Beautiful Fury

by Marc Secchia

  She turned slowly, looking in every direction, even up and down. Nothing.

  I’m lonely and frightened, and I don’t want to die here.

  Oppressive worlds of silence.

  Look, if you are an Ancient Dragon – if you are alive inside this eggshell in some sense that I truly cannot understand – then you are a baby like these three babies in my womb. Aye! They are egglings, like you, as yet unformed and …

  Zip caught her breath. Something had changed. Indefinably ineffably, she felt a presence coalescing about her – well, she could not rightly say how she knew. The sensation was neither physical, nor magical, nor psychic, as far as she could tell. It was akin to that inexplicable realisation which flashed across a chamber when one knew one was being watched. Aranya had her oath knowledge connection with Ardan which transcended ordinary, known laws. The best the lore scrolls could manage by way of description of oath magic was ‘magic more unfathomable than all other identified types.’ In other words, they had no clue.

  She said softly, I am a Dragoness mother and I care deeply for my egglings, as your shell mother must have once cared for you. She – could she even assume that much of the Ancient Dragons? – cared so deeply about you, she launched you across time and space to a place of safety. This place is now threatened.

  Stillness brooded about her, immeasurably profound.

  Did they understand each other? Or did the creature sense something in her tone?

  Swallowing hard, Zip ventured, If I could be in any measure a surrogate shell mother to thee, Great One – the mists quivered! Her words jumbled and knotted into a hopeless mess as an almighty presence burned briefly against her mind, but the fire was not consuming, but overpowering and feminine and fiery sweet in a curiously infantile yet fearsome way. Only before Fra’anior himself had Zuziana felt smaller; yet it did not seem menacing. Curious, perhaps. Certainly intelligent.

  Before she could think upon it, the awareness of a presence vanished. Zip saw the mists shiver again, before they began to dissolve around her. High in the dissipating whiteness but dead ahead, she saw the unmistakable conical silhouette of a large volcano; before it, the hazy impression of a barren plain dotted with boulders. Boulders? Surely too spiky … as the scene resolved before her eyes, a choked-off sob ripped from her throat.

  Zuziana slumped to her knees. No!

  * * * *

  Ardan addressed his impromptu council of war. “Alright. So we have six Cognates welded to the Rift path –”

  “Double vacuum-sealed, sah, with additional magical binding elements,” Asturbar noted briskly.

  “– right, vacuum sealed so that they cannot move an inch, with all the rest of us nicely hunkered down inside, taking shelter from Fra’anior knows how many Storm Elementals out there, and you’re telling me our strategy is to sit tight and hope they lose interest?”

  His glare dared anyone to reply.

  Gang snorted, “They are Elementals which feed on their own fury. Their very beings are fury. Who wants to wait a hundred years?”

  “We are less than halfway across,” Ri’arion hissed.

  The small chamber inside of Shin’tuy’tuy the Alabaster Cognate was a strange affair, a natural grotto inside the Land Dragon, which was shaped like a flat ovoid half a mile long by a quarter-mile wide. Three concentric, lower fringes protected its forty parallel rows of feet and provided structural integrity for the ultra-powerful vacuum seals. Locked down, nothing short of an earthquake could move a Cognate. All six sheltered the smaller Runner allies beneath their fringes, including the Thunderous Thirty, who had vanquished four Storm Elementals before the semi-intelligent creatures had struck back as a vengeful mob, ripping away dozens of allies and carrying them off into the Rift Storm, tossing them higher and higher with playful, cruel and ultimately lethal abandon.

  Despite the cladding of Dragonhide within the chamber and the three hundred-foot thickness of armour without, the shrieking and bellowing chorus of the Elementals carried clearly to every ear. Wind and fire poured over the Cognates, but their allies – selected for precisely this purpose – stood firm.

  Gritting his teeth, the Shadow said, “How do we escape this mess, people?”

  Huari said, “Until they depart, we have to remain in lockdown. Otherwise, they could overturn even one of the Cognates.”

  Not easily given our low, sleek body forms, fluted Shin’tuy’tuy, but the scenario is conceivable. Nay, o Shadow Dragon, our analysis points to one shining possibility. An opportunity. We must strike a bargain with the creatures that Infurion abandoned, the so-called Foam Riders.

