by Marc Secchia
Gravely, via translation, he said, “Three points of note, young creature. One, you and this Dragoness look alike and think alike. Two, you speak alike, a tongue unknown to any of us. Where do you think that Samodeé learned your tongue? Three, I assure you upon my sworn word, that only a Dragon – one of our kind – can pass through the wards that you described. The guardians and powers would annihilate anything else. That means you yourself are Dragon; true offspring of a true Dragon.”
Her turn to have her jaw summarily unhinged.
He was right. How else would she and this Dragoness share a common language? However, his clinching third point?
Smallest Dragon in history. That’s me!
Most of the Dragons present burst into a thundering chorus of laughter at her hapless mental picture. So many colours. So many voices! Dazed and speechless, Alodeé gazed up at the Dragoness of Emerald, trying to find a space within herself in which hope might flower. Not just difficult. This was the hardest thing she had ever done. So incredibly fragile. Yet, deep in those mighty violet eyes, she discovered a quality which settled her heart. Some things could not be faked.
Was this love?
Fiery, impossible … love?
She must give it a chance, no matter how impossible. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to approach the creature. “So, if I misbehave, does my rump get flamed?”
Samodeé smiled uncertainly.
“Would it be alright with you if I called you Mom? Mama Dragon? Or something simple, like ‘your flaming awesome motherliness?’ ”
A green paw rose to draw her close. “I’d like that more than anything in the world.”
Alodeé melted into her mother’s embrace.
Chapter 20
Standard 1301.07.18 Estimated – Questions Remain.
HAPPY MADNESS. MAD HAPPINESS. How did one even begin to describe the feelings that churned in her breast as she snuggled up to Mama Dragon that evening? They talked until she grew hoarse and the brood of five, who liked to sleep right on top of one another and had to be pushed off her legs, had long since dropped off. Samodeé told her things about Dymand that rang true, but Dad had never told her. When Alodeé informed her that she had been the pilot who led the colony ship fleet to Resurrection Dawn, Mom said that she did not remember it in the slightest, but perhaps a growing Dragon sense inside of her had called her home?
Dragon sense? Cough!
They swapped notes on the inkling that had kept Alodeé driving eastward all these months.
Mom remembered her as a talkative, run-and-tumble five year-old. She kept gazing at her as if trying to rebuild the twelve years they had been separated.
So grievous. For her part, she tried to battle a creeping sense of disbelief into submission. My Mom’s a Dragon. My Mom’s a freaking fire-breathing stack of awesomeness with paws, a tail and a … smile that hears my thoughts.
Sure. If love was meant to be a kind of madness, what should she make of sheer insanity? That much more love?
“So, how does it feel to have five brothers and sisters, Alodeé?”
Silly smile of the century.
Quintuplets!
She opened her mouth, caught a few insects and managed to say nothing intelligent at all. They shared a quiet laugh; even that small noise rang in this crystal cavern, called a roost, several levels beneath what the Dragons called the arrival level – much like a Social Hub, she supposed. Only, when tempers flared here, living bonfires were liable to follow.
Prompted for more detail, Alodeé told her all about the circumstances which had led to her arrival in this Dragon realm.
“Mmm, this Tomaxx sounds a total dish,” she commented.
“Mom! Really?”
“Useful, having a Dragoness in the family. I could threaten to eat him if he lays one dishonourable hand on your person.”
“I’ll snack on my own boyfriends, thank you very much,” she quipped.
Samodeé chortled so hard, flame flitted out of her nostrils.
“Not that he’s actually my boyfriend,” she corrected hastily. “He’s Class 3, after all. I’m Class U and … he’s oblivious to my charms, I am reliably informed. Whatever. Forget it. You pulled him out of that fire, do you remember? He would have been an Oraman boy a few years older than me, with blonde hair and pearl-white eyes.”
She shook her muzzle. “I don’t, sorry. I keep hoping that it’ll all come rushing back, but right now, my memory’s patchier than a moulting Dragon.”
“Mom, you don’t remember who the father of these eggs was?”
