by Marc Secchia
From behind her, Yualiana put her hands on Hualiama’s shoulders. “Are you scared, petal?”
“If I were a Dragon I’d be spitting fire!”
Ja’al’s mother leaned close, clasping Lia exactly as Queen Shyana used to. “I’d be, too. We all understand that feeling. You try defending your children in wartime and see if you don’t know a fear that turns your bowels to water.”
“If anyone is scared, it’s Ra’aba,” said Inniora. “I’d take comfort from that, Lia.”
Comfort? Hualiama stared at her hands.
Inniora touched her arm. “What is it?”
“I buried five children today.” Her fingers trembled. She formed them into fists. Faintly, she said, “One was a little boy. He had this toy Dragon. Of his family, he was the only one left alive when we found him. I sang to him as he died in my arms.” She opened her hand. Imprinted upon her palm, she had clutched it so tightly, was an exquisitely carved wooden Dragon. “I felt so stupid and helpless. As my tears wet his face, he looked up and saw this Dragon scale that I wear, and he said, ‘May the Great Dragon comfort you, lady.’ As if I were the one who needed comforting! And then he said, ‘Why didn’t the Great Dragon save us? Why?’ And I had no answer. I held him, and whispered that he was loved.”
Master Ga’athar said, “The nature of evil is to destroy all that is precious.”
“The nature of love is that it can be wounded, but never destroyed,” said Master Jo’el. “Like a Dragon’s soul, it rises from the ashes, reincarnate.”
Lia stared at them, bereft of words.
What was it about these monks and their insights?
“You’re right,” said Ja’al. “Ra’aba just confessed to murder. How can he be the rightful King?”
Master Jo’el said, “The kings of this Island-World are hardly above murder, Ja’al. But he is not the rightful King, nor can he ever be. Our task is clear. We must restore our King to the Onyx Throne, and defeat Ra’aba’s plot, before he brings down ruin upon Dragon and Human alike with his evil collusions. We must understand this prophecy. What ruin does Ra’aba envisage, apart from that which his reign will produce?”
In the ensuing silence, the dragonet purred, “How do you murder a person twice? Is this a Human saying? Of course, I saved Lia through an incredible feat of bravery–”
“Once, Ra’aba threw me off his Dragonship,” said Lia, her mind racing. “The second time? Did Ra’aba send that Orange Dragon to roast me? The Dragon addressed me as the Princess.” Unconsciously, her voice echoed the Dragon’s growl, “‘Run. Scream, if you’d like. I’ll give you a count of three.’”
Ga’athar’s fist pounded the table again, making the plates jump. Rallon swore unhappily, while a tic jumped in Jo’el’s cheek. Yualiana laid her hands on Hualiama’s shoulders to comfort her.
Hallon pointed out, “But Ra’aba said, ‘With my own hands’.”
“Has anyone–anyone else–tried to murder you before, Hualiama?” inquired Master Jo’el. “Because it seems to me that this Orange Dragon knew you all too well.”
“Er, well, there was another Dragon who stood on me. But he turned out to be nice.”
Lia chuckled glumly as Flicker’s eyes filled with baleful fire. The dragonet complained, I’m nice. I saved your hide. That craven beast was a sulphur-stinking monster who dared to attack my favourite girl!
Flicker, you’re awesome.
He sniffed, Obviously the sheer magnitude of my awesomeness is wasted on the likes of you.
She said, “And then, one day, Ja’al and I were sitting on the rim-wall above the monastery–”
“Doing what, exactly?” inquired Yualiana.
“Talking,” said Lia, at exactly the same instant as Ja’al had a coughing-fit and turned a fine shade of purple. “Well, I …” Her fiery blush did not help her cause one iota. “I-I d-didn’t mean–”
“I kissed the Princess to save her from a Dragon,” Ja’al said, firmly.
His mother’s hands felt like a Dragoness’ claws, digging into Lia’s shoulders. She could not see her expression, but from the way she snapped, “Explain!” it must have been a picture. Beside her, Inniora stifled a chuckle beneath an extremely fake cough, while Hallon and Rallon wore the identically stunned expressions of startled ralti sheep. Yualiana stalked around the table, pouring berry-wine into the tall wooden goblets from a large wineskin, the very tension in her manner demanding answers.
