Beautiful Fury

by Marc Secchia

  Her fury challenged them all.

  Not a single voice rose in rebellion.

  Kassik said drily, Well and boldly spoken, Zuziana. Do let me know when I can have command of my Academy back – but not today. He bowed regally. Allies?

  She lowered her head more deeply than he. The honour is mine, noble Kassik. Let it be. Silver. See to Arosia and Chymasion. I understand that they possess powers we shall sorely need – and see, too, if you can improve or restore the levels of cognitive function in these Dragons. If any of your shell father’s faculties run in your blood …

  The Silver stilled. What of him?

  His shell kin are one enemy we face without, she said evenly, measuring his fires with her every sense alert. For Pip’s sake, be ready.

  His voice was like velvet over flint. Speak thy commands, noble Zuziana. I am ready to serve, and to die if necessary.

  * * * *

  Both the Thoralians and Infurion seemed to be aware of by Dramagon’s Bequest, but that did not stop them tearing into each other all the way down the tunnel. The two remaining Thoralians redoubled their assault on the First Egg as though they expected something to happen imminently; meantime firing great sheets of white flame back at Infurion. The Ancient Dragon tore mighty founts of magic out of the horiatite, leaving blackened splotches in his wake as he completely drained patches of crystal, it appeared, in his insatiable hunger for power.

  Then, both parties threw all they had at each other.

  Aranya laboured to hold their shield firm. They smoked as they flew, the conflicting magic at play tearing at their constructs without pause or stanching. Pip struggled with Iridiana, attempting to calm and contain the increasingly magic-maddened Chaos Shifter. Pip was having the worst of it.

  “I can’t! It hurts, it hurts!” Iridiana screamed.

  Sapphire touched her. Heal Iri … whaa! Bad Iri!

  Sorry, Sapphire! I can’t stop myself … that … darkness! That evil!

  Calm down, Dragoness! Pip cried. You’ll destabilise us.

  I’m … trying.

  Down below, the dark shadow of Infurion enveloped the gleaming First Egg in its entirety; now all they could see of the Thoralians was the flashing of crimson and white fire as they tore at the insubstantial body of the Ancient Dragon; he had one significant natural advantage, they realised. No bones. But whatever the Thoralians were doing to him, the mighty power of Earthen Fires was bellowing fit to split the Moon in twain. Infurion’s body of fires bubbled and twisted obscenely. His bellowing, amplified up the tunnel, was contributing in no small measure to Iridiana’s distress despite all the acoustic dampening Aranya could muster. Pip held her despite her crazed contortions and shape-changing; talking to her, soothing, encouraging.

  For long minutes the dark hole grew closer and the conflict more intense. The vacuum shield was disintegrating visibly now as dark streamers of dust sloughed away from it. Aranya knew that something of Dramagon’s magic was corrupting the constructs, and what she observed was a reaction. Quickly, she switched to throwing up shields within shields, so as the outer layer crumbled away, a fresh one was primed to take its place.

  Suddenly, Infurion’s yawning, pain-wracked visage appeared above the Egg, facing Aranya. Well, since you bothered to show up, little Star Dragoness – don’t be shy!

  Oh no! Pip gasped.

  Aranya braced herself for one of his paws to reach out and seize them. Therefore, she was entirely unprepared for being smashed from behind by a mountain of darkened meriatite. Laughter as bruising as the impact reverberated up the tunnel as Infurion somehow ripped himself away from the First Egg and threw the small posse right into the Thoralians’ faces.

  Make yourselves useful!

  The shock registered on their old nemeses’ expressions could not have been plainer. How had the Thoralians not expected this; not seen them coming? Had Infurion played a double bluff upon them, effectively forcing the pursuit but concealing their presence from the Thoralians’ perception until the crucial instant? Crafty.

  Yet here the Yellow-White Shapeshifters were, caught in an instant of bug-eyed amazement before, predictably, they threw everything including the proverbial Dragon’s treasure hoard at the uninvited guests. As their every shield and magic evaporated into nothingness before the awful psychic-magical onslaught, Aranya found herself wishing that life could once again be as simple as a pair of girls firing flaming arrows at Dragonships, and chasing leopard men about the Isles.

  Sapphire chirped, Away.

  The Chrysolitic dragonets flicked them through space.