“No, that’s a complete blank. The Dragons tell me they protected me in those early years, since I was seen as mentally ill. Sanhukahn of Ruby is the very epitome of honour, as you may have noticed. It was certainly not his doing, nor have I been naughty on the side – no, it’s a mystery.”
“Four wings each. Definitely your kids.”
“I noticed,” she said dryly.
“Mom, you ought to know that Dad is … ah, involved, with someone else.”
“Oh? How long did that take?”
Holding up her hand to forestall her reaction, Alodeé said, “Hold those fires. It’s recent. As in, the last few months.”
“But, he’s so handsome!”
The flaming eyes asked a thousand questions.
Dad might just get himself roasted.
“Look, it took him ages to even go on a date. One date. That’s all there’s been in twelve years. One whole date. Romantic developments are really recent. I … I may have encouraged –”
“I’ll kill him! Who is it?” Evidently alert to the alarm in Alodeé’s expression, the Dragoness chuckled smokily, “Oops. Guess I am a Dragon after all. Emotions based on fires, see? Quite hard to be what you are not, otherwise.”
Alodeé nodded mutely.
“He – you – had no idea about me, did you? You thought I was dead.” Miserable nod. “Will you tell me who it is?”
“Do I have your word? No biting, clawing, flaming, jealous fits of Dragoness rage –”
“Alodeé!”
“Not even a test nibble. No. Out of the question.”
“You’re no fun.” She heaved a sigh. “Alright. I’m ready and I do promise not to destroy her on the spot.”
Best deal with this now, she judged. “Medic Tamanzi.”
“Oh! She’s sweet. Although, I didn’t think Dymand went for the small, curvy type.”
“It’s complicated.”
The fires brightened in surprise. “You don’t mean – he doesn’t still – it’s been twelve years!”
“Mom, he still cares for you. He explained it was all about your legs.”
“Knew it. Shallow as a puddle, my Dymand.”
Liar.
Leaning back against her mother’s flank, Alodeé watched the eye in front of her. The Dragoness lay curled up, her brood – including the two-legged sort – encompassed in the curve of her body. She thought about the miracle of that word, ‘Mom.’ They had attended her funeral. Since there had been nothing left of her to bury, the ceremony had been a simple memorial.
Now, she lay back against a tall flank, a wall of soft living steel newly scabbed in numerous places thanks to those carnoraptors, that rose and fell with every humungous breath and observed an eye every bit as violet as her own. She shared her reborn Mom – Mom 2.0, the upgrade – with five other siblings. How did she feel about that?
Yep. Complicated was a good word.
She wondered about the small lies that people told themselves. The lie that everything would be alright, when it was not and never could be. The falsehood that death was the end. Science knew and had supposedly proven that Dragons did not exist. Miracles existed only for the superstitious. She lived on a planet called Resurrection Dawn, so why not? Why not be Class U, chortle at the impossible and turn the planet and its gorgeous rings upside down?
Slowly, Samodeé said, “I will always love your Dad. We should go back, but I would not want to rock that relat
ionship. We can’t be together anymore, as if it were not already flaming obvious.”
Alodeé sighed heavily, fighting the drooping of her eyes. Rough day. Glorious, but rough.
“Tomorrow,” the Dragoness added, “I’ll ask the Triumvirate if there’s any way to find Settlement Central. It would be good to make contact with the Humanoid civilisation, at the very least and see if we can’t help one another. Most of all, Dymand needs to know that you’re alive. And me, too. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Scare the Oraman out of their oversized boots?”
“Even more right.”
“I agree. One heck of a journey, though.”
“You don’t think Dymand will be coming in this direction?”
Alodeé shook her head. “Too dangerous.”
“My sweet girl, you know very well that your father’s a rogue and a pirate at heart. Mark my words, he’ll be out there right now in his AVACS, scouring the islands high and low for you. Now, do you remember this tune?”
Samodeé hummed softly, a melody that evoked her earliest memories.
That was how she fell asleep.