“You kissed my brother?” needled Inniora. Poor Ja’al’s nerve rather deserted him as he slumped in his chair. “Wasn’t that like kissing windroc droppings?”
“We saw her first,” said Rallon. “Why didn’t we get kisses?”
Flicker put in, “Actually, Lia kissed me first, after I saved her hide.”
“Bah, what’s so special about a kiss?” snorted Master Jo’el. “I got one for my birthday.”
Yualiana paused over her husband’s goblet, staring across the table at her brother in a way that made him turn as red-faced as Hualiama. He quickly busied himself with his bowl of stew. Yualiana said, “I can’t believe my pointy ears. What kind of a monastery are you running, brother? Fomenting rebellion against Ra’aba, taking in stray royals who run around kissing monks … and you, son!”
Ja’al narrowly avoided slipping off his seat. “Me?”
“When are you taking your vows?”
“Actually, that’s the main reason we’re here–apart from meeting the Nameless Man, of course.”
His mother snapped, “Are you taking your vows?”
“Of course,” spluttered Ja’al. “No mere kiss could stop me–this very week, in fact. The whole family’s invited. With no disrespect, Princess–”
“By the First Egg, Lia,” Flicker interjected, “didn’t you kiss him properly?”
When it became apparent that embarrassment had stolen Ja’al’s tongue, Lia said, “We had to fool a Dragon, Flicker. But Ja’al’s incorruptible, which is rather helpful, considering …”
Unexpectedly, the dragonet launched off Inniora’s lap, turned sharply in the air, and smacked down on Ja’al’s shoulder. In seconds, Ja’al was being treated to a close-up view of a pawful of razor-sharp talons. The dragonet hissed, “You don’t like my Lia?”
Eyes bulging with alarm, the young monk quickly clarified, “No, no … it’s not like that at all.”
“Is she not the greatest prize of a thousand Isles?”
“Of course she is.”
“And what about her eyes–do they not sparkle with magic?”
“Flicker,” Lia warned.
“They do,” Ja’al agreed.
“So, as a Human male, you admit that you find my Lia attractive?”
Taking in his mother’s frown, he gulped, “Er …”
“Flicker, get your claw out of his nostril!” snapped Lia, beyond amusement now.
“Very attractive!” Ja’al howled.
The dragonet made an unmistakably curvilinear gesture with the forepaw that was not holding Ja’al’s nostril hostage. “What about the size and shape of her br–”
Crimson washed over her vision. Hualiama found herself leaping to her feet, roaring in Dragonish, ENOUGH, FLICKER! Her chair crashed down behind her, but that sound was drowned out as her cry shook the room like a minor thunderclap.
Flicker, being the sensitive dragonet that he was, bared his fangs at her. Into the dead silence that followed her cry, he deadpanned, “Ears.”
So help me, you are unbearable! Lia stormed around the table. Her hands clawed before her as she angled for the dragonet, fully intent on throttling the flying pest, otherwise known as her friend. I’m so ashamed! Everyone knows exactly what you meant, you outrageous … you exasperating … beast!
The dragonet gasped, You just did magic, Lia.
Don’t think you can excuse–what? His comment caught her so off-guard, Lia stumbled over the leg of Master Ga’athar’s chair and landed squarely in Ja’al’s lap.
Once a flurry of apologies had been made, Lia found her seat again. With the help of a swig of ice-cold lemon water, she calmed her flustered nerves, and tried to think through the crumbs the Nameless Man had tossed to her. What did it mean to be a child of Fra’anior, she wondered? And where exactly would she start looking for one rare Dragoness? Oh. There was one Dragon who might make a captive audience, if he was still alive.
She could start by finding the Tourmaline Dragon. Did Dragons return favours? Most likely he’d chew her up for trespassing on the holy Isle …
Just then, Master Jo’el formed his finger-tent and inquired, “What language was that, Hualiama? And when did you learn magic?”
She stalled, “Magic? Are you certain, Master?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her as though it were one of his batons aimed at her skull.
“Petal,” said Yualiana, aiming a visual cudgel of her own at her brother, “Why don’t you tell us your story? Perhaps together, we might breathe the Great Dragon’s truth into these matters.”
