Dragonsoul

by Marc Secchia

  Hers was a quest for light beneath a storm-riven sky.

  Lia rode with Grandion, striking with her paws and burgeoning magical resources where possible, but their Dragon force was being pounded on all fronts by the weather; that weather was an overwhelming blend of Numistar’s whiteness comprised of ice, wind-blasted snow, lightning and dragonets, not to mention the scything wind. Grandion retreated toward Makani’s position, fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with Mizuki as Hualiama supplied waves of white-fires to keep their wings clean of dragonets. Yet they flailed against unending legions.

  HUALIAMA! Numistar’s mountainous fury slammed her into Grandion’s flank. She fell half-stunned to the ground, landing in a steaming heap nearby Jin and Isiki. The slave-girl immediately bent over her, slapping Lia’s cheek as if she were a Human.

  “Here. Take these.”

  Lia stared stupidly at her Nuyallith blades. “I’m a Dragon.”

  Isiki pressed the blades on her. “You said these made flame. You can’t breathe fire. We need any advantage we can imagine.”

  Above and around her, Numistar raged. This was her home territory. The temperature, dropping precipitately. She felt Dragons falling to the ground as shocks through her paws. Lia growled, “Dragons don’t fight with swords.” Swatting a dragonet away from her face, she stared at the slave-girl. “We’re getting slaughtered out there and you’re–”

  “His idea.” The Eastern Islander held out her hand, palm-up. Flicker stood there, looking as pleased as a newly minted brass dral. “Flicker said you defeated someone called Roraba? Did he mean the Warlord Shinzen?”

  Flicker squeaked, “Lia no fight. Dance.”

  Hualiama’s eyes widened. Ra’aba! He remembered the confrontation which had ended in his death!

  Clearly she appeared completely witless, for the dragonet added, “Flicker say stupid straw-head too much fight. She dance. Flicker awesome-pants?”

  “If we win this battle, you can call yourself anything you like!” Snatching up the blades, the Star Dragoness planted a kiss Dragon-swift on Isiki’s cheek. “Take care of Jin, you mischief-maker.” Then she bowed formally to Flicker. “May I have this dance, o dragonet-lord of awesomeness?”

  He really was awesome. Qilong was just a pretender.

  * * * *

  The Nuyallith blades appeared undersized even in the paws of a hatchling Star Dragoness, but their power was not. Forged of meteorite metal in a furnace heated by Dragon fire and imbued with magic, they were the finest tools of a forgotten generation–but only tools, unless coupled with the knowledge of the disciplines of Nuyallith. Suddenly, Hualiama found a decision crystallising in her mind. This knowledge should not die with her. One day, she would return to her monastery and gift the Nuyallith lore to the people to whom it belonged. Her monk-brothers. They were the perfect custodians of this knowledge.

  Her hearts swelled with Dragonsong. There, in the roaring crucible of life-and-death combat, Hualiama raised her voice and began to sing the soul-dance from the Flame Cycle. Sumio and Genzo gaped at her as if she had gaily twirled off the cliff-edge of insanity. But Grandion knew. His contribution was voiced at first in hoarse bursts from a throat roughened by too much fire-breathing, but he kept time and his volume swelled with an infusion of Storm power. Mizuki did not know the words but she hummed loudly as she stormed past, puffing her Shivers briefly above Hualiama’s head to clear her a path into the white-upon-white mayhem. Elki waved his sword in a riotous salute-come-defensive stroke and then, catching wind of her song, warmed up his well-trained baritone. Flicker launched into an intricate harmonic descant, while the Harmonic magic of the Land Dragon’s increasingly sporadic light-shots created a percussive, counterpoint drumbeat that introduced the element of the unexpected to her dance.

  Inspiring! Their chorus of approbation fired her Dragon hearts.

  Yet her Dragoness still knew nothing about the forms and ways of Nuyallith magic. For that, she needed her paramount weapon. Humansoul. We need you. Can you teach a Dragoness how to dance?

  An inner smile sparked white-fires that lit up her third heart with a palpable whoosh! The Dragoness was quite certain her every scale was aglow, making her blend in perfectly with the screaming snow and thronging dragonets.

  Then, that determined voice which always glinted with hints of paranormal potential, said, Teach us to dance? Dragonsoul, I’m honoured, but this knowledge already lives within us. It is ours.

