Dragonfriend

by Marc Secchia

  Perhaps Ra’aba, as a decoration for his throne room?

  Now, Humans value diminutive size, Flicker instructed. She is cute. Dainty. Lia’s entire person, but especially her backside, is not to be commented upon except with the greatest consideration.

  Huh? Grandion snorted. What Dragoness would not burn for a well-turned compliment?

  Favourable comparisons to legs as sturdy as the Islands, and haunches as full and round as the Jade moon, are definitely forbidden, said the dragonet. Lia almost choked with laughter. Imagine! They are very particular about the taboo parts of their bodies, and believe their body coverings enhance beauty.

  The Tourmaline Dragon snorted even more impressively than before, raising ripples on the lake surface. Ridiculous! She teases and torments like a Dragoness, but then retreats behind her clothes? I could not even chastise her like a hatchling. You witnessed her tears. What did that mean?

  Flicker sighed at the same time as Lia. In part seriousness and part teasing, Grandion had wanted to bend her over his paw to receive a beating for defying his commands back at the tower–she had disrespected her Dragon protector, she realised. Hualiama felt ashamed now at her screaming, her blind panic and revulsion … but how could she resist a Dragon’s strength? How could she tell him, that the action reminded her so clearly of a time her father held her down to whip her with a heavy weapons belt?

  She is no hatchling, despite her lack of stature, said the dragonet. Perhaps it is taboo in Human culture, or signifies something mated Humans might do together?

  She wanted to laugh bitterly. No, Flicker. It was only in speaking to Ja’al’s sisters, quietly that night she had visited his family, that she had learned that not all parents beat their children bloody, nor did they break their child’s arm–Elki, in this case–in a hunting ‘accident’ that everyone knew was no accident.

  Abruptly, Lia pushed to her feet. Something needed to be said.

  “Grandion?”

  “Aye, Hualiama? I will catch you a trout, I promise, but our companion seemed hungry for parasites.”

  “He often eats from beneath a log,” Lia smiled, wading out into the lake. She wore just her tunic top, having swum earlier with Flicker while Grandion soared aloft to scout.

  “That’s where you find the best and juiciest grubs!” Flicker enthused. “And, I highly recommend those green crunchy beetles. They flutter in your mouth and sometimes right down your gullet, while the many-legged orange ones …”

  “Grandion, I know this is an un-draconic apology, but I’m sorry I aggravated you earlier. I was frustrated at doing such a poor job in Rolodia town.”

  “Accepted,” he growled.

  “There’s more. I vented my pain on you, when I should’ve trusted you not to hurt me.”

  Grandion had the grace to shake his head dubiously. “I would not have trusted myself, Lia. This echo arises from your past. Your father hurt you?”

  He phrased a question, but only an idiot would have missed the murderous undertone, a crackling akin to a monstrous bonfire, accompanying his words. Hualiama was struck once more by the Dragon’s powers of insight and perception. Not only did he listen, but he internalised and remembered what he heard and observed. She must beware that he did not learn to read her too well.

  “I forbid a draconic revenge-taking against my father!”

  Fire whirled into Grandion’s eyes. “Aye, Human girl, but were I to exert a Dragonish cunning to circumvent your words, I would say, King Chalcion is not your true father. Therefore, your words fail to bind my actions.”

  “Semantics!” she snapped, clenching her little fists.

  “Remember this lesson. Dragons are all too fond of sliding between the scales, as we put it, whenever the occasion suits. The dragonet tells me of my lack in the arts of diplomacy and courtesy.” Reaching out, Grandion ran a talon down her unbound hair, eliciting a tremor in her body. “Riddle me this: why do you veil such a wealth of beauty, o Princess of Fra’anior?”

  When Lia found herself tongue-tied, Flicker said, “Another point about Humans, Grandion. This flushing of the blood vessels beneath their soft skin denotes feelings of embarrassment or anger.”

  The large Dragon rumbled, “Did I anger you with a feckless insult, Lia?”

  “Nay, noble Dragon,” she replied. “Know this, that not all creatures of this Island-World share the power and freedom of the Dragonkind.”

  “Aye? I understand, now.”

  “Grandion, did I see you speaking to a Red Dragon, earlier, while you were scouting?”