* * * *
The following morning, Sanhukahn of Ruby exacted his revenge, in a manner of speaking. He insisted she partake of the tradition of a dragonet’s first flight. This entailed being tossed off the tower balcony from a height of 11 kloms. Yep. Whereupon, instinct should take over and she should fly just like her three sisters and two brothers.
“But I have no wings,” she complained. Entirely reasonable.
Gnarr-harr-hrrmph! Sanhukahn chortled, evidently understanding her protest perfectly.
Samodeé explained, “The Dragons are more than convinced you are Dragonkind, Alodeé. That means you should share in these important childhood traditions.”
Oh, how perfectly marvellous. Count me in!
Her brothers and sisters crowded around, sniffing suspiciously at her back and checking her armpits to see if she might not be hiding four wings somewhere. She assured them that she was not.
The little ruby-red, a male along with one of the golds, prodded her crotch with his nose. She snorted, “Gerroff! We do not sniff my essentials.” He sprang away, wings flaring, lips curled back in a snarl. Beckoning with both hands, Alodeé growled, “Oh, you want to bare your fangs at me, do you? Come on, then. Show me what you’ve got.”
Challenge? No male Dragon could resist this universal language, apparently. Red and gold piled in at once, trying to knock her off her feet with a concerted rush. The females, the emerald, gold and platinum dragonets, paused to voice high-pitched fluting sounds of encouragement or startlement – not sure which – before two of the three joined in, too. Four on one? Ha. Several Dragon sandwiches, about to be served up on a platter! Samodeé hastily fluted a few instructions that hopefully included keeping one’s fangs and talons to oneself and not biting the big sister’s head off. Down she went, getting sat on, hair pulled and ribs pummelled. Reaching out from beneath the pile with one long arm, the wicked redhead seized the platinum dragonet’s tail and hauled the shyest one, yowling and spitting, into the fray.
“Headlock! Hey, no tickling! Think you’re tough, eh? I arm wrestle Oraman tanks over breakfast, I’m warning you. Get down here. I’ll flatten you and roll you out for dough. Hee hee!”
Alodeé was stuck inside the pile in a rather undignified upside down pose trying to apply a mock strangle on three dragonet necks at once when Ssirinssar of Gold turned up, despite his massive weight and size, tinkling sweetly as he slithered toward the group.
He sang a cheerful, thrilling piece about 25 secs long, by which time the five dragonets all lined up beside Samodeé in a state of quivering excitement. Alodeé, discovering she still had four limbs left despite the peril, pulled herself to her feet. She lined up next to Miss Platinum, asking what this was all about, even though she knew she would not understand the answer. Ssirinssar tootled notes at them. They responded in chorus like a class of well-behaved students, but a lashing tail smacked Alodeé on the ankle.
Excitement much? And they’re off!
Carolling with excitement, the brood of five charged over the tower’s edge and hurled themselves to the winds. She touched her heart. Yep. Dragons did this for a living. Built for it, from the ground up. She watched them soaring and playing – not without a touch of newborn wobbliness – but they were already 1,000 times more capable than she whose flying prowess must be very much closer to a large green brick. Ahem. Close enough. The quad-winged structure plus tail fins gave them extraordinary manoeuvrability, allowing them to zip here and there like dragonflies, or swoop into ultra-tight turns.
Alodeé murmured to her Mom, “So, how’s this going to work?”
Flick of a large green paw, was how.
Sanhukahn and Ssirinssar’s thunderous laughter shook the air as she departed with a wild howl.
15 or 20 secs later, she lay on an air bed trying to pillow her head on her arms and cross her ankles insouciantly, waiting to be rescued from a terminal fall by Mother Monster, who seemed in no particular hurry to catch up. Wind whistled past her ears.
Did you really think this was going to snap me into some Dragon form?
Fifty fangs gleamed at her as Samodeé beat her four wings, sliding so smoothly through the air, she moved like a water droplet sliding down glass. “We hoped so. Fair enough. If I had to be killed in a fire –”
“Mom! Don’t go there. Don’t you dare.”
“Right.”
Folding her wings, Samodeé of Emerald swooped before performing a deft aerial catch. As the wings snapped out again, Alodeé’s stomach introduced itself first to her hip bones and then to her throat in rapid succession.
