Nyra edged closer to the foothold, Blaze following her in a few timid scampers.
“Should I remind you that she’s Darkmoon’s niece?” he whispered.
Nyra bit her lip, making a calculation. “Not by blood. Since our dads killed Darkmoon’s mate, Darkmoon and Bristone aren’t connected anymore. Bristone was, what, two years old when that happened?”
Blaze didn’t appear to be listening. “I don’t want to go down that way, Nyra!”
“If you won’t I will-ill,” she sang-songed.
“Fine-ine,” sang Blaze an octave higher.
Nyra eased her front feet onto the first narrow ledge. Six more ledges, then the Sperk. As she moved down, Bristone seemed to grow in size. Nyra paused, until the thought of Blaze’s sing-song chirruped in her brain. She made for the second ledge.
Plop! Nyra thudded ungracefully over the next platform, teetering off the side. She grabbed the ledge, only to find the surface was slanted instead of rocky. No holds. She slipped down to the third ledge, then the fourth…
A rock latched between her claws. She stopped. Scree scattered in her wake, toppling below in a flay of dust.
It clattered upon the blue-bark scales of Bristone.
The Sperk’s ears became erect. Otherwise Bristone did not move.
Nyra held her breath.
Flaring her nostrils, the Sperk looked up, meeting the petrified Agring.
“Nyra?” she said smoothly.
Above, Blaze inhaled sharply.
“Nyra? That is your name, yes?” Bristone repeated. She knew, of course.
“Yes,” Nyra replied, dragging the word along. Never before had she heard her name on the tongue of Bristone. It sounded too personal, suggesting individuality. Nyra remembered Darkmoon’s last castigation: there are few things to distinguish amongst a pitiable race. Agrings were not individuals, not to Sperks.
“Am I in your way?” the Sperk said in a calm, rumbling timbre.
“Yes,” said Nyra.
“Hmm,” said Bristone. Her mouth twitched. Rising to her feet, she made an emphatic sidestep.
Nyra lumbered down. Feet firmly on the ground, she hung her head, Bristone towering in her peripherals. Nyra wished she could sink away in quicksand.
What now?
“Is your brother up there?” said Bristone, not the least bit phased.
“Yes.” Nyra opened her mouth to call up the riverbed. A much deeper sound seemed to come from her jaws as Bristone threw her immense neck upward and spoke at the same time.
“Blaze?” they shouted together, their voices absorbed by the riverbed walls.
“Uh-huh?” came Blaze. His head popped over the edge.
Bristone gazed at Nyra. Everything about her was intent, planned out, those black slits on yellow-green canvases narrowed purposefully. Her silence was strangely inquiring, like one asking permission. Permission to speak. A Sperk asking permission from an Agring. Fallacy to evaporate the last drop of logic.
Nyra gave no answer.
Bristone focused upward, speaking anyway. “I’m out of the way,” she declared.
In slow steps, Blaze slunk to the bottom. Once there, he ran immediately to Nyra’s side, panting.
“Thank you!” he spittle-coughed.
Bristone furrowed her brow, flicking spittle remnants from her forehead. Blaze watched with rapt attention. The flick of the Sperk’s claws were like agonizing ticks of time. So slow. So deliberate.
Nyra wished they had taken the other route, even if it promised broken bones.
“Where are you going?” asked the Sperk once she was dry.
The red draggling gaped, looking to her brother for help. He was still too winded by his last sentence.
“We’re helping our mum today,” Nyra finally said.
“Because you tried to fly,” replied the Sperk. It was not a question. Yesterday’s escaped had traveled amongst the Agrings. The Gathering had proven as much. She hated that it had also danced between Sperk teeth.
“I didn’t try to fly, actually. It was an accident.”
Bristone admired her wing tips. “I would have done the same. Tried to fly when it wasn’t allowed.”
Nyra searched for an appropriate response.
On cue, Blaze whispered, “She’s identifying with you.”
Nyra’s muscles went taut.
A long silence followed, tickling the unsympathetic air, thin and wispy.
Bristone began to preen her wings, expressionless, as if it were an activity to fill a void rather than necessity. “I’m sixteen, by the way.”
