by Marc Secchia
Pip hauled out a sizeable gobbet of violet-coloured wax. “Don’t you ever clean your ears?”
“My claws can’t reach,” said Zardon.
“I feel as if I’m scooping out your brains when I do this.” She thrust her fingers into a blob of warm, squidgy ear-wax. Lovely.
“No danger of finding any brains down there,” quipped Zardon. “Ah, that’s much better already. Do I have to listen to every word of your grumbling now?”
“You can pretend to be deaf, like before.”
The Dragon snorted out a playful fireball. “Ungrateful wretch! Who plucked you out of your cage?”
Hot pain seared her breast. She choked out, “You, Zardon.”
His paw wrapped about her with great gentleness. Zardon crooned softly, a wordless song that lapped at her anguish until it dissipated like the dawn mists. He whispered, “That’s gone now. Never again. I promise.”
The following afternoon, they alighted on a new mountain-top many leagues further to the south-west. The Dragon delivered a lesson in claw care.
Zardon had retractable claws which could comfortably have served as swords in most parts of the Island-World, Pip decided. The nails required regular trimming and sharpening, which she accomplished by employing one of the larger scales from his flank, which had been hanging by a thread. Dragon scales renewed themselves constantly, just like Human skin. But Dragon scales were far harder, as sharp as a shard of crysglass. The claws had a definite metallic edge to them. They could pierce rock.
“Your claws are in a sorry state,” Pip grumbled, scraping away energetically with the scale.
“Sometimes you have to clean the sheaths, too,” said Zardon, acting contrite. “They can become infected, especially if a Dragon’s lazy about cleaning his claws after hunting, or a battle.”
“What’s this scar?” asked Pip, pointing a little higher up his leg.
“Which one?” His head snaked around to where she was working on the claws of his left hind leg.
“Where the bone’s dented. Look, I’m as tall as your knee.” Pip illustrated with her hand.
The Dragon’s lips curled in what she had come to recognise as his smile. This smile was accompanied by a volley of deafening guffaws that sent lizards scurrying and birds flapping for a quarter-league around them. Every time he tried to speak, Zardon laughed even harder. Pip folded her arms and stamped her foot, shouting, “What?” Her voice was a mere squeak to his thunder.
But that only encouraged him. Finally, between helpless hiccoughs and moans that his sides were hurting too much, Zardon managed to splutter, “That’s not my knee, little one. That’s my ankle bone. You’re only as tall as my ankle.”
“Go suck rotten eggs.”
Pip refused to speak to him after that.
They flew steadily along the snaking Island-ridge for three days thereafter, covering nine to ten leagues per hour’s flight, according to Zardon. They spoke at great length about the ways and history of Dragons. Pip came to realise that Zardon was lonely. He spoke wistfully of the ‘many silent leagues’ between Islands. He seemed to delight in hearing her speak, or watching her light a fire or pick itchy mites out from beneath his scales with the sharp point of another scale. She hoped his thoughts did not revolve around comparing a diminutive Pygmy girl to his old Rider.
“This is an impossible task,” said Pip, picking at his lower left flank late one golden afternoon. “It’s like trying to find every lizard hiding beneath a rock on an entire mountainside.”
“Usually, a Dragon might burn scale mites away in a hot spring, or by bathing in a nice pool of lava. And Dragons who are roosting together will groom each other. But a Rider’s hands are far more suited to the task.”
Pip clucked her tongue. “So, why didn’t you take a dip in one of those volcanoes we passed, o mighty Dragon, rather than putting your poor Rider to work like a drudge?”
“You wanted to learn, didn’t you?”
“Oh, so this is to aid my education?”
“Consider it character development.”
Pip’s teeth did not quite grind together, but neither was she pleased. “Scaly overgrown excuse for a lizard,” she muttered.
“Dragon ears are extremely sensitive,” Zardon reminded her.
“Fine.”
“You’re doing work of magnificent thoroughness, Pip.”
“Oh, go stuff it down a volcano!”
The Dragon said, “Actually, I can’t stand the heat for long enough to burn the mites away. Odd, isn’t it, for a Dragon? But these old injuries won’t allow it.”
