by Marc Secchia
The monk looked directly at Hualiama, and his deeply furrowed cheeks creased into a smile. The memory spiralled into blackness.
Next she knew, Ja’al was slapping her cheek gently. “Lia? Lia, come on … did it work? Did you see something?”
“Aye, it worked. Don’t kiss me.”
“Some girl I met told me I’m incorruptible,” he announced, but a pensive expression tightened his jaw. “Though, I’m not sure I’ll ever be where you’re concerned, Lia.”
“Are you trying to make me cry, Ja’al?”
He gulped. “It’s a grief, isn’t it? A process of letting go; of mourning even as one looks to the future.”
A profound silence gripped them. Lia searched for words to express the sorrow she felt, to express her certainty without causing further hurt.
She said, “You hoped that taking your vows would cure what you perceive as weakness, Ja’al. But I say that the heart is an untameable beast, a Dragon of passions that can sweep over us as a Cloudlands storm lashes the Islands, or ripple as gently as a dawn breeze upon a still terrace lake. If my time with the Masters at this monastery has taught me anything, it is that passion both refines and nourishes discipline. Discipline can be as dry and scorching as a wind born in Fra’anior’s caldera, or burst with rich, life-affirming power. Faith without passion is a dead thing.”
“You think you’re a terrible monk-apprentice,” he countered, reaching out to clasp her hand in his. Hualiama had never seen his expression so intent. “Yet I say you are an inspiration. The power to love is your greatest weapon, Lia. That is your untameable beast. Know it and embrace it, fear it and devote yourself to it, for love will shape your destiny.”
Again, the strength of their connection robbed her of words. She did not understand. Why had the Great Dragon allowed Ja’al to take his vows? Was he too good for her? Did Fra’anior’s desire for service trump any budding Human love?
If only love did not make her so vulnerable. Love alone had driven her to save Flicker from the warren-mother’s torture. Dare she speak of friendship-love, to use the dragonet word, which had compelled Flicker to eschew his warren and the dragonet-kind, to be her friend? Now, these same passions compelled her to rescue the Tourmaline Dragon, with all the peril that implied. Fear the Dragon, aye. Devote herself to him?
A thrill, a terror, an abiding hope …
But she must first deal with Ja’al. Lia said, “Would you allow me to call you ‘brother’? It would help me.”
Clearly, the monk was not fooled. He bowed. “I’d be honoured. Although, ‘brother Ja’al’ sounds awfully staid, doesn’t it?”
“Oh please, deliver this maiden from her peril, brother Ja’al.”
“Ah,” he leered, scrambling to his feet, “I shall–drat, how does the line go again? ‘Bait the rajal’?”
“Bait the rajal?” Inniora glared at Ja’al from just within the small side-chamber where the girls’ sleeping pallets lay. He winced. “You’d better explain yourself, brother–fast!”
* * * *
For three hours that morning, Lia swiped Master Khoyal’s reeds about in the air as she laboured to reproduce the movements Ja’al had etched magically into her memory. Right. Whoever had imagined pinching someone else’s memories to turn them into martial arts forms was easy, had equally as much a clue of the world beneath the Cloudlands.
When she paused for a breather and a sip of water, Flicker appeared. Without warning, he announced, “I am a genius.”
Inniora, Ja’al and Hualiama stared at him.
“Just admit it.” He blew multiple smoke-rings between his fangs. “I am undeniably the most awesome, intelligent and devastatingly handsome male of a species north of the Rift. Actually–” he inclined a wing airily “–you may include all of Herimor for the sake of accuracy.”
“Spit it out, genius,” said Lia.
“I didn’t quite hear you,” suggested the dragonet.
Inniora’s grin widened as Hualiama swept into a ludicrous parody of a Fra’aniorian courtly bow. “O, thou mighty bewinged paragon of muscular Dragonhood!” she cried. Flicker expectorated a fireball of pleasure. “Pray edify these humble serfs as to the luminously brilliant workings of thy incomparable intellect.”
A few adjectives and the dragonet was so puffed up with pride, he could not even produce a squeak.
