Wind Magic

by Nicolette Jinks

  A claw snared my foreleg. Mordon released my head, letting me adjust my wing beats to accommodate him. We were still climbing, but slower this time. He took hold of all four legs. I leaned back, trying to get traction on the air. His tail wrapped once around mine, and the rest was a natural twist of our tails to bring us flush together. I felt him brush against me.

  “Fold in your wings and cling.”

  Once again in control of my impulses, I didn't think twice about handing him complete control over my body and safety. My stomach flopped as we stopped going up and lingered weightless for an instant, higher above the ground than I'd ever been before. Mordon put his head straight and arched against me.

  Knowing we were finally doing this, I lost myself to the sensations, sinking talons into the nooks of his armor. He slid into me, a teasing thrust that sunk deeper as we descended. This time when I fell, my wings were flushed against his sides, sealing the gap between our bodies. There were a few times in life when I’d felt joy absolutely and completely, with an intensity that transcended short-lived pleasure and became immutable rapture. This was one of those times, a time of fire and serenity, of magic sweet and all-consuming. I loved sharing this with him. I loved surrendering myself to his body and will. I loved that out of all the potential mates, we chose to be with each other.

  Black pepper woke me to my senses. Wind muffled in my ears. Clouds parting, spinning into the vastness that engulfed us, a vastness soon reaching its end. We broke off abruptly. I brushed wingtip against a scraggly old tree branch, to the great commotion of the crowd.

  Heaving learned my lesson from Mordon, I shot out over the lake as fast as I could. My heart pounded through my body, a drum beating out my strength. Dizziness floated through my head, my breathing long and slow. Wings drumming as I knew they should, carrying me through the floating mists, though the temptation was there to languish and lull in the aftermath.

  Teeth closed in on the fatty bit of my tail, spearing awareness through mind and body once more. Fly, commanded the wind, don’t let them catch you. I thrashed against the grip, felt it loosen, slip, snag on a rough scale. Not groomed well enough, that’s an old scale. Another dragon roared from the shelter of male’s swarm, followed soon by a growl of pain vibrating through my rough scale, then he released my tail.

  Banking hard into a series of twists and wingtip turns, I evaded the others, thinking quickly. With my shoulder, I was not the fastest flier. Not by eight dragons at least, maybe up to a dozen. Forget settling in for the long flight, too, I hadn’t the endurance. My choices were to run myself ragged dodging them, or to pick a few favorites as the swarm wore Caledon down—which was the whole point behind my open flight, after all.

  I pulled into a sharp loop, avoided Caledon, and picked a pale green with gray undertones.

  He snarled.

  “Well, if you're going to be like that, I don’t see why you’re here,” I said with the intent to push him aside and pick another.

  Teeth closed on the middle of my neck, too hard for a first catch, too severe for maintaining the hold. Pain so intense, black formed in my sight. I screamed, lashed out with claws and tail.

  Caledon.

  He held me out of range with his own legs, but my tail whipped a wing membrane. Rough scale snagged, tore away. Blood fell, his or mine I didn’t know. Caledon shook my head, turning the white fog purple, narrowing vision to a pinprick. I rounded on him with claws. Couldn't dislodge him. His teeth slid into a crevice between scales, tightened. He pulled upwards. I resisted, felt a scale crack. A roar, rage and agony, shrieked from my throat. Wind filled my lungs, filled all of me, and I was at one with the sky.

  Break free, the wind urged in my ears. Roll. Surrendering to the assault was what he wanted me to do, then he would relax his grip. Had I been in control, I would have relaxed, played into that expectation. But it was the wind that moved through me, the wind that fell out from under his far wing and thrashed against me as I rolled. His teeth slipped, a claw snared my throat. Someone responded to my fury.

  A flash of green went by my face, narrowly missing me in the blind trust of the tempestuous currents. Tails slashed, struck Caledon's weakened side. Caledon released me with a howl, faced the green dragon I'd picked seconds ago. The wind shot me into the midst of the swarm, where a red dragon swooped on me.

  I bristled, but all he did was lick my neck and growl. Mordon, torn between reassurance and white-hot protectiveness.

