by Marc Secchia
His throat prickled. If this Dragon could only be present now, to see all the good he had wrought. Aye, times were tough with the Certanshi invasion, but Humankind had thrived since those traumatic early days when they had been miraculously whisked out of the path of death.
Keee-irr srr-eee? Drr-nn srr-eee?
Her query broke his concentration.
“Ye have the rights of that, my wee bonny darling,” he replied. “I am sorry about this Dragon. I wish he were alive and burning like live coals in a Tyanbran sunrise, swooping down upon the Certanshi front to sow terror and mayhem amidst the enemy ranks … that – that would be a day like nae to compare.”
To his mystification, Grandpa Garamyssill popped up out of nowhere to land a dry kiss upon his cheek. “Aye, lad, that it would be.”
“Ah …”
Now he felt doubly silly at his mawkish words.
He had never known his Elven grandparents. Both had passed away of the jungle fire-plague before he was born. He wished he could have known them. His father’s parents were both still alive, but they lived in the fortified town of Varandu near the Certanshi battlefront. The relationship was strained for reasons he had never heard openly admitted to, but he suspected had much to do with Kalar having married an Elf.
Racist grandparents? Revolting.
As he swallowed back the bitterness in his throat, the hatchling darted over to Santaclaws’ right forepaw. She touched the stony armour charily, making a soft, mewling sound he had never heard her make before, and her colour darkened perceptibly as she slowly circled the paw. Gazing upward, she repeated the mewling query over and over, ‘Wirrit? Wirrit?’ He thought she was saying her word for a question, but her tone was ever so desolate. Pleading for the Dragon to wake up. Clearly, she did not understand why Santaclaws would not move. When he went to comfort her, she reacted angrily, throwing off his hands as she continued to circle the paw endlessly.
Could a person ever understand death?
But a not-death? To him, Santaclaws’ fate in some fashion mirrored what he had seen in his mother for anna, culminating in her slide into near-perpetual unconsciousness.
His eyes pricked with hot grief. Thick of voice, he said, Come now, my darling diamond. We need to get back to the others.
Keee-irr! she hissed, clacking her fangs at him.
Silly, ignorant, unfeeling half Elf, was he? She knew nothing!
He glared at the dragonet, not wanting to argue. Not over this. Not when Santazathiar’s fate somehow mingled with his mother’s in his mind and heart, and a heaviness lay upon him like the twin peaks above pressing down upon this cavern. When the Elves left, he stayed on with the increasingly distressed hatchling, grieving with her. What else could he do?
Eventually, they spent the night together curled up between the talons of Santazathiar’s paw.
* * * *
For the four nights the Elves spent in the treasure cavern, Keir dreamed wild dreams – some closer to nightmares, but always the same. Battle. Dragon battle after Dragon battle. Most of the images were too chaotic and jumbled for him to remember, and bleached of colour and frayed, almost as if the mind that recalled them were somehow damaged or time-worn. For that was what he came to believe. These dreams were not of this person called Keir, not born of his own imagination. Perhaps they arose via Auroral Storm Diamond as some kind of shared ancestral memory, but the images he recalled from her were much less static in nature. Those had been the glorious colours and feelings associated with shooting the storm as pure lightning. Many of these dreams featured strange grey birds with fixed wings that flew by some unknown smoke-and-fire propulsion in the region of their tails. They fired talons at enormous speeds through the air that exploded on impact.
He jerked, fought and sweated his way through these crazy, senseless battle dreams and several times woke screaming so loudly, the Elves camping near the southern entrance to the treasure cavern heard and came to check up on him.
One way to scare his mother.
Narini was beside herself. “My Keir! Dreams hurt, hurt, hurt …”
He had to hold her, hour upon hour. Always, she had been a sensitive soul, but he began to worry that some sinister force or influence – perhaps something linked to the death of all these Dragons – dwelled here in these caverns, fraying her nerves. Jokes had always been able to break through to her at some point. He was used to playing the big, strong brother. This was his little sister in mortal fear. Her terrors shredded his soul. What could he do, but cuddle her and assure her everything would be alright?
