatter of stones on granite and the shrill whistle of wind through treetops, the rush of hurricanes through grass… and the distinctive patter of feet and pop of displaced magic.

  Then silence.

  A hushed, held breath.

  He heaved, but he had no strength. The scales were too much, too heavy for weakened limbs, and he shuddered, curled his shoulders, willed them away, even as he tried again to force his feet under him.

  His heart thundered. Magic flooded, uncontrolled, the lash of a sharpened whip through his being. Scales fell away, glass and steel raining down around him, and then he was standing in the midst of their brittle remains. Brilliant yellow feathers fluttered down to tangle in his aubergine, lemon-tipped hair. The flicker of iridescent pink and purple shimmered just under his skin. His nails glinted black and sharp in the morning light.

  As he stood and gazed out across a valley at a brilliant blue horizon, streaks of fuzzy peach morning softened the glare, lightened the shadows to a silvery gossamer veil, then burned off the night to reveal his city glowing in the very first and best light of day.

  A shuffle behind him caught his attention. Afraid if he moved to quickly or too far he might collapse, he swivelled his head to look.

  A brownie, freckled face lined with years and wisdom, stared up at him. His expression was determined and fierce. He pointed an almost accusing finger up at him. “Sunny. Best and other.”

  Emikku tipped his head, feeling the soft fall of his hair over bare skin. “Sunny,” he repeated, touching his chest where a thin line of gold bisected his body from navel to collarbone.

  “Best and other,” the brownie repeated, poking his finger through the air again. “Gave magic. Dragon live.” He stomped a foot. “Rootstock help Sunny. Dragon….” He narrowed his eyes as though he’d just asked a question and wanted an answer.

  “Sunny.” That word—no, the name—meant something important. He ran his fingertips down the delicate line of gold, remembered the touch of other fingers, felt the magic of other reaching deep into his soul, drawing him back, filling the void within.

  “Sunny saved me.” The brownie—Rootstock, apparently—grunted. “I didn’t know brownies had names.”

  The brownie rattled at him like stones down a dry riverbank, huge eyebrows drawing down over his furious eyes. It took a moment for Emikku to recognise that he was being soundly rebuked, only in a language he hadn’t even understood was a language until that moment.

  “We have a lot to answer for.” He frowned as the memories of an entire race paraded, dim, half-understood shadows, through his mind. Dragons had so much to answer for.

  Rootstock crossed his arms over his chest with a little huff and flare of his nostrils.

  “We do have much to answer for, my wild one.” The new voice, accompanied by a soft susurration of delicate scale and clink of claw on stone, brought sharper, more vibrant memories to the fore.

  He turned to face the golden dragon gliding up over the lip of the cliff. The deep rainbow glow of growing eggs illuminated their abdomen, and they gazed warmly at him for a moment before turning their attention to the brownie. “Your human has opened a door for us we should never have closed.” They bowed slightly. “Good morning, Rootstock.”

  “My human.” He studied the pretty dragon, trying to focus on the bright memories of other places, smaller cities, wild ocean, stretches of sand…. He recalled the whirring, comforting sound of wings overhead, the flash of light and dark as a dragon whirled in the sky, racing him as he sped along the ground, his own small wings not up to the task of lifting his heavily scaled form into the sky. “Ananth,” he said finally.

  Ananth’s smile was toothy but relieved. “Yes.”

  More memories flooded him then, of Hakko’s strong will, his determination, and yes, his pride. He had never been gentle. For an instant, Emikku felt the bulk of his own dragon self—scales, feathers, spikes, and claws—settle on his shoulders. He shrugged it off. Emikku was painful right now. Lost. Cast from the protection of a Sire he hadn’t trusted.

  He gazed at Ananth. “Hakko?”

  “Gone.”

  He pulled a breath in through his nose, the scent of his home flooding his senses. There was… something missing. Something necessary that he had to dig deep to remember.

  “Emile,” he whispered. And his skin snugged around him, a velvet softness of longing as he remembered Sunny, Sunny’s touch, his voice, his soft sighs and his strong, sweet hands. Emile looked up at Ananth. “I have to go.”

  AN ENTOURAGE of silver-skinned, big-eyed brownie children followed him through the watching cedar forest. He felt the dryads in the shadows of their trees, but none of them showed their faces. When he reached the far side and the giant trunk of the fallen tree, he slowed.

  Near the roots, a sapling, spindly but vibrantly green, reached upward to the sun filtering through the hole in the canopy. A wisp of a presence crouched in the cavern of the old root system of the downed tree. A tentative connection between the ephemeral dryad and the new tree made the air shimmer. As he neared it, Emile felt the same connection, like the magic that had filled his empty spaces had encouraged this tree to break through the soil and reach out to the dryad.

  “Sunny,” he whispered and picked up his pace.

  He was over the tiny creek and through the fabric of the Fold in another instant, emerging, as he had once before, into a land that felt a little colder, a little plainer, a little duller than the one he was used to.

  This time, though, the faintest of golden threads stretched between his heart and the central glow of the magic that had brought him—the dryad, this place—back to life. He sped once more, ignoring the sharp stab of rock and root at his feet, the careless slap of branches against bare skin, the chill drops of old rain that splashed off the wet leaves into his face.

  As he neared the creek that ran along the far edge of the poplar grove, he smelled something so familiar, so like home, it slowed his pace. Along the bank of the creek, in a ragged row, were a dozed knee-high cedar trees. They were different than the ones he had first sheltered under when he’d arrived. Th
ey were obviously younger, but they had the scent of magic in every cell.

  They didn’t have dryads, but as Emile ran the flat leaves through his fingers, he could feel the stirrings of sentience, the first burgeoning of self deep in the trees’ hearts. It might be years before the trees grew strong enough to support that kind of life outside their own rough skins, but he thought eventually they would become aware of their own potential.

  Curled protectively around the thin trunks of the tiny grove, Glimmerleaf slept peacefully. His colour had returned to the shimmering depths of green and teal it was meant to be, and the flakiness around his eyes and nose was less. Thin white curls of smoke rose from his nostrils with every exhale, and a light blanket of soft white ash dotted the land around him.

  “Of course.” Emile had changed to his dragon form to try to carry Glimmerleaf across the creek to the cedars, hoping that would help him recover. That had been his undoing, when Hakko had appeared, his pheromones magically enhanced to snare him. “But Sunny came for me.” He ran a hand down the salamander’s neck. “Just like he came back for you.”

  Glimmerleaf grunted in his sleep. His tongue flicked out to lick at his lips, but he remained quiet. The air of peace in the grove calmed Emile’s racing heart, reminded him that this place, everything about it, belonged to Sunny. That included Glimmerleaf, magical creature that he was. He was safe here because he had accepted Sunny’s touch.

  The thought made Emile grin. He could still feel Sunny’s touch deep in his being. Sunny had thought he was giving up his magic—his heart—to save Emile.

  Only that wasn’t how magic worked.

  Like so many other things that were hard to define, impossible to explain, it worked much better, grew exponentially stronger, when given freely. That was why Glimmerleaf stayed, why the dryads had awakened, and why Fernforest trusted Sunny so completely.