Beautiful Fury

by Marc Secchia

  “Can’t be true. A sister? No. How could it be? A sister, a sister soul … even just that word sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Can you believe this, Aranya?”

  “No, but I do. I do! Oh, would you listen to me, gabbling on …”

  Quicker than thought, Iridiana blurred through a dozen or more transformations before managing to take up her clothing once more, from the inside, with a bang and a small blast of glowing mauve particles that absorbed back into her gleaming skin before everyone’s startled eyes. She rubbed her upper arms self-consciously. “Uh …”

  “Haven’t seen that particular transformation before,” Asturbar joked, snaffling her into his embrace with a covetous hand that unconsciously strayed well below her waistline. “What do we call it, the mauve powder-puff?”

  Naughty man. He’s as bad as your Shadow, Zuziana teased Aranya privately.

  Her ears must resemble peaks of fire.

  Eventually, Ardan called them to order. “Food! Food, my friends! I for one think better on a full stomach.”

  Nibbling on nutty bread topped with pungent orrican butter and washing bites down with spring water sourced from Yiisuriel’s own peak, the five companions fell into a meditative silence until Zuziana typically chose to break it – only, she recounted Aranya’s heritage for the eager Southerners. Even Ardan learned new details. Once she had whammed them about the earholes with the idea that Aranya had an aunt who was six hundred years older than her, described Immadia according to the ballads and reiterated the matter of distinctive Fra’aniorian ears, she summarised their campaign against the Sylakian Empire and the Thoralians until even Asturbar was left scratching his bald pate in bemusement and approval.

  However, Aranya mused in private, there appeared to be four years age difference between her and Iridiana if they matched up the timelines. Might peculiar Star Dragon gestation periods account for that?

  The Marshal said gruffly, “So you – invisible person soul-stuck in her best friend’s body – which I do actually believe since I felt your dragonet traverse from your person into my stomach – I … suffering murgalizards! Where does one even start? You’re claiming Iridiana is not from Yazê-a-Kûz at all? That she’s daughter to some Northern kidnapper and his Shapeshifter Dragoness consort?”

  “That’s King Beran to you,” Iridiana corrected mildly, “and Immadians are strictly monogamous, right? No consorts in sight.”

  “Hmm,” Zip put in dubiously, disparaging Immadia’s entire royal line with a single syllable.

  Aranya supposed an illicit child might be possible. Her Dad was not an unattractive man, and he was a King to boot. But just … so out of character, were it true!

  “You seem very calm about this, Nyahi,” Asturbar growled.

  A perfectly radiant smile touched those silver-chased lips. “I know! I mean, I’ve always known I’m a freak, haven’t I? I trust you’ve noticed by now. This is just a touch … well, more freaky, to borrow a phrase from a disembodied soul. If it’s true. Could someone have pinched a baby?”

  “Egg,” Zuziana corrected.

  Ardan said, “If Shapeshifters are ordinarily born as triplets, should you not technically have two other siblings anyway, Aranya?”

  “Well … I’m not sure it works exactly that way,” she said, reaching out to clasp Iridiana’s hand and turn it over in her own. Even her fingernails were the same! “I’ve been making inquiries. The data indicates that Shifter-Shifter relationships have a ninety-eight percent chance of triplets, close to two percent twins, and an insignificant percentage of single births. For Shifter-Human relationships, the recorded data is scarce due to cultural practices and beliefs in Herimor, but the data suggests those categories are ninety-four, five and one percent respectively.”

  Asturbar scratched his left ear like a feline feeling the tickle of a flea.

  Zuziana chirped, “So, there’s a ninety-four percent chance you have two missing siblings, Aranya? And, what percent chance of ancestral mischief?”

  “One hundred,” Ardan put in firmly, overriding Aranya’s half-hearted protests. “King Beran is a notorious pirate who evaded the Sylakian tyranny for over a decade. Her mother’s a Dragoness. And just look at her character, if you want to ask that sort of question.”

  She smacked him for that.

  “Excuse my ignorance, but how does one pinch a foetus out of a womb?” asked Iridiana.

