There were only a few, barely a full story. Just the symbol for strength and a few others. She reached out and touched the marks, trying to decipher them. “Pull? Shape? ‘This is ox. He’s strong and steady. He plows the fields day and night.’ That’s all it says. Or something like that.” She ran her fingers over the marks. She’d never seen such a simplistic story before on a living creature. “That’s it. No individual name. Nothing about his history or experiences. Just . . . he plows.”
“That’s horrible,” Risa said.
“No wonder he can’t talk,” Mayka said. “His carver didn’t give him a voice.” The ox was trapped in this rough body, limited by his story. She wondered how aware he was of his fate. Most likely, he didn’t even know what he was missing—he couldn’t know what he didn’t know. Still, she knew, and she felt sorry for what he’d never hear, say, think, feel, or experience.
A tiny, high voice piped up from the grasses: “You could try talking to me instead.”
“Hello?” Mayka called. She scanned the grasses, but saw no one. Bending, she looked for frogs, lizards, even bugs. “Who said that?”
Risa fluffed her feathers to make herself appear larger. “Show yourself!”
Out of the field waddled the strangest creature that Mayka had ever seen. She was knee-high, and she had a lizardlike head, scales over her squat body, and wings. She was carved of orange stone streaked with red. “Hi!”
“What are you?” Mayka breathed. Father had carved Mayka and all her friends out of stone he’d harvested from the mountain, either granite, marble, or quartz—they were all various shades of gray, sometimes with black spots and sometimes with flecks of mica. Mayka herself was as gray as a shadow at dusk. None of them were this translucent incandescent orange. Plus, all of Mayka’s friends were based on real flesh-and-blood creatures. This new creature looked as if she came straight out of a story.
As she stared at the creature, Mayka realized how rude her question was. It was just . . . she’d never seen stone look like fire before. “I’m sorry. I meant who are you?”
Regally, the creature rose onto her hind legs and nodded at each of them, as if she were a (small and somewhat reptilian) queen greeting her adoring subjects. “I am Siannasi Yondolada Quilasa.”
All of them stared at her.
“That’s a lot of name,” Jacklo said finally.
The creature giggled. When she laughed, her wings clinked together, sounding like little bells. “I know. Everyone just calls me Si-Si.”
“Nice to meet you, Si-Si. I’m Mayka, and these are my friends, Risa and Jacklo.” She wasn’t sure exactly what to say next. So far, the only new people she’d met were the farmers, and that hadn’t gone well.
“And to answer your other question,” Si-Si said, “I am a dragon.”
Chapter
Six
Mayka gasped out loud. “Truly?” She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised—stone could be carved into any shape—but Father had never talked about anyone carving anything legendary.
Jacklo stared at Si-Si. “Whoa! Like in the story?”
The little dragon nodded proudly. “I was inspired by the great dragons of legend, whose bones formed the mountains, whose breath birthed the wind, and whose flame gave life to the land.” She spread her wings to their full width and drew herself up to her full height—which would have been impressive if she’d been more than two feet tall.
Under Si-Si’s wings, near the joints, Mayka saw carvings: an intricate pattern of lines and swirls. These weren’t simple marks like on the oxen. This was a new story, exquisitely drawn! “May I read you?” she asked politely. Please say yes! She hadn’t gotten to read a new story since Father died. If she could go home with a stonemason and a new story—
Si-Si dropped her wings. “You can read? Really?”
“My father taught me.” Mayka knelt next to the little dragon, who raised her wings again to display the marks. She had gorgeous wings with streaks of red that glistened when the sun hit them. Mayka had never seen stone so beautiful, though she’d heard Father mention it: firestone, because it looked like the heart of a fire.
“No one’s ever read my story to me before.” Si-Si was trembling, causing the light to shimmer on her scales. “I’ve heard retellings, of course—everyone knows the story of the Mountain Dragons—but no one has ever read me before. Ooh, I’m so excited!”
Sitting cross-legged in the field, Mayka began to puzzle out the marks. She recognized several, but there were swirls within swirls . . . “Risa, can you find me a stick?”