  The trio of Shapeshifters reappeared briefly beside the Egg’s flank before a second broadside from the Thoralians reamed the space where they had remained just a blink before.

  They appeared behind a Thoralian. Sapphire ordered, Go!

  Pip and Aranya immediately screamed into the attack, pummelling him with Storm, fire and synchronised lightning bolts. Their battle-linked telepathy was a welcome boon. Powers flowed and mingled between them. As the Thoralians whirled in the air, readying their malign bone-gripping power, the dragonets whisked them away again.

  Aranya began, Sapp –

  Speaking in Flow space was pointless. Appearing right in front of a Thoralian’s jaw was a welcome surprise; the pair of Dragonesses pounded him with fists and fire in a perfect concert of fury, as though they had practised the manoeuvre not less than a thousand times before. Blood mixed with fragments of bone and fangs sprayed through the air.

  The Thoralian wrenched away in furious pain.

  Glancing at her paws, Aranya gasped, I never …

  Onyx strength, said the Pygmy, flexing her wiry, muscly frame. Clearly, shiny girl, you were way too nice – they dropped through space – in the past.

  Oh no! Where was Iridiana? Aranya yelled, Watch out!

  She hurled them sideways as Infurion struck. A dark hammer of power crunched into the First Egg, cracking its gleaming shell along a dozen separate fault-lines.

  Oh no, you don’t! Iridiana cried. A gleaming iridium blur assaulted Infurion in one of her mad solo attacks. He tried to shrug her off, but the Chaos Beast made its appearance and flared within his paws, vaporising the appendages.

  WHAT? YOU LITTLE …

  The Thoralians decided now was the moment to dive for a widening crack in the First Egg. Aranya and Pip immediately gave chase. Iridiana was apparently taking on an Ancient Dragon and had the beating of him. Crazy girl.

  Not … fast enough, groaned the Pygmy Dragoness.

  A pair of sapphire wings somersaulted past her face. Follow clever-clever Sapphire!

  It all happened at once. Infurion lashed out a second time with his power. Iridiana bit through the flame of his attack, but it still retained enough force to shatter the eggshell. As the gleaming white pieces carved away, falling languidly down the tunnel, the Thoralians launched their own assault. They sought to capture anyone or anything inside, but the Chrysolitic dragonets were just a whisker faster.

  The Amethyst cannoned into a very large, very surprised Dragoness’ head. By the mountains!

  Pip whistled down beside her. Oof!

  A thrilling voice cried, Why, who are you?

  Pip and Aranya found themselves splatted upon a wide bed of sleek red scales, surrounded by a very strange, barbed array of wickedly red tendrils depending from a Dragoness’ head. Despite the obvious threat, Aranya forced her disruptive power backward a second time, thwarting the Thoralians’ attack at least partly.

  As the eggshell split, the Amethyst Dragoness realised where she was. Atop a Dragoness. Atop a volcano. Gazing out over a battlefield that by rights should not exist, filled with people and Dragons helping each other and a jostling crowd of sooty red-black Dragons bowing to a powerful Brown; a battlefield where a familiar blue-winged Dragoness wheeled about as if she was in charge of absolutely everything and everybody.

  As usual.

  Zuziana! Aranya carolled with joy.

  Her cry mingled wit
h Pip’s, Silver! O, Silver!

  * * * *

  “This blows like a ragion’s rear end,” Asturbar grumbled. “It blows worse than fire applied to a ragion’s stinking rear end. If a bunch of walking brains can’t figure out where that volcano belongs, then what chance do we have? Ruddy overgrown squad of helmet heads. Our women get to partake in the battle of the ages up on the Mystic Moon, and we’re stuck down here tromping through swamps at night. Who invented swamps, anyways? Some festering pimple-brained junior engineer with too much time –”

  “Fra’anior,” said Ri’arion.

  The soldier growled, “Well, next time, stop me before I say something completely blasphemous.”

  “You just keep on disparaging the Creator Dragon,” said the ex-monk, coughing as a particularly dense billow of sulphurous smoke blew across the foetid swamps. Much of the bioluminescent local flora and fauna apparently revelled in the toxic volcanic outflows and gases. “I’m sure that’ll work out just fine for you. Personally, I’m voting for a trip to the Northern tip of Jeradia like the fellow from Order of Onyx said. Durithion’s great-great-great grandson. These hot swamps might sit atop an exciting area of active volcanism, but I just can’t see the attraction.”

