Dragon Spawn

by Eileen Wilks

  Turned out she had vastly underestimated the difference between a young dragon like Mika and one who counted his life in millennia.

  Sam’s mind was stars and night and crystal. Black crystal. If the void between stars turned to ice, it would look/feel like this, its facets gleaming with the light of a thousand distant suns . . . texture, yes, and beyond compelling, both in itself and because of what she dimly sensed below the crystalline surface, depths and layers and complexity beyond her grasp, hints of movement darkly illumined by what lay at the core of that mind.

  Power. Vast and pure and burning, like a star gone nova.

  The darkness spoke. You need to return.

  And she was back in her body—had she left it or just forgotten she had a body?—her mindsense curled up tightly once more. She winced at the ungodly glare of the sun. “Ow,” she said, her eyes tearing in spite of herself. “Ow and damn. I haven’t had a headache like this since—”

  “What did he do?” Rule demanded. “What did he do to you?”

  “He didn’t do anything.” She blinked the dampness away. Already the pain was diminishing, folding itself away layer by layer. “It’s just what he is. His mind . . . ice and fire. Too much power.”

  You are human, the black dragon agreed. Both your mind and your brain have adapted well, considering your inherent limitations. However, it will be best if I handle speech between us. I suggest you do not attempt to contact my mind again.

  “Yeah, I can see that.” She could also see that Rule was way too ready to be angry with Sam. “It’s not his fault, Rule, no more than it’s the sun’s fault that we can’t stare at it for long without going blind.”

  “Mmm,” he said, a nonanswer that annoyed her.

  He put the car in gear and drove through the gate. She got out again to close it. As she climbed back in the car, she felt that breeze brush across her mindsense again.

  Lily Yu, you were correct in thinking I would wish to examine your progress. We have limited time for that. I will address you privately for this. Attempt to respond clearly without vocalizing.

  “Ah—Sam’s going to talk to me, teacher to student, for a minute.”

  Rule nodded. “He told me.”

  You have chosen an interesting metaphor for your experience of the mindsense.

  It wasn’t a metaphor. Well, thinking of minds as various kinds of fruit was a metaphor, but what she actually experienced when she used her mindsense wasn’t.

  You err. Your brain is unable to process this sense directly. It has no physical analog and your brain is, to borrow a human term, wired for physicality. The first time you fully experienced your mindsense, your mind created a metaphor or template for the experience which is now your reality, shaping both your perception of the sense and the way you are able to use it. I expected this. I had some concern that you would select one of the more restrictive metaphors. I am pleased with the one you chose, which combines the tactile with the visual.

  Lily blinked. You don’t experience your mindsense that way?

  Very faint, a whiff of amusement. No. Should you encounter other beings with mindsense, you will find that they do not, either. Elves who develop it, for example, experience it through purely visual metaphors.

  She didn’t see how you could use the mindsense to conduct mindspeech if you only “saw” with it.

  You are correct. Even elven adepts are not proficient at mindspeech. Their metaphor for the sense limits them. I now wish to examine your present skill level and we have little time. Open your mindsense.

  When she’d done that before, it had shot straight for Sam. This time she was prepared, and she’d had enough practice using it near Mika to know it was a matter of focus and, well, metaphor. Instead of simply nudging her mindsense so it would unfurl, she imagined it already spread out around her like a mist.

  It was hard, way harder than it had been with Mika. She couldn’t fail to sense Sam’s mind when he was this close, but she could—with effort—refrain from “staring” at him. Was it her mindsense that found the dark splendor of Sam’s mind so riveting? Or her mind?

  Now mindspeak Rule Turner.

  That was even harder. To mindspeak, she had to abandon the mist metaphor and concentrate her new sense on Rule’s mind. She groaned and did her best.

  It went on like that even after Rule stopped the car and they got out to walk the last bit. Sam waxed downright sarcastic about her inability to walk and maintain control of her mindsense at the same time.

  But she tried. When she stumbled, Rule slid an arm around her waist.

  By the time they stopped on the flat sand of Sam’s landing pad outside the dark opening in the mountain’s side, she was exhausted. Her head didn’t hurt, though. She considered that a triumph.

  The black dragon was nowhere in sight. She exchanged a glance with Rule.

  You may allow your sense to rest now. Come under earth.

  Lily wasn’t fond of caves. Rule hated them—at least, he hated the tight, narrow, twisty ones. She squeezed his hand. “Sam won’t be someplace we’d consider cramped. He wouldn’t fit.”

  He sighed. “True.” But he paused on the way in. “I don’t remember this.” He laid a hand on the tall outcrop of boldly striated stone that formed part of the arched entry. “It’s lovely. I’m surprised I didn’t notice it before.”

  “It just showed up one day, but not exactly the way it looks now. He’s been . . .” She struggled for a word. “Grooming it? Doing something, anyway, that brings out the markings and subtly changes the shape.” Dragon notions of decorating didn’t involve obviously sculpted rock. The one Rule rested his hand on looked as if it had been there for eons, slowly shaped by wind and weather rather than a dragon.

