The Summer Dragon

  “Not bad. Try again: Buk buk bukaaaw.”

  Keirr responded, perfectly: “Buk buk bukaaaw,” and I gave her a chicken. She tore off a leg and rolled it around in her mouth with great relish, looking at Aru. Teasing! I smiled.

  Aru tilted his head first at Keirr, then at the diminishing bounty of chickens in my basket, and said, “BUK BUK BUKAAAAW!”

  After a moment of stunned silence, I broke out laughing. Keirr did too, the wheezing laughter of a dragon. “Oh, well done!” I tossed Aru a chicken and he made short work of it.

  “BUK BUK BUKAAAAW!” he demanded, and I tossed him another. He lashed his tail excitedly and wheezed a bit himself. My sides were starting to hurt.

  “BUK BUK BUKAAAAW!”

  Darian was going to kill me.

  Aru began to cluck like a hen whenever he spied me. Whether I’d intended it or not, it worked to get Darian out of his bed. He started testing his leg with short walks around the stable, using a cane at first. Aru scampered happily at his side. Within a few days, he’d finally regained enough strength to join me in the paddock, though he limped badly and probably would for a while yet. He held his tongue, but worked hard to eliminate chicken noises from Aru’s vocabulary.

  It was too late, though. I encouraged Aru with additional gifts of poultry when no one was watching. Keirr found Buk Buk much easier to say than Aru, and adopted that as her name for him. Jhem started using it as a nickname too. Tauman wasn’t above teasing Darian about the size of his pet chicken. Father reprimanded us only mildly.

  Darian almost turned himself inside out with anger. “You’ve turned my dragon into a chicken!” he fumed. But he’d asked for it and he knew it. And besides, it was funny.

  Throughout those days, Father drilled me on other things. While I played chase with Keirr and Buk Buk in the paddock to develop their leg strength, he might pass by and quiz me, “What is the dragon-skin sky?”

  “Fair but cold. Higher than dragons can fly.”

  “That’s right. And what is the ragged sky?”

  “Continuous rain in a dragon’s range of flight, but dead air.”

  “What’s the anvil top?”

  “Severe weather and dangerous turbulence, mixed air below.”

  “And what do you see today?”

  “Short towers, at the middle or top of a dragon’s range, rising air below them, bad air inside, but fair weather. They might become anvil tops as they move east.”

  And so on. Most of this we already knew, but Father was determined to drill it deeply into our heads, so we would know how to avoid dangerous air and oncoming weather. I enjoyed the lessons—they made me think about the day when Keirr and I would fly together for the first time. By midwinter, Menog’s Day, she would be big enough. Right now, while she still romped and played like a kitten, it seemed impossible that she could get so big that fast. But dragons are predators who depend on size as much as anything for their success. They double in size six times in their first year.

  When their wing ports were healed, Father produced training harnesses for them. They strapped on like miniature saddles with a cinch around the waist and through the ports, straps across the chest and shoulders, and a weight where one day a rider would sit above the forelimbs just in front of the wings. Darian and I took turns tying a long lunge line to a ring on the chest of the harness, and then ran our qits in big circles in the paddock. At first they didn’t like the contraption on their backs, but with rewards of bukaw and hwshh they soon galloped with their little wings spread, chortling with dragon glee. They couldn’t possibly fly yet, but they already discovered nuances of control by angling their wings forward and back, to feel lift or decline.

  Darian made a point of taking care of the feeding as much as he was able, and not just because he didn’t want Aru doing livestock impressions. Once I caught him wincing as he limped up from the ice vault, and when I started to unload the basket hoist for him, he pulled my hands away. “I need to get my leg back in shape and loosen up these scars. You should play with Keirr. You’ve earned it.” He looked down at the trough he dug in the dirt with his toe. “Maia, I owe you. I owe you a lot, actually.” He looked up at me again with red in his cheeks. “I am sorry. The truth is, I really am proud of you, kidling, and I shouldn’t have been such a butt.”

  A lump rose in my throat, but I swallowed it. “You’re sappy.” I kissed his cheek. “But thanks.”