  “Aye. Xardiora is an old fledgling friend of mine, a messenger Dragoness of the Council of Dragon Elders.” The Tourmaline Dragon looked to the skies, a gravity gathering in his manner as if storm clouds had abruptly occluded clear skies. “Apparently the war in the East has taken an ill turn against the Dragons. Razzior uses this information to divide the Council. Many Dragons have rallied to him, upsetting the balance even amongst the voices of wisdom, while Sapphurion struggles to maintain control. The Dragons are aware of Ra’aba’s treachery, but with the alliances fracturing, they have other concerns–which even Xardiora was unwilling to share with me. These are strange and troubling times.”

  “Strange indeed, when Human, dragonet and Dragon form an alliance,” said Flicker.

  Lia muttered, “I’d bet half the jewels in the kingdom that Ra’aba’s underneath it all, stirring the whole situation into a putrid pot of soup.”

  Grandion gave a great, water-boiling snort of laughter. “You! Always, you remind my hearts to keep the drumbeat of courage.”

  “Er … right.” Hualiama did not know what exactly she had done or said to earn such an accolade, but she smiled as the tension between them evaporated. “Grandion, what exactly are we looking for in the Spits? And how will we manage to fly in there, given the dangerous winds and–”

  “The place is called ‘the staircase into darkness’,” he said. “It’s the place to which we Dragons magically banished Ianthine. I have an image and a description from a scroll. We’ll fly into this perilous wilderness because I am a Dragon with all the power and freedom that you think Dragons enjoy. And you have these new straps to keep you on my back.”

  “Oh. Grandion, I’ve a favour to ask.”

  “Aye?”

  “I’d be a great deal more secure if I could affix those straps properly. Could I drill holes in your spines for my saddle?”

  “WHAT?” A Dragon’s fury blasted over the lake, scaring off every bird in a half-mile radius.

  Then, his savage gaze met her ingenuous smile. “Joke?”

  His paw flattened her in the water.

  * * * *

  Lia woke before dawn the following day, missing the warmth of the Tourmaline Dragon’s body. Grandion stood by the lakeshore, brooding over his private meditations. The Dragon really was better than a blanket, she told herself. Warmth, protection, and the low rumbling of belly fires to lull her to sleep. She blushed. Hopefully he could not hear her thoughts!

  After a swift breakfast consisting of a handful of wild grain, two ripe tinker-bananas and water, Hualiama clambered onto Grandion’s back to affix her new saddle. It was a simple affair–a ratchet-and-spindle strap for the spine at her back to anchor her waist belt, a second strap to the fore to hold onto if needed, and a set of stirrup-like loops which buckled around her upper thighs, which ought to serve to prevent a sideways slide.

  Without looking up, Lia grunted, “You’re breathing on me.”

  Grandion’s supple neck allowed him to curve his muzzle right over his own shoulder. “Just checking there’s no surreptitious drilling going on,” he rumbled, showing Lia at least fifty fangs.

  “No drilling here.” Aye, having a Dragon’s hot breath ruffling one’s hair did serve to stress a point, Hualiama thought. “Come on, Flicker. The day grows old.”

  “Not as old as I feel,” said the dragonet, stirring with a groan.

  “Teach you
to chase minnows all afternoon!”

  Flicker chuckled, “I like playing with my food.”

  Nevertheless, the dragonet squirmed up onto his paws. He was now able to touch his injured hind paw to the ground, at least for short periods of time. Dragons healed at a phenomenal rate, Hualiama had observed. Just witness the wounds Grandion had taken before Yulgaz the Brown trapped him in that cave! His hide showed no trace of scarring. Was this the fabled Blue Dragon power of healing? Then again, the Red Dragoness Qualiana had healed her burns amazingly well.

  From Rolodia Island it was a straight shot–using Flicker’s words–to the northern tip of the Spits, which lay south of a smaller Island called Noxia. Above the Spits were many other Islands Hualiama knew only from map and fable–Remia and Rorbis, the forested behemoth of Yorbik, the silk-producing Island of Helyon, the rugged beauty of faraway Immadia, and to the East, Herliss, Kaolili and the Lost Islands, where a war raged between Dragons and Humans. It was said that from the Lost Islands one could see the edge of the world. Now that would be a place to travel to, one day!

