by Marc Secchia
Then I hope it slithers down your throat and ties knots in your sophistic intestines! she snarled, aiming a lightning-swift nip at his muzzle. Being mister fire-stuffed male Dragon, the Tourmaline did not even begin to flinch.
Share fresh kill with me, Dragoness. Grandion flicked out his fore-talon. As your King said at the banquet, shall I do the carving?
* * * *
Snarky Dragon. Sweet, though. He fed her from his talon tips, a Dragonish courtship ritual, checked every inch of her body – not without ulterior motive, she suspected, earning a quirky snigger from her inner Human as Grandion’s snuffling about tickled her stomach unbearably – and then found them a comfortable, dry cave to rest within.
The following morning, she made a better showing of hunting and slaying a small bush gazelle, and after she had declared herself sated on the dainty portion of tenderloin Grandion prepared for her, watched with mild amazement as he tossed the rest down his capacious maw and declared that three or four more gazelle would do nicely, thank you!
“Fetch, please?” she growled.
The Tourmaline Dragon stretched his spine lazily. “Thank you for offering, my precious fire-heart.”
Gnarr!
Then, they arrowed onward on a heading for Jeradia.
Jeradia? The Island of giants was famously fissured rajal country. Their primary export was said to be mercenary muscle. The tribes had recently been subdued and organised by a King Yanxion, a name which sounded patterned upon Dragon names. Intriguing. Jeradia was also called the gateway to the South, as its forbidding massif stood at the junction of major trade routes with Sylakia, the Western Isles and the sprawling Southern Archipelago, a wilderness of mostly unknown Islands covering an immense sweep all the way over to the East and Shinzen’s former domain.
Working her wings to keep up with Grandion, Hualiama said, “So, is Jeradia our final destination?”
“What happened to that firebird you almost buried at the Palace?” Grandion batted her question back, not without a sly wink.
Pensively, she described her discovery of Istariela’s eggs, bidding him swear to keep their existence and location secret. That led to a morning-long discussion about what do with the First Egg, and fruitless speculation about what Numistar was plotting and when she might return. No Dragon patrol had seen her since her ignominious defeat.
Toward noon, the pair of Dragons skirted a feisty squall that forced them to ascend to a height of three leagues above the Cloudlands. Beneath the crescent Jade Moon, Hualiama saw the jutting outline of Jeradia Island for the first time, and noted a resemblance so strong it seemed almost split away from Fra’anior Cluster, divided by a master talon stroke of the Great Onyx. The cliffs were sheer and tall, black granite speckled with sparkling fluorite extrusions and from this great distance, the white threads of Cloudlands-bound torrents. Beyond the cliffs? Mountains. Mountains to the horizon, surmounting the spine of Jeradia like a sleeping Land Dragon bearing a wildly stellate carapace. White clouds lapping at Jeradia’s skirts made it appear even more like a monster slumbering upon the roof of a mysterious realm. She recalled Yiisuriel describing a mighty under-Cloudlands trench bordering Jeradia to the North, which the Air Breathers could not cross and even Land Dragons skirted, in the main, due to its powerful riptides.
Perhaps Jeradia was a suitable hiding place for the First Egg?
The cliff barrier rose before them as the afternoon drew on; from first sighting, it was three hours of steady, Hualiama hatchling-speed flying to the Island itself. Grandion angled their flight a few compass points west of due south, bringing them in toward what Hualiama saw as the westernmost tip of the southward-pointing, roughly wedge-shaped Island. The new capital city, Jos, lay in the far southeast of the Island, perhaps thirty or forty leagues distant.
The black, grey and tan mountainscape, broken by tumbling patches of dense jungle, unfurled steadily as the Dragons glided toward the Island. Uninhabited. Brooding. A sense of destiny zinged into her veins, catching Hualiama wing-napping. She hurriedly smoothed out her wingbeat. Dragon emotions were like being battered by unexpected squalls made of molten lava.
What was it about this jag-toothed wilderness that drew her?