Unfolding her tale calmed Hualiama’s frayed nerves. Flicker entertained everyone by recounting an embellished version of his feat of rescuing her–not forgetting to explain her nicknames of ‘straw-head’ and ‘flat-face’. He lapped up the laughter like a feline which found itself hip-deep in cream, preened outrageously at their compliments and of course, begged for more.
But all too soon, the conversation returned to Lia.
“Your answer?” said Master Jo’el.
Hualiama sighed.
“You’re too hard on her, Jo’el,” his sister admonished. Now officially invited to her son’s oath-taking, Yualiana appeared to have mined a vein of sympathy for Lia’s plight.
“No,” said Hualiama. “I’ve no need to tell you that this is a grave secret …”
He said, “You speak the forbidden tongue.”
“Aye, Master.”
“Hmm.” That was all Master Jo’el volunteered on the subject. Having expected a grilling, she felt like a trout hooked out of a terrace lake.
Flicker chirped brightly, “Of course, the Lesser Dragons would slay Hualiama in a wing-flip if they learned she could speak Dragonish, so keep those fangless traps of yours shut, by my wings. Anyways, I’m sure any Human can learn to speak Dragonish, even the stupid ones. I taught Lia, after all.”
“Thanks!” She smacked his scaly rump.
“Look, Ja’al, you do some magic, right? Listen.” Flicker said telepathically, You egg-headed excuse for a male, how dare you refuse my Lia? You must have scrambled windroc eggs for brains.
Ja’al peered inquiringly him.
“Are you Humans all born deaf?” Aloud, the dragonet chirped, Egg-head.
Leg-bread, the young monk chirped back.
Lia chuckled, “You said, ‘Leg-bread.’ Like this, egg-head.”
Egg-head, Ja’al repeated faithfully.
Flicker and Hualiama burst out laughing. Everyone else looked on in bemusement.
“So, uncle,” said Inniora, “now that your monastery takes women, when can I start?”
With great dignity, Master Jo’el ignored his niece’s question. But Lia did observe that his jaw tightened, and his gaunt cheeks seemed rather more pinched than a moment before.
Inniora turned to Hualiama with an overzealous smile. “Doesn’t every Princess need some kind of handmaiden? Er, companion to the royal personage? Someone to stitch their dresses? Perhaps a royal dragonet-carer, who feeds and pampers the royal pet?”
“Desperate,” said Ja’al.
Flicker purred softly, “Actually, I find her attitude most stimulating.”
“You’re mine,” growled Hualiama.
* * * *
Flicker’s eyes whirled with curiosity and pride. Twice now, straw-head had surprised him with positively draconic responses. Obviously, his skilled tutelage was not wasted! He had thought Lia incapable of properly civilised behaviour such as jealousy, and the fire in her tone revealed a hitherto veiled strength of character and purpose. And just take her thunderous rage, earlier! Oh, by the First Egg of all Dragons, he’d have her breathing fire, soon!
Ha. Only he could have been smart enough to spy her potential–instantly. Why else leap off the cliff? Now, he knew his role. He must guide the Human girl with a firm paw and protect her from the fungus-faced one, until she attained her destiny. His chest swelled. That the Ancient One should have chosen him for such a task! It struck him that she was a perfect Dragoness, a creature of guileful fires and complex passions. The glint of her scales concealed much from these fellow-Humans, but unsurprisingly, the superior intellect of a dragonet had penetrated her subterfuge. He’d have to watch her more closely from now on. Magic? Fury filling those smoky green eyes with flame? Oh, his beautiful Lia, she was a hatchling trying out her wings for the first time.
But his student must not suspect he was wise to her cunning feminine ways.
“A true Princess treats her dragonet with respect,” Flicker said loftily. “Now, this is how you issue orders, Hualiama. Inniora, fetch your harp this instant. You will accompany the fabulous firebird of Fra’anior as she sings O Erigar, My Island for us. You will all attend closely to the words.”
Slow-as-sheep Humans. They perched on their ridiculous wooden platforms and made noises of undignified confusion as Inniora fetched and prepared her instrument. Hualiama stood, moved a little to the kitchen area, clasped her hands beneath her sternum, and filled the room with song.
