by Marc Secchia
Their combined efforts kept them ahead of the advance for a couple of minutes as the eruption continued unabated. Her head flicked back and forth, measuring the distance to the surface. Fifteen miles. Twelve. Ten. Then, she saw a crack snaking past them up the tunnel wall. Quicker than the eye could follow, it shot right up to the rim. Dread pricked her hearts.
Initially, nothing appeared to happen. Then, a segment of horiatite bigger than the Academy volcano itself sheared free under the huge stress of the tidal forces and began to slide down toward them. The tip caught, sending it tumbling slowly end over end.
The Dragonesses were so closely linked that they needed no conversation before they reacted.
STOP! Pip roared, gesturing with her talons. The piece froze in place.
Aranya and then Zankaradia were up in a flash to try to Dragon-handle it aside, but the chunk was simply too large and the Academy volcano too close for there to be any chance of squeezing by. The Corundum Red hammered repeatedly at the horiatite, but the chunk was bigger than her and refused to shatter. With the low grinding of an earthquake in motion, the edge of the platter-like surrounds of the volcano became stuck. Stone ground and cracked. Incredible pressure built behind, hissing between the edges of the tunnel and the Academy.
“It’s going to tip!” Iridiana shouted.
The Dragons aloft became hapless victims of wind shear as the backing pressure rose dramatically, some smashing against the stone or rebounding off the horiatite fragment and falling victim to the rising Shao’lûkayn. Iridiana fizzed and contorted herself as only she could to snatch many Dragons and Riders away from lethal collisions.
Aranya called, “It has to tip to get by!”
“So we ride with it,” Pip responded grimly.
“And me with you,” Zankaradia responded. “How can I –”
“Coil around and over the volcano!” the Amethyst Dragoness enthused. “I mean, you can protect them, but leave your muzzle out – try not to crush any buildings – and we’ll protect you. And them.”
The edge of the Academy dipped into the rising Shao’lûkayn. The spiny creatures began landing in their thousands, crawling along the stone with rippling motions of their spines. Zuziana had reappeared from the volcano to lead a counteroffensive, while Zankaradia quickly arranged her coils as best she could. This would be a close-run affair, Aranya thought, summoning Iridiana with her mind. If ever they had needed a boon, this was the time, because as the Academy Island tipped its leading edge bunted Eridoon along while the other dipped further and further into blackness. Dramagon’s creatures attacked en masse. Meantime, the Island’s motion released huge pressure from beneath, thrusting the Island against the horiatite spar. Zankaradia had to hunker down or she faced being scraped off – or, the rim of the volcano might equally be sheared away.
Not a pretty situation.
Nor could she believe they had seen the last of Thoralian. Not if Dramagon was involved.
Riding a shrill blast of wind, thousands of Shao’lûkayn came whistling beneath and behind the tipping Island, shooting up past them like tainted steam released from a geyser. Now a dark wave curled overhead too, the weaker creatures again falling toward them from above while the stronger flew on or struck from beneath. They were sinking, about to be swallowed whole.
Catching her sisters’ paws in hers, Aranya said, “It’s now or never. Those people down there need us. Pip, I can see right through you.”
“Huh? Well, whatever works,” laughed the Pygmy Dragoness.
Iridiana mused aloud, “Don’t suppose we can wangle something Chaotic out of our starlight, do you, Aranya?”
“What do you mean?”
The glow between them was already growing in intensity, spreading out over the beleaguered Island. Iridiana frowned, concentrating with every ounce of her being.
It took all the self-discipline she possessed not to shout at Iridiana as her twin’s eyes shuttered. Their need was dire! An idea was also growing in her mind, but just as before when they had been gazing into the mirror and Aranya had lost her mindfulness of which one of them was which, she did not know which of them, or perhaps it was both simultaneously, said:
What if everything were infolded into light?
* * * *
It was a one-Moon early morn, a rarity in a night sky usually well lit by two or three Moons. Full Yellow on a cloudless night could illuminate an Island to the level of a respectable dawn, say, but a full Mystic alone was so uncommon that it had spawned the Western Isles tradition of a night when the ancestral spirits roamed free, and were to be appeased. Superstitious people made small sacrifices of food to satiate the hungry spirits, or hung great sprays of tarragon, fynis brush and hunks of twisted lamkuga root from each doorframe or window frame around their huts to ward off bad influences.