  Then lead. Our paws yield the floor, Humanlove. Show us the way.

  She saw a vision of starlight falling upon an endless onyx ocean.

  Bugling her Dragonsong, the Star Dragoness launched into the fray. The blades ignited in her forepaws as power channelled through her body, forming a nimbus of blue-white flame about her wrists and digits before flowing down the blades and blazing outward to a distance of ten feet in sharply defined, blue-hot cutting edges. Yet always before her was Flicker, drawing her into the dance, into the place where instinct supplanted physical function and all was subsumed to the song underpinning the languid-seeming movements of her limbs and wings and body, but in reality she knew that the movements were as rapid as a Dragon’s reactions.

  Dance, my Dragonsoul! Now, DANCE!

  Flicker before her. A girl twirling within. Nothing else mattered.

  The Nuyallith blades whirled about her spinning body in a coruscating, flaming form of destructive shield-armour. Hualiama pressed deeper into the storm, inviting Numistar Winterborn to assail her, to throw thousands of dragonets and titanic bolts of lightning at the star rising within the storms of the Ancient Dragoness’ being. Each dragonet was a pinprick of light, as though the swords flailed through a amphitheatre filled with shining fire-souls, and they yielded to the darting blades as if they were moths drawn to a pyretic, lethal end. Flaring. Briefly incandescent, then gone.

  She had no awareness of time passing, just the dragonet-dance of Flicker before her and the destruction falling from bodies blown into mortal dust before her blades. Her Dragoness laughed viciously. This was her role. Perfect, draconic ruin. Tasting of the golden rain of dragonet blood, the sharp metallic tang, the tingling of dying magic. She was the scorching blade slicing into Numistar’s belly, provoking bellows of pain as her dance broadened, becoming wilder, stronger, more and more savage in keeping with the aeons-old savagery of the beast she assaulted. That tinge of wrongness within her? Crushed. That knowledge of grief swelling in a weak Human breast? Denied. This was justice. This was the madness of battle-joy, the Dragonsong of the righteous avenger. This was …

  Horrific, sobbed Humansoul.

  Before the feral Dragoness could do more than snarl her frustration, Flicker chimed in, Hualiama give second life. Life, not slaughter. Flicker weep Human tears.

  At the crux of her immolating fury, Dragonsoul perceived a new reality: the power of mercy. It was, in its own way, a sword greater and more penetrating than any other, for it divided an immortal soul, cleaving good and evil, changing the very face of destiny. She turned her genocidal fury inward. Transformed it. All her magic, her grief, her raging thirst for revenge, she channelled into a single, despairing cry:

  BEZALDIOR!! BE FREE!

  * * * *

  Istariela and Fra’anior eyed each other across an unknowable divide of time and space, yet the greater gulf was the grief that divided their lives, hearts and souls. The grief of an Ancient Dragon was abyssal, expressed in depths so profound they seemed to plumb eternity. The grief of a star was a place where even the purest light was traced with shadow, for to behold it was to feel every shadow of one’s own heart, and to weep.

  Humansoul and Dragonsoul stood hand in hand between the columns at the very edge of their realm, gazing at their shell-parents.

  Will you reconcile for our sakes? the Dragoness asked softly.

  Will you declare peace, and give reborn love a chance? asked Human-Lia.

  Their questions fell upon silence.

  Endless silence.

  So much
was spoken in that silence, the very farthest reaches of space whispered their names.

  It was the Great Onyx who broke first. With a sob, he cried, For thy sakes, Hualiama, all love is possible. Yet mine third heart mourns, inconsolable. I … I cannot bear this fate!

  And with that, the Onyx Dragon fled.

  The White Dragoness whispered, All that is fair of dark and light do meet in thee, beloved shell-daughter. In time, I promise, you will come to understand my misfortune.

  With a wild, inchoate cry, Istariela fled.

  * * * *

  Blue-star drifted over the battlefield. A few stray snowflakes drifted down from a clearing sky; the first blue, a brilliant, eggshell blue, peeked between the disintegrating cloudbanks as though fearful of gazing upon a scene of such carnage. The suns, partially concealed beyond the full Blue Moon, flung quadruple overlapping rainbows amidst the clouds. Beauty to herald the vanquishing of evil. Too much to bear, her shell-father had said? He spoke truth. Heart-lacerating truth. For her hearts wept sorrow upon sorrow for the pain, the misery, the anguish etched upon the visages of those mercifully beyond pain. Dragon bodies and dragonets were strewn across the snowy slope over an area exceeding a square mile. So heavy her wings. So grievous the price of victory.