  “Ah, interesting,” Ardan replied.

  The Cognate said, By my hive-brain and their subordinates, it is so. They must have experience with these Elementals, and moreover, we posit that his desertion leaves them vulnerable. Shadow, you are the only one who can depart our shells in our locked-down state. We understand that you can take some limited numbers with you?

  “Aye.”

  Our secondary strategy suggests, according to the data formerly calculated relating to your Shadow-abilities, that we might be able to formulate an offensive Shadow shield about a Cognate and thereby move one of our brethren at a time to the end of the Rift path.

  “Earthen Fires disrupt my ability to Shadow,” Ardan noted.

  Not if we Shadow the Elementals first, the Cognate suggested slyly.

  “Clever!” Ardan said feelingly, a sentiment echoed by everyone within the chamber. “But, how do we propose to negate the disruptive elements?”

  By disrupting the disruptors, naturally. Now, the mental prodigy just sounded smug. Ardan scowled. He also could not get used to calling it an ‘it,’ but since Cognates were genderless, that was the best way to refer to them. We have used this period to extensively analyse the structural magic behind both the Rift Storm and the beings of these Elementals. All magic, even that inimical to our kind, obeys certain laws, harmonies and interactions at the atomic level when interacting with matter –

  Save the Star Dragoness’ inimitable fires, another Cognate put in deftly.

  The other continued smoothly, Excellent point. All save Star Fires, obey these laws in order that magic, fire, storm or other physical vectors may even operate upon the fabric of our existence. By isolating the cause and effect factors, we have arrived at this analysis – it presented a simplified dataset to their minds, pausing for the Humans, Shapeshifters and Land Dragons to grasp its import – and while the underlying science is unproven, we believe the technique features great promise.

  Huari said, “Can you imagine the implications for cross-Rift commerce? This is wonderful!”

  “To the Pit middens with talk of commerce at this time,” Gang growled. “Dearly as I regard your fires, noble Huaricithe, unworthy speech itches my scales – my hide, whatever you call this Human … softness!”

  She laughed gruffly. “Is that so, Gangurtharr?”

  “Yes!”

  Apparently his roar did little more than make her eyes sparkle. “Then, I accede.”

  Tenting his fingers beneath his chin, Ri’arion said, “I say we do both, noble Shin’tuy’tuy. Synthesize this approach: we do not approach the metalloids out of pity, but out of desire to ally ourselves with their cause. We offer this new technique – a way of combating their mortal enemies forever after – as the cost of their protection now and in the future. It’s an elegant solution, I do believe.”

  Unbelievable! hooted Shin’tuy’tuy.

  The Cognates clamoured, How did we not synthesize this possibility? How did a mere Human outthink us? It is impossible! We are chastened. Aghast. We abase our fires, noble allies. We are unworthy.

  Ri’arion shot back, “Now that is a faulty analysis, noble Dragons! I would never have arrived at your conclusions regarding this Earthen Fires magic. I merely extrapolated from your invaluable groundwork, without which I would have had nothing. This is a skill in which I had much training as the Nameless Man of Fra’anior.”


  We … respectfully accept this reproof, the Cognates chorused.

  Ardan clapped his hands together sharply. “Excellent! Sounds like we have the beginnings of a plan. Let’s flesh this out and get ourselves moving again. The Star needs us!”

  * * * *

  They spoke for as long as Oyda had strength, deep into the evening, with only the briefest of messages relayed without to palliate the curiosity of Gi’ishior’s denizens. The moment Nak poked his head in to see how ‘his girls’ were doing, Iridiana snapped into a dragonet form. Then King Beran pushed his way inside too, demanding a hug or three more from his girl, which had Nak grumbling about the youth of today who thought having a beard accorded them wisdom.

  Pip softly bade them pull the door to again. Aranya agreed. These moments were far too precious to allow disturbance. Oyda, however, commanded that they show Beran his surprise; Aranya had him send for two of her outfits, much to her father’s vocal bemusement. They chatted and laughed like the old friends they were, and new, but she noticed how very soon Nak tired and made himself comfortable at Oyda’s side. He found her hand automatically. The aged Dragon Riders lay upon the heaped-up, soft pillow-rolls with their shoulders touching, heads nodding in unison as they reminisced despite their faulty memories and told hilarious stories about Aranya and Pip in equal measure – these seemed all too accurate, making both girls squirm.

