Dragonstar (Dragonfriend Book 4)

by Marc Secchia

  From the cracks of her soul, starlight poured forth.

  Starlight commingled with laughter.

  Shocked to her core, Hualiama almost cut off the light, before her Dragonsoul stopped her with a quiet word. No. This is our healing Dragonsong. And she directed the Human girl to reach out for the First Egg, for the font of magic that could make possible what she envisioned in her soul.

  Her inexplicable laughter swelled, silvery and ethereal, dancing upon swelling lava bubbles and over the muzzles of Magma Dragons sneaking toward the First Egg. It tinkled over the flights of dragonets, bringing pause to the slashing of talons and the champing of tiny jaws. Bursting over her friends, that grievous mirth exploded up into the new day like the spectacular pyrotechnics of a Dragon battle, and then in a phenomenal detonation that staggered every person and creature present, it raced out over the caldera at light-speed, passing through the Islands and Air Breathers and spearing deep into the Cloudlands beyond.

  Numistar bellowed in indignation, and fled faster.

  In the sudden, tremendous silence, pure starlight burned in every mind and soul. White-fires sheeted from person to person, and Island to Island. All was renewed.

  Lia said, “I am Hualiama, Empress of the Lost Islands, and these are my commands. The battle is over. Lay down your weapons; sheathe your talons. Cease fighting.”

  Her voice was no louder than a conversation over the dinner table, but it seemed now that the Island-World was so attuned to her voice, her words penetrated every ear and cave and ear canal, and every house from huts to palaces, and reached down into the depths of the Cloudlands to embrace the mighty souls of Air Breathers and the few remaining Land Dragons who had survived the gruesome destruction served by Numistar Winterborn.

  Silence reigned supreme.

  “Hereby, I bind the mental congregation of the Lost Islands to myself.”

  Let it be!

  The great congregation shimmered beneath her beneficent gaze, and then in a series of ripples like blossoms budding and unfurling repeatedly, rearranged itself into new constellations of minds.

  The nation awaited the will of its Empress.

  Hualiama said, “Our ways shall be forged in newness, drawing on the traditions of the Lost Islands, but we shall seek a new master and a new destiny. Right now, our task is to repair all that has been wrecked by our single-minded devotion to Dramagon’s nihilistic philosophy, and led us to this detestable pass.” Her eyes seared over the gathered Haters, near and far. “We shall no longer be called Dragon Haters. If you cannot abide this fate, I invite you to cast yourself into the lava or into the Cloudlands forthwith. I will tolerate no disobedience – but if you follow me, I promise there will be starlight, a loving restoration, and hopefully in time, a new and greater task commensurate with our unique skills and heritage.”

  Many departed in a rain of blue robes, but a greater number chose to remain.

  Could a soul bear yet more grief?

  To the dragonets, she called, “Dragonets of the volcano. You are Fra’anior’s right paw, and the co-authors of our victory this day. May your mighty deeds be scribed upon the warren memories, and may you sing to your egglings’ eggs of the legends forged by the smallest of paws.”

  Casting her voice farther, she said, “Mighty living furnaces of the Land Dragons, I bid you: Be free! Be healed! I request that the noble Air Breathers move aside from Fra’anior Cluster and gather five leagues to the south in your family and clan groups. I shall come to you and try to offer further healing. We shall seek and sing the Balance together.”

  I AM YIISURIEL-AP-YURON, HUMBLE SERVANT OF THE STAR DRAGONESS!

  Hualiama lowered her head. “Mighty one.”

  We shall speak much and deeply, o true servant of the white-fires of the Dragonkind, said the ancient Land Dragoness. Let us help heal what was riven. Thou art the Dragonfriend, the Blue-Star of dawn’s matchless breaking, and the risen star which shines hope upon and through the fires of all the Dragonkind. Let none forget.

  Drawing another massive breath, Hualiama said, “Dragons of Gi’ishior, Dragons near and far! Hearken to my command: BURN FREE!”

  Her Command rocked them. Burn free? Lia smiled grimly. No better descriptor. They would be free, and they would be back to squabbling just as soon as the starlight faded. “Dragons, a time is coming that will be difficult for our kind. Now is the time to work together and to accept what is new. I will not be assuming rulership at the Halls of the Dragons. That is for Dragons of hoary-taloned wisdom and long years beneath their wings; a task demanding strength and true-fires and cunning. But I will consult with you. I will sit at your paws and learn. I hope that I will grow to even half of the stature of these noble Dragons it is my privilege to serve as the Dragonfriend, for I am one of you. Long may our fires burn together!”