Risa fluttered off a few feet away and then returned with a twig. Mayka began to draw in the earth, meshing symbols together. Often marks were combinations of other marks—if she could find the right mix of symbols that matched the one on Si-Si’s wing, then she’d have the key . . .
“Got it,” Mayka said, pleased with herself. Now that she knew how the carver had combined the marks, the rest should be easy to decipher. “Once, a very long time ago, when the earth was so new that she changed her clothes with the seasons . . .”
Si-Si craned her neck to look at the underside of her wing. “Wow, does it really say all that?”
“Well, you could also read it as ‘there were lots of earthquakes and volcanoes,’ but the swirls—see here?” Mayka pointed to the way one flourish curled up like a fern. “This means the story is supposed to be poetic and old. So I’m telling it that way.”
“You’re making it up?” The dragon recoiled as if she’d touched something sticky.
Mayka wondered if she should be offended—stories were an art, not a science, and Father often said not everyone understood that. Kalgrey, for instance, had little patience for extra embellishments. But then again, the cat didn’t have much patience for anything, except for stalking field mice she didn’t intend to eat. “The marks aren’t words exactly; they’re more like a guide. Father and I used to practice all the time. He’d draw marks in the dirt, and I’d read them into stories. He even added a new mark to my story to commemorate my new skill, when I felt I was ready.” She held up her palm so that the little dragon could see. In the center of her hand was a symbol that looked like an eye with other tiny marks held within the pupil. “It tells of how I read stories to Father while he worked on his carvings, how I made him laugh and cry, and how all my friends would come and listen as the moon rose over the mountains. But you could also just say it means ‘Mayka reads,’ and that would be correct too.”
“Wow!” Si-Si leaned so close that her nose nearly touched Mayka’s hand, then she drew back. “You say your father carved you? Who’s your father?”
“He carved all of us.” She closed her hand and cradled it against her chest, as if she could hold the memory tight in her fist. “His name was Kyn, and he was a master stonemason.”
Si-Si fixed her flamelike orange eyes on the two birds. “I didn’t know that it was possible for anyone to carve birds that can fly. I’d heard stories, and I’ve dreamed—” She cut herself off. “How is it possible? You’re stone, aren’t you?”
“One hundred percent and proud of it!” Jacklo demonstrated by thumping his wings together so they made a thwack sound. “Just like you.”
“Not just like me.” Si-Si lifted her wings, flapped them once, and then dropped them by her sides. “See? I can’t fly. Do you think . . . Would your father recarve me so I could?” The longing in her voice was so clear that it almost hurt to hear.
“He can’t.” Mayka looked at the oxen who still stood motionless in the field. “He . . . stopped moving a long time ago. We buried him under a tree that he loved and put stones above him.” It was strangely hard to say the words, even though it had happened so long ago. She’d never had to tell anyone else before. Everyone she knew had been there. Telling the story of his death made it feel like it had just happened, and she suddenly missed him so badly that she ached, as if winter cold had spread into her body. She wondered what he’d think
of their quest and of Si-Si. He didn’t want any of us to leave the mountain, she thought. But I think he would have liked to meet Si-Si.
“That’s terrible to hear,” Si-Si said. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s terrible to say,” Mayka admitted. The words made it more real. Words always did, even when you didn’t want them to. “I don’t want to tell that story right now. May I finish reading yours?” She gestured to the dragon’s wing.
“Oh! Yes, please.” Si-Si lifted her wing again so Mayka could see the marks.
Leaning closer, she read the elegant symbols, “Back when the earth was new, dragons ruled the skies. They scorched the earth, and they boiled the seas. When they walked, they shook the ground, and the land split beneath their massive feet. No other creature could survive in such a dangerous world.”
“Wow, that’s dramatic!” Jacklo said. “I wish I wore a story like this. Do you think I’d be braver if I had a legend carved on me?”
“Hush,” Risa scolded.