  Aranya’s heart felt full yet empty at the same time. Could it be? She knew what must come.

  Pip was a delight, feisty and funny and deeply thoughtful all at once. She certainly had Nak’s measure! She had a habit of shaking her curls and the benefit of a pointy little Zuziana-chin that just made her look incredibly cute, given as she was barely a whisker shy of four feet tall as compared to Aranya’s six-foot-plus height, and she had to keep reminding herself that this Shapeshifter was not only no child, but a powerful Dragoness and a heroine.

  With the arrival of the necessary clothing, Oyda flicked her head imperiously. “There’s the screen, youngling. Use it.”

  “Yes, Oyda,” Aranya said meekly, and winked at Pip. “Hasn’t changed a bit, has she?”

  “Rascal! Be off with you,” Oyda snorted.

  “What’s she doing behind there with that dragonet?” Beran inquired as Aranya picked Nyahi up and slipped behind a dark jalkwood privacy screen at the end of the room.

  Pip said, “Do you want to sit down, o King?”

  “I don’t believe we’ve met formally, my lady,” said Beran, with a rustle of clothing that signalled a bow. “King Beran of Immadia. Longsuffering father of a Star Dragoness.”

  “Dad!” Aranya smiled at Iridiana, who had finally managed to find her Human form again. She was so nervous! Do you like him?

  Like him? Her sister wrinkled her nose humorously, but her pulse was flickering so fast in her throat, she was reminded of the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings. Our father seems amazing and funny and I do love his smile, but, uh … will he –

  Die? Hopefully not.

  Iridiana burst into peals of laughter, making Beran call, “What’s so funny back there, Sparky?”

  He doesn’t even know it’s you laughing, Nyahi.

  Meantime, the Pygmy girl said, “I am Pip’úrth’l-iòlall-Yò’oótha of the Crescent Isles. Just call me Pip, o King. It’s easier. I’m an Onyx Shapeshifter, and Aranya tells me I’ve lived inside the First Egg for one hundred and fifty years. I am honoured to meet you.”

  Beran said, “By the mountains of Immadia, is everyone around here older than me?” Over Nak’s hooting, he added, “The honour is mine. My daughter crossed the Island-World for you and those you love, but I understand there is unfinished business. We will overcome these tyrants, Pip. For you and for your Academy, you have this King’s word that we will move the heavens and this Island-World, and all five moons if necessary, to rescue those you and Nak and Oyda loved.”

  “Thank you, o King.”

  “And if ever you need a home, my door is open. It’s fiercely cold up North, Pip, but for you – always open.”

  “My King.” Pip’s voice quavered.

  Iridiana was examining the offerings of underwear. What’s with the length of these? Very nice material, however. Is this the famous Helyon silk?

  It is. We’re conservative in Immadia, and the climate is cold. Come on. Not silky enough for Asturbar, are you thinking?

  For that, she earned a funny look. Why, what does Ardan think of your taste in undies, darling sister?

  Iridiana!

  What?

  You are so inappropriate.

  With that, Aranya laced up the back of the floor-length, lavender and royal purple dress with relish and a firm hand, making Iridiana squirm and complain. She certainly filled out her dress much better than her scrawny sister, Aranya thought with a twinge of jealousy. Iridiana then returned the favour, fumbling a little with the unfamiliar fastenings while the silence on the other side of the screen, and the anticipation, deepened. Tie the face veil? No. Her father must see the resemblance right away. Aranya set it aside with a small sigh. Would this ever become easier?

  Slippers, Iridiana.

  How do I look? Will he – what will he say?

  Nyahi’s telepathic tone pulsated erratically. Panicked. Aranya imagined waking her mother again. She would be unnerved, too! You’ll blow him away, she declared. “Everybody ready in there?” Taking her sister by the hand, Aranya looked her straight in the eye. You are a Princess of Immadia. You are about to make a King weep for joy. You will treasure this moment forever.

  “Where’s my surprise, petal? Why the mystery?” Beran called.