  Dragon thunder rolled over the caldera as the draconic congregation voiced their approval, but Lia knew it would change as surely as the suns rose in the East, warming the world shaped by Fra’anior. She shivered. Now was a time to build bastions and to preserve, lest all be lost. Others would not see this future. They would not understand the darkness that was to come.

  Yet, there was dancing still to be done. Much dancing.

  Finally, sensing her beloved close at hand, she whispered, “This is Grandion the Tourmaline Dragon, shell-son of the mighty Dragon Elders Sapphurion and Qualiana. He is my right paw. He is my strength and the Dragonsong of my delight. I crossed the Island-World for this Dragon. I have lived with him in caves and palaces, in fire and in snow; I have battled with him and laughed and cried more tears than it seems any lifetime should hold, and shared with him the ascending fire-promises. I am the Dragonfriend, and I would fly beyond the stars for this magnificent son of the verimost fires of the Great Onyx himself. He is my Dragonlove, and I am his Dragoness.”

  She transformed.

  “I am Hualiama, Shapeshifter Dragoness. I am a member of the prophesied third race, bearer of the fire-gift of Amaryllion Fireborn. My best friend is the dragonet who has saved my life more times than I can count. I am a Star Dragoness, and all that is best of my starlight, shines for you.”

  * * * *

  Flicker cracked open one fire-eye. “Am I supposed to call you Empress now?”

  Hualiama’s smile was fragile, yet brilliant. “Better or worse than the wayward Princess of the Volcano?”

  “It has a certain ring to it, o mighty Empress of the Lost Islands.”

  “Aye. It makes me the leader of a nation. A whole … nation. Flying ralti sheep!” Her knees were definitely misbehaving.

  Flicker nuzzled her neck. “Now’s when you choose to get all shaky on me? Skanky windrocs, you ridiculous straw-head! Here’s the deal.” Pressing his muzzle against hers, he said, “Establish an alliance with Affurion’s bunch of thugs. Then, slap them together with the Lost Islands Humans and forge them into one new nation – Dragons and Humans together. Isn’t that the whole point of being the Star Dragoness? You just order everyone to get along for the next few thousand years. Right?”

  “Holy … whatever. Flicker!”

  He chortled derisively at her stunned expression. “Empress or none, you’re still that impertinent chit I hauled up a cliff just the other side of this very Island. Now that we’ve solved that little issue, what’s next, o enormously eminent Enchantress? For I am your exceedingly humble –” he had the grace to snigger at his own choice of words “– advisor and friend. At your service.”

  She could only shake her head. Ha. And the dragonet scored another legendary victory.

  Grandion extended a peremptory wingtip. “I hope Empresses still have time for Tourmaline Dragons?”

  Flicker watched her launch off the Green Dragon’s back, spiralling dizzily past his wingtip before the dainty Star Dragoness surprised Grandion by thumping into his stalwart chest for a Human-style hug. He scratched his own chin cheerfully. Aye, with the Tourmaline wearing that ralti-stupid expression as a decidedly underdressed
but never more magnificent girl gaily flew rings around his worshipful nose, the Island-World was indeed returned to a sound footing.

  Oh. He blinked. No, she was in her Dragoness form – wasn’t she? Had he just seen her Human form superimposed upon a Dragon’s own fire-soul?

  Evidently, the mystic heart of Amaryllion Fireborn lived on in him. But that was enough for today. He should go celebrate. He had noticed many enticing females in a dazzling variety of colours, who had been giving the Star Dragoness’ best friend the fiery eyeball. Green? Or Yellow? Maybe that cute little Orange dragonet who had dared to tweak his tail earlier?

  Ah, yes. Sampling local delicacies was definitely one of his many shining talents. Now – he rubbed his paws together eagerly – for an appetiser …

  * * * *

  Four days later, half an hour before her brother Ka’allion’s coronation ceremony, Hualiama faced her adoptive mother in the sumptuous royal fitting room where she, Shyana, Fyria, Queen Imaytha, Isiki, Zanya and Saori had kept a bevy of seventy-three servants buzzing in a frenzy of preparations since dawn, and stamped her foot in a rage that they both knew to be risibly fake.

  “Mom, you cannot give your crown to Ka’allion,” she complained.

  Shyana chuckled throatily. “Aye?”