  The others amassed around Caledon in an instant, allowing me to dart well out of range. My neck stung beneath Mordon’s insistent licks; I wanted to plunge back into the writhing tangle and take out my pain on Caledon. When I dashed around Mordon to do just that, the green dragon made his appearance by nipping my tail and blocking my path.

  I snarled irritably.

  He lifted his chin to expose the soft underside. The submission curbed my warpath, teased out some curiousity. Mordon had fallen back, content of my safety.

  I recognized the pale green dragon in front of me.

  “You refused me earlier.”

  “I thought you were one of them,” he said with a twitch of his tail to indicate the swarm. “Shall we?”

  Foggy smoke burst from my nostrils in a huff. Still, he had helped me. I winged it upwards, taking stock of him as I went. He had a club foot as his one defect, a thing that could be caused by a clutch incubated at too hot a temperature trying for male offspring, as I'd learned from overhearing conversations.

  “Who are you?”

  “Firan.”

  Ah, yes, the pretty boy who had teased me with his ability to control the wind. The one I hadn’t taken seriously, but who had been the first to aid me with Caledon. That had taken some guts.

  “I didn’t see you with my first pass.”

  “I was being a snag in Callie’s talons last night and this morning.” Firan drew near, extending his neck towards my face, careful to keep the soft of his throat directed at me. Flying slower, I watched his movements with increasing curiousity. He nibbled on the fringe of my jaw, nuzzled my cheek as if to ask me to tip my throat towards him.

  With the aching reminder of what had happened the last time a male had touched an armored part of me, I was cautious about exposing a tender place. But the wind tickled, and he flew in perfect time with me, closer than the others could manage. I gave him my throat. Delicious sensations as he nipped, expertly, places that overrode my wariness and replaced it with desire. This time, I didn’t feel the urge to flee from him. Our rise felt natural, easy, fun.

  My flight with him was similar as my flight with Valerin had been, with me taking the lead and Firan as a willing dancer. We went up into a landscape so brilliantly lit that I felt the inner eyelids slide shut to render the sunrise behind a rosy lens. For a minute, we frolicked through the candyfloss clouds in a nimble dance that I knew none of the others could perform. We joined claws, and sloped down. Firan held me firmly, daring to nibble my neck, to fill me with a glowing heat, before the lake loomed and we broke off. Underneath the canopy, light had not burned through the fog. Everything was dark shades of grays and blues. Red stood out in my vision, a stroke of splendor in a muted pall. The world was beautiful at the same instant that it felt like a photograph I was viewing, not a place I was in.

  Firan roared a high, piercing sound as he rejoined the males. Several broke out of the pack in pursuit, so I struck a stiff current and flew.

  Time passed in a blur. I flew with a male, learned who they were. Then I was back to the hunt. I was not fast, but I was limber. With my tiny size I could duck between dragons, weave in and out of clouds and turn on a wingtip. I could curl my body into a tight roll, freefall, and snap my wings open again.

  My tactics kept the flight in a small area, making the larger males clumsy. I could snap my wings or swing my tail, changing direction as fast as a songbird amongst eagles. I fell in love with the trance of bodies, with our ballet. Clouds were our costumes, beams of sunlight instruments in our orche
stra.

  Peach strains dueled the fog retreating up the hillside. Gold trapped it in a valley. Water spewed up wisps to regain lost ground. And we cut through it all. Were were a dance, all of us there in the sky. Nor was I the only female. Three others had joined in the flight. Curious, I danced with them, the same as I danced with the others.

  As time continued, the weary dropped out, our number became smaller, more intimate. And more dangerous. Those who had joined in for a bit of amusement were gone; those who remained wanted their flight with me to be the last flight I took. That meant removing their rivals. A twisted wing, a torn scale above the eye-ridge. A snag in a membrane, the crack of a scale. One fang lost in a tussle. These minor injuries convinced many to leave as the incidents grew more frequent, less accidental.