“Firstly,” he managed to decree at last, “you, Inniora, shall blindfold the Princess. She will learn that the Human brain works more efficiently to process memories without distraction or interference from her inadequate eyes. Secondly, I wish to announce that I have rounded up two hundred dragonets to help me search for your Tourmaline Dragon. By this evening, I shall inform you where he is, or may my wings fall off and scale-mites infest my–”
Lia interrupted quickly, “Oh, Flicker, that’s splendid! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because I’m the genius, and you are a straw-head,” he said, flying upside-down out of the cave.
“A ruddy irritating but remarkably effective little genius,” Hualiama muttered, accepting a length of cloth from Inniora, while she passed . “Ja’al, how’s it possible that Khoyal’s father saw me in that memory?”
Ja’al scratched his beard. “Unless someone else was standing there at that precise moment in time … yet there was such a powerful sense of connection–I felt it, too. I cannot fathom it, Lia. In theory, magic can work over time as well as through space, but it’s never been proven. It’s said the Ancient Dragons could move independently of time. Adraconistic scholars suggest we only believe that because Dragons are so long-lived. Great are the mysteries of the Dragonkind.”
“May the Great Dragon speed Flicker’s search,” said his sister.
Lia felt the touch of Ja’al’s fingers. “Lia, will you be careful with that Dragon? I’ve a bad feeling …”
“What kind of bad feeling?”
“Only, that events might not proceed as we’d expect. Being trapped underground probably does strange things to a Dragon’s mind.”
Silly, overprotective monk. He was sweet, but it rankled when he treated her as a child. “I’ll be very careful,” she promised. “No offering to polish his fangs.”
Ja’al’s sour expression suggested Lia should take his warning more seriously.
Inniora asked, “So, there are twenty forms of Nuyallith, of which Ja’al has so far taught you two?”
“Twenty basic forms, aye, and several hundred advanced forms beyond those,” said Lia, binding her eyes. “Each form is a prescribed set of movements, much as a dance is choreographed. Master Khoyal says that when I have performed each form ten thousand times, perfectly, I’ll have written the movements into my muscle memory and should be able to reproduce them instinctively, without need for thought.”
“The path to mastery lies through pain,” said Ja’al, imitating his uncle Jo’el.
“What does Nuyallith mean, anyway?” asked Lia.
“The way of dancing on air,” said Inniora.
Ja’al quipped, “Sounds deadly.”
Glowering in the direction of Inniora’s voice, Hualiama held out her hands. “Give me those reeds, brother Ja’al. I’m going to slice you both into ribbons.”
* * * *
Lia dressed rapidly for her foray that evening, more excited than she had been in a long while. Ja’al was excited too. “Sapphurion is making an official visit tomorrow!” he yelled, dashing out of the cave for a meeting of the monks.
Sapphurion? So, the rumours of war between the Dragons might be true. For certain there was open war between the Dragonkind and the Humans of the Eastern Isles–that had been simmering and occasionally flaring up for years. Now, if she could rescue the Tourmaline Dragon in time for Sapphurion’s visit …
Yualiana had delivered the promised clothes, and Lia had to admit, this outfit was a vast improvement on baggy monk trousers and shirts five sizes too large for her. “Undergarments that actually fi
t,” she muttered drolly. “Novel.” Beneath a dark emerald-green skirt, split all the way up to her thighs to allow ease of movement, Lia wore dark fitted leggings and light slippers, the toughened and slightly tacky footwear the monks wore for infiltration and espionage training. A matching green tunic top, covering her shoulders but leaving the upper arms bare, had been tailored for a feminine physique. “Very tasteful,” she approved. Armoured wristlets covered her hands and arms from knuckles to elbow. The right sported a half-dozen throwing blades cunningly concealed against her inner arm. “Sweet.”
Hualiama braided and coiled her platinum hair, and concealed it beneath a dark scarf. Beneath a two- or three-moons night sky, it would shine like a beacon, otherwise.
She was ready.
“Islands’ greetings, Lady Blade,” Inniora whistled softly as Lia stepped through into their main cavern.
“This is wonderful, Inniora. Thank you!”
“Did you find the lock picks?”
“No …”
“Left wristlet. Oh, and Ja’al suggested a flexible saw, several files, and skeleton keys. Here are your forked daggers–a proper matched pair now, thanks to a raid on the armoury.”