  Her head turned, listening to the parting whisper of Numistar Winterborn’s presence upon the breeze, leaching away into the ground and the Cloudlands far below Immadia Island.

  Nay, I am not defeated, Blue-star. You’ve merely released me to take on a new, more powerful manifestation–that which I secreted in the North aeons before your time. My master-plan reaches its pinnacle.

  Return to these Isles, Winterborn, and I will strike you down once more. I will end your existence.

  Mocking laughter faded into the distance. Beware the Ice-Raptors, o child of Onyx. Beware the curse of Numistar upon thee and thy kin!

  What a cruel shiver gripped her wings! But the Tourmaline came to her, gentle of paw, and drew her into a simple embrace, muzzle against muzzle. Thou, the star watching over our Isles. Ruefully, he added, Numistar hasn’t perished?

  Lia gulped, We only won a skirmish. Only … a skirmish. Curse this fate, Grandion …

  He held her close, so close, and with such kindness, her resolve almost shattered. Hualiama gazed past his flank, unseeing. To have fought so hard, for so long, only for Numistar’s spirit to have evaporated like mists over the caldera!

  No, she would never curse fate. She would embrace it; in time, teach it to dance. Hualiama’s dance.

  Grandion said, Will you come and help me tend the wounded? They are very many.

  Lia sighed. Did service never end? I will do what I can.

  You can do much, said Grandion, and the tenor of his response made her look up. Dragonets. Thousands of dragonets watched her, foremost among their number, Flicker. She shook at first in remembrance of their claws and fangs, but their behaviour was not the same as before.

  Numistar’s dominating power had vanished.

  Flicker said, Lia healed us. She gave fire-life.

  Lia, Lia, Leee-yaaa … sighed the dragonets, crowding forward. They came to touch her, first in ones and then rapidly in threes and fives, on her spine-spikes and muzzle and paws and tail, on her wings and ear-canals and belly and chin. Each touch lifted her, a tiny spark of strength. Some said, We give. We give.

  Of course. To dragonets, this was not worship. This was their expression of thanks for new life, a communal giving. No single dragonet of the eight or ten thousand left, those she had released with her final Command that broke Numistar’s power, demurred. They filled her with new strength. The strength of many.

  So she must respond. Lia inclined her muzzle in obeisance. This Star Dragoness thanks the mighty white dragonet-kind for their answering gift of life. May it nourish many, as the dragonet-kind themselves are nourished.

  Dipping her left wingtip, the Star Dragoness spiralled down to the battlefield and found her first patient, a wounded dragonet. Why not? She bathed the female in starlight.

  Who was next?

  * * * *

  “Dragonships incoming,” Prince Qilong said to Elki, as the two men watched Hualiama carefully pressing the skin on Isiki’s cheek together. Three neat, parallel talon-cuts had gouged her to the bone, thankfully missing the right eye. Lia’s magic flared along the cuts, sealing the wound. The Prince’s eyes dipped. Qilong hissed, “By my ancestors’ beards!”

  Lia glanced up sharply.

  Jin’s hand jumped away from Isiki’s. The young warrior, patched to within an inch of his life and still being bandaged by Elki with strips of cloth recovered from the wreckage, flushed brightly.

  The Star Dragoness rapped, “Prince Qilong, may I speak as Fra’anior to Kaolili?”

  “Aye!” he spat. “Never, in all my years–what shamelessness is this? A Nikuko warrior and a slave-girl?”

  “Fra’anior wishes to make a purchase from the Kingdom of Kaolili.”

  “A purchase? This is hardly the hour–oh.”

  “I’m afraid I rather skipped over protocol by investing your Thirteenth Slave as a Dragon Rider. On behalf of all Fra’anior, I hereby offer public apology for my hasty, thoughtless actions.” Grandion snorted forcefully, blowing all of the Humans’ hair about. Lia added, “I am lamentably unversed in the civil traditions of Kaolili.”

  Qilong bowed, declaring sagely, “On behalf of my kingdom, I, Prince Qilong, the masterful pirate-lord of seventy-three Islands, do accept your gracious apology, o Serpentine Potentate of the Smoking Cluster.”