  Riding Dragonback, all Hualiama needed to do was to sit tight and enjoy her companion’s freedom to roam the Island-World’s skies.

  Remembering the blessing Ja’al had spoken, Lia leaned over Grandion as he spread his wings for take-off, and said, “Let us burn the heavens together, mighty Dragon.”

  A shiver ran through Grandion’s muscles. Raising his head, the Tourmaline Dragon bugled his gladness until the dawn rang with a new splendour. The sound echoed from the gigantic terrace wall behind them, constructed of stones fitted together so perfectly and evenly that despite a lack of mortar not even water could escape between them, and echoed back over the lake as if an entire Dragonwing had raised their voices in exultation together with him.

  He roared aloft, swinging eastward toward the Spits.

  They flew until the day was old, beating steadily into a headwind which sapped even Grandion’s strength. A band of dusky cloud rose before them, topped with a strange, impenetrable haze, appearing to stir from within as though it were that very pot of soup Hualiama had accused Ra’aba of agitating. Later, she began to make out the landscape beneath the clouds. Spires of black and reddish rock, jumbled together, rose into the clouds as if they were the spines of the giant hedgehog she had once seen when visiting Sylakia Island. Some of the spines were cracked or leaned against each other beneath that frowning dark brow of cloud, lending the scene the appearance of an old man’s gap-toothed grimace filled with misshapen, blackened teeth. A rank smell drifted to their nostrils on the breeze, like water long grown stagnant, mingled with fresh windroc guano.

  “Charming place,” said Flicker, evidently not as asleep as he appeared.

  “Perfect for Ianthine,” said Grandion. “Help me search for a roost, dragonet. I can’t fly much further today.”

  Looking at the twin suns lowering behind her shoulder, Hualiama realised they had been aloft for the better part of thirteen hours, as Grandion alternately rested on the wing or beat into the breeze. His wingbeat had slowed noticeably as he slackened, while the wind grew perversely stronger. His breathing came in rasps. Had his months of incarceration weakened him so severely?

  “Through that gap looks a likely place,” said the dragonet. “Limber up your bow, Lia. I don’t trust those windrocs.”

  She had been thinking exactly the same.

  They rested well that night in a cave formed by a broken-off stone tower which had crashed down on a ledge, forming a natural shelter. Grandion ousted a family of black-headed, giant bearded goats–saving one for his dinner–and they were set.

  Over the course of the following five days, the companions painstakingly combed the north-western corner of the Spits for any sign of a Maroon Dragoness, working their way toward the rising suns. Grandion battled turbulence unexpectedly blasting around corners or creating powerful wind-shear downdraughts, while the weather turned icy, a bitter, bone-biting cold hurled about on the blustering airstreams, until even Flicker began to look more blue than green. Lia expended her stock of arrows on downing feral windrocs which attacked Grandion at regular intervals, learning how difficult it was to strike moving targets while flying Dragonback. She woke one morning to discover herself sharing Grandion’s warm paw with a ten-foot cobra. Flicker disabled the snake with an expert bite behind the skull, after which they shared a tasty meal.

  “Lovely fat rock hyrax, young bearded goats and now a yellow-bellied cobra,” the dragonet declared with relish. “This is the place to feast!”

  Hualiama sniffed through her raw, red nose. Grandion only grunted, trying to keep from being swept against what had to be the millionth stone column they had passed. Lia knew she would have become hopelessly lost in the rocky maze, but her draconic companions appeared to navigate it with ease, returning again and again to the edge of the Spits, before picking the next route to investigate. Lia wondered what could have created such rock formations–miles high, with enough regularity just to begin to tease the mind with the notion that perhaps they had been shaped or carved by an unknown intelligence, before all descended into a jumbled nightmare once more. They needed to search not only horizontally, but vertically through a three-dimensional labyrinth.

  Late on the fifth afternoon, after navigating into another blind canyon, Lia’s black mood finally boiled over. She yelled, “I give up! Who needs parents anyway? They abandoned me! And look what I received in exchange. Stupid insulting poxy fungus-ridded ralti-dropping-laced leech infested misbegotten travesty of a fate!”

  “By my wings, say all that again? Backwards?” Flicker teased.

  Lia tossed him off Grandion’s back.