  Asturbar rubbed his hands together. “Pick him up in Jos? Fly him with us?”

  Ardan said, “Ignathion called him crazy. He seemed perfectly sane to me, if a little eccentric.”

  “Eccentric? He wears a twenty-foot ribbed anaconda for jewellery, and hears voices in his head,” Ri’arion pointed out. “He feeds the snake live mice from his own mouth.”

  “Can’t beat that for ally material,” said Asturbar.

  Heads nodded in the semidarkness. In a word, they were desperate.

  A second later, a huge shadow loomed darker than the night. Dragon Ardan boomed, “Away from us, o slough of misery! To Jos!”

  Once his companions had mounted up, the Shadow Dragon coiled his legs and sprang skyward, soon leaving the notorious boiling swamps of Jeradia far behind.

  * * * *

  When the eggshell peeled away, Zuziana was prepared for trouble. She was just not prepared for this scale of trouble. The Thoralians hovered off their left flank, glowering. Infurion loomed above like a noxious thundercloud primed to unleash vast and immedicable destruction. The Mystic Moon’s magic flickered and crackled up and down the blackened tunnel walls, a song of Imbalance and natural forces run amok. She knew the reality of falling sideways toward a place they had discussed and imagined, but never seen or felt up close. The evil that radiated from it was like the Suald-dak-Doon amplified a thousand times over.

  And, her best friend sat upon Zankaradia’s head. Screaming for joy!

  Right alongside her lay a splendid little Onyx Dragoness. Judging by Silver’s ralti-stupid beaming, that would be one Pip, delivered safe and sound.

  Genius!

  Her Splendidly Gleaming Majesty did have a way of making an entrance, she thought, as her stomach took a lurch toward a weightless sensation of pure delight. Aranya had come! Coupled with the realisation of her own liberty! Now was not the moment to celebrate the sweetness of this moment. The situation was delicately balanced. Any second now, the Academy’s inhabitants would be subject to the ravages of Mystic’s strange atmosphere …

  Just then, the Corundum Red unleashed such a scream of agony, it gave even Infurion pause. The Thoralians laughed evilly. Drop your shields, little one, and let us come close. Join us. Your fire life is ours for the quenching. BACK, INFURION! Back, or lose it all.

  The Ancient Dragon paused, considering. She is mine, Thoralian. My whelp to alter as I wish, according to the superior pattern of Earthen Fires!

  With millisecond timing, Aranya said, Zip, how I rejoice – join us!

  She flitted toward her friend.

  * * * *

  As the Thoralians twisted the hatchling into knots and Aranya tried to battle their marrow-seizing power into something approaching submission, she called, Pip, we need an atmospheric shield. Iridiana, what can you do? Distract the Thoralians! Dragons, to me! Where are the ones called Chymasion and Silver –

  Here and ready, Aranya, Zip replied.

  With the Thoralians and Infurion at a standoff, Aranya knew that it was up to her. Dramagon’s Bequest was close, perhaps just a few miles off. Could they block that opening with horiatite? Stuff Infurion in there, sideways? The volcano itself? Surely everyone would be consumed and die – she bit her lip as Infurion seared into the attack. His fires gathered, darker and denser than ever before as he sliced through the inimical horiatite-based magic, angling directly for the Thoralians. They dodged at once, flinging their power at the young Ancient Dragoness – what an oxymoron that was – who screamed again and writhed as if the Thoralians had flushed pure acid through her intestines.

  Aranya touched that mighty, pain-wracked mind. Be healed. With me now, like this!

  Who –

  Aranya, Star Dragoness, Fra’anior’s grand shell daughter.

  I am Zan – AAH! Zankaradia … Corundum Red. The hatchling’s eyes suddenly shot wide. FRA’ANIOR HAS COME!

  Storming from above, from the direction of the tunnel mouth, came the famous seven-headed Dragon, mantled in an immensity of boiling clouds. Aranya could not believe – she could not. The mental signature was Iridiana’s! But Infurion and the Thoralians were not to know her act of mimicry. The Thoralians howled their defiance as they darted aside, breaking their contact with Zankaradia as they shielded themselves in anticipation of his assault.