Did he know that for a truth?
The dreams convinced him that somehow, against all the odds of fate and injury and time itself, Santazathiar must still be alive. Alive in some uncanny sense of the word. When he attempted to share this with the dragonet during one of their bonding moments, his understanding visibly eased her distress about the fossilised Dragon.
“Och aye, are we back to being of one mind, then?”
She looked at him as if he were completely barmy. Perhaps he was.
Chapter 15: A Trove or Two
KALAR CREATED THE PERFECT little trove for King Daryan to find. Two and a half tonnes of gold and a stash of assorted gems and ingots in the three smallest treasure chests they could find, packed into a crack on the edge of the valley and disguised thoroughly. During this time, the scouts identified a third and fourth exit to the treasure chamber which they duly explored, and on the morning of the third day underground, stumbled upon the northerly exit to what they had come to call the Halls of the Dragon Kings.
Unfortunately, they also discovered that the entire northern flank of the peak was enveloped in a howling blizzard. The other side of the mountain was chilly but clear at exactly the same time.
Odd. But this was the mountains. The weather was rarely predictable.
This was the Darkfall they had seen beyond the Dragon Kings peaks. It would blow over – surely? As he pondered the matter, Auroral Storm Diamond rubbed her body against his knee. Wirrit?
“I dinnae ken,” said he, scratching her neck absently. In some ways, she was just like a hound, right down to her cheerful greeting of him every morning, but in others – no. Not in the slightest. After glancing about, he hunkered down and whispered, “I cannae shake the feeling something’s hunting us, d’ye ken? I told ye about my dreams. This is similar – perhaps related. This morning, my last dream was of turning into a Dragon. Weird, right? I think I have ye on my mind. Ye, and all things ye.”
That very old song, he remembered – now, how did it go?
All things bright and beautiful,
All Dragons great and small,
Fiery, wise and wonderful,
Santaclaws made them all.
Reaching up with her right forepaw, she stroked his cheek tenderly, exactly as his parents did with one another. Keee-irr.
He fell on his backside. Shocked.
“Och aye, all it takes is a smidgen of affection to bowl ye over, o great Dragon Guardian,” Rhyl commented, passing by.
“Rhyl –”
She smiled over her shoulder, “Aye, and what of my name?”
Girls!
Absolutely impossible. If someone ever came up with a recipe for girls, it most certainly must contain equal parts of sugar, starlight laughter, all the most beautiful mysteries of the ages, and a great big dollop of vexation. Stir it all together and … hey presto! Irresistible.
The morning of their fifth day in the caverns, Keir woke well before dawn after another long, drawn-out and utterly incomprehensible dream about being a Dragon. He lay still for a long time, thinking about the gleaming body curled up against his stomach. He did not want to disturb her dreams. She had buried her muzzle in the crook of his neck, a favourite spot for her, and her hot, slightly acrid breath wafted around his ear. Not that he minded. Sleeping next to Santazathiar was incredible. Seeing the gleam of a real, living Dragon right next to him and knowing that she and he were linked in some undefinab
le way, was beyond incredible. Right up there with miraculous.
He used that word a lot these days.
What of it? If it walked like a Dragon, talked like a Dragon, and came packaged in a hide of living, gleaming diamond with four pert paws and a sassy attitude, then chances had to be pretty good that miracles would not be very far behind … however badly he had just mashed up that saying. He just had to glance at her to know that his life had taken on a dreamlike aura these days. Would he ever feel normal again?
A running dream? Her paws and wings twitched frequently. When she whimpered, he stroked her flank lightly. Easy, girl. Easy.
She awoke with a snuffle. After a moment, her eyes unlidded in their complex fashion – first the outer opaque lids with their interlocking diamond-talon eyelashes, then the expressive second membrane, widening in a perfect circle centred upon her fiery pupil, and then the final inner membrane. Those were large eyes if one considered their size in relation to her body size, which made her both cute and predatory-looking at the same time. What did she think of him? Close-set, squinty eyes?
Keee-irr.