  The summer felt settled, embracing me in a way I hadn’t felt since before Mother died, except perhaps for that amazing day I watched Getig from the ruins and followed him into the forest. I realized that the bond growing with Keirr resonated with that feeling somehow. My empathy expanded out to Aru and Darian. We cooperated better, laughed more. We went to bed every night exhausted beyond words, but it felt wonderful.

  If only Bellua had returned home like he said he would. Instead, too many times I felt my skin prickle and turned my head in time to see him look the other way. His former belligerent attitude was gone, and he seemed almost lost. But he remained in Riat, watching, as if waiting for something.

  TWENTY-NINE

  I WHEELED A FINAL barrow-load of bukaw, muu, and hwshh, supplemented with melons and seasonal vegetables, into the stable. When the qits were ears-deep in food, Darian and I slipped back out to the courtyard, only to find Mabir and his acolyte Tulo, Father, and Rov waiting for us. The look on their faces told me that this was more than a casual visit. Tulo had a quiver across his shoulders. Father and Rov carried their longbows.

  Mabir placed a hand on my shoulder. “Maia, it is time to tie up some loose ends.” Father and Rov looked on with stern faces; apparently they’d already agreed to let Mabir do the talking. Darian seemed oddly apprehensive. Only then did Bellua emerge from the shadow of a tree in his dark garb.

  Mabir patted my shoulder. “Captain Rov has determined that parts of the caves must be sealed for the sake of security. I’ve convinced him to let me visit before they are lost to us. I’d like to see the areas you described in your report to Captain Rov.”

  Bellua shifted uneasily at the corner of my vision. Areas he would rather Mabir didn’t see?

  “I want you to accompany us,” Mabir continued. “I want you to show me the rooms you encountered and talk to me about them. It would be nice to chat. Can you do that?” He turned his head so that only I could see his face, and winked.

  I nodded, though goose bumps rose at the memory of the caves.

  “Good,” he said.

  “You’ll ride with me,” Father said.

  “Darian will stay behind to watch the qits,” added Mabir. “It’s fair enough. You’ve watched his bondling for days.”

  “We’re going now?” My stomach lurched. I felt completely unprepared.

  Father gripped my other shoulder in one of his huge hands. “Captain Rov leaves soon to gather reinforcements for the aeries and the caves. We’ve waited long enough. Now’s the time.”

  Father and Rov whistled to their mounts. Shuja and Cheien stepped out of the stable, stretching their wings, then followed us across the bridge to the paddock where Bellua’s Zell waited. Father helped Mabir onto Zell’s back, in front of Bellua. Tulo joined Rov on Cheien. I climbed onto Shuja with Father, and we buckled in.

  It felt strange not to have Keirr with me. I’d barely spent more than a minute without her for days. It seemed like a betrayal to sneak off while she was eating. “We’ll be back soon, right?”

  “Don’t worry about Keirr,” Father said. “Jhem and Tauman are here. She’ll be fine for a couple of hours.” Then he whistled and shouted, “HAI!” Shuja leapt into the sky and his great wings pushed against gravity. Soon the aeries and Riat fell away behind us. The forest and ruins flashed beneath, then the valley of Cinvat was spread below us.

  Shuja reached the cave in less than half an hour, where it had taken me a night and much of the following day to make
that journey on foot.

  Smoke came from the cave mouth, where I saw figures gathered—townsfolk, conscripted by Rov into a temporary militia. I’d assumed that’s where we would go, but we flew on past the cave, the plateau, and over the next valley beyond, around the shoulder of the mountain to the far entrance where Darian and I fought the Harodhi leader and his Horrors. My stomach squirmed. I pressed back against Father. He hugged me to him.

  Rov and Cheien landed first, scattering a black knot of scavenging crows. We circled until he waved us in, then Shuja beat back momentum with strokes of his wings and lit on the porch of the cave.

  “Smaws bad,” he said with his rumbling dragon’s voice: smells bad.

  Father patted the shoulder of his wing. “That it does, my friend.”

  Just beyond Cheien lay a pile of charred timbers and bones, the remnants of the nest I’d dumped on the Harodhi leader. The blistered corpse of his dragon stuck out in an array of ribs hung with blackened flesh. What hadn’t burned was rotting faster than the crows could squirm through the debris to eat it. Lined up against the far wall were other skeletons—human skeletons—picked clean already. The carnage and the smells wiped the past week of joyous distraction out of my head. Nightmare images crawled beneath my thoughts.