  “Ever since he met our mother, Dad’s been struggling to catch up with his Dragonesses,” Aranya breathed into her sister’s ear, and then she tugged Iridiana impulsively around the screen’s edge, saying, “Hey, Dad, what do you think of … this?”

  Beran’s smile froze. His eyes flicked between the two girls, standing holding hands, and then traipsed somewhat frantically back and forth again, his features a study in bewilderment. The silence lengthened unbearably; how Nyahi held her composure, she had no idea. Aranya wished he would say something, anything; but suddenly framed within his welling eyes bloomed such an outpouring of fresh and fragile wonder, it was too much. Too much for either of them. Beran knew for certain what he beheld, and his conviction shone, but the mind simply baulked.

  “Sparky …” he croaked at last, his lips quirking into a smile so vulnerable, it arrested her heart and carried it off to an Isle of unalloyed exultation. “Sparky, what on the Islands …”

  “D-D-D –” Aranya stammered, overcome. “Dad. Uh – I …”

  Iridiana squeezed her fingers gently, as if Aranya were the one who needed comfort. Perhaps she did.

  Beran’s hand rose. “You – and this duplicate – girl, how?”

  Tears clouded her vision. Aranya tried to choke through a few words, but her emotions were a hopeless mess, too hot and heavy to express. It was Oyda who said, “King Beran, this is Iridiana. She is your daughter – another daughter. It is a long tale, but what you see is the truth.” Poor man, he was rubbing his eyes as though suns-struck; as though this apparition must surely evaporate into the dawn mists. “Fra’anior himself has attested to the fact that Iridiana and Aranya are indeed twins. She is your long-lost daughter.”

  “What?” he rasped. “I see the likeness, aye – who couldn’t! But …”

  Nak echoed, “Your daughter – your who-so-what … huh? Aranya, my petal! How – this – this beauteous … goddess …” His voice trailed off into reverential awe. Nak was clearly smitten.

  “A daughter? My daughter?”

  Oyda whispered, “Just hold her, you silly man. Know her; love her …”

  The King of Immadia seemed to have lost control of his limbs, for his body jerked as though seeking to step forward, but his immobile boots flouted his heart’s desire. A great, ragged shout broke unexpectedly from his throat, and he began to guffaw in a wild, half-so
bbing half-exultant welter of jubilation, punching the air like a madman and capering about in – well, not the most elegant of dances, but certainly the most eloquent.

  Beran flung out his arms and staggered toward his daughters, sputtering, “I’m just the happiest man – I don’t understand a jot – but – doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “Oh, Dad!” Aranya exhaled.

  “Dad!” Iridiana wailed.

  Then he clasped them both, his daughters identically taller than he, and the King of Immadia buried his face between their shoulders, and time ceased to have meaning.

  * * * *

  Softly settled the night upon Gi’ishior’s cone, cloaking the inner cliffs and Dragon roosts with a starlit mantle, but this evening, its incipient tranquillity was rather rudely interrupted. Lights shone. Dragons babbled. Humans dashed hither and thither. The Dragon Library was a chaotic hubbub of voices, far removed from its usual musty reticence. The Star Dragoness had come! The need was urgent!

  As yet, Aranya had communicated only that they needed to find out everything possible about the first Human Dragon Librarian in history, Auli-Ambar Ta’afaya. To say the Dragonkind were nonplussed by this request was akin to claiming the Moons were made of green Jeradian cheese. Despite the guidance that she had been a contemporary of Hualiama Dragonfriend herself, and indeed the holder of one of the most prestigious titles in Dragondom – the post of Dragon Librarian was no minor affair, being lesser in status to the Dragon Elders alone, besides demanding crucial talents in the political and diplomatic spheres – they could not bring themselves, stubborn, fiery pride and all, to believe it was even possible that a Human had ever held such an honour.

  Aranya knew her name was being gnashed between many fangs this night. To her surprise, however, it was her Aunt Va’assia who had been her most vocal support, whipping and browbeating the Dragons into obedience.

  “Have you forgotten who salvaged your mangy hides from the ravages of scale fungus and mould in those caves?” she bellowed. “To work! Slothful paws are Dramagon’s paws!”

  Leaping Islands! Or did Va’assia secretly wish she would fall spectacularly on her scarred nose?