Mayka continued. “After a time, the dragons became lonely. They thought it would be nice to have other creatures around them. Creatures that flew through the air, swam through the sea, and crawled on the earth. And so they landed and began to craft them out of the clay and out of the sea. They used their fire to breathe them to life. But these new creatures were too fragile—when the dragons took to the air again, their creations began to weaken and die, for while the dragons flew, the air was filled with fire and the sea boiled. And so the dragons came down from the sky and lay still on the earth. Over time, their breath cooled, and their bodies hardened to rock, and they became the mountains.”
“All of that is written on me?” Si-Si asked, craning her neck to see.
Mayka pointed to the mark that represented the story of the dragons. “Just beneath it, it says, ‘This is Siannasi Yondolada Quilasa, carved to honor the dragons who created all those made of flesh and blood. She will . . .’” Mayka faltered. What did that next mark mean? She thought back to her lessons with Father. She’d seen it before, on the blocks in the walls of the cottage. Decorate. “‘She will decorate her home and remind all who see her of our beginnings.’” Mayka looked up at the dragon, feeling suddenly awkward. It ended so abruptly. “That’s what it says.” It was strange that the marks didn’t mention any of Si-Si’s own strengths. Father always included marks that told personal stories. But Si-Si’s story was all about the heroics of other creatures, going so far as to end on a clear reminder that it wasn’t about Si-Si herself.
Si-Si lowered her wings. “It says . . .” A shudder ran from her nose all the way down to her tail, and her voice shrank to a wavering whisper. “Then it’s true. I am just a decoration. No more than a bauble . . .”
Maybe I shouldn’t have read her story out loud. Mayka had never had that thought before—stories were meant to be told—but this one had clearly upset their new friend. “It says you’re a tribute to the great dragons who created all flesh-and-blood life. That’s good!”
Si-Si sank to the ground, her dragon head resting on her paws, her wings collapsed by her side. “This is why I can’t fly. I’m only an ornament. Nothing special about me. Good for nothing. Useless.”
“You aren’t useless,” Mayka said. “You can help us! The oxen won’t”—or can’t, she thought—“and the people we’ve met, when we asked them . . .” She trailed off, not sure how to describe what had happened.
“It didn’t go well,” Risa said dryly.
“We’re looking for a stonemason to recarve our marks,” Mayka said. “But we need directions. From up on the mountain, it’s easy to see the city, but here in the valley . . .”
Si-Si lifted her head. “You’re going to a stonemason? Yourselves?”
“Yes. We need to ask a stonemason to come home with us and recarve the marks on us and our friends—they’re beginning to fade. If a stonemason would fix the marks—”
“You plan to just ask?” Si-Si’s eyes were wide. The sun reflected in the stone, making it look as if flames were trapped within her pupils. “But . . . you can do that?”
“Mayka can do anything,” Jacklo said confidently.
“Not anything,” Mayka corrected. “But yes, I plan to just ask. Why shouldn’t I? All we have to do is find a stonemason and convince him or her to come up the mountain.”
Si-Si got to her feet and shook out her wings. “Do you think . . . Could I . . . Maybe I could ask him to recarve me?”
“Of course,” Mayka said. “What do you have to lose by asking?”
The dragon looked again at Jacklo and Risa. “If a stonemason could fix me so I could fly . . . I could be more than a decoration. Maybe if I had new marks and wings shaped like yours. They said . . .” Her wings drooped again, hitting the ground.
“Who said what?” Risa asked.
“The other stone creatures at the estate. They said I was useless, that I was an ‘extravagant luxury’ that no one needed. But if I could change, if I had new marks that made me useful, if I could fly . . . I’d prove them wrong.”
“They are wrong,” Mayka said firmly. They should have appreciated how unique and beautiful Si-Si was, carved from a stone that Mayka had never seen. Whoever had carved her must have valued her—there was such care in the detail of her scales and the shape of her face, with all the wispy lines that looked like feathers on her cheeks. “Come with us to the stonemason. Show us the way to Skye, and you can ask him yourself. I’ll help you ask, if you’d like. Together, we’ll convince him to aid all of us.”