Lia smiled at Inniora’s enthusiasm. “What do you expect me to be doing?”
“Hmm … burgling a palace to depose a traitor? And, I designed a few extra pockets for concealment. Places no man would dare to look.” She winked at Lia. “Inner thigh, tucked inside the bodice–it’s the new fashion, girl-monk attire. Take a peek down your top.”
“Ooh, are those weapons?”
“Well, Princess. My brother certainly thinks so.”
“Blast it, you wretch,” Hualiama groaned. “I walked smack into that one.”
Waving her hands excitedly, Inniora explained, “You’ll find pockets in the bodice seams for pepper sacks, gemstones, vials of poison, money or anything else you wish to conceal, and plenty of room in the middle as you enjoy–” she chuckled at her friend’s affronted expression “–certain natural advantages. That’s a bundle of poisoned darts you see there. What do you think?”
“I’m glad we’re on the same side, you Cloudlands pirate.”
Lia received a hearty whack on the shoulder for that comment. “Go stir us up a Dragon!”
Emerging from a trapdoor hidden amidst the rocks behind the monastery building, Lia ghosted along behind the ancient prekki trees, keeping to the deepening shadows. Flicker’s rowdy band of dragonets had delivered in spectacular style in the late afternoon. Even now, they celebrated over the lake in a welter of enthusiasm, swirling and diving and chirping up such a storm that the evening’s habitual avian chorus was entirely drowned out.
Smiling, she ducked down the stairway. Flicker met her at the bottom, the fire in his eyes churning more vigorously than ever.
You’re the greatest dragonet genius ever to fly the skies of the Island-World! she greeted him.
Modestly, he agreed, I know. You took your time, straw-head. That is a most striking outfit. Almost as fine as Dragon scales.
So typically Flicker! Lia said, Thank you, my friend.
A short swing and a quarter-hour scramble later, Flicker introduced her to a hole that Hualiama would never have guessed led beneath the Island. My friends widened the tunnel to accommodate you, he said.
She said, This is near the avalanche site, isn’t it?
Beneath it on the southern aspect.
And the Tourmaline Dragon’s alive?
Lia … he doesn’t sound friendly. He might be feral.
You didn’t go in, did you? Lia hissed. Fine, I’ll go talk to him. Look, the poor thing’s probably starving. Would you hunt and bring the Dragon a kill or two?
Flicker seemed all too eager to leave the dangerous work to her. Fine. Lia grumbled a little as she slithered beneath a large, flat boulder and dropped gingerly into the space beyond. A whiff of cool, stale air greeted her questing nostrils. Pausing to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimness, Lia took in a narrow tunnel–more a crack or shear between two rock faces–which at some point had been half-filled with a jumble of rocks and dirt fallen from above. The footing was treacherous. All too easy to snap an ankle, she thought, feeling her way forward with care.
A little light filtered down ahead, and beyond that, she saw another brighter patch. Encouraging. Slowly, sliding along on her haunches or creeping crablike over the rocks, listening intently, Lia moved deeper beneath Ha’athior Island.
The crack narrowed, eventually forcing her to turn her shoulders sideways to squeeze through the narrowest parts. She heard water dripping somewhere nearby. The roof lowered. Odd. The tunnel seemed to end a short ways ahead. Lia paused again, peering about at the oblong boulder she stood upon. If she was not mistaken, she stood above a yawning space, and the cleft ended just ten feet or so ahead in a pit of impenetrable darkness. Picking up a pebble, she tossed it ahead.
Clink. Clink. Nothing.
Whatever she stood above, it was deep. Only the boulder lay between her feet and an unknowable drop. Lia hoped it was wedged tight.
Force the lungs to draw in a breath. “Dragon?”
Silence. A silence in which menace lurked, listening.
“Dragon, are you there?”
Claws, scraping upon rock. A leathery rustle came to her ears, perhaps wings dragging across stone. Hualiama wondered briefly if this had been a mistake, if Amaryllion could somehow have been wrong about the Tourmaline Dragon. A low, throbbing sound echoed up from the depths now, accompanied by a thump-thump that shook dirt onto her head and shoulders. The creature was on the move. Lia’s heart made a bid to leap out of her throat as she realised the Dragon was rushing closer, up beneath where she stood.