Her lopsided grin emerged. She knew he had been watching her! How? Not quite asleep, like a cat’s eye was said to remain open a crack?
They communed. On this occasion, it did not feel so all-consuming as simply a time of being together at a level that continued to evade his conscious awareness. Perhaps it was more akin to a reaffirmation of relationship? So important were these times to her, barely a day went by when a half-hour to an hour of his life dissolved without a trace into her glorious eyes. With familiarity, he had lost some of his initial resistance to the process, but that did not make the blackout of his consciousness any easier to accept or trust. Those talons of hers could be stirring his brain like a stewpot for all he knew.
“Son, ye awake up there? Up and at ’em, lad. Storm’s done.”
“Och aye, awake before ye were, Dad.”
“Nice try, but this wily old Commander isn’t buying yer version of tripe. With respect.”
Settling the dragonet upon his shoulder – becoming chunkier by the day, unless he was mistaken – Keir trotted over to the ladder and scooted down to join his father and two of the Elven scouts.
“Mostly calm out there,” said Laran. “At least, it should be by the time we get moving.”
“Decent view from up on the balcony, too, once the clouds clear,” agreed his brother. “Morning, yer Shininess.”
Auroral Storm Diamond purred shamelessly as he tickled her beneath the chin.
They walked together through the cavern, their Ogre-hide boots rustling softly and his father’s canes clicking with each step. He needed them much less these days, but for longer walks still preferred to take some of the pressure off his twisted legs. Along the way, something bright and shiny caught the dragonet’s eye and she slipped off his shoulder like a cat running down a wall – soft-pawed, thankfully – and darted ahead. Rounding a pile of what he identified as Dragon chainmail armour draped over a Dragon-shaped stand, which stood a mere five times the height of his head, Keir searched for her … and groaned:
“Oh, now’t the crown – girl!”
Grr-ll wirrit? she queried, innocently stripping a priceless crown of its jewels.
“Cannae take ye anywhere, ye rascal! Haven’t had enough of the diamonds, yet?” he complained. Useless, of course. “Come on, ye wee stomach on paws, or Santaclaws will have nae treasure left when he wakes …”
The strange look his father gave him whammed him between the eyes.
Shortly, they arrived at the small encampment near the entrance they had first come through. That was easiest for transporting Daryan’s dowry, as Kalar had jokingly mislabelled the gift they had prepared for him. Since the incident with the weird tentacle beast – he scratched the bandages on his arm unhappily – they had posted guards. Even here.
“Blow’s over,” Kalar called, stumping along past a rack of antique halberds. Stooping, he picked up an egg-sized diamond. “Here, Arami. Want to throw this for the dragonet?”
He clapped his hands sharply. The early Dragon cleaves the sunrise, my-heart’s-Elves! Wake up! ’Tis a beautiful morn for a romp in the snow.
As the small camp in the treasure chamber began to stir, not without a touch of grumbling toward the person who had interrupted their beauty sleep, he asked, “She plays catch, Dad?”
“Aye, so she does, lad,” his father boomed heartily. Evidently, this morning was all about cheer. Keir could not fathom any reason to be quite so cheerful before midday, at the very least. Really. “The twins taught her how yesterday. She’s a natural, our wee shining storm. Helps that she enjoys the offerings, although, she did spit out an emerald, I saw. Fussy eater.”
He scowled by way of reply.
In less time than he imagined possible, the Elves were up and sharing out a little trail-bread and gourds of snowmelt water. They would need to hunt as they descended from the mountains. Arami wrapped him in a fierce hug at once, grousing about where he had been, while Narini hung back until he pretended to become cross with her, whereupon she ran in for a hug too. He loftily ignored Rhyl’s sly glance. She was just trying to wind him up like a string on a bobbin.
Not working.
One four-pawed menace was jealous of him paying his sisters attention and made sure he knew it by trying to trip him up five times in a row.
Arami showed him how she fetched a diamond. Off in a flash! Catch and crunch!
“Not quite fetch, eh?” he grinned.
His little sister punched his arm. “We’re working on the return, Keir.”