Pip decided that her pride was worth swallowing to help an old Dragon with his itches. She worked patiently, and long.
The following morning, as they winged over what Zardon said was the last Island of the ridge, a tall, conical volcano which steadily belched ash into the rosy dawn sky, the Dragon said, “By this evening, we’ll touch down at Jeradia Island. We should leave Hunagu in the forest outside the school grounds. There are many Dragons about. They might fancy him as a bit of sport. The forest is too thick for a Dragon to penetrate, but an Oraial should dive in there like a flea into fur.”
“Good,” she agreed.
“I must apologise, Pip, but I will be leaving immediately. I’ve one more duty to perform before I can rest.”
“I thought you were too deaf and cranky to listen to orders,” Pip sniped, trying to mask a pang of disappointment.
“I will be back to check up on you, however,” said Zardon. “Or to chew your ears if you’re misbehaving. Would you allow an old Dragon that courtesy?”
She cried, “Allow it? I’d be insulted if you didn’t!”
“That’s the spirit, little one.”
“But we can skip the ear-chewing bit.”
“What? Can’t hear you. Are you certain you cleaned my ear canals properly?” Pip kicked his shoulder with her heel. Zardon grinned over his shoulder, “Oh, I mistook you for a butterfly.”
“You do call me ‘little one’ rather a lot.”
“Odd, isn’t it?” He somehow managed to laugh without making a single sound. “Strange choice of words considering the disparity in our sizes, isn’t it, Pygmy girl?”
“Very well. I shall accompany your name with, ‘o massively muscled sky-mountain’ every time I address you.”
With the utmost immodesty, he said, “I humbly accept your accurate description. So, Pip. When we arrive at the Academy, you must ask after Master Kassik. Tell him Zardon the Red Dragon sent you and entrusts you to his care. There will be a Dragon guarding the gate. Do not be deterred, but seek out Master Kassik, and him only. I would trust him with my life–him, and Mistress Mya’adara, who looks after the students. She’ll help a Pygmy warrior.”
Pip fell to chewing her lip pensively. What kind of school required a Dragon to guard its gate? But Arosia had made the idea sound so wonderful, she could not quash the excitement foaming and frothing in her heart.
School! How many Pygmies had ever attended a school?
With that, she began to fret about what kind of welcome she might find there.
Chapter 11: Off to School
Their approach to the Academy did not inspire Pip with confidence. Zardon seemed keen to conceal their winding flight through the towering peaks of central Jeradia to the craggy north-western corner. Jeradia Island was one big mountain range. Ranks of jagged black peaks and one plunging ravine after another rolled by beneath them, as if in times past a giant had smashed mountains together for fun and then cracked them open to examine their innards. The ravines and crevasses were choked with vegetation in their depths. Heat shimmered over the jumbled terrain, intensified by the billows of smoke and sulphurous gases rising from many active volcanoes.
En route the Dragon had another episode, stranger than the last. He kept muttering about eyes watching him and twice, blasted fireballs at unseen enemies. Zardon’s mind did not seem to be terribly stable. Pip remembered the mother Oraial with a shiver.
At length Zardon swirled down into the blue shadows of a hidden ravine, descending until Hunagu’s net nearly dipped in the torrent rushing through its depths. They winged over sparkling turquoise waters for a further half-hour as the peak of a titanic volcano, half a league tall in lustrous black basalt, loomed over the lip of the rock face above. The ravine widened unexpectedly just before the volcano, as if to surround it with a moat. They swept out toward a tangled reach of forest, snarled with vines and creeper-covered boulders.
Pip filled her lungs with relish. Wow. It smelled like home.
Zardon put down on a flat rock at the edge of the forest. He said, “The entrance to the school lies through a cave on the far side.”
He must be very concerned for Hunagu, Pip thought, noticing how he had brought them down behind a fold in the land. No-one at that cave could have seen them. Sweet. But worrying for Hunagu–and for her. So much caution …
The Pygmy girl’s eyes rose in awe. “The Academy lies inside a volcano?”