  His eyebrows rose. “It showed up? That’s a lot of rock to tote around, even for Sam.”

  “Maybe he magicked it up from under the earth. Who knows? He wouldn’t explain.”

  “Quelle surprise,” Rule murmured as he went in. Rule liked to use French for sarcasm.

  Lily had been in the “under earth” part of Sam’s lair many times, but only as far as the outer chamber, where she’d spent many a dreary hour staring at a candle flame. It was dim here, but not dark. Sam was a large dragon; his entry was correspondingly large and let in plenty of light. The floor was packed sand, like his landing pad, and equally lacking in dragons.

  There were two tunnels leading deeper into the mountain. Both gaped darkly when they first entered the chamber, then the one on the left was lit with a pale, directionless light. Not mage light, not the way Lily had always seen it—as small, glowing balls. This light seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere.

  “Now he’s just showing off,” Lily said as she and Rule headed for the softly glowing tunnel.

  It smelled like dragon there—not an unpleasant scent, sort of a mix of hot metal and spice. To her nose, anyway. She’d never know just what dragons smelled like to Rule. She glanced at him. He looked easy, relaxed. Why did she think he was wound tight?

  Maybe she was imagining things. She slid her hand in his anyway.

  The tunnel was downright spacious, wider across than the living room of Lily’s old apartment and with a much higher ceiling, which would put it between cozy and cramped for the black dragon. It twisted around some, and here and there outcroppings of crystal glittered in the pervasive light. The floor was smooth enough, but slightly gritty.

  It led down. Quite a ways down, which bugged her. How could Sam mindspeak her through all that earth and rock? And read her mind, and watch her perform for him . . . and why didn’t the earth and rock block his mind from her?

  Because it didn’t. Even with her mindsense coiled up inside her, she was aware of Sam’s mind—not in a direct way, but as a tantalizing presence. Earth and rock hadn’t blocked Mika’s mind from her, either. Which made no sense. It sure blocked other mind
s—

  You do not yet know enough for an explanation to be useful, Sam told her.

  She hated it when he said that.

  At last the tunnel opened out into another chamber. This one was not empty. The walls here were mostly smooth, with craggy outcroppings. It was less spacious than the chamber above, but the ceiling was every bit as high. Coils of dragon filled about two-thirds of the space—coils as black as night in the directionless light, though she knew they would be iridescent in sunshine. Sam’s head was raised a couple dozen feet on that long, muscular neck. Yellow eyes glowed down at them.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Shocked, Lily stopped dead. “Grandmother! You’re wearing jeans!”

  SIX

  THE indomitable old woman sat, regally erect, on a red cushion near one of the coils of dragon. She wore a black silk shirt and Nikes with the unprecedented jeans. One thin eyebrow lifted. “You criticize my apparel?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve just never . . . I didn’t think you owned any jeans.”

  “They are suitable for some occasions. Sit. We will have tea.”

  Occasions such as being flown here on dragon back? Lily hadn’t seen a car.

  There were two additional cushions. Also a tea set. Not Grandmother’s good set, but the everyday one. She and Rule exchanged a glance, then took their places on the extra cushions. Might as well. It seldom did any good to argue with Grandmother.

  “Madame Yu.” Rule inclined his head. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “You are angry with me. This is foolish, but I overlook it. You have been through a difficult time.”

  “I am wondering why I was summoned here for tea. The timing was not convenient.”

  “You are not stupid enough to think that is why you are here.” She lifted the teapot, poured a cup, and handed it to him.

  Apparently they weren’t undergoing the full tea ceremony this time. Grateful for small blessings, Lily accepted her cup with a murmur of thanks. The tea steamed gently in spite of the lack of any visible heat source. Other than the dragon, that is.

  Lily couldn’t resist opening her mindsense just a wee bit, though she’d have to be really careful this close to Sam. This was the first time she’d seen Grandmother since acquiring the new sense, and she was intensely curious about what Grandmother’s mind . . .

  A second later she blinked, disoriented, having had her mindsense swept right back inside her as tidily as a housewife might clean up crumbs on the floor.

  “You were right, Sun.” Grandmother was addressing the black dragon. She always called him by the name she was used to, the one she’d used over three hundred years ago. She took a sip of her own tea, her black eyes gleaming. “Curiosity overcame her. Do not use your mindsense this close to Sun, child.”

  Had it been Sam who tidied away her mindsense? Or Grandmother? Grandmother didn’t have mindspeech, but she did have at least one type of mind magic. Did that mean she had some form of a mindsense, too? “How do you experience it?” she blurted.

  “Not as you do. We will not discuss this now. Now you will learn about dragon spawn.”

  About what? “I thought Sam was going to tell us—”

  The tea will give you something to do with your mouth other than interrupt. Sam’s mental voice bit like winter. Drink it.

  Lily opened her mouth. Closed it. And took another sip of tea.

  The tea is Li Lei’s contribution. She is not, however, the reason you are here. I have brought you under earth, where I possess additional defenses against intrusion, in order to fully secure our conversation. At least one of the other dragons would feel compelled to attempt to stop me from revealing what I am about to tell you. He should not pry into my actions in my territory, but his thinking on this topic is muddy. I do not wish to kill him, so it is best he remains unaware of what I do until it is too late to stop me.

