Vixen

by Finley Aaron

  Got it. No problem. I mean, I don’t like that the Romanovs were executed, and I especially don’t like the obvious burden of guilt Ion carries because of it, but I can at least grasp the rudimentary structure of the story.

  There’s just that last part that doesn’t fit with anything I know of the world and what’s scientifically possible. “You teleported?”

  Ion looks at me with deep regret. “I was so close to saving him. Even injured, I should have been able to get away. But I failed him. I failed Russia. I failed the dragons.”

  I place my hand on Ion’s arm.

  He’s grappling with guilt.

  I’m struggling with the limits of the space-time continuum.

  “I did not know…” I start slowly, thinking back over what I do know, trying to fit the two together. “When the yagi attacked me, you were on the balcony, and then you were next to me, fighting, but you didn’t change into a dragon and fly there because you were wearing the same clothes, and if you’d changed into a dragon, your clothes would have been gone.”

  “I teleported.”

  “You teleported.”

  “I grabbed the swords from above one of the mantels in the ballroom, and then teleported to your side.”

  “So you just…how do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Teleport.”

  “Same way anyone else teleports, I suppose.”

  “Okay.” I’m nodding, trying to decide if there’s any reason for me not to admit I don’t know how to teleport. If there is, I don’t know what it is. “I don’t know anyone else who teleports.”

  “You don’t teleport?”

  I close my eyes and try to think. We are talking about the same thing, aren’t we? “You mean, physically transport myself to another point in space without traversing the space in between where I start and where I end up?”

  “Yes. Can’t you do that?”

  “No.”

  “Your father, your grandfather—can they?”

  “Not that I know of. I think it would have come up before now, since there would have been a number of times that little trick would have come in handy, like pretty much every single time we’ve wanted to go anywhere or get away from yagi.”

  Ion looks slightly bewildered. “I suppose that explains a few things about your family, then. I’d always assumed all dragons teleported.”

  “I’d always assumed they all didn’t. How do you do it, anyway?”

  “It’s much like changing into a dragon. Instead of staying in one place and changing your physical form from human to dragon, you maintain your form but change your location.”

  I shake my head, communicating that I don’t understand.

  But instead of explaining further, Ion furrows his brow. “I wonder if your family members are incapable of teleporting, or if they just don’t know how.”

  “Hmm?”

  “It was one of the last skills my parents taught me. I wonder if it’s possible, what with dragons being attacked and killed off in droves, if somewhere not so far back in your family, someone died without passing the skill along. And because you’re so isolated, there was never anyone else to fill in the missing knowledge.”

  My head is spinning. “That seems possible.”

  Ion looks intrigued. “I wonder if I could teach you.”

  “You could try. But I don’t know—” I look down at my arm. I’ve barely moved from this spot since he brought me here.

  “Not yet, of course. You’ll have to get your strength back. You won’t be able to teleport until you’re strong enough to change into a dragon, and you won’t be able to do that until you’re strong enough to walk, if—” he breaks off.

  “If what?”

  Ion is suddenly back to picking at microscopic fish guts with such focused attention, you’d think my recovery depended on it. “Nothing.”

  “I won’t be able to change into a dragon until I get my strength back, if—” I break off where Ion did, and try to think how he might have intended to finish the sentence. Only one possibility comes to mind. “If ever?”

  He looks up at me, startled, almost alarmed, and guilty. “I don’t know,” he apologizes hastily. “I’ve never known anyone inflicted with yagi venom who survived. It neutralized your ability to change into a dragon from the instant it was inflicted. We stopped it before it could kill you, but I don’t know—”

  “You don’t know if I’ll be able to change back into a dragon, ever again?”

  Ion’s expression hardens, and he nods. “You were injured because of me. This is why you and I can never be, Zilpha. You’re better off with any other dragon.”