Grandion must know her rising excitement by her wingbeat and hearts-rate and many physiological factors besides, but he maintained an inscrutable mien as he led them to a landing on what Lia shortly realised was the rim of an active volcano – not a wild, blasting beast like Fra’anior’s caldera, but about a mile and a half below her paws, through the sifting mists, she suddenly saw a most unexpected sight. Green. The cliffs within were not vertical, certainly not as harsh as the volcano’s outward appearance, but they plunged down to a spreading, flowery meadow fed by springs and waterfalls. The meadow abutted a circular mini-crater lake a quarter-mile in diameter, an effulgent jade in colour. Closer to where they alighted upon the northern periphery stood several secondary volcanic cones, perhaps dormant, pockmarked with caves suited to making Dragon roosts, she supposed, and bearded with khaki vines and burgundy bushes. The area around the cones was cracked and steaming with multiple fumaroles and open, lava-weeping crevasses.
He nuzzled her neck, and she knew.
Still, she squeaked, “Grandion …”
“Aye?”
“What is this?”
“This is me teaching you how Dragons need to brush up on their standing upon the high places of the Island-World, glaring over their dominions with an air of ineffable majesty –”
“Grandion, in all seriousness … I love you.”
“And I, you.”
Thou, my – um, something especially poetic I can’t think of right now, she laughed, in a daze of bliss.
Thou art mine, and I, thine. Simplicity itself. He rubbed her neck with his huge muzzle until she made the tiniest growl of impatience.
“This is the remotest minimally active volcano situated upon or abutting the Jeradian massif,” the Tourmaline Dragon said promptly, his eye-fires seething with barely-contained excitement. His huge paw lifted, sweeping across the view. “It is a natural fortress. There’s fine hunting in the jungles beyond the volcano itself. There are many natural springs – we counted at least ten. The height of the rim wall shelters the caldera from the worst excesses of the weather. It’s irregularly shaped, but generally a Dragon’s length under two miles in diameter. There are deep caves in the base of the southern rim wall and many potential locations for Dragon roosts in those secondary cones, including both hot and cold springs. This, my precious Star Dragoness, is the kind of place where Humans and Dragons could live together. A home for thousands. My choice of location for your Dragon Rider Academy.”
She said, “Grandion, are you tugging my wings? This is Jeradia. We can’t just take a piece of Jeradia!”
“While it’s entirely likely the Star Dragoness could annex half of the known Island-World at the crook of her tiny but incomparably formed fore-talon,” he joshed, ruffling her wingtip with his own until she bared her fangs in response, “we’d purchase this from the Jeradians. That’s the plan. Only, I don’t have a great deal of – you know. Resources. Sapphurion and Qualiana weren’t hoarders. They refused gold and Dragon honours and the like.”
“You’re giving me a present which I have to purchase for myself?”
“Aye.” Mighty as he was, the Dragon shuffled his paws. “Furthermore, I’ve just come to understand that the Lost Islands finances aren’t the best. Drops that idea down a Land Dragon’s breathing hole.”
“I’m the Empress of an impoverished nation.”
“Azziala –”
“Expended everything on her failed attempt to rule the Island-World,” she returned, bitter at feeling the crushing of her hopes. “Every resource, every last gem. Famously thorough, our lovely Dragon Haters. I have the Air Breathers extracting gold and precious minerals as fast as they can, and Tiiyusiel has organised a Clan of Ore-Foragers to refill our smelting vats – oh, Grandion. She bled the nation dry an
d I’ve mouths to feed, don’t you understand … you’re the sweetest Dragon who ever graced the airy spaces, but I simply can’t afford this beautiful gift … did you negotiate?”
He nodded. “Incompletely.”
“You had them pack my royal effects –”
“Aye. The plan was, we drop into Jos, you flash that famous smile and charm the King into selling you a particular scrap of wilderness for a pittance, and we start building – but I hadn’t really considered how you’d finance a project this monstrous.”
Hualiama gazed out over the caldera, feeling unshed Dragon tears pricking her eyes. “That secondary cone would be called Dragon Roost Mountain. We’d excavate into the rim back there, building upward and back into the mountain to destroy as little of that pretty meadow as possible. I’ve access to plenty of labour. A nation’s worth of labour, just no way to feed them beyond four weeks out, Grandion. I do happen to own a small goldmine, but it’s tiny. And it has diamonds – strangely, as if the two resources were deliberately enchanted to co-exist –”
The Tourmaline coughed in a smoky gush. “You own a goldmine?”