Ardan, lying on the barrens with his arms folded behind his head as he watched the lone moon in the pre-dawn sky, was fruitlessly pursuing the idea of perhaps one or two more hours’ sleep. The calls of night birds echoed hauntingly upon a gentle breeze. His thoughts roiled and refused to settle.
He was not a superstitious man, but the significance of this night in his culture had just crossed his mind when the Mystic Moon appeared to grow a dark eye.
The resultant chill did not just settle in his marrow, it tingled right into his fingertips and toes.
“R –” He had to stop and cough to clear his throat. “Ri’arion. Asturbar. Something’s happening to the Mystic Moon.”
The ex-monk was on his feet in an instant, gazing upward, but the Azingloriax warrior turned over and pillowed his head on his folded arms, mumbling, “Iridiana. S’alright. I’ll hold you – ah! I’m awake. What is – suffering, scurvy-blasted murgalizards!”
Ri’arion said softly, “Whatever Dramagon left up there, it just woke up.”
For the longest time, those were the last words that echoed around the small clump of boulders where they had elected to spend the remainder of the night. Before them lay the barren, open expanse where once a volcano had allegedly been silhouetted against this very night sky. Nothing had regrown here. Nothing, despite the thicket not far south of their location.
Mystic’s dark blot spread infinitesimally, at least seen from this great a distance, even to Ardan’s Dragon sight when he transformed, the better to focus on that faraway phenomenon. “I should have gone up there myself,” he muttered to himself. “Could have done something …”
Could he have? Mister lumbering along five thousand miles behind? Aye, rich, Ardan.
But now he longed to be with his Star.
Ardan watched until his neck developed a fine crick, and then he watched more. He saw how specks of darkness began to obfuscate Mystic’s surface like dark, fine sand spread by a tide, soon causing a perceptible dimming in the Moon’s brilliance. The phenomenon appeared to occur in isolation at first. He was unable to perceive what might be creating the darkness, only that as dawn’s glimmer spread from the East, the reality was that Mystic’s magic was under powerful attack. Fine veils of light began to shimmer right across the sky. The gossamer spiderweb vaulted way overhead, from the searing orange dawn to the still-purpling gloom of the night side, and it shivered across that breadth as if agitated.
“Fra’anior’s bulwark?” Ri’arion guessed.
Asturbar said, “Shall we fly aloft, Shadow? I cannot but say this bodes ill. How can we warn our allies, even those still trapped on the Herimor side?”
As the men scrambled aboard, Ardan said, “What do you mean? Warn them about what?”
Ri’arion said, “He means, warn them against whatever is up there. If the bulwark falls, Fra’anior forefend, we will be exposed not only to whatever Dramagon hid up there, but also to these cosmic powers of evil which Aranya warned us about – powers like the Nurguz of the Pygmy Dragoness’ time. If there is half a chance we could arrange to shoot down some of those things, or creatures, or whatever they are …”
Ardan meant to roar in agreemen
t, but the sound emerged more as a mournful bugle. He gasped, “Did you see that? Did you?”
“Aye,” Ri’arion noted, his voice rising with hope. “There is one more star abroad this morn, and she shines for us. Yiisuriel will see. She will know what this means. A most terrible day has dawned, may the Great Onyx preserve us all.”
* * * *
When the Academy spat free of that Shao’lûkayn-blasted tunnel in a coruscating whirl of light, a thrilling roar rose from the throats of many Dragons, including Zankaradia. They saw their Island-World for the first time, resplendent as a jewel suspended in the firmament; surely the centrepiece of the creator Dragon’s own hoard, its crowning glory. Then the Academy tumbled slowly end over end, and they beheld a far graver sight.
The Star Dragonesses just panted to catch their breath. Great Islands! Burgled out of the jaws of disaster!
The fountain of Dramagon’s creatures spurted unabated out of the depths. They spread darkness over Mystic’s surface as they landed and consumed the magic, leaving desolate ramparts of drained and shattered crystal in their wake. The Stars shone bravely, but they were neither strong enough nor close enough to make a difference. Instead they focussed on saving those they could, preparing gravitational and atmospheric shields for the Academy and Eridoon Island in order to stabilise them, and rallying and organising the surviving Dragons and Humans with Zuziana’s and Kassik’s help.