Look at how they appreciated her performance! Yualiana closed her eyes with a soundless sigh of pleasure. Master Ga’athar balanced on the edge of his seat, his eyes alight and his blunt hands clasped in his lap. Hallon and Rallon sat bolt upright, as though a sly dragonet had stuck them each with a claw. And Ja’al? His eyes were alight, fixed upon Hualiama as though he wished to devour her.
In the fifth stanza, Master Jo’el’s head finally snapped up. He gaped at Flicker, who cocked his head aside. Did the twin suns dawn within your mind, Human?
Hualiama’s song faltered as she took in the Master’s response.
“Repeat that!” snapped Jo’el.
She sang:
The whirl of swords in ancient dance,
Did the terrible Fraga entrance,
‘Nuyallith!’ roared he, ‘what dread power is this …’
“Master,” Lia gasped, “I always thought ‘Nuyallith’ a proper name. But if Fraga the Red is fighting Johoria Dragonshield at this point in the tale, it doesn’t make sense. The word sounds … Dragonish, really. Isn’t that right, Master?”
Jo’el shook his head. “Perhaps it’s a dialect of Dragonish, Lia–the histories hint at a secret draconic tongue which expresses words of extraordinary magical power, words which raised the Islands from the Cloudlands, for example, and separated the good air from the poisons below. I do know that there’s an ancient martial art called Nuyallith, which used to be practised by the predecessors to the monks who follow the Path of the Dragon Warrior.”
“Nuyallith?” Master Ga’athar echoed. “Isn’t that just a legend?”
“What are the old names for our arts?” Jo’el challenged.
Blank looks around the table preceded Inniora saying quietly, “Ullith, the open hand. Fuyallith, the way of staves, Xarallith, for thrown weapons …”
Chapter 14: Into Hiding
“A TOUCH on the starboard ailerons,” Hualiama instructed. “The other starboard–Islands’ sakes, and your other left foot!”
Her trainee pilot overcorrected. The Dragonship groaned and shuddered as the crosswind caught the balloon side-on. Lia said, “Like this, you rustic oaf.” She tapped rapidly on the foot pedals while simultaneously supplying thrust to the port turbines, returning them to an even keel.
“Sorry,” said Inniora. “We peasants of the realm don’t exactly grow up piloting Dragonships.”
“Get your grubby paws off my nice clean Dragonship controls, peasant,” said Lia.<
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“Is that a royal order, your infinitesimal tininess?”
Lia scowled unconvincingly up at her new, head-taller friend. “Are you as clumsy as you are deaf? Don’t make me come up there to shout in your ear.”
Flicker twitched his wings in befuddlement. Humans. Worse, Human girls. Trying to fathom them was like trying to grasp the Mystic Moon as it sailed by. This banter had continued for over an hour while the Dragonships plotted their course to the monastery. The day was bleak and squally, with low clouds shrouding the Island-massif ahead, and dull grey Cloudlands roiling below under the impetus of capricious winds–not the sort of day to be piloting fat, lumbering balloons between the Islands. He perched on a mound of supplies–sacks of vegetables, spiced dried meat and coils of rope–stacked neatly either side of the navigation cabin. Each Dragonship had to bear their share of the load, Lia had explained, given their limited lifting power.
The entire notion of Human air-travel between the Islands struck him as a hazardous affair.
The dragonet’s nostrils smoked with jealousy as he watched Lia explaining which controls worked the ailerons one more time, showing Inniora the precise level to make her settings, before clipping the lines in place. “Once they’re set, there’s no need to fiddle with them,” she instructed. “It’s like playing a harp. You manage that much with your work-roughened fingers, farm girl.”
“Shall I till your ribs with my hoe?” suggested Inniora, indicating the towering two-handed sword scabbarded on her back.
“By the time you reach that weapon, I could have carved my initials on your churlish intestines ten times over.” Lia smiled at Flicker. “You’re rather quiet over there, o jewel of the skies. Those turric-root sacks can’t be very comfortable. Come here.”
Flicker exhaled a curl of fire, crisping a stowaway giant pincher beetle. He snapped up the paw-sized insect and crunched indelicately, burgundy legs waving from his mouth, as he destroyed his snack.
Such a male, Lia teased.
That’s what all the females say, he agreed readily. You know, if you chose to display more of your hide, you’d have that handsome monk sharing fresh kill with you.