“What, you don’t think the Jeradians would take payment in the form of a few extra-starry nights and me flinging dancing rainbows above an adoring populace?”
“They might,” he suggested. “I certainly would.”
“Thanks.” She leaned against his left foreleg. “I could make so many plans, here. So many dreams just waiting to be dreamed.”
His talons carved furrows in the rock. “Hualiama … this is the place. I chose right, didn’t I?”
In his Dragon form, Grandion was so ridiculously large in comparison to her that she could not even pretend to lean against his shoulder, and his hug was a matter of his paws engulfing her entire body. That was how he held her now, and she tucked her muzzle into the muscular furrow of his major wing joint above the corded muscles controlling his forepaw as though she could bury herself there and forget everything. Princess. Empress. Penniless wanderer. Yet in her mind’s eye, she saw the volcano’s skies filled with Dragons and eager students tumbling through hallways and shoving each other to be first in line to meet a Dragon.
She would find a way.
“You chose perfectly,” she murmured. “How is it you know me so well?”
“Never received a bigger gift?” White fangs flashed over the ironic curl of his lip.
“Nor a more thoughtful one. Come on. Last one down into our volcano’s a bleating ralti sheep.” He held her trapped in his fisted paw, chortling smokily, happy-sad, as she struggled against his mighty strength. Her heart was so full, she could only mock-snarl, “Grandion, play fair!”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll melt your scales for ingots and flog them around the Island-World to finance my Academy, that’s why!”
Then, he thrust out his paw, and opened his palm to the winds. Fly, my Blue-Star. Fly far and free.
* * * *
One day shy of two weeks after her flight to Jeradia Island, Hualiama entered the chamber where she had first met her mother, and paused in shock. “Uh … what’s this?”
“Just in time for our meeting,” said Prince Elki. “Order! Settle down there, you Dragons!”
“Grandion, I thought this was –”
“Do take a seat, o Empress,” said he, with a twinkle of his tourmaline eyes. Of course, he did not pull out the solid stone seat for her. He lifted it with an eye-straining popping of muscles, and set it delicately in place. “Sit down and listen. Flicker?”
The dragonet cleared his throat ostentatiously, taking centre stage upon what had been Azziala’s hand-carved, polished conference table, an oval of veined green marble some twelve feet long and eight wide. “Ahem! As everyone knows, I am a dragonet of unparalleled genius – aye, Empress, this is the resourcing meeting. Please prick up your very pointy ears and listen.”
Oddly, Grandion’s Human form had the distinctive pointy ears denoting a Fra’aniorian heritage. She smiled tentatively at him, asking what this was all about with a tiny tilt of her chin. His only reply was to open the mental network to the attending Dragons – Mizuki, Affurion, Makani, Yiisuriel, Tiiyusiel and others of Affurion’s Elders – and to Hualiama’s Human Councillors. She sensed the joining together of many minds, especially Yiisuriel’s. Being near her vast intelligence was to feel like a compass that wanted to point North – that was the power of the Air Breather’s clan mindset. Around the table were the usual suspects, including King Kalli and Queen Shyana, obviously flown from Fra’anior Cluster, a mere five miles North of her nation’s current location.
Hmm. Something was afoot. Unfortunately, smelling mischief was not the same as knowing what it was. She clenched her teeth in annoyance.
Flicker sniffed, “Could I have everyone’s attention? Now. We understand the Lost Islands is in a dire state of financial duress –”
“As if you understand what that means,” Prince Elki sniped.
“Your lips are flapping as if you’re travelling on Mizuki’s back through a windstorm, blubbering at one of your terrible Fra’aniorian tragic ballads,” Flicker opined. “Look, I’ll keep it simple for you nominally civilised apes. While Hualiama and Grandion make for pretty mates, they’re also completely broke. We –” he gestured around the table “– are not about to let certain Humans and Dragons win a war for us and promptly send them off to starve. Never mind being a morally reprehensible act, it would be socially … awkward.”
He beamed at Lia, who tried to frown at the dragonet, found herself smiling instead, and in the end folded her arms and made a small ‘humph’.