  “There’s no need to tremble, Maia. We have militia here too. It’s safe now. Take a deep breath.”

  I nodded and slid down from the saddle. The leathery crack of Zell’s wings turned my head. Father and I dismounted as Mabir unbuckled, then Father and Bellua helped him down. Everyone dismounted.

  “How did we miss seeing this entrance all these years?” asked Mabir.

  “The opening is concealed by this overhang.” Father pointed to the ceiling. “We’d have never seen it but for Maia’s fire. There’s some evidence that a bridge of stone once connected to the far slope. It’s a wonder to me how much of our own history we lost in the wars with Gurvaan.”

  “Sadly true.” Mabir picked his way carefully into the cave. When he spotted the corpse, his nose wrinkled in disgust, his eyes grew wide. “Is this the Horror?”

  I shook my head as Father answered. “No, this is the Harodhi leader. The Horror is across the valley.”

  Mabir came to me and put an arm around my shoulder. “My dear sweet girl, only now do I begin to understand what you endured.” He frowned and hugged me tighter. “You showed great bravery. Wear that with pride as armor against the nightmares.” I linked my arm with his to steady him. He patted my arm and we started forward.

  Bellua and Father followed, with Shuja and Zell behind. We caught up to Rov and Cheien. Tulo stood close to them, wide-eyed, clutching his quiver of drawing tools to his thin chest. The boy had some talent as an artist and came to draw pictures of the carvings for Mabir. A small group of nine or ten townsmen emerged out of the gloom of the hall. They were armed with crossbows and spears, though three also wore sheathed swords at their sides. They seemed relieved to see Captain Rov and his giant mount. I realized then that Rov had brought them provisions in a duffel bag. He passed it to the men as their leader gave his report, then he signaled us to follow.

  The townsfolk gave the dragons plenty of room, but they all stared at me as I passed. “Greetings, young ma’am,” said one of them, and smiled. “Ma’am,” said another, touching his breast briefly, a greeting or sign of courtesy unfamiliar to me. Then he gave a sidelong glance to Bellua, and I paused. This unusual attention left me unsure what to say, so I nodded a silent greeting.

  When my eyes adjusted to the light of torches set in sconces along the walls, I could better see things I’d missed before. Though badly eroded from countless centuries of moisture, friezes decorated every surface from knee-height to ceiling—of men and women in odd costumes, in scenes of daily routine, martial regimen, or bizarre conflict. Mabir touched them reverently, his eyes glistening. “Remarkable! I’m tempted to linger, but Tulo has already made drawings of this hallway for me. I truly want to see the chamber you described with the waterfall and the four doorways.”

  “That’s further along,” said Rov. “There’s a long stair, but the steps are not steep. I think you can manage it with our help.”

  “You plan to close this entrance?” Mabir’s smile faded.

  “We must. It’s a risk, and offers the easiest way out of the caverns for the Harodhi. We’ve barely begun to explore the other passages. The wise thing to do is seal every entrance we find, and then post guards.”

  Mabir looked disappointed. “Let’s not dally then.”

  “I wish Fren could be here,” said Father. “The best archer in all of Riat. Perhaps in all of Gadia.” He took Mabir’s other arm. Tulo followed our descent.

  The way was as long as I remembered. The sharp smell of dry stone and ancient dust triggered a flood of memories, but I turned them aside with less trouble than I’d feared. Perhaps I was healing from the madness. Or perhaps the presence of Shuja and Cheien, a pair of trained Dragonry mounts, drove the darkest shadows away.

  More than that, Mabir would finally explain Asha to me, if we could get away from Bellua and the others.

  We emerged into the chamber with the fountain and the four doorways, each surmounted by a massive carving of a High Dragon. The supernatural awe I’d felt before filled me again, the grandeur not at all diminished by the presence of so many torches. The trickle of water from the overhead source echoed eerily, the blue luminance still cast rippling life upon the carvings. I wasn’t fleeing for my life this time. I could look deeper. Here, next to the fountain, was a stain from Darian’s wound. Here were Malik’s bloody footprints, dried on the stone floor. And all around us, scribed into the walls, was a story.