  * * * *

  Picked up by a truculent breeze, the dragonet tumbled away toward the bottom of the blind canyon with a yelp and a brief fireball of surprise. Flicker fluttered valiantly, but a vortex sucked him downward. The Tourmaline Dragon reacted instantly. A plunge, a swipe of his forepaw to net the dragonet and a bruising landing resulted. Grandion groaned, My knee!

  Flicker’s scales prickled with the curious magic of a Dragon’s seventh sense. Grandion, Hualiama, there’s something down there.

  I’m sorry, said Lia, patting Grandion where she could reach his shoulder. I didn’t mean–

  I’m fine, he growled. Judging by his limp as he approached the place where the wind whistled away into a bleak, jagged tunnel, clearly not. Dragonet and Lesser Dragon considered the darkness together. I sense it too, Flicker.

  Lia pitched her voice to carry over the wind’s keening. “It doesn’t look like a staircase into anything.”

  You poor, stunted Human, said Flicker, keeping a respectful distance from her hand. Lia’s reactions had grown swift, of late. Leave the Dragonkind to the hunting, will you?

  Come. The Tourmaline Dragon began to squeeze into the tunnel.

  Hualiama yelped, Mind–stop! I have a head, you know. Flicker, I’ll thank you not to snicker, you mange-raddled clump of ambulatory mildew.

  What’s with all the big words today? he complained. I’m being nice, aren’t I?

  Hurry up, boys. Lia, pushing ahead, promptly staggered as the wind caught her.

  Allow me, said Grandion, his bulk blocking the tunnel–and any remaining ambient light. But with an audible crackle of magic, he lit up the tunnel with his eyes. Lia almost leaped out of her soft hide.

  Flicker crooned in approval. Oh, very clever–

  One more word, dragonet, and I’ll squash you like a bug, Grandion growled. Move along, Rider.

  The Tourmaline Dragon was just being tetchy, which was understandable, Flicker thought. Whilst his larger cousins did love a cave roost or an underground treasure hoard, they invariably chose lighter, airier spaces which suited their massive stature and love of freedom. Bellying down a tunnel was not a Dragon’s idea of fun, especially not when that tunnel led to a place of unfamiliar magic. Flicker tested the exotic, disturbing scents alertly. This was bey
ond his experience. Ancient magic lurked in these walls, making him feel distinctly queasy. Suddenly, he shared straw-head’s evident lack of desire to proceed. Only evil could dwell in a place like this.

  They crawled down the tunnel for hours before abruptly breaking out into a vast cavern. Its vaulting roof was hidden in shadow, while the floor … Flicker’s hearts pounded forward, triple speed.

  “The staircase into darkness,” Hualiama whispered, bracing herself as Grandion popped free from the tunnel. At once, the wind whistled about them.

  Giant steps, indeed. Flicker peered down a series of steps, each two hundred feet tall. The scale of the cavern stunned him, but after a time, he began to grasp what he was seeing. These were the same columns as comprised the Spits, but they lay side-by-side in a neat pile–rectangular columns each several miles tall and a quarter mile thick.

  Lia said, “It’s like an ancient storehouse. Did the Ancient Dragons store these columns here, and then simply plant them in the Cloudlands to make the Spits?”

  Grandion shook his head. “And this Dragon’s wings shiver in disbelief. Mount up, my Rider. We must find this Ianthine.”

  Flicker rode with Lia while the Tourmaline Dragon made great hops and flying swoops down beneath the Spits, into a realm few Dragons had trod. When he looked up, it was to see the Human girl’s jaw so tightly clenched, her lips showed white at the edges. Perhaps two or three miles beneath the surface, Flicker began to smell something. Grandion oriented on the stench without anyone needing to say a word. Instinctively, they knew that was where they would find Ianthine. Her presence pervaded this space like an invisible mist closing its clammy tendrils about the travellers.

  Swooping cautiously over a pile of desiccated windroc bones, peppered with rotting fur, entrails and other delights, Grandion brought them to a landing outside a low-roofed grotto carved into the southern wall of the main cavern. Here the rocks were brown, strangely organic, sprouting such a profusion of damp mosses and fungi that they could have been in the midst of a moist jungle–were it not for the incredible stench of stale urine and what Flicker finally recognised as faeces plastered on every conceivable surface, even the cave roof. The fungi were certainly well fertilised.