The Academy drifted gently into orbit.
Shao’lûkayn continued to spout from the tunnel. Aranya could not bear to contemplate their millions. They spread out in every direction, crash-landing and tumbling across the crystal battlements before expiring in darkening puffs of dust, or rising until they touched the sevenfold lattice where they blew holes in its underside. At first the lattice appeared to adapt and reform after each attack, but she quickly realised that power was being drawn from the embattled Mystic Moon, and that the scale and frequency of the attacks was increasing exponentially. The Shao’lûkayn seemed called to or attracted by the lattice, or indeed, by any magic of draconic origin. Dark flotillas pursued the Academy in its orbit. The weaker ones expired on the Moon’s surface, but millions rose against the lattice nodes, steadily driving it toward a shimmering critical overload.
Iridiana gasped, “No matter how many we kill, Aranya –”
“There’s always more. Aye. The adaptive magic –”
“– resists, but I’m not sure it was ever designed to be –”
“– attacked on this scale. I know,” Aranya grimaced. “The primary vectors of control –”
“– anticipate assault from the outside.”
“Aye, Iridiana. Fra’anior did not anticipate betrayal once he had removed Dramagon and all the Ancient Dragons from our Island-World.”
“Betrayal?” she echoed hollowly. “Not so, sister –”
“– from within, I meant. From without? Undoubtedly. Dramagon’s nature is treacherous to the core.”
Pip butted in, “Honestly, you two are giving me a twin-speak headache. Listen up! The key question is, how do we preserve the lattice thingy? I mean, that’s the only shield we have from all those otherworldly creatures like the Nurguz out there, right?” She shivered, her light dimming. “You don’t know what it was like …”
Iridiana shuddered too. “You showed us your memories, Pip – it was awful beyond imagination. Genocide.”
The word hung between them like a curse spat from Thoralian’s own mouth.
“I know we can’t draw on or parasitize Mystic, or we’d be just like him,” the Pygmy Dragoness said.
“And, we’d take down the lattice in one fell swoop,” Aranya added. “We have to stop these Shao’lûkayn. We need inspiration.” General Zuziana. How’s everything down there?
Just peachy, Your Star-ship, came the immediate response.
As they conversed rapidly, Iridiana asked Pip what on the Islands a peach was. The Pygmy girl was equally confused. “Perhaps it’s a Remoyan cultural artefact?” she suggested. “Oh – Aranya! You were right. Thoralian is far from as dead as we had hoped.”
Aranya saw nothing.
As she juddered through five spontaneous transformations, Iridiana spluttered, “He has – took – Azhukazi’s – powers.”
Aranya began to ask how her twin knew. She had also been alerted to a change in the stream still issuing from the dark tunnel mouth. The numbers had thinned. Now she sensed a magical signature of epic proportions but familiar character about to emerge. An icy frisson played down her spine, but Aranya was ready for this. Ready for battle. She had expected such a ploy from Dramagon as soon as Thoralian had symbolically turned over his spirit. Why had she dared to hope he might have perished?
Hope could be so foolishly attractive.
Zip. Silver. Get that Academy out of here!
We aren’t ready yet, Silver replied tersely. Catching the tenor of her thoughts, he snapped at once, As you command, Star Dragoness. Moving!
Pouring power into the gravitational constructs provided by the Dragon Librarian, the massed Dragons of the Academy caused their home to sluggishly build up a turn of speed. Aranya admired Silver’s mental strength and agility as he switched between monitoring the acceleration, shoring up their defences and combatting the creatures homing in upon them as if the Academy were a shining beacon.
A beacon!
The idea fizzed in her mind like the best berry wine.
Aranya knew the Great Onyx was limited in the help he could directly offer. Perhaps he had already bent the rules in providing a clue about Auli-Ambar which had enabled them to travel this far. But help sourced of one’s own means was a different matter.
Spinning upon her axis, she scanned the heavens. Where in the boundless reaches of space, amongst billions upon billions of stars, might she locate her kind?