“What?” said Nyra stupidly.
Bristone licked dust from her shoulder. “You called me thirteen. That was three years ago. I’m sixteen now.”
The dragglings stood aghast.
“You’d best be off,” said Bristone.
The two did not need a second prompt. Lightening in their feet, they shot around the bend towards the Dam. Before rounding the corner, Nyra looked back. Bristone watched them vanish.
Seeing the Dam was a dizzying experience, and one Nyra never quite got used to. Towering between the sides of the empty waterway, it stretched up thirty Agrings in an obstruction of boulders and rocks, with hardened soil stuffed in the crevices. A few patches were dotted with green, sprouting vines and yucca plants, their roots twisting into the gnarled contours. The roots held the rocky wall intact. As a consequence, Dam management was a job well-matched to its inexistent compensation. Thaydra took the name in stride and checked it each morning, anyway. She started eleven years ago, after the loss of her wing rendered her unable to fish in the ocean. Before that, a Sperk monitored the Dam for damage. In all these years, Thaydra had not found a single leak.
Nyra and Blaze rocketed to the Dam, rounding the corners at a breakneck pace. They clattered to a stop as the wall rushed to meet them, tripping in a pile of dust, tails, and claws.
Thaydra perched halfway up the wall, nosing dried vegetation on a precarious surface.
“I’ve been waiting,” she called. Spreading her wing, she hopped down from boulder to boulder. Her claws clattered against the worn rocks, landing so coarsely that any missteps would cost her balance. But Thaydra claimed she could do it blind. She thumped to the bottom, prickly vanilla flowers draping from her teeth. A wince crossed her face as she swallowed them whole.
“Cutting it close,” she said, noting the suns’ positions. “No, I don’t want to hear why.” She didn’t look too angry, “Dam’s fine. No leaks, no erosion.”
“Oh, good,” said Blaze dully.
“You’ll be punctual tomorrow,” Thaydra asserted. “Then you can learn how to assess the unbreakable.” She tapped the nearest rock. “Today, you’ll mostly be fishing. Trout aren’t as tasty as sea fish, as you well know. But they’re for the Sperks, mostly. They prefer it, being inland dragons.”
Unlike the Sperks, most Agrings avoided freshwater fish. It did not satisfy their natural tastes. Living for eons aside the Vousille Ocean, the Agrings had developed a salt saturated diet. They were seldom thirsty, not truly. Most of the water they needed came from their food, extracting the good and letting the bad pass through their bodies. But the Nammock herd took fresh water for granted living aside so much of it. The Fishers paused regularly during the day to rest at Fitzer’s Reservoir, telling the Sperks they were parched. For years and years they’d kept their ability to extract water from salty foods a secret. A surreptitious lie yielded a few extra breaks.
“Come, come!” Thaydra began to hop back up the Dam.
Blaze’s jaw lagged, regarding Thaydra like she’d suddenly changed to bright green. “Mum, we can’t go up there. It’s against the rules for dragglings. And impossible.” He eyed her much longer legs.
“The Sperks say it’s not allowed on a normal basis, and the draggling thing has not been tested,” she corrected. “Today is not normal, and I’m in charge of Dam activities. And I forbid time-wasting. Besides, if I can balance my way up with one wing, you can do i
t with two.”
Nyra sized up the first rock. It didn’t look so difficult. Swishing her tail, she leaned on her hunches. One, two, three, four …. push off! She landed. Blaze idled below, regarding the wall like an irate pufferfish.
“It’s not so bad,” insisted Nyra, preparing for the second bound. The rock above was smoother than the last, but looked manageable. “You just have to get a good spring!”
She pounced. The rock fell up to the sky as she missed. Her front claws groped the edge, gripping the slippery substrate, rump hanging in naked air.
Back legs flaying, she yelped. “Blaze! I’m gonna fall.” A snout pressed the base of her tail. Blaze nudged her up.
“Not so bad,” he scoffed.
They climbed for what felt like forever. The suns had not moved in the sky, and yet half the day might have gone. Nyra stayed in front, scouting the best landing spots while Blaze followed behind, ready to offer a sturdy snout should his sister tumble.