  “I don’t know any other dragon. Do you actually know where I can find one? Did you even see the dragon who attacked you that night?” I recall that the mysteries of that night are still unresolved. That whole teleporting bit distracted me from our original conversation. “Do you know who the other dragons are?”

  Ion shrugs. “Agents, counter-agents, spies, counter-spies. I saw some of the people before the shots were fired, before smoke and dragon-flame filled the room, but I don’t know if one of them was the dragon, or how many dragons there were.”

  “So, you’re suggesting that I try to track down somebody who tried to kill you…and you think I should marry that person instead of you?” I’m giving him a look that says maybe he should think about what he’s saying, because it sounds completely crazy to me.

  But Ion flashes me an amused look. “I nearly killed your father. So it would stand to reason that whoever nearly killed me, would be a better fit for you than I am.”

  Somehow, in spite of how much my head hurts, I’m able to wrap my thoughts around that one. But I still don’t like it, nor do I agree. “What do you know about these other dragons? They wanted the Romanovs dead?”

  “Various parties were vying for control at that point. Various entities, some of them willing to work with the others for a time if they thought it would help them come out on top. Isn’t that what the world war was?”

  “But, they killed the Romanovs because…”

  “I believe the consensus of the historical understanding for the reason behind the slaughter of the entire family, was that if any of them lived—particularly Nicholas or Alexei, but really, any of them—they could become a rallying point for a resistance movement. The Romanovs represented hope.” Ion’s voice has gone nostalgic; his accent, thick. “There was a war. Many people died, most of them have since been forgotten. The Romanovs were just one family, just six more casualties, plus a few servants who made the fatal mistake of sticking by them until the end. Insignificant in number compared to the millions of others who also died. But if they’d lived, the royal line would have continued, maybe to be resurrected at some future time. So they killed them in order to cut off any possibility that what had been would ever be again.”

  Ion hangs his head in defeat, silent now after his speech. I suspect he’s mulled these thoughts many times throughout the empty days of his long existence since that night. I understand why he regrets failing the child he promised to save.

  But there’s one thing I don’t understand. “You think I should marry the dragon who killed hope?”

  Ion blinks at me, then frowns. “No. I suppose not. All I know is that you deserve better than me. And I know there are other dragons out there. They survived the war. I don’t doubt they’ve gone into hiding since.”

  “Ion?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I don’t want any other dragon. I just want you.”

  Ion turns his head. He’s looking away, toward the stream, purposely refusing to glance my way. “I need to return you to your family as soon as possible. No doubt they’re worried about you.”

  “Don’t I need to wait until I get my strength up?” I’ve barely asked the question when I realize the answer. I may never get my strength back.

  So there’s nothing to be gained by waiting.

  I look down at the yellow sil
k, once so billowy and beautiful, which is now matted and rumpled all around me. Am I even strong enough to hold on to Ion’s back? Or will he have to carry me rolled up like a mummy as he did before?

  “Let’s see how strong you are.” Ion stands. “The stream forms a pool on the other side of that rock. You can bathe there. Can you walk, or should I carry you?”

  I use my uninjured arm to push myself up. Ion catches me under my elbow when I wobble unsteadily. Once I’m finally on my feet, though, my muscles seem to remember what they’re there for. So other than the fact that the effort of putting one foot in front of the other makes me a breathless, sweaty mess, I’m good.

  Ion patiently props me up the whole long journey to the stream pool. I’m slightly mortified that he’s so close to me when I smell so robust, but let’s face it, he’s a dragon. Yes, he’s more sophisticated and cultured than my family, but he’s still a dragon. And dragons like robust smells. I’ve been known to fly low over farmyards just to get a whiff of cow odor.

  Was that too much information? Let’s blame that on the neurotoxin.

  With Ion’s help, I make it to the rock, which is more like a boulder and functions like a dam, forming a deep basin of relatively still water off to the side of the path of the stream.

  “Do you need any more help?” Ion asks, almost as though he hadn’t insisted, mere minutes before, that I needed to get out of his life soon and forever.