  Having lurked about the fringes of their conversation as only a mile-long Dragoness could possibly lurk, Leandrial rumbled, “I can answer that. There is a class of very rare magical parasites in Herimor which are believed to be concentrated in the far North, which are known to parasitize Dragon eggs, and a few types specialise in exactly the type of theft that you have just outlined – most often, from weak or sick Dragonesses. The eggs are said to be used in occult rituals. We Land Dragons have our struggles with the terrible Theadurial, which magically parasitize our kind. It’s a Dragon-eat-Dragon world out there, to use a clichéd but accurate phrase.”

  “Or, we have the scenario where Iridiana’s mother might have been poisoned during her pregnancy,” Asturbar said.

  “Still requires a Shapeshifter in the lineage,” Aranya observed.

  “And the ears?” said Zip.

  Leandrial said, “I can help with that question, too. There are recorded instances of Shifters skipping a single generation, so we could be looking to your grandparents, Iridiana. It’s highly unlikely, however. And there’s the minor detail of you possessing Chaos powers.”

  “My unique damnation, do you mean?” Iridiana groaned. “To think I had hoped you could heal me of this – I guess not.”

  “No,” said Aranya. “But, entering into the Shapeshifter life is –”

  “If I am a Shifter!”

  * * * *

  When everyone had finished shouting at Iridiana, and she had given up on pouting, turning various colours and shapes and the like, she managed to find her way back into her Human form again. Kerpoof! Asturbar seemed disappointed that he did not get to help her into her dress, Ardan decided. Just look at Aranya! If she had been agleam before, now she was shining so brightly he feared she might combust.

  Did the stars themselves shine for joy?

  “So, amidst all the chaos, we did learn something about Chaos magic,” Zip punned badly, drawing them back to the mundane. “Tell them, o Amethyst. No, before you speak, this Princess also wishes to make a royal declaration.”

  “Princess?” said Iridiana.

  Zip’s also a Princess, of the Island of Remoy, Aranya explained. It’s a position very similar to your – ah, previous, sorry – station in your realm.

  Except that your cultures allow Princesses to ride to war! Iridiana complained.

  The Immadian chuckled. Ah … we didn’t exactly ask permission. It just so happened that we were branded criminals and decided one day to declare war on the Sylakian Empire, just the two of – very well, Zip. I know you’re bursting to speak. Go ahead.

  The Remoyan said at once, “Apart from, hold onto that man of yours because he’s such a dish –” she sniggered rather rudely at Iridiana’s scandalised expression “– but don’t tell him I said so, alright? I’ve listened to a bunch of nonsense around Herimor about lineages and religion and all that malarkey. I want you to know that Shapeshifters aren’t so very sacred and special. They can arise spontaneously, and no Dragon who ever lived has any idea why. The closest they come is this mystical notion of Hualiama’s breath still floating about the Isles. I can tell you from personal experience that Aranya’s tears can make Shapeshifters, and that isn’t exactly a secret we want bandied about the Isles, is it? That information is about as explosive as your powers.”

  Iridiana muttered, “It doesn’t mean I can ever live safely in Herimor, does it?”

  With a tender mental caress that touched them all, Leandrial said, “It appears not, little one. But never fear, we shall protect you.”

  “What about Iosaxxioa?” Asturbar asked. “Did I sa
y that right?”

  “Ee-YO-sak-si-OH-yah,” Aranya corrected him. “Apparently Iosaxxioa was a little-known shell-sibling of Fra’anior’s, one of the original Ancient Dragons who arrived in the First Eggs at the beginning of the Island-World as we know it. As Yiisuriel tells the tale, the egg housing Iosaxxioa must have been infected by some unknown magical parasite or great interstellar Chaos power during that timeless journey between the stars.”

  Ardan and Asturbar snorted simultaneously.

  “When Iosaxxioa the Iolite Blue – yes, hold onto that thought – emerged from the shell, it was remarked upon that she seemed different from the other Ancient Dragons. They eventually ascribed her eccentric behaviour to a mental illness or disability. It’s clear from Yiisuriel’s tale that during the conflict between Fra’anior and Dramagon, Iosaxxioa took the side of the Onyx, but her unique range of powers aroused the suspicions and jealousies of Fra’anior’s allies. Although she was a smaller Dragoness, by the standards of the Ancient Dragons anyways, she famously decapitated Simiox the Yellow in single combat, and beat Xantuskator the Lime Green so badly that the mighty Hunter Dragon later perished of his injuries.”