  More secrets that dragons would kill to keep? Lily scowled. “And what’s to stop him from killing us when—”

  He is illogical on this topic, not childish. He will not violate our customs out of pique. This matter is secret for reasons of grief and shame rather than survival.

  Grief and shame? That jolted Lily. It was weird to think of any strong emotion in connection with that chill mental voice, but especially shame. Though when she thought of the nova at the core of Sam’s mind . . . oh, but she’d been wrong, she suddenly realized, her eyes widening with revelation. At the heart of the black dragon lay power, but not that alone. Power . . . and passion.

  She glanced at Grandmother. With an effort, she managed not to send her mindsense out to ask Grandmother questions she knew very well the old woman would not answer.

  “To what customs do you refer?” Rule asked.

  Those concerning Lily Yu’s status among dragons. As her mate, you partake of that status to a degree. Be aware that “status” has different referents for dragons than it does for lupi or humans. We are not a social species.

  “What are these referents?”

  I advise you to hold your questions until I am finished, as I will not answer them now. You are both aware of what happens to dragon young if there is no efondi present at their hatching. Their minds quickly become impermeable to magic, rendering them unable to communicate or receive communication. You are unaware of the results of this condition.

  Human infants, if deprived of the early experience of bonding, may fail to thrive. If they survive, as adults they may exhibit excessive impulsivity and anger, possess limited empathy, and be unable to form the kind of emotional attachments considered healthy in humans. Your term for this condition is sociopathy. Mind-dark hatchlings also exhibit pathologies, including self-mutilation and other acts of self-destruction, an inability to self-govern, and behaviors which suggest psychosis.

  Psychotic dragons. That was a terrible thing to contemplate. “You believe these, um, pathologies arise for the same reason that humans become sociopaths? That failure-to-bond thing?”

  Because I am unable to observe the minds of the mind-dark, I cannot trace the pathologies directly and can only form reasoned hypotheses about the root cause or causes. With that caveat, I can say that the lack of such a bond appears to be the determining factor.

  We did not always understand this. For many thousands of years, we believed that the inability to communicate was, in and of itself, sufficient to cause madness.

  Throughout, Sam’s mental voice remained as cuttingly cold as ever . . . until that last sentence, about which hung the wispiest fog of emotion.

  Horror. That was part of the fog, and not surprising once she thought about it. Madness would seem the most horrific condition possible to a dragon, so terrible that even Sam could not completely cleanse the emotion from his thoughts. And blended with the horror a faint, sad mist . . . sorrow. Old sorrow, so very old . . .

  Botched hatchings—those unattended by an efondi—are extremely rare. You may have a false perception of the likelihood of such occurrences due to recent events. The brownies, zealous in protecting our privacy, did not tell you why Mika underwent her third birth when she did.

  “They didn’t explain, no.” By “third birth,” Sam meant the change from male to female. The brownies said that dragons had three births: one when the eggs were laid; one when they hatched; and one when they changed from male to female. Apparently changing back to male after the kids were grown—which they generally did—didn’t count as a birth.

  It seems rash to you. Mika lacked a female dragon to act as efondi, relying instead upon a human for whom mindspeech remained merely a potential until almost the last moment. I will tell you what the brownies did not. We can undergo the change to female at any age once we reach physical maturity, but the older we are, the longer the change takes, for we do not attempt it until we reach that point in our cycle. It would have been another three years before the second youn
gest of us could have completed such a change; none of the rest were even close.

  Mika was unable to forestall his change that long, even with our assistance. It had already been delayed much longer than is normal due to our sojourn in Dis. Dis is not a good place to raise young.

  “You mean that the change to female isn’t voluntary?” Lily asked. “She didn’t have a choice? I mean he didn’t. You said ‘his change.’”

  We use the pronoun pertinent to the sex at the time referenced. You, however, might do well to consistently refer to Mika as she. Such misassigned gender offers no insult to a dragon, and human memory is poor. It would be unfortunate if you were to refer to Mika as “he” when speaking to other humans.

  He hadn’t answered her question.

  Nor will I. I have told you this much so you will understand why Mika underwent his third birth even though there was no female dragon to serve as efondi.

  “Did you know that I would reach that cusp when I did? Or did you make it happen when it did?”

  I had some control over how quickly your nascent ability became active. A degree of speed was necessary, given the deadline imposed by Mika’s condition. Too much speed endangered your mind. Balancing these needs was a tricky and interesting problem.

  Rule growled. He shouldn’t have been able to achieve such a wolfish growl in his current form, but he’d done it before.

  Rule Turner believes I risked you. This is true in one sense, but not as he means it. It is impossible to eliminate risk. My duty as your tutor was to minimize it. I fulfilled that duty although it meant uncomfortably close timing.

  Rule was not placated. “You didn’t speak of risk when you offered to train Lily in mindspeech.”

  She is adult. She is aware that all actions involve risk. We are diverging from the information I need to impart. I ask you again to withhold your questions until I am finished.