  “I think I can handle it from here.” I lean against the boulder and Ion heads back toward the silk curtain, which he gathers up and dumps upstream while I’m peeling off my shoes.

  While Ion washes the silk curtain, I scour myself, using a chunk of jungle tree bark which reminds me of a loofa sponge, rubbing my skin and muscles vigorously in the clear water, sloughing off the stinky grime of my illness and forcing a little life back into my limbs. I peeled off most of my clothes, but I’m still wearing my expandable dragon undergarments, the ones designed to protect my modesty whether I’m in human or dragon form. Mine are rosy pink, like my eyes and scales, so they blend in when I’m in dragon form.

  When I’m clean and fresh again, I clamber back up to the boulder and then bask in the dying sunlight. It will be evening before long, but the day is warm.

  Ion has draped the silk curtain over tree branches. It’s the kind of material that will dry quickly. My jeans and t-shirt are another story. I see that Ion has also washed and wrung them and placed them on a sunny bush to dry. He inspects them, then scowls.

  “Still damp?” I ask, not moving from my spot on the rock ten feet from him.

  “Yes. I was hoping they would dry quickly. I want to leave tonight.” Ion slowly walks the ten feet between us and leans against my boulder. He hands me an intricately carved comb.

  “Did you make this, too?” I start to run it through my hair, but my arms are tired from the effort of bathing.

  He shrugs. “I didn’t have anything better to do.”

  When I lower my hands to rest my arms, Ion takes the comb from me and runs it tentatively through my hair. He has longish hair, himself, so I assume he knows what he’s doing. With brisk strokes, he smooths the tangles out of my dark mid-length hair, then plaits it into a practical braid.

  “There.” He secures it with the same hair-tie I took out before my bath. “Once everything is dry, we can go.”

  I could ask him why he’s in such a hurry, but there are more urgent things to discuss. “And then what? You’ll fly me back to Azerbaijan and leave me with my parents?”

  Ion frowns. “What other option do I have? You’ll be safe there. It’s where you need to be. And I must go. I certainly can’t stay there.”

  “Why are you and my father such enemies?”

  “I almost killed him.” Ion shrugs. “He nearly killed me.”

  “I know that, but why? What happened between the two of you?”

  Ion stays quiet, so I probe further.

  “For my whole life, we’ve been hoping to find other dragons. When my brother tracked down dragons last summer, everyone welcomed them with open arms, even though we didn’t know anything about them, other than that they were dragons. So why would you and my father try to kill each other on sight? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “We have a history.” Ion finally acknowledges.

  “That’s what I thought. Please tell it to me.”

  “My version is biased. No doubt your father would tell a much different tale,” Ion cautions me. He’s still not sharing, but I can tell he’s softening to the idea.

  “I want to hear your version.”

  He’s not really looking at me—he’s facing the stream, I think—but he’s close enough I could reach out and touch him if I didn’t think that would scare him away. Close enough he can speak quietly and I can still hear him. His story comes out with quiet reluctance.

  “When World War One broke out my parents were concerned for my safety. I was determined to prove to them how very strong and able and brave I was, and managed only to endanger myself all the more. They reacted by sending me away to a safe place known to only a very few. My mother, you see, was from Greece. Greece wasn’t any safer than anywhere else, at the time, but she had dragon friends whose young daughter was betrothed to a dragon in Azerbaijan. I had forgotten that young woman’s name. It was Zilpha.”

  “My grandmother? You knew her?”

  “Not at that time, but yes, that’s how I found myself shipped off to a remote mountain village, sent to live with your grandfather, Ram.”

  “All the firstborn males in my dad’s line have been named Ram, for generations.”

  “Yes. This was before your father’s time, before your grandmother was old enough to marry. Your grandfather became my mentor, the older brother I never had. I had a fantastic time with him, and I truly believe he cared for me, almost like—”

  Ion clamps his mouth shut.

  “Like what?”