Si-Si smiled, revealing teeth carved from black obsidian. She pawed at the ground and flapped her wings, prancing in place. “Yes! I’ll help you, and you’ll help me.”
“Ooh, do you know the way to Skye?” Jacklo asked.
Risa flew in a spiral above the little dragon. “We know it’s in the valley, far away from our mountain. But we don’t know what road to follow. Not without flying away from Mayka, and we won’t do that, not after the farmers.”
Si-Si pranced higher, her wings making a tinkling sound like crystal—the music of her wings seemed to reflect her mood, and it sounded like hope. “I know how to find it! I’ll take you there!”
Si-Si hopped like a bunny.
Mayka hadn’t expected that. She’d imagined that a dragon would skulk more. Or stride across the landscape, belching fire everywhere. But no, the little stone dragon sprang in hops, leaping forward and then catching her back legs up. Her wings flapped, and her tail wagged with each hop. She looked, in a word, adorable. But Mayka wasn’t about to say that without knowing how the little dragon would take it.
“Why were you out here in the field?” Mayka asked, following her.
“Um . . . I like the fresh air,” Si-Si said.
Jacklo whistled. “You can smell fresh air?”
Soaring above, Risa let out a half snort, half tweet. “She can’t. She’s stone. All air is the same to our kind, you know that. Question is: why is she lying?”
Si-Si ruffled her wings. “It’s a common expression! And you will see that city air is different. Dirtier. Everyone says so. But if you must know, I was only in the field because you were in the field. I was curious. It’s not often you see masterpieces like you out in the countryside.”
“How did you get here, out in the countryside?” Risa asked.
The bird sounded so suspicious. “Risa!” Mayka said. “Be friendly.”
Si-Si drooped. “No, it’s all right. You don’t know me. And I’m . . . I am no one.”
Jacklo circled around her head. “You’re Siannasi Yondolada Quilasa. You aren’t no one!”
“You heard what my marks say about me. I’m not good enough to have my own story. I exist in the shadows of others . . . Others who could fly.”
“If you did have your own story, what would it say?” Mayka asked. “Where were you before you were here?”
“Tell us,” Jacklo said. “We’ll listen.”
The little dragon l
ooked at them, as if to see if they meant it. Mayka gave her an encouraging smile. Si-Si hopped quietly for a moment before she began. “My keepers had a summer villa, until they had to sell it. I only know what I could hear listening at windows—there was a lot of arguing. They’d spent money they didn’t have, and lost money they used to have, and could no longer afford to keep the house.” Her voice quivered, and she wasn’t looking at anyone as she spoke. “Most of the others . . . they took them along, back to town, to keep or resell, but I was forgotten. Left behind, alone at the villa. I waited for them to come back for me, but they didn’t, because who needs a decorative dragon? I’m so unimportant that they didn’t even remember me for long enough to resell me.”
“I’m sorry,” Mayka said, then asked, “What do you mean ‘keepers’?” The farmers had used the same word.
Si-Si didn’t answer. She seemed caught in her own sorrow. “If I were bigger, I’d make an excellent guard. If I were smaller, I could be a spy. If my teeth were sharper and less fragile . . . If my claws could grip better . . . If I could fly . . . Oh, if I could fly! Feel the wind on my face! Soar above everyone and everything! If I could fly, it wouldn’t even matter what anyone said or thought of me!” She craned her neck to watch Jacklo and Risa, who were soaring overhead in the midst of a flock of flesh-and-feathers birds. They swooped down again, flying alongside Mayka and Si-Si. “My keepers used to have a stone heron. He waded in the ornamental pond and would wax on about philosophy to anyone who would listen. He couldn’t fly either, but the family called him wise. They would always bring visitors out to meet him and ask him questions, as if he were some kind of oracle. I didn’t like him very much. He always thought he was so much smarter than everyone else. He’s the one who told me the family wouldn’t be taking me with them, because they thought I was worthless. I told him he was wrong, but he was right.”
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