  “Aye!” Waving her hands, Hualiama pressed, “You’re still young and have plenty of years of rule left in you. Besides, it doesn’t have to pass down the male line. That’s stuffy and traditionalist. Look, Queen Imaytha’s visibly breaking out in a rash at the thought, never mind Zanya. Poor Immadians. Put them out of their misery. Please.”

  Queen Shyana performed a florid Fra’aniorian bow that she modified with a graceful dance step and a beautiful, swooping gesture that ended in her placing a feather-light kiss upon her fellow-Queen’s cheek. Imaytha chuckled in mild bemusement at this most Fra’aniorian of gestures.

  What Hualiama’s magic had not yet healed, makeup concealed. Only a slight puffiness beneath the eyes betrayed that her nose had been broken several days before.

  Shyana said, “My beautiful ally would say the same, daughter. I am not cut out for rule. Ka’allion is. He’s a good man and has been trained since birth for the position. In the absence of both brothers –”

  “Mom.”

  “I have made my choice, and I choose … you.”

  “What? This is ridiculous!”

  Shyana’s grace could make her royal violet Fra’aniorian lace gown shimmer and shift like a river, as it did now. How one danced in one of these hand-crafted masterpieces was beyond her, but Shyana managed to spin and twirl around four maids in her path, arriving unhindered at Lia’s side. “Dear one. You might be a Princess, a Dragoness and lately an Empress, but I am still your mother.”

  “Oh, it’s, ‘I make the rules in my house,’ is it?” the Princess snorted.

  “What you can quote, you can obey –”

  “Unfair. Saori and Isiki, stop your cackling this instant. You are not parakeets, you are future royalty and a Dragon Rider, respectively.”

  Saori thumbed her nose at Hualiama in a rude Eastern gesture. Isiki looked scandalised.

  “Hualiama, you grew up under this roof.” Shyana seized her hands. “I taught you how to dance, but it seems I was only destined to be part of your dance. That’s enough for me. I do have administrative gifts and twenty-seven years of experience in supporting those who run kingdoms, so when you depart this Cluster, as you undoubtedly will, I plan to accompany you.”

  “Mom!” she yelped.

  “Someone needs to paddle your cheeky backside,” Queen Imaytha said, with a wicked grin.

  “Oh, shut your despicably beautiful Northern Enchantress-face.”

  “Petal,” said Shyana, absently arranging the diamonds and sapphires scattered throughout Hualiama’s hair into a pattern, that in the mirror, suddenly came to resemble the constellations of the northern skies, “I see I shall have to teach you how to speak respectfully to our allies.”

  Hualiama stared at herself, startled into silence. She actually looked like an Empress. Her dress was a gown of midnight blue decorated with shimmering silver lilies, and her hair hung unbound down her back, festooned with the royal jewels her mother had insisted upon. A silver coronet adorned her brow. Exquisitely soft, azure slippers adorned her feet. In accordance with Fra’aniorian tradition, as an unmarried woman, she would don a sheer face veil for the occasion that covered her face from below the eyes to her neck, but Shyana had decried the headscarves worn by more conservative girls and women these days, according to Sylakian custom.

  Hualiama shook her head slowly. Free-spirited, her mother. They were so well matched.

  Imaytha’s dress was a fanciful depiction of a Fra’aniorian firebird, a seething mass of crimsons and oranges arranged to display her slender frame and beauty to its greatest advantage, and her hair too was unbound, a fiery, ruby-studded cascade that blended into the short train – short, by Fra’aniorian standards, being ten feet of sheer silks of Helyon. She and Lia would process together, then Fyria and Zanya, wearing matched violet gowns in traditional Fra’aniorian styles which suited their height, and then for the occasion, Saori and Isiki had been given simple yet stunning, high-collared Eastern gowns gifted two hundred years before by the Kingdom of Kaolili to the court of Fra’anior. Their gowns were emerald green with deep and flowing lines picked out in gold thread, and they too would wear golden coronets, the idea of which had caused Isiki visible distress and Saori to berate the heavens in silent entreaty.

  With the tyrannical grin of a mother Dragoness, Shyana bid them comply with her wishes. Or else.

  Ka’allion’s apparently politically-motivated request to hold the coronation feast at the Halls of the Dragons had created great consternation that had required three days of delicate negotiations to resolve, absorbing most of Hualiama’s spare time. She should have been doing more important work – chasing Numistar, perhaps, or organising the minor issues of a battle-scarred nation stranded Dragonback a handful of leagues from Fra’anior Cluster. Never mind. There was always tomorrow.