  “A son.” Ion shakes his head with obvious regret. “I never imagined I was setting up a rivalry with his future son. By the way, your grandfather, Ram, was able to teleport. I do recall that distinctly.”

  “How old was my father when my grandparents died?” My dad never talks about his parents. He doesn’t talk about much of anything, really. He’s a quiet guy. But I don’t even know what year his parents died.

  Ion opens his mouth to speak, but then clamps it shut again.

  Alarmed, I look at him closely and realize emotion has stolen his voice.

  “Your grandparents,” he begins, then swallows a few times before he can muster words. He sighs. “You’ve heard of The Great Purge, the Yezhovshchina of 1936-1938?”

  I shake my head. I mean, the words sound maybe vaguely familiar, but the Russian history I studied focused mainly on things that happened at least a century ago.

  “I understand western studies don’t cover some of these lesser incidents of Russian history. Estimates vary widely, but somewhere around a million, or maybe two million people died.”

  “Who?” Frankly, I’m a little alarmed that I don’t know about this period of history. How could that many people die, and I’ve never heard how or why?

  “Stalin. He was paranoid. Those working for him were likewise afraid of being unseated and executed—a just concern, considering the foundation of death they stood upon. Anyone who was thought to be a threat—suspected saboteurs, elites, military officers, writers, thinkers, outsiders, minorities. It was an awful time. I was older, then. Old enough to know better, I suppose.” Ion swallows.

  Quickly, I do the math in my head. He’d have been 32-34 years old at that time. And my father was born in November of 1925. He’d have been ten to twelve.

  Ion opens his mouth.

  Part of me doesn’t want to know what he’s about to say next. Part of me can guess already, and just wants to have it over with.

  Maybe Ion feels the same way. He speaks quickly. “The executions were limited mostly to those inside the Soviet borders, or at least
, that is what the official records later indicated. At the time, I thought I needed to escape for my safety. In retrospect, I was probably safest in my family home, but I was alone—had been alone since 1918. I suppose you could say I panicked. Anyway, I felt lonely, scared.” Once again, his words are cut off.

  I reach for his hand and squeeze it.

  Ion shakes his head and tells me in a raspy whisper. “Your father has every right to hate me. Every right to despise me.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Though I need to hear what Ion has to say next, I hate for him to have to speak the words out loud. I can see the pain on his every feature. But there’s no way around it.

  “I went to visit your grandfather. He was married by then. Your father was eleven years old. Perhaps it was because of the political turmoil in the nations all around, but your grandfather thought your father needed to learn responsibility, to take on a leadership role. He was frustrated by every hint of childishness.” Ion pauses and tilts his head to one side. “You know, in light of all that, it makes sense he wouldn’t have taught him to teleport yet. Your grandfather didn’t feel your father was ready yet for all that was to come.”

  “If he was only eleven…” I offer when Ion pauses.

  “Yes. Exactly. In a different age, there would not have been such pressure on him. But, isolated as they were, nonetheless, your grandfather and his people knew of the deadly violence that had broken out all around them. Your grandfather was worried, and rightly so. I wanted to help. I felt indebted to your family, and I could see that your father and grandfather were butting heads. They could both of them be quite stubborn, and the more they fought each other, the deeper they dug in their heels. At the same time, your grandfather pointed to me as an example of the kind of behavior your father should aspire to. So I thought, if I could get your father away from that, if I could help him to see his father’s wisdom…”

  Ion’s voice fades again. He pinches his eyes shut, and I can’t help wondering what he’s remembering. Clearly, he wishes things had gone differently. “I offered to take your father on an overnight hunting excursion. A camp-out, an adventure trip, away from his father, to give them both a break, and to give me an opportunity to teach your father how to be a grown dragon. Everyone agreed eagerly to the idea. We set off, deep into the mountains. We hunted and fished. We got along well. It was the last time we got along. We saw the smoke and fire when we were halfway back to the village.”