  These antics made picking a partner dangerous. At any time, I could get in the path of a lunge intended for someone else; not all of the final males had the skill to keep from injuring me by accident. As the hours wore on and the fog lost its duel with the sunrise, I spent more time avoiding the aggressors and less time hunting.

  Trees dominated the landscape as the dreamland gave way to day. Creeks twinkled with fish kissing the air, bugs thickened the air over water, and Gudovan’s people began their morning routine, but slowly with frequent pauses to stare into the sky with a hand to shield their eyes. Late risers milled about the cliff side deck, watching the flight without censoring the children. Indeed, with dragons in the sky, there was little for a parent to do but let them watch—and hope that no innocent questions followed.

  By the time there were five males left, they were Mordon, Caledon, Valerin, Firan, and Gudovan. Caledon was the odd one out: I hadn't flown with him. Jealousy fed his determination.

  I surveyed those who remained, weighing out the last leg of my strategy. Wind had bolstered my confidence, dives had slaked the urgent press of desire, and with contentment came resurgence of pain in my bad wing. To keep limber, I needed a good dive or else my shoulder would seize and stiffen. I wasn’t ready for my last flight to be called yet; it hadn’t been with Mordon, besides, but rather with Gudovan. He’d been a wise move, his strength had ensured a longer rest for my wing than usual.

  Flying any one of them would give Caledon too great of an advantage against Mordon, but my shoulder desperately needed a break. By sheer chance, Caledon and Firan got into a tiff. Though I missed who had started the fight, I saw Caledon's lunge then Firan’s immediate roll and subsequent series of songbird-like dives against his spine. This did not damage Caledon through his armor, but it did infuriate him and inspire another lunge, which Firan deftly avoided.

  I bit Mordon's tail and yelled, “Shoulder. Wing break. Fly me.”

  He understood.

  Valerin heard and called to us, “I will watch your back, Meadows.”

  As soon as we were some distance away from the group, I clung to Mordon and sagged in painful relief.

  “How much longer can you hold out?” he asked, his breathing labored but his eyes still very bright. It was clear that he and the other males could continue their competition for hours—or days—before they tired. In fact, a strong female would wear them out for weeks if needed.

  “Perhaps another half hour?” I wrapped myself snugly around him. “Longer than that, I think my wing will give out.”

  A clang made Mordon twitch his head in the direction of the sound, watching out of one eye as a woman in a grassy enclosure rattled a spoon against a pot. Feeding her chickens, according to the crowing and clucking row that followed. Mordon blinked, faced me. “We must face Caledon when we return. He will be angry you've flown me again.”

  “Strategy?”

  “Keep his focus on you. If everyone must return after this, I'll have had the last flight. Caledon will want that honor. His priority will be catching you, a close second will be eliminating competition.”

  I let out a long sigh. “So I bait and you hunt.”

  “Precisely,” Mordon said. He stroked my neck as we leveled off our climb. “Hold steady, love. It is nearly done.”

  We descended.

  Gudovan had left the pack when I next checked.

  Fresh pain lanced through my shoulder all the way to my wingtip and up to my head. General exhaustion set in as my body began to feel heavy, sluggish in its movements. From Gudovan’s lodge wafted scents of beef stew and cabbage, the coppery tang of the drake’s ceremonial cream brew. Hunger. Weariness. A vision of a plush bed, warm sheets, and a cool night with a long cuddle.

  Motion drew my attention to the swarm. Caledon latched immediately onto Mordon's tail. Instead of fighting as usual, Mordon snapped his wings shut. He fell. Caledon had to fall with him or let go. He let go.

  Mordon recovered and sped in pursuit, tail sweeping the uppermost tips of redwoods in his wake. Possessing wider wings and a slender body, Caledon was faster as he pulled up into an arching loop. Mordon followed, blood dripping off his tail.

  Caledon changed trajectory, aiming for me, ignoring Mordon behind him.

  Too fast.

  If we collided, the impact would stun me at best, break a hollow wing bone at worse. Despite his willingness to commit violence, I knew Caledon would not deliberately harm me—but I wanted to show him how it felt to have scales cracked, and I looked forward to doing it. I faced the approaching juggernaut, filling my wings with honeysuckle-scented air.