Evidently, this was grist to Flicker’s mill. He crooned, “So, because I’m marvellous beyond belief, I asked the dragonet warrens if they might be willing to contribute to the cause. A fire-love offering, if you like.”
He flicked his wings immodestly, inviting the inevitable compliments.
On cue, Hualiama gasped as Yiisuriel showed her a picture of Enchanters and dragonets sorting through substantial heaps of gemstones. “Oh! Oh, Flicker, you didn’t …”
“They contributed a modest cavern-full or so,” the Land Dragoness rumbled, as a little white chest swelled in her line of vision. “Our gratitude to the noble dragonet-kind is unbounded.”
“Oh … it is! Flicker, darling, you’re the best! How can I ever thank you?”
“For a few baubles?” he blurted out, patently overcome by her reaction. “We like to collect shiny bits and pieces – like girls falling down cliffs, for example. Ahem. Prince Elki?”
Leaning forward to glance down the table at his sister, Elki said, “Flicker approached us. Saori and I agreed to pledge our matrimonial inheritance to the cause. And my future inheritance as a member of the royal family of Fra’anior.”
Hualiama stammered, “I, oh – Islands’ sakes … you … didn’t?”
“I most certainly did,” Elki grinned. “We did.”
Shyana added, “Kalli and I are willing to advance your inheritance as well, if you’d like it now, Hualiama. We’d also want to add a little something of our own.”
Ka’allion said, “That would be unlimited, zero interest loans backed by the crown of Fra’anior. As much as our treasury can handle, plus a freewill gift in addition. I don’t know about you, but I’ve already discovered that gold stuck in vaults for a hundred years doesn’t feed or clothe the people. Our former King was good at taxation and money counting, but not very open-handed, and Azziala did not have time to spend our treasury too. I’ll admit an interest in the matter. The Council of Gi’ishior doesn’t want your future Dragon Rider Academy with its Shapeshifters and new-fangled ways to be located too close to Fra’anior Cluster. I aim to keep the peace around my little volcano as best I can.”
She wanted to thank them, but the only sound her throat could make was a soft groan. Otherwise, she would have broken down completely.
Comforting her Human within, Dragonsoul pleaded, Grandion, help us.
; Grandion said, “That is an exceedingly generous offer, King Ka’allion and Queen Shyana. Hualiama and I thank you with all of our hearts.”
“There’s more,” said Flicker. “I believe that their Highnesses Princess Saori of Fra’anior and Prince Elki propose to relocate to Jeradia to oversee the founding of the Dragon Rider Academy. It’s that, or I believe the position of Court Jester is still open for applications, o Prince. You should apply.”
Laughter exploded around the chamber, but Hualiama knew they were all watching her. How could she accept this? She had been given so much in her life. Rescued in the womb by her precious Dragonsoul. Raised by Dragons. Adopted into a royal court. Born of the infeasible union between a Star Dragoness and the greatest Dragon of all, Fra’anior the Onyx, and the malfeasance of Ra’aba with an Empress of a nation sworn to serve Dramagon the Red, Fra’anior’s greatest enemy. Beauty. Dread. Power. Greed. Glory. All of this was her heritage, but for the first time, she realised that she did not need to let that past define who she was. Hualiama had always sought to dance out her freedom, but it had been an illusion; always, both she and her Dragoness had been yearning for the tacit approval of these giants from the past.
They were in her, but they were not her. She was Hualiama.
Destined to shine.
Flicker’s eyes were radiant pools of swirling colours as he gazed unblinkingly at her. Have I done well, straw-head?
Rising, Hualiama spread her hands. Flicker dived into her arms as if he wished to burrow beneath her skin, and make his warren there. Beloved faces whirled around her, gleaming as if they gazed into the fullness of the twin suns’ rays. She treasured them so dearly, it hurt. It tore the very pith of her being to know the love of such friends as these, who had given so much and continued to give beyond anything she could have asked or imagined.
Words formed in her mind, so inadequate, she felt barely able to speak. Concentrating on stroking Flicker’s flank, she found her centre, and said at length, “When I was lost, you found me. When I was falling, you were my wings. When I forgot how to shine, you were my starlight.”