  Infurion gasped, SHELL BROTHER MINE, I –

  Her intervention staggered them all.

  Infurion collided brutally with the Thoralians, driving them all together against the tunnel wall. The overstressed magic detonated at once, pounding the threesome downward past the rotating Academy Island and Eridoon nearby. They dove away in a pugnacious tangle, punching and clawing and blasting each other, matching broadside for broadside and power for power. Clearly, there was not a scale’s breadth of love lost between the supposed allies.

  Zip sincerely prayed they beat each other into a pulp.

  Zankaradia’s eye fires darkened with turquoise and cerise tones as she turned to Zip and Aranya. I must … it was an honour. Her coils slithered about the Island, tightening her grip.

  Zip called, Zankaradia, what are you doing?

  What I must. I see my destiny; ’twas but to live in a flash of fire, to succour the Star …

  No! Aranya and Zip gasped as one.

  Bracing herself across the horiatite tunnel from wall to wall, the Dragoness shuddered as she drew deep of the ambient magic, and then she hurled them away from Dramagon’s Bequest with every ounce of her strength. Zankaradia tore herself loose in the doing. She tumbled toward Infurion and the Thoralians, twisting her neck to hose them with her golden breath in a devastating, doomed assault. Infurion in particular seemed to find her unique flame afflicting; the Thoralians shuddered as they tried to flick up shields or resist. Too soon, the motes guttered.

  Aranya whirled toward Zip. “How can we shield the Academy?”

  “We’ll take care of it, o Star Dragoness,” rumbled the Brown Shapeshifter.

  “Master Kassik, Head of the Academy,” Zuziana announced.

  She bowed aerially. “Honoured. Pip –”

  “We’re already slowing,” she confirmed. Turning, she punched the air with her fists. STOP!

  The Island wobbled violently as the competing magic clashed for supremacy, but in a second, they all sensed that the slowing down continued. Soon they would be falling toward the centre again. Pip gasped and slumped in the air; at least four Dragons leaped to catch her, but it was Silver’s paws that were quickest. “Corruption?” he guessed.

  “Even a Word of Command has its antithesis, it seems,” she spluttered. “I’m alright. Just.”

  “We’ve Dramagon to thank for that impossibility,” Kassik rumbled. “Star –”

  Rapidly, Aranya said, “We can’t let Zan
karadia sacrifice herself for us – not this way. It doesn’t feel right. Pip, Iridiana, Zip, with me. We’ll form shields about this place and pass them to –”

  “Silver and me,” put in a young Jade Dragon. He had the most peculiar eyes! “I’m Chymasion.”

  “Silver and Chymasion. Rally every available mind in this place, gentle – uh, Dragons.” Aranya laughed hollowly. “We need to find a way of reversing course out of the Mystic Moon. Keep the air pure. There’s enough ambient magic here to do practically anything. I’ll show you how. And let’s link in Eridoon Island while we’re at it. There must be thousands still aboard.”

  She glanced across the battlefield and over the edge of the Island which was tilted almost to the vertical plane, yet gravity still behaved as though she stood – or flew – perfectly upright. Nobody on the ground seemed troubled, apart from by the crazy perspective. Even a few Dragons showed signs of vertigo.

  Why was the gravity so skewed?

  Beyond that edge in the direction of Mystic’s core, the four battling Dragons had almost disappeared into the darkness. Zankaradia had thus far survived attempts to parasitize or take her over – perhaps only due to the others fighting over her – but she was taking a relentless pounding. Clearly, she knew little about Dragon combat, but her lashing coils and golden breath were doing enough to keep the Thoralians very busy and very annoyed indeed. Could they not sense its proximity? Or did Infurion or the Thoralians imagine that the Bequest must be filled with creatures loyal to the cause?

  Aranya did not agree. What she sensed was the chilling, rapacious hunger of otherworldly creatures. They were all in mortal peril.

  How could nothingness be so terrifying?

  She turned to her companions. Sapphire, there’s only one way I can think of that we might save this Academy from the creatures inside that hole. Without Ardan’s powers present here, that responsibility falls to you and your brood.

  The little dragonet nodded bravely. We ready, Ari. You go make Ancient Dragon … toast?

  Aranya roared with laughter. Aye. And a toast to the dragonets!