  Valerin shot out from above, a blue streak dive-bombing Caledon, who didn’t notice until too late. Then his jaws opened in a roar, claws extended to meet the interloper. The two hooked claws, narrowly missing a full collision. They whirled in a grappling circle, a spiral that went ever faster, plummeting to the water lapping gently at the shore below. Their teeth lashed out, each trying to damage the other without being hurt themselves. Mordon was catching up, going for a wing—

  Fangs closed behind my neck, stinging scales that had become sore, but the teeth didn’t sink in deeper. I started, recalling too late that there had been another male in the flight. Firan, the green. The male with scales like butterfly dust, soft armor that Gudovan had expressed slight concern over, an intriguing glimpse into what dragons may have been like years ago.

  At once I relaxed. Opportunist as he was, Firan was quickly earning my respect. Possibly my trust, too. Exhausted, I said, “Careful with my wing, if you will.”

  He released my neck, started to lead me in a gradual ascent. “You limp on it. Why?”

  “Crash landing partially dislocated it some weeks ago.”

  Keen eyes narrowed at the news. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

  “I wouldn’t, except Caledon.”

  Firan didn’t respond, not even to blink. When I felt his claws grasp for mine, I held on tight, leaning on Firan to take some weight off my wing. It helped. We were midway through our ascent when Caledon noticed where I’d gone. In a frenzy, he tore Valerin's wing with a hard whip of his tail. Valerin roared in pain. I glimpsed him slashing Caledon's eye ridge as Valerin escaped.

  “It's the brothers now,” I said in despair. We'd been trying to avoid this.

  “Will you truly go home with the last flight?”

  I blinked in surprise at the question, but my favoritism of Mordon was well-known. Holding an open flight would give cause for doubt, considering how devoted I had proven to be towards him. It was entirely possible this was my final flight, which brought to mind the question: if it was required, would I choose to stand by my word, or by Mordon?

  I went with my gut instinct. “I would, yes. At least for a time.”

  I wouldn’t be who everyone loved if I renegaded on my word. Liar, yes, they could call me that. But those were superficial lies, not betrayals. Mordon entered this flight knowing the possibilities every bit as well as I did, but I wasn’t sure what would happen to the ring and their argument if I didn’t return with one of them.

  Firan grinned, the expression reminding me of Mordon. He said, “Fold up your wings. Rest. I can take the weight.”
/>   But it would make us slower, and Mordon needed our interference.

  With a glance in the general direction of the other two, I realized I needed the break. Hesitantly, I folded my wings and hooked the claw on Firan's shoulders. Instant relief. My body sagged in the sudden absence of pain, and before I knew what I was doing, I nosed Firan’s jaw to lick the soft of his throat. Both his eyelids slid shut and he held me closer. Slightly ashamed, I rested my head against his and let out a breath.

  Mordon had his flight to mind, and I had mine. Firan took us high, at least as high as Mordon had taken us. With me holding on, he locked his wings and glided the currents. I couldn't bear to turn my beck to see who was winning.

  This could be the man I went home with. Particularly if anything happened to Mordon.

  I wanted to suck the thought back in, but I couldn't. Before we could start our descent, I said, “If Caledon is the last one, I'll work with you to defeat him.”

  “Why? Isn't one as good as the other? Both will earn you a place in Kragdomen.”

  “I have a place in Kragdomen. With Mordon. If Caledon has won, it means Mordon is dead. Caledon will not risk the competition.”

  “Then it is Mordon you care for, not the title?”

  The thought of me as a gold digger! “Have you forgotten everything I’ve said? Do you think I’d be flying on this wing if I didn’t care for him?”

  “People have suffered more for lower stations.”

  I bared my fangs, resisted the urge to sink them into Firan the way I did others. “If Mordon were a simple old shop owner, I think matters would be so much easier to settle in with him. Besides, if you think this lowly of me, let me go right this instant. I won’t be around you if that’s your opinion.”

  Firan huffed, a trail of smoke whisking along his face. “It isn’t.”

  “You made it sound like it was.”