Soon the last boulder was conquered, and the dragglings stood before the broad beauty of Fitzer’s Reservoir. So close to the ocean, it was one of a kind. Even more distinguishing was the gradual slope where water had tattered away the cliff edge: the Scar, as the Agrings called it. The water eased over the Scar’s brim, gaining pace until it roared frothily into the ocean. The rest of the Reservoir area was etched with natural things, subtle inclines and green grasses. But the greatest novelty were the trees. Here and there, the bank was blessed with sweet smelling firs. They were the only trees the Agrings were allowed to visit.
The dragglings caught up with Thaydra. Standing on the closest bank, her eyes narrowed. She crept into the gently lapping waves, so softly that only the tiniest ripples escaped. Then the mother dragon did not move.
Like the strike of a serpent, her jaws punched the water, and a fish as long as a tail-blade writhed, suspended between two fangs.
“Ah!” shouted Blaze. “You got it!”
Thaydra could not reply, her lower jaw pinned shut by her wriggling prey. She smiled and pulled out of the water. On shore she opened her mouth and hurled the creature from her bloodied teeth. It fell harshly, and lay still.
“You must always drop your catch from as high as you can and throw it hard,” she instructed. “I have very little tolerance for suffering, even in food.” She glanced at her knob-of-a-wing. “Make it short and painless. We pile our catches up together, a few lengths away from the bank. Just like the salt water fish pile. The Sperks will come and eat as they please.”
The dragglings knew this already.
“Now, are you ready to learn how to spear your first fish?”
“No!” said Blaze.
Thaydra’s mouth puckered disapprovingly.
“I mean, yes,” he amended. “It’s just... our fangs aren’t long enough for spearing.”
“Very astute of you, Little Blaze,” said Thaydra, turning jovial. “Yes, you are right. You aren’t quite ready to hunt like adults, but don’t get used to that excuse. It won’t hold much longer. You’re near the growth spurt age. To think you’ll be almost my size soon!” Thaydra looked up dreamily before sighing back into attention. “Until then, you’ll learn how to hunt open-mouthed. But it’ll help loads with coordination. Now, follow me.”
She waded out again with a fluidity that matched the water itself. The dragglings mimicked her, cautiously, river pebbles shuffling beneath their feet. So slow were their movements and yet voluminous ripples ebbed from their legs.
“Now,” began Thaydra. “The first thing to know in hunting is what you are up against. Most beginners belittle their quarry. Know that even the lowly trout is deceptive. They see a world you do not. Light is different in the water. It bends to favor the fish’s eye, so the fish can see you on the bank before you’ve touched in. You ease into the Reservoir. Otherwise the fish will see you coming.” Her voice was a cavernous hum, as if she were seducing her prey rather than pursuing it. Nyra liked it.
A band of silver flashed at Nyra’s feet. Her claws pierced the gravely soil, stirring an umber cloud. The fish vanished.
“Careful,” crooned Thaydra. “Be still. Look carefully.”
The cloud dissipated. Nyra stood motionless. For a while nothing happened, and she became increasingly conscious of an insect nipping her collar bone. She was about to withdraw from the water and scratch when another silver thing blazed by. It circled her tail blades, bewildered by the shiny white ivory in its territory. Long and bright, they were quite like a fish themselves. Could fish be curious? If so, Nyra wasn’t sure she wanted to hunt them. Yet the pink stripe on its flank made her mouth water. Its scales winked deliciously.
“This is when you start honing in,” said Thaydra. “They’ll begin circling your entire body, scoping it out as a potential shelter. Usually they work their way up to your front legs. Then you strike.”
The creature brushed Nyra’s ankles, circling and weaving. It was like being licked by a cold, scaly tongue. It tickled. Nyra bit her own tongue for hope of distraction.
“Pay attention,” said Thaydra.
The fish slithered to Nyra’s front. Over and over it lapped across the tops of her front claws. Just a little further, Nyra thought, for to strike now would risk striking herself. Though the Agring hide was tough to fang wounds, she did not much like the idea of delving towards her own skin.