GRRAAAAAGGGHHH!
Dragon-thunder paralysed the Human girl. With a rushing, whooshing sound, as though a storm had unexpectedly entered the tunnel and gusted toward her, a bright orange light raged upward.
Dragon fire!
Chapter 16: Baiting a Dragon
HuAliama Threw herself into a headlong dive. Scramble! Claw with the fingers! There was no time. Instinct alone wedged her body between two boulders, head tucked into a foetal position, as fire stormed along the narrow passageway, first blasting upward, then following the curvature of the tunnel to wash over the exposed parts of her body.
She remembered screaming. There was pain riven through her right arm and thigh, her buttocks and feet. Lia swam up from the blackness whimpering, the sickly-sweet odour of burned flesh making her gag. She had to escape.
Below, the Dragon purred like a hundred-times-larger dragonet. Satisfied.
Stretching her wounds was agony. What now, Great Dragon? she moaned in distress. I obey, I hurt … I die?
What a fool she had been, sashaying gaily into a Dragon’s lair. Let this be a lesson. Those who did not want to be rescued could never be, even if they regained the freedom of the skies. She had only wanted to help. She had only obeyed a heart laid desolate by a Dragon’s fate.
Lia hauled her body back down the tunnel as if she were a blind worm scraping inside its burrow. At the sound of her movement, the Dragon’s engine-like purr rose to a crescendo. GRRR-RRR-RRR.
“Stupid, unthinking beast.” Lia used the sound of her anger as a counterpoint against the pain. “You have to … unnh–” the world faded through black “–escape. Come with me.”
Heave herself onto a boulder. Slide back in a tangle of limbs, soaked with sweat. She had survived bad wounds before. She must not give up. Never give in.
Weakness washed over her. The world turned white with magic, while Lia’s awestruck thoughts seemed to flow through prekki-fruit mush. Always in extremity. Why could she not see the Island-World like this, where she knew each stone and boulder had come from a unique place in the earth’s fiery heart, and had been shaped by the unimaginable forces of creative Dragon fire … she saw vast, coiling Dragons themselves the size of Islands, speaking words of power in a language l
ong passed from living memory, raising mighty towers of stone from the seething magma pits inside which she glimpsed the fiery heart of her world.
Hualiama saw ant-like Humans labouring beside the Ancient Dragons. Never again would Humans be slaves, King Chalcion liked to declare. But there was more. Surely, this was not the only way? Surely, there was a pattern of being together as Dragon and Human that would bring honour to that mighty, many-headed one, whose gaze burned darkly over all, all-seeing and all-powerful, who knew the fate of a Human girl ere she plummeted from a Dragonship bound for the Cloudlands?
Lia collapsed and recovered many times before reaching the gap beneath the boulder. She heard a flutter of wings.
Flicker.
The dragonet squeaked in horror, Lia, what have you done?
* * * *
There were rents in her clothes through which Flicker saw raw, charred flesh, weeping with her red blood and another clear fluid, the stench of meat cooked as she liked it–yet, this was her flesh. His Lia, burned.
Stupid, stupid straw-head! No word of warning would she hear. Her green eyes locked on his, occluded with suffering, as if a dark, lashing storm had broken within her soul, dampening her fires; as though even the hope of life itself had succumbed to the pain.
Flicker, darling. Bring Ja’al.
Be strong, Lia, he cried. I’ll be back before you know it.
The dragonet’s flight-muscles burned as he shot over the volcanic rim. He crashed into the monks’ meeting, shrieking his need. Ja’al hurtled out as fast as Flicker had arrived. The monk charged down the stairs, three at a time, taking the rope swing Flicker fetched for him and flinging himself over the divide … his blue eyes overflowing as he saw the blackened, battered form of Hualiama pulling herself hand over hand across the rocks, along the dangerously narrow mouse trail on the cliff side.
“I’m here, Lia.” He choked down a sob. “Come, climb onto my back.”
“Oh, Ja’al …”
They struggled to raise her. Lia had no strength left in her arms, so Ja’al bound her wrists with his belt and pulled them around his neck. Lifting her body, he used his loincloth to create a sling that kept her in place, leaving his hands free to grasp bushes and roots as he negotiated the steep descent back to the tree.