  “Eerily parallel to the deeds of this Iridium Dragoness I happen to know, isn’t it?” Zuziana put in proudly. “You were awesome, Iridiana. Just in case anyone was wondering, I thought I should be the first to throw the A word in there.”

  “Thanks, Princess,” said the Chaos Shifter, sounding unhappy. Ardan wondered if she thought upon the possible connection with Azhukazi.

  “So, anytime you feel like usurping reality to slip me and my babies out of Aranya’s soul, o Mistress of Marvels and Purveyor of all Chaotic Mayhem, just say the word.”

  “You’re pregnant? Inside there?” Asturbar gasped.

  “Hey, Ri’arion’s a reformed monk,” Zuziana audibly smirked. Ardan rolled his eyes. Remoyans! Did they never miss an opportunity to drag a conversation through a mire of immorality? “I’m irresistible. Clearly. Not that I disrespect anyone’s religion, of course. He was just far too scrummy to resist corrupting.”

  “Before Zip-Zap gives us far too much information,” Aranya interrupted, “it seems that Iosaxxioa’s madness led her to become involved in many aspects of dark and forbidden lore, which Yiisuriel was kind enough to list out for us in excruciating detail, but the key one amongst all of that, which you will not appreciate in the slightest, Iridiana, is –”

  “Necromancy,” she whispered.

  “Aye. Necromancy. With the additional detail that she was accused of experimenting upon Lesser Dragons, developing techniques to transfer fire souls between living bodies, too.”

  “Uh, as in … you and Zuziana?” Asturbar blurted out. “Freaking murgalizards, that’s a low blow! I can’t believe she’d say that.”

  “She was very, very angry,” Ardan said. Strength to you, girls – uh, Dragonesses.

  Thanks, Iridiana said wanly.

  Aranya sighed and squeezed Ardan’s fingers, conveying her deep gratitude. “Aye. Let’s just say I think we should keep the matter of our potential familial relationship quiet at this stage, shall we? My misdeeds would only make your situation worse in their minds.”

  “Who’s them?” the giant Marshal asked, flexing his fingers as though he dearly wished to be tying a few Dragons’ necks into knots.

  Ardan knew that exact feeling. He had been gripped by that desire ever since Yiisuriel started battering Aranya over this issue; but now that they had spoken at more length with Asturbar and Iridiana, and uncovered this miracle of a potentially shared heritage … aye. Once again, Aranya’s instinct about the necessity of finding this girl, as indeed she had found him, had been absolutely right and his was – well, rather slower to catch up. He grinned at no-one in particular. Alright, absent. But he had a sense about what must happen next.

  Aye, me too, Aranya returned through their close bond. Good thinking, Shadow-beloved.

  “The entire mental congregation of the Lost Islands Dragons and Humans,” the Immadian Princess clarified meantime. “The Dragon Riders sit on the fence, but very few voices actually spoke up for you, or me, for that matter. To complete the history lesson, proofs were brought against Iosaxxioa. Yiisuriel said that with much grief, Fra’anior banished her beyond the mountains of Wyldaroon. He set in place a third sun to guard against her return. She believes it is from that place that Chaos magic yet arises, and that Chaos Beasts are Iosaxxioa’s way of trying to explore the Island-World in order to find a way back past the third sun. The Ancient Dragoness is said to have been driven insane by her solitary confinement, so let’s just say her return to our realms would be, ah …”

  “Undesirable,” Ardan deadpanned.

  Even Leandrial chuckled uncomfortably at his tone.

  “Generally, any notions in the region of ‘unthinkable,’ ‘catastrophic’ and ‘unleashing boundless evil upon the unsuspecting innocents of the world’ would cover her insinuations,” Zuziana noted angrily, eager to have her say. “I’m afraid neither of you come out well in Yiisuriel’s estimation. Still, she will continue as an ally. The Thoralians are heading a few points shy of North, toward the Passage of Dark Fires, we believe.”

  Ardan added, “It’s unclear as yet whether he intends to attack Infurion in the Rift, or whether he will continue farther using the knowledge garnered from my mind, to return the First Egg to the last place where it might have been breached – to Jeradia Island, beyond the Rift. In my culture, it is called the Island of Giants. There, he would attempt to reverse history by un-speaking the Words of Command that we believe allowed the Pygmy Dragon to hide an entire volcano and its Dragon Rider Academy inside the Egg, and – aye, Asturbar?”