  Elki’s sudden fit of coughing sounded suspiciously like laughter.

  Had he pinched that phrase from her cheeky-as-a-parakeet brother? Forcibly straightening her lips, Lia responded, “By way of recompense, I therefore propose to relieve the Kingdom of Kaolili of the worthless wretch’s services, this impertinent and disrespectful Thirteenth Slave.” A seething Isiki made to protest, but the Star Dragoness hissed her into silence. “What is the going price for such a lazy, unhelpful girl?”

  Most of the Eastern faces around them registered surprise or amusement. Qilong said gravely, “In light of Kaolili’s recently compromised finances, I propose the treasury-draining sum of … thirteen brass drals.”

  “I’ll offer no less than ten,” Lia said promptly.

  “Seven.”

  “Three well-used brass drals, and that is my final price.”

  Isiki had to cover her mouth to muffle her laughter; her almond eyes sparkled over the edge of her hand.

  “One brass dral rusted beneath a barrel for a hundred years, and the spit on my hand to seal the bargain!” Qilong finished grandly, shooting a fine gobbet onto his palm. He held out his hand. The Dragoness shook gravely.

  “This is how they do business in Fra’anior?” Saori asked in amazement. “What on the Islands was that, Hualiama? Do you propose to let her … and him, just–”

  “Absolutely not. Get to work, slave,” said Lia, finally losing her unequal battle against a smile. “You belong to Fra’anior now. I will not have slave-girls kissing warriors in my kingdom. It is simply not done.” Isiki glanced uncertainly at her from beneath her lashes. “However, since we stand upon Immadian soil and you happen to be a new Dragon Rider–no, belay that. To work! See to your Dragoness.”

  Elki began to protest, “But Lia, the Kingdom doesn’t keep s–”

  “Shut the fumarole!” Lia barked, cuffing her brother a fine blow on the left shoulder.

  The crew spread out, retrieving pieces of their cargo and personal effects that stuck out of the ice here and there, including weapons, supplies and Qilong’s bed, which of all items aboard, had miraculously survived the explosion and crash landing perfectly intact. Meantime, a small flotilla of Dragonships approached from the direction of Immadia city, a-bristle with weaponry and hostile intent. The Northern Dragons gathered about their fallen in groups of five or six and immolated the bodies in fire, each time singing a brief Dragonsong that sped the fire-soul on i
ts journey to the eternal flame.

  To Hualiama’s surprise, the Northern Dragons appeared philosophical about the great numbers of dead. Mizuki explained how Grandion had tricked them into battle, but the general tone bespoke honour or even celebration of lives lost in glorious combat. Several Reds composed odes of praise for their kin. There was no remonstration with Grandion. To face an Ancient Dragoness in battle would be the boast that sustained many of these Dragons until they too passed on to the fires.

  Grandion brought Yuhurak the Brown to Hualiama, who was taking a third look at Makani’s nerve-damaged wing. “Noble Yuhurak suggests we appoint a Human to negotiate with the Immadians.”

  “What about Elki or Qilong?” she asked.

  “Immadia is a matriarchy,” Yuhurak explained. “They also have a long and complicated history with the Northern Dragonkind. Currently, Dragons are forbidden from landing on Immadia’s shores.”

  Prince Elka’anor cast a roving eye over a battlefield still littered with over two hundred Lesser Dragons, almost half ground-bound until their wings healed enough to fly, and the thousands of dragonets gathered around Flicker, who appeared to be holding court. “You don’t suppose they’d accept a minor error? A few apologies, a sackful or two of diamonds, and we all part as best friends?”

  Yuhurak was the first Dragon Lia had met who laughed openly at Human sarcasm. “Aye, Prince of Fra’anior. But while the smashed terrace lake, the ruin of their seasonal crops and the landing of a few hundred Dragons may escape notice, this invasion by a duo of misplaced Fra’aniorian royals most certainly will not.”

  “No?” asked Elki, amazed.

  “No.”

  “What about him?” Elki stabbed a finger in Qilong’s direction.

  The Prince puffed out his chest. “I’m invading, too.”

  Saori put in, “Are you honestly not sending in a Dragonwing? Grandion, you lead the negotiations. Swat a few of their Dragonships, flex your muscles …”

  Lia winked at Grandion. “Say, Tourmaline, how do Dragons spell ‘negotiate?’ ”