In a fleeting instant, the fish pumped out ahead, twice its body length from Nyra. She jutted forward, faltered as the fish shot away, and then slapped the water with her face. Cold wet seeped from her eyes and ears as she withdrew, sharply aware of the chill. She blinked the last droplets away and looked down. The fish was gone.
“Aha!” shouted Thaydra, her tail skating over the water in a single zip. “You hesitated! You didn’t commit. Once you dive in, that’s it! You keep at it no matter where you think that fish is going to move. Take the chance or go hungry.”
A wave of guilt enveloped Nyra.
Thaydra’s snout was suddenly beneath hers. “Nyra, darling, you did splendidly. You were very fast. A natural in the making.”
And with that, whatever anger Nyra still harbored for her mother flew away.
Noon came, and still the dragglings had caught nothing. While a few fish escaped with grazed tails, the majority swam off unscathed, save for those who wandered close to Thaydra’s waiting fangs. She missed very few.
Blaze and Nyra had meandered away from Thaydra in the last hour, following their evasive prey. Venturing off might have threatened to push Mum’s temper, and yet she did not scold them, staying focused on her own quarry. Perhaps it was the dragglings’ steadfast concentration that had earned Mum’s trust.
“No, that’s not why,” Blaze whispered, watching a far-off fish. Nyra realized she’d been thinking out loud again.
“Maybe she trusts us a little bit,” Blaze continued. “But that’s not why she’s letting us drift off. She’s caught way more fish since we’ve left. Fewer ripples.”
Up to that point, they’d chatted about weather and fish species—anything that didn’t demand serious concent-ration. It became boring quickly.
“Hey,” said Blaze following a lapse in conversation. “Remember last night when Mum said ‘younger dragglings need to learn the stories?’”
“Vaguely,” said Nyra. Her nose was near-pressed to the surface, puffing small undulations over the water. “She was talking about the Gathering. Fuhorn tells the same stories over and over so the young dragons can commit them to memory.”
“Yes, I know, but…” Blaze protested, “What does Mum mean by ‘younger’ dragons?”
“She means our cousins,” Nyra said. “They’re the youngest.”
“Yes, but only by a few months. Emdu and Jesoam were born in early summer, right after our hatching in spring. Same for Ipsity. They’ve been around eleven years. They know the stories just as much as we do. Every year we complain about going to Gatherings, and every year Mum throws in ‘we need to go so the young dragons can learn.�
�� Back in the day she was referring to us, I guess.”
Nyra shrugged. “She’s just in the habit of saying it. And it might be because we fall asleep at Gatherings half the time, and so she doesn’t think we have everything memorized. Plus the whole thing is a spirit-booster. We hear stories over and over so we can build ourselves up.”
“But don’t you think it’s strange?” Blaze was no longer focusing on fish. He looked truly bothered.
“Not really. Mum says things without thinking and we hear the same stuff. No matter.”
“No, don’t you think it’s strange that you, me, Emdu, Ipsity, and Jesoam are the youngest? Isn’t it odd that no one has had dragglings in eleven years?”
Nyra paused, a retort waiting to be born on her tongue. It did not come. Nyra had known her cousins’ age. Nyra knew she was part of the youngest group. But as for the gap following their birth? She’d never given it much thought, and certainly never believed it odd. It was simply there. Part of the family structure.
“That’s a little strange, I guess,” Nyra admitted. She closed her eyes, the faces of the Nammock herd flashing through her mind. “But it makes sense. Agring pairs usually have only two or three offspring in their life. And everyone here has that already.”
“I agree with the numbers, but not everyone has had offspring. What about Ackeezo and Firedust? They’ve been mates for about six years and still nothing.”
“Maybe one of them is sterile.” Nyra blinked. A fish flicked at her legs. She dove and missed. Frustration surged in her chest. “Why are you saying this all of a sudden, Blaze?”
“Well, I’ve thought about it before,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t start dissecting it until last night, when Mum mentioned the younger dragons again.”
“So all these years go by, and you just now find this… this…”
“Generation gap,” Blazed offered.
“…. generation gap odd?” finished Nyra.
“You didn’t think of it either,” he shot back. Nyra scowled.
The Waters of Nyra- Volume I Page 6