“I see that. Here. Try another one.”
Storm returned in another flash, panting eagerly. Far too keen, considering the hour.
Backpacks on, the Elves marched woodlands-style past Santazathiar in a neat single file where each Elf stepped in the footprint of the person ahead of them. After pausing to pay their respects one last time, they exited through the complex northerly cave structures, having to negotiate several recent cave-ins. To Keir’s eye, this area appeared much more natural; neither man nor Dragon-made. Many gorgeous stalactites and curtain-like structures depended from the cave roofs, glistening in the light of the small Elven lanterns they carried with them. Even excellent Elf night sight needed a touch of radiance to be effective. Some sections of the caverns were lit by bioluminescent plants growing in huge lakes, but the trail always skirted these and in several places, bridges had been built to pass over, or tunnels carved to connect one cavern to the next. Kalar pointed out the defensive qualities of the labyrinth of caverns and tunnels. Rhyl pulled his leg about being blind to the beauty all around him.
Clearly, his recipe for girls was light on the frustration factor. Or maybe he just needed to work on his manly dignity a smidge – make that a lot – more.
After walking for half an hour, Keir became aware of an eerie whistling quality to the wind that had now started to stir in the caverns as they neared the northern entrance.
Auroral Storm Diamond scooted back against his legs, baring her fangs.
“Dinnae ye say the storm had passed, Laran?”
The Elf grimaced. “Och aye, so I did, but ye ken the mountains better than most. What is that noise?”
“Now’t good,” Grandma Garamyssill and Shanryssill growled in concert.
With a soft cry, Narini buried her face against her mother’s hip. “Bad. Bad! Make it go away, mommy! So … bad … it gives me the wicked shivers, it does!”
His Dad whipped out his axe; Keir found his ska’etaz ready in his palms.
The wind moaned, then suddenly escalated to a pitch of elemental fury. Thunder boomed massively, sounding as if it were inside the very next cavern.
The dragonet made her fiercest growl yet, her radiance brilliant, her eyes blazing at a pitch of fury Keir had never seen before.
Kneeling to clutch Narini against her torso, Shanryssill tried to make inquiry, but the five anna-old would not be comfo
rted. So distressed was she, Kalar ordered the party to arm themselves. He picked five, led by Keir, to check the path ahead to the entrance. They had barely walked ten paces when there came an almighty concussion of thunder, not dissimilar to that storm above Drakabis Abyss, which shook the Dragon Kings to their core.
GRRRAABOOMM!!
The ceiling creaked horribly.
“Rockfall! Take cover!” Kalar bawled, throwing himself at his wife and children.
Huge as he was, he contrived to shovel five of the petite Elves along with his family as he threw them all aside, out of harm’s way. Boulders and rubble crunched down where they had been standing. Keir heard a sharp cry; he himself was in motion already, knocking two of his team backward to save them from a boulder that slammed down beside his outstretched legs, accompanied by a crushing weight of gravel and smaller rocks.
Coughing uneasily, he tried to cast about. Where was she? He could see nothing in the choking dust, but at least he could breathe … Storm. Storm, where are you?
Keee-irr …
Muffled. Close by. Really close!
I’ll get you – freaking oath! Somebody help her – help us!
Four of the Elves jumped to digging her out of the fall, which thankfully had been mostly loose gravel and a few larger rocks. Something pinned him down from above … his backpack had saved him from being crushed by a larger boulder, he realised. The lay of his body had also protected the dragonet, who squirmed out of the rubble with an ecstatic trill, licking every Elf in sight in a bounding excess of enthusiasm. His father checked the party as the dust settled, calling for those he could not immediately see to identify themselves. Keir feebly reached up to wipe his eyes. As if that movement caught her attention, the dragonet’s head suddenly swivelled and – well, he did not know what she thought. Was he dead? Crushed? Lying prone beneath the rubble? Whatever it was, her concern suddenly struck him like a runaway cart, causing his belly to fill up with volcanic fire. With a robust wriggle, he levered his way out from beneath the substantial boulder which had been pinioning him a moment before.