  “Pygmy Dragon? Academy?” He waved a blunt-fingered hand. “Explain?”

  “Last time the Thoralians invaded the North,” Ardan continued, “our histories tell that he invaded with an army of Dragons –”

  “The Night-Reds!” Asturbar growled at once. “Even I know that tale. It’s taught to soldiers as one of the finest examples of Dragon Marshal-craft, highlighting the way he set Houses and Lines against each other and then cunningly trumped them all and vanished together with his Island into the aether, but it wasn’t Thoralian, it was – ah, your face betrays you, Shadow. Very well. Continue your tale.”

  When Iridiana seemed puzzled at the men’s behaviour, Aranya teased privately, It’s some sort of masculine bonding routine. ‘Respect my muscles!’ ‘Aye, my ego needs massaging!’

  The Iridium had to bite her knuckles to stifle her laughter. I did live as a hermit for seven years.

  All very educational, said Zip. Allow me to take you in paw –

  Delicately, Remoy! Aranya ordered.

  Ha, the other complained. Since when do I lack tact?

  It is a fact your tact has been lacked … ah, never mind. It’s worse than my rotten rhyming, anyhow!

  Meantime, Ardan continued, “We aren’t certain, but it seems plausible that Marshal Re’akka was indeed one of the Thoralian triplicate, possibly a breakaway who wished to exert his hegemony over his shell brothers. He vanished because he used the power of the First Egg to transport an entire Island and his Dragon army across the Rift, where he conducted his merry campaign of pillaging and destruction until he encountered this Pygmy Dragoness. She is meant to have been an Onyx colour, just like Fra’anior, and she stopped Re’akka in his tracks – again, we believe, by magical sleight of paw. But in so doing, because of the laws of magic, we believe she trapped herself inside the magic she wove even as she wrought Re’akka’s – or Thoralian’s – demise. By that time this Marshal from Herimor had succeeded, with the help of a dread creature from the beyond called the Nurguz, in decimating the population of Lesser Dragons North of the Rift. That in turn created Imbalance and space for the rise of the Sylakian Empire.”

  “Let me guess,” said Asturbar.

  “Thoralian again?” Iridiana said simultaneously.

  “Aye, the triplicate seems inde
structible,” Aranya said. “He wants what is within the First Egg and he will go to any lengths to secure it. Destroying all of Herimor and Wyldaroon is probably just another small Isle crossed in his quest.”

  “So we caused him a small case of the hiccoughs at the Mistral Fires?” Asturbar suggested, but his tone was sceptical.

  “Terminal indigestion?” Nyahi chuckled.

  With her shining gaze, Aranya pinned the couple with the formidable force of her conviction. “You performed a mighty deed yesterday. Both of you. Despite this trouble with Yiisuriel, I want to ask you formally – you and your Mistral Fires – to join us in the fight against Thoralian. You both are mighty and true, and I should rest easier knowing I can call upon allies of your calibre.”

  “Besides, you make an awfully sweet couple,” Zuziana put in. “That’s reason enough.”

  “Remoy, you are out of order,” said Aranya.

  “As usual,” chirped the Remoyan. “You meant to say ‘friends’ rather than ‘allies.’ Besides, you are very, very curious about the potential familial relationship, aren’t you, dear petal?”

  “Petal?” Asturbar hooted, evidently catching onto the humorous expression for the first time.

  Iridiana kicked him fondly on the kneecap. “It’s a term of endearment, Boots.”

  “For a Dragoness?”

  “I’m sure these Northerners think we’re just as peculiar as we think they are,” she returned, giving her man the proverbial fiery eyeball. “I speak for both of us when I say, unequivocally, yes. You don’t need to ask for our service, Aranya … uh, o … Princess of Immadia. Unfamiliar title. Sorry. You have it of our freewill. Asturbar?”

  “Yes indeed,” he nodded.

  After that they spoke much. Aranya introduced Asturbar to the matter of management Air Breather-style, linking with his blunt, straightforward soldier’s mind to walk him through over three and a half thousand individual decisions related to the disposition and welfare of his displaced people. The girl seemed resentful of Aranya entering her man’s mind in this way, until Ardan stepped in to brief her on the actual process, and to describe the ‘layering’ of mental landscapes whereby Dragons were able to keep certain elements of thought and being private even while connected telepathically to others.