  Bellua followed Rov and Cheien around the perimeter with his hands clasped behind his back, into the furthest passage on our left, beneath the carving of Waeges, the Autumn Dragon in her leafy splendor. Tulo and the three militiamen followed him, and then Zell. Father and Shuja lingered behind.

  But Mabir clung to my elbow, trembling. Tears shimmered in his eyes. “Show me,” he said, his voice cracking. “Describe again your experience here.”

  I pointed to the eastern entrance, beneath the carving of Getig. “We entered there,” I said.

  “Of course you did.” A whisper.

  “What is this place?” I answered. “You’ve made me wait long enough. Tell me what this is, and tell me about Asha.”

  Mabir’s eyes glittered in the light of the scattered torches. “Yes, I have, and I apologize. This is difficult for me, because it awakens knowledge I’d buried for years, decades. Forbidden knowledge. Heresy. You cannot know this, and yet I am compelled to tell you.”

  My heart pounded in my chest. For several minutes Mabir let the sound of falling water alone fill the silence.

  “This room,” I said. “It’s the Cycles, isn’t it.”

  “Yes. More than mere history. These images may be older even than Cinvat.” He sat on the wall containing the pool and faced the image of Getig.

  I sat beside him. “Dhalla, what is Asha? Is it one of the Avar?”

  He looked at me sidelong, and a smile touched one corner of his mouth. “It is an old name, my dear. An old name indeed. It predates Korruzon and the ruins in our forest.” He scanned about the chamber: Bellua and Rov were out of sight down the hallway beneath Waeges, but Father approached us with a casual restraint that made me think that he knew our conversation wasn’t meant for others to hear. When Mabir saw him, he smiled at me and then waved Father over.

  “Come, Magha. You might as well hear this too. Your family history is in the telling.”

  Father’s face lit with curiosity and he dropped down beside Mabir. Shuja sat a few strides away and clicked once or twice, looking up at the carvings as if they made sense to him.

  “In ages past, before Korruzon, there was Asha. This was a temple that revered Asha. It’s a name once given to the
original Source, but not the tale the Rasaal tells, of Korruzon as world-creator, who pushed mountains and seas into their present shapes with the writhing of His preordinal body. It is simpler, but harder to explain, too.

  “Asha is a name, but not for a deity. It means Truth, no more, but no less—the Eternal Law, whether one understands it or not.” He presented the entire room with his extended arms. “This is Asha as they understood it. Look at the carvings. Above each door, marking each transition to a next phase, you see a spirit embodying a season. Getig as the Avar of material abundance and fullness—see the sun high in the sky, above fields of crops. Now move counterclockwise around the room, the way the planet spins if you view it from the pole.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I didn’t interrupt.

  “Observe images of fields being harvested but also of conflict. What are those machines? I have never seen the like. Sweet Avar, the detail is astounding!” His lips were quivering. “Then comes Waeges in the north, the Autumn Dragon with her leafy mien.”

  Mabir shivered. “If Getig symbolizes a tipping point, then Waeges signifies a world at the midpoint of mad descent, when Order gives way to Chaos.” His face fell all at once, and his voice caught in his throat. “And then, after Waeges, we see full-scale war.”

  A tear slid down his cheek, and I looked to where his gaze directed me. An image I’d barely studied before: dragons carved into a smoke-filled sky, battling strange beasts with rigid wings and odd ovoid shapes, like whales festooned with sails and other artifice. Not natural creatures, but constructs. And in the terrain below, more strange machinery, like horseless wagons with bizarre ballistae or other weapons unknown built into their frames. Buildings burned, people turned anguished faces to the sky.

  “Menog in the west marks the low point,” he continued, “the setting of the sun. Perhaps the most intangible of the Avar. See how the sculptor rendered His wings as transparent. Even in stone, the background shows through. Brilliant. Menog symbolizes the spiritual center that remains when all else has fallen into ruin—the true heart of us. And He is the promise of Renewal; note the seeds at his feet. Between Menog and Oestara, the conflict ends in ruin, but in the midst of the decay, at the edge of the season, people return, buildings are erected, fields are sown. Peace settles again. The Avar of Spring, Oestara, rises with the sun on the southern wall, and the cycle begins anew.”