Those who had called to her before?
Be a beacon. Summoning up her memories of the scant few words she knew, she began to project in every direction with all of her strength, /Stardrop. Peril, peril, peril./ Dip the head. Every direction meant the full sphere, did it not? /Stardrop, peril. Stardrop, peril …/
Pip gaped! “What does that … holy Fra’anior! Iridiana, do you feel –”
“I think so. It just … tingles, yes?”
“Aye! In my mind, something weird – you’re so weird, Star girl. Do it again!”
“Just trying to call for help,” Aranya smiled. Weird to call for help? /Stardrop, peril./
“Mercy!” Pip yelped. “That’s awesome. I feel as if there’s something inside just waiting to be woken up, and – you aren’t hearing anything back, are you?”
“Not yet.”
When she queried them with her eyes, both Dragonesses rapped, “Keep going!”
She called again and again, but with dimming hope.
Meantime a huge paw reached out of the tunnel, putting an abrupt halt to their conversation. It was black and spiny like the Shao’lûkayn, but from a distance of four miles, the spiky outline made it resemble a hairy spider’s appendage. It shifted and gripped, levering the body behind upward. The mighty paw burned into what little horiatite had been left unscathed, but unlike before, this creature did not expire upon contact with the magic-bearing crystal – rather, it appeared to feed upon or assimilate the magic. The spines rippled eagerly as another appendage reached out, and then the mighty black body slithered out, filling at least two thirds of the tunnel with its circumference, and in length, the beast outstripped Zankaradia by a considerable margin.
Iridiana whispered, “It even looks like him …”
Aye. There was something of the Thoralians in that stance, in the long, serpentine belly and the muscular power of its frame, but that was where any resemblance ended. This creature was apparently pure Shao’lûkayn, perhaps the essence of those creatures distilled and revived in a new form. It had no eyes. No ears. Nothing but the endless, spiky sable body and a savage, thorny mind that oriented at once upon the trio of Dragonesses w
ho had taken a protective position midway between this new threat and the departing Academy.
Aranya! Its voice groaned against their minds. Remember us?
That presence was threefold and hateful, everything that the Thoralians had always been.
Aranya shrugged. I recognise this excrescence of ugliness, aye.
FOOLS!! The voice battered them. Dramagon has recreated us in a form greater than ever before. Our power is multiplied; indeed, we are a new kind of power in; nay, even above any of this world! Even Infurion hath perished before mine hegemony!
As the creature spoke, Aranya sensed a tickle against her mind – exactly the type of tickle Pip had just been speaking about. She breathed, Keep him busy.
Gone. There was no way she could have imagined it, was there? Languages did not arise from nothingness. Pip and Iridiana felt the same.
/Peril! PERIL!/ How she mewled, like a helpless kitten.
Waiting. Breathing … anticipating …
With a sensation like the tiniest prickling of light-warmth upon her mind, a voice replied with a hint of consternation, /Stardrop, what ails thee? Are you the one called Hualiama – nay? You are another! Quinesstaralia! Stars! ATTEND!/
The voice was male, the timbre of its song like an unearthly tenor playing notes upon starlight, and its presence an unfolding of long-dormant faculties in her mind. Aranya felt as if she were a bud being unfurled as the being focussed upon her, before the communication wavered fiercely. They were so unimaginably distant, she could hear them only through applying her utmost focus.
Cutting in and out, voices called urgently, /Peril – indeed, most – pressing need! Together, now!/
/Alert substation – farseer –/
/Why’s – exposed?/ queried another voice, this one as clear as sonorous bells. /The Danigarus Quadrant is no place –/ As if the link had been severed by a knife, they were gone.
Aranya spun to Iridiana and Pip. Did you hear that?
No, they chorused.
No? Her jaw creaked like a badly oiled hinge. Huh?
Below, Thoralian skittered a few miles across the moon’s surface, his long splayed legs making easy progress across the ranges of crystal. After pausing to eat his fill of horiatite, the creature oriented itself upon the trio of Dragonesses and sprang upward. It did not make it more than a quarter-mile off the surface, but then a spigot in its hindquarters area must have opened, because a steady stream of Shao’lûkayn spat backward, pressing the creature into motion.