  Shortly, the long trumps, the tubular trumpabells and the skirling jandor pipes resounded over the City of Fra’anior, which was garlanded in splendid flowers and bedecked with purple for the occasion – flags and banners, silk-stitched scenes from Fra’aniorian life, and great pots of steaming royal incense, thickening the atmosphere to an almost unbearable pitch of fragrant intensity. The royals of Fra’anior, Immadia and Kaolili took their stations upon the Palace roof, overlooking a dense crowd. They cheered lustily as Prince Ka’allion took his formal bows to salute the population, who were regarded as royal guests for the occasion. This was a veritable stage production involving a cast of one hundred dancers, all of his siblings, and half an hour’s duration.

  Hualiama’s gaze lifted restlessly to the cloudless noon skies.

  The Dragonkind must already be underway, for at an ordinary flying speed of ten leagues per hour, crossing the great caldera from Gi’ishior took a shade under two hours. The weather in this season was often tempestuous, and today proved no exception. A pugnacious thunderstorm raged five Islands to the North, but the weather over Fra’anior Island and its Palace remained serene, its volcanic heat tempered by a breeze that Hualiama happened to know was no coincidence. Nor was the storm’s location, carefully shepherded away by twenty Blue Dragons that morning. No detail had been left to chance.

  There. A kaleidoscopic array of dots winged around the black, swollen thunderheads. Some of the Dragons even played with the lightning in passing, which was a trick Hualiama had never tried.

  Closer at hand, her sharp ears detected a rising, animated chirruping. This was a surprise she had arranged for Ka’allion. The dragonets would dance for his coronation, led by Flicker, and they were practically bursting out of their freshly polished little Dragon hides with anticipation. Naturally.

  Ooh, Flicker cooed. Twinkly Star Dragoness! Should I warn Grandion, or shall I merely giggle at the ine
vitable crash landing when he sees you?

  You can just stuff your handsome muzzle with a rotten haribol fruit, she returned breezily.

  You look … like an Empress, the dragonet spluttered.

  Flicker? Choked up? Somebody mark this occasion with an epic ballad! Hualiama said, You’re still my best friend. Just remember, I have ears in the warrens.

  What? Me?

  Her throaty chuckle surprised the people standing around her. Be discreet, Flicker. You know what I mean.

  When did you become my mother? His aerial bow flowed into an exuberant quadruple somersault with a full twist accompanying every rotation, before he zipped off – not without a blatantly self-satisfied wriggle of his posterior – to rejoin his flock.

  What a day! She hoped the Lost Islands crew were not taking notes from Fra’anior’s traditionally overblown formalities. Their coronation event probably involved being swathed in stinky, used blue robes and a dunked in a bucket of Dragon blood, before being force-fed strips of rank orrican meat.

  After that – Lia grinned – world domination before a light dinner.

  Leaning forward unobtrusively, she said sidelong to her brother, “Ka’allion, if things get a little loud in a minute, it’s not the war starting up again, alright?”

  Her brother maintained a ramrod-formal posture, but his eyes rolled rather wildly to his left. “Sister, what are you up to?”

  Hmm. Terrified, o King-to-be? Just how she liked her royalty.

  Hualiama flicked her right hand. The signal passed to Flicker, who alerted Affurion with a pre-planned double-dip swoop. The Overmind fired a colossal fireball down into the Cloudlands beyond the Island. She smiled, “Oh, just a little –”

  DA-DA-DA-BOOM!

  Ooh, whole Islands better than Yiisuriel-ap-Yuron had promised! Siiyumiel had unfortunately passed on to the eternal fires during the battle against Numistar, but Tiiyusiel and fifteen of her Shell-Clan brothers and sisters had volunteered a salutary cannonade, Land Dragon style. The augmentation of their powers by the Air Breathers led to a flash of light that outshone the noontide suns, followed by a series of explosions that punched her in the gut, they were so loud. Immensely powerful light beams intersected overhead, first spelling out Ka’allion’s name and title in runic script, before breaking into a breathtaking light play masterminded and executed by the Shell-Clan, while Hualiama’s touch – star-shaped pink lilies accompanied by gleefully indiscreet puffs of sparkling sapphire dust – floated down over a populace who had first been stunned into silence, but were now screaming deliriously. Mostly joy. She hoped.