The Dragon grinned. “Several volcanoes, little one. There are others inside the big one.”
Hunagu pulled himself free of the net, taking snuffling gulps of air. He thumped his chest. “Hunagu like forest.”
“It’s deep,” said Zardon. “Tell him to watch out for rajals and pythons. You too, Pip–although your jungle-craft should win you through even the dangers of night.” He eyed the sky. “You’ve plenty of time.”
Suddenly, Zardon’s forepaw rested upon her shoulder. “Pip, I realise I scared you before with my talk of magic and potential and what might be hid inside of you. Being respectful–not scared–of magic is a good and wise attitude. At the school, you will find many who have different kinds of power, and people and Dragons who have different ideas about how to use power–or how they might want you to use your magic, or simply use you. Remember this. Test everything that you know, what you feel, even your instincts, against your heart. Do what fits your character, and discipline your character to be the best it can be. You’ve suffered much, but suffering can make us strong. That is the way you will attain your destiny.”
Pip stared at him. Then she hugged his paw. “Thanks, Zardon. Thank you for everything.”
“There’s a Green Dragon guarding the cave. Jalador is his name.” The Red Dragon bowed his head. “My third heart rides with you, Pip of the Pygmies.”
“And mine with you,” she said, softly.
With a fearsome whoosh of his wings, Zardon took off and sped down the ravine the way he had come, keeping even lower to the river than before.
After watching him until he turned a corner and vanished from sight, Pip picked up her rajal-skin bundle as though it suddenly weighed as much as a boulder. Heavens above and Islands below, she was going to miss riding Dragonback. Nothing in her life so far could compare to Riding a great Red Dragon across the measureless reaches of the Island-World.
She must find Master Kassik, she told herself. Let her new life begin.
“Hunagu walk with Pip?” she asked.
“Pip ride Hunagu?”
She had to gulp back a lump in her throat. Poor Hunagu. He must have felt so left out while she was gobbling up every scrap of knowledge and Dragon lore she could prise out of Zardon. Pip scrambled up his proffered arm and nestled in the crook of his elbow. “Hunagu guard Pip against rajals.” He grunted at this. “Hunagu best friend,” she added.
Hunagu ruffled her curls. “Pip silly.”
The giant Oraial moved into the cool, shady green halls of the forest. Pip gazed up at the trees arching above her, their boughs thick with unfamiliar leaves and fruits, and still felt a wonderful sense of homecoming. A forest! No matter what lay on the far side of the volcano’s wall, this corner of Jeradia would always feel much like home. It was perfect for her Ape friend.
For several hours of the afternoon they trod the meandering forest byways, coming to places where the trees were so tall they could not see the tops, and detouring around impassable thickets or bottomless chasms. Hunagu scared off a lone male rajal, a scraggly old beast, probably prowling for an easy meal. Pip wished for weapons. She had her ribbons … she tied them into her hair as Arosia had taught her. No point in walking unarmed into the Dragon’s lair.
“Forest end soon,” said Hunagu. “Pip leave?”
“Pip sad.”
“Pip be happy. Hunagu, he order so.” The Oraial brought her up to eye level. “Pip call Hunagu if trouble?”
“Pygmy girl come visit Hunagu. No forget promise.”
Pip gasped as Hunagu squashed the air out of her lungs. She hugged him back as hard as she could.
Now, she must face another Dragon. She had no illusions that Jalador would be as friendly as Zardon. The Red Dragon had been dismissive of his Green kindred.
When she came to the forest’s fringe, Pip hesitated. The dark maw of a cave yawned above her, a short climb up-slope. She could not see any Dragon. But did she sense a presence? That tiny prickling of nerve-endings which she had come to associate with magic?
Inexplicably, Pip thought of Balthion. She squared up her shoulders and marched up toward the cave, trying to look as though she belonged.
She could not have missed the Green Dragon had he leaped out at her roaring and spitting fire. Jalador lay right across the cave entrance. He was much smaller than Zardon, but far spikier–his head sported extra spikes around his eyes, ears and nostrils, and his back bristled with a triple row of spine-spikes. He was a deep forest green in colour, and much slimmer than Zardon through the torso; built more like a lizard or a snake, she decided.