As she clutched her daughter close to her muscled chest, she said softly, “I wish I could take away your every hurt, my darling Alodeé. I am so sorry. I never imagined this fate – but even from the darkest fires, Dragons say, hope and joy may rise. I am your mother. We can fly together whenever you want.”
“Next seventy years?”
“Deal. Now, hold on tight.”
Rounding up flying mischiefs one through five with a glorious burst of song, Samodeé lifted her onto her shoulder. “Find a spot and settle in.”
Find a spot? Great. Her back was broader than a table and streamlined for flight. Not a finger-hold or toehold in sight. She was about to comment, when Samodeé bade her jump back to her paw. Jump mid-air over nothingness 6 kloms up? Sure. A breeze – literally. Alodeé landed with a wobble and grabbed a talon for balance. At the same time, Samodeé grunted, flexed her shoulders and popped several dozen emerald crystal spikes, measuring between 50 and 85 cents long, out of the curve of her shoulders and down her back.
Impressive!
“Battle spikes,” she grinned. “I don’t do this often, because it’s another difference from all the other Dragons.”
Not even against the carnoraptors? She would have become stuck in the crack, Alodeé concluded after a moment’s consideration. Of course. Spiky battle-Mama!
The kids were intrigued. Fluttering along bravely, they joined up in formation to goggle at Mom’s extra armament. Little red was the first to try to replicate the flexing manoeuvre. Disappointment. Samodeé fluted instructions and encouragement until he tried again. And again – wow! Two 5-cent spikes atop the shoulders. He looked miffed, until Alodeé yelled, “That’s fantastic!”
Startled glance.
When Mama Dragon translated, well, that was definitely the shine on the Dragons’ scales! He flounced and flexed so ridiculously that he clean forgot how to flap his wings and they all ended up chasing the silly little chap down a couple of kloms until he levelled out. Samodeé let rip at a breathtaking volume. Five highly attentive dragonets immediately lined up in a proper flying formation, acting cowed by her irate tirade. Alodeé smothered a grin. Stern face during the parental lecture.
Then they flew east, back to the village to collect her weapons. Dual-purpose training flight, her
Mom explained. She needed to thank the Humanoids for capturing her daughter.
Great.
As for her first flight with Dragons, the less said, the better. This second flight was a revelation. Strapped by her belt to one of the spikes, Alodeé perched upon her Mom’s muscular back and gazed out over the realm she had called home for the past decade or more. Each Home Lair – the great crystal towers – represented a skill, craft, or art and was ruled as a Univirate, Duovirate, or Triumvirate. While Dragons believed the Dragonkind also matched the different colours of the Home Lairs, Dragons moved freely between them or settled at one. Some moved many times during their lives, followed a regular cycle of visits, or explored different Home Lairs until they found one which matched their particular needs or desires. Sometimes, that meant simply to be with a mate.
Dragons mated for life. No exceptions – except for her peculiar situation, Samodeé admitted. Her story was yet to be sung. Alodeé sincerely doubted that she did something like Isska, budding or whatever the Troome did. Must be a male involved somewhere, surely?
“What does the gold Home Lair stand for?” she asked curiously.
The Dragoness of Emerald puzzled over that for a while. Finally, she said, “Song is both wisdom and lore to the Dragons. It is communication and … revelation of the heart, I suppose Humanoids would say. The concept is a bit hard to explain.”
“Hence the singing during – ah, the light?”
“The … Shining of the Eye? Yes. Dragons believe the Eye has a special, mystical significance for our kind. I’ll admit I don’t know all the symbolism and religious details – but that’s the place I emerged from.”
“The light?”
Samodeé nodded soberly. “I told you, I can’t pretend to understand any of this. Ssirinssar of Gold will tell you that I appeared from the light during the annual celebration – just popped out. Caused absolute chaos, I’m told. A few of the poets and mystics mistook me for some sort of goddess.”
“Heh, I can see why.”
“Rude teenager. Clearly, your father’s daughter in the art of sarcasm.”