A sallow eye lit upon her as if a lamp had been cracked open a slit. Jalador let flame curl a dozen feet out of his nostrils as she approached. “Go away and stop bothering me, child.”
Even his speaking voice had hissing undertones, as she imagined a python might speak.
Pip made the sign Zardon had described to her, bowing with her palms held out toward the Dragon. “I greet thee, mighty Jalador. I am told to seek Master Kassik.”
Jalador seemed to be enjoying the late suns-shine far too much to move a muscle. “You seek Master Kassik, waif? Who seeks the Master? And who sent you?”
“I am called Pip’úrth’l-iòlall-Yò’oótha, mighty Dragon,” said Pip.
“By the Great Dragon, little one, give me something I can pronounce!”
“You could call me Pip, mighty Dragon.”
“Bah. Mighty this and that, eh? Think you’re going to win past the cunning of a Green Dragon by knowing my name?” His eye seemed to gather inner fire until she imagined his gaze might literally burn her. “How do you know my name?”
Pip almost smiled, but thinned out her lips. She knew how to pass by this Dragon. Casually, pretending a resolution not shared by her heart, she said, “I know of your prowess in slaying the giant python of Erigar Island, mighty Jalador. Zardon the Red told me the whole tale.”
“Zardon?” Jalador masked his surprise poorly.
“But he didn’t tell me what a magnificent-looking Dragon you are, o mighty be-winged prince of the airy spaces,” said Pip, elaborating shamelessly. “Your hide shines like polished droplets of jade and your fangs are the sharpest and deadliest I have ever seen … are you one of the Ancient Powers, the Dragons of old?”
“Ah, not quite,” simpered Jalador, stretching with catlike grace. “The school is right ahead through the tunnel, little one. Don’t dally.”
Pip bowed again. She whispered, as if talking to herself, “What an honour. I met the Jalador today.” She was certain he could hear every word. Pip walked a good ten minutes down the torch-lit tunnel before she dared to add, “Thus, for vanity, were the Academy’s defences breached.”
The tunnel seemed endless. Did it penetrate right through the mountain? Every so often, she passed a set of great, thick stone doors which presumably could be shut against an attack. First, however, any enemies would have to pass a green, sixty-foot doorstop with wickedly curved fangs. The tunnel was deserted. Zar
don had called it the back door. Apparently, all new students entered through the tunnel. Pip half-expected another Dragon to leap out at her, but nothing did.
Instead, she saw luminous orange light at the tunnel’s end.
Pip emerged on a balcony on the flank of the largest caldera she had ever seen. Through the shifting, curling mists, she saw the outlines of further volcanoes clustered together between what appeared to be rivers of magma, far below, interspersed with pools of steaming water and pockets of dense bushes and trees. The caldera was far deeper than the level of the forest behind her, Pip realised. She rotated slowly on her heel. A walkway to her right led to a castle, built back against and into the volcano’s side. It stretched upward almost to the rim, balcony upon balcony and turret upon sloping turret, an incredible, rambling heap of interconnected buildings that somehow ran together and made sense and nonsense all at once.
She had only a second to take it in before a hand smacked her shoulder. “What are you doing here, child?”
She nearly leaped out of her hide. Pip glanced up at the man. He was as tall and skinny as a scroll which had sprouted legs, it seemed, clad in a long wrap-around skirt of a deep blue, which matched his equally dark blue eyes and the blue tattooing on his half-uncovered upper body. He stood perfectly upright and stared down his abnormally long nose at her.
“What manner of nonsense is this?” he said, enunciating each word as though it pained him to speak. “Islands’ sakes, child, you’re indecent. Fancy turning up at the Academy wearing nothing but a filthy scrap of cloth.”
“I am Pip,” she said, bowing deeply in the Human way, from the waist. “Are you Master Kassik?”
“Absolutely not! Is that a covering? Put it on at once, you miserable urchin. I’ll have none of your sass. State your business clearly.”