The Summer Dragon

by Todd Lockwood

  “We’ve been raising dragons in Riat for twenty generations,” Father said, breaking the stillness. “Since before the Empire took our province and established its rule. There is dragonlore passed down from the beginning that you have yet to learn.” He paused while Grus banked into a shaft of light. “Dragons are sensitive to the rhythms of the cycles, their nature attuned to a coming necessity. When hard times approach, dragons lay larger clutches. They make more little dragons, so that there’s a greater chance some will survive. They don’t think about it, they just do it, like when a cat or a horse puts on a thicker coat before a hard winter. A wild dragon lays two, maybe three eggs. In an aerie, the normal clutch is five, sometimes six eggs. This year our dams laid seven, eight, and nine eggs. So I’ve had a sign of my own in the nature of the cycles, and it mirrors your sighting of Getig. Change is coming, whatever Bellua may want us to believe.”

  He pulled me closer, wrapped his arms tighter. I sank into his embrace, willing the events of the day to recede. But they wouldn’t. I frowned. “What are the Avar, really?”

  Father hesitated before he answered, and then he spoke haltingly, as if searching for the right words. “Once, long ago, during my time in the Dragonry, I befriended a mercenary man from the far reaches of Telamon. He insisted that the Avar only manifest as dragons—or we only see them as dragons—because dragons are so important in our culture. In his land, he said there are no dragons, because it’s a hostile desert that can’t support such large predators. Instead, the Most High take on the appearance of great horses. He suggested that they might not be gods, but creatures of nature, or as he put it ‘reflections of the greater tide.’ The important fact is not what they are, but that they are. That seems a lot like the Ashaani idea, doesn’t it? The merihem would call that blasphemy, but the merihem would also agree that the High Dragons are mystical beings of spirit and something more than the stuff of our world. Sometimes they linger and offer guidance, as in the case of Korruzon. Sometimes they just appear and vanish again, and who can say what it means.”

  I shivered. “I remember when the fishermen said they’d seen Khordad moving in the tides, and everyone thought they lied. A few days later they hauled in an astounding number of fish. But then the blacksmith—I can’t remember his name—said he saw a vision of Vashita in his fire, and a week later he died when his shop burned down.”

  “Grogen. His name was Grogen.”

  I considered a universe that turned like a grindstone with us as the grist, and my brow pinched into a frown. “So we are merely the playthings of mystical dragons and horses.”

  “Heh. It seems that way sometimes.”

  “And no one really knows what they are.”

  For a few moments, Father let silence express whatever it was that troubled him. “I saw Korruzon that one time,” he said at last. “He was amazing. A gigantic presence, dark and inspiring and terrible and uplifting all at once. But if I hadn’t, I might believe that all talk of High Dragons was foolishness meant to keep the weak-minded in shackles. The dhalla and merihem see only the words in their scriptures. They make words their slaves, and use them to enslave others. The Temple is as much a construct of words as it is stone and mortar.” His voice grew heated. “Even the painted-glass windows, rather than looking out into the real world, give us illusions of fantasies they want us to see instead. The real world is never so easy to define as their—”

  His words ended with a growl, and he kissed the back of my head. “I’m sorry. I’m the wrong person to answer your question. There was little discussion of belief in our household, and now I know why. It seems my whole family embraced a lie in order to keep our aeries but in support of our conquerors. I don’t know how I feel about that either, except that we do well by our village and farms. We’ve preserved something that might have been taken from us. But I shouldn’t poison you with my lack of faith. Not after what you’ve been through. I’m confused too. I don’t know what that monster was, or what it did to you.”

  He sighed. “I wish I knew what I believed.”

  I’d always admired the stained glass windows with their depictions of historic events—Korruzon as a towering, noble presence above his many subservient aspects—the Avar that populated our stories. Was Getig among them? I couldn’t even remember. And now those windows had been cast into shadow, not only by Mabir’s revelations but by my own father’s words. His simple confession of uncertainty moved and troubled me.

  I breathed deeply. “Mabir said doubt can lead where certainty never will.”

  “Perhaps,” said Father. “But it’s a more difficult path.”

  “Maybe we’re not supposed to know. Maybe we’re really only supposed to ask.”

  “That would be the Ashaani idea again, wouldn’t it?”

  Grus found a rising current, and we spiraled upward in silence for several minutes. I leaned back against Father, glad to have his arms around me.

  After a few minutes, however, the silence became uncomfortable. “I’m sad that Rov is sealing the caves,” I said. “I want to know more, but we won’t see them again as long as we’re at war. Except in Tulo’s drawings. What if the answers to our questions are there, and we’ve lost them?”

  “Rov does what he must as a military man. I understand that. But it’s Bellua you need to watch out for. He’s angry and frustrated. Count on him to turn this against you.”

  I suddenly felt like such a burden. Again. Tears stung my eyes.

  “I fear for you, Maia,” said Father. “It scares me to think that you’ve been targeted by . . . I don’t even know how to say it. If the world was right, we could enlist Bellua’s aid in figuring out what we faced today.”

  “We can still ask Mabir.”

  “And we should, though we’ll need to be discreet.”

  He laid his cheek against the side of my head. “Asha. I honestly never heard that name before today. But I like the idea of simple, unadorned Truth that need not dress up in garments and declare itself, truth that simply is. I’m surprised and pleased at this change in Mabir, too. That came from you, you know. You opened his eyes just by being you. Maia, you saw the Summer Dragon! Treasure that. Let it balance against what happened today. Don’t ever forget it. Someday, I hope the meaning will become clear to you.”

  “That’s what Jhem said.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, she said that things happen for reasons that don’t make sense until later. If ever. Sort of the same.”

  “She’s right. And that’s a lot like the Ashaani idea too, isn’t it? Perhaps one day the meaning will become clear to all of us.”

  I huddled tight against the wind, and Father responded by pulling me deeper into the circle of his arms. I turned my head to look at him in the failing light, hair blowing across my eyes, his features blurred through my tears. And I thought I’d never seen him so clearly before.

  Jhem returned well after dark. I didn’t even see her; she only opened the stable door to let Audax in. He curled up in his nest with Coluver and they made cooing noises before rumbling to sleep. Jhem made herself invisible for the next few days. Had Tauman offered one of his unimpressive apologies? Scolded her with silence? Or maybe made amends? I looked for her when I could, but she didn’t want to be found.

  Father and Rov took turns standing watch in the paddock each night, eyes scanning the sky. I lay in bed waiting for exhaustion to bring sleep, my thoughts circling endlessly from curses to Horrors to apparitions. I hoped Father could take me to visit Mabir without Bellua looming, to ask the questions that kept me awake, but Father was gone with Rov at the caves during the day. He reported that the thing—we still didn’t have a proper name for it—stayed gone, for whatever reason. That was small comfort.

  At nights I tried simple prayers to Getig, for understanding. I trusted that whether he was an aspect of Korruzon or of Asha, I was talking to the right Avar. I had no idea i
f I was doing it right. How is a prayer answered? It wasn’t like having a courier drop into the paddock with a message.

  By day I tried not to think about it, but Darian obsessed over it. “Father just stood and loosed arrows into the Harodhi?”

  “Yes. I told you that already.”

  We were exercising our qits in the yard, running them in circles on a lunge line. At the moment, Aru was having his turn. “I know,” Darian said, “but I’m trying to picture it in my mind. He didn’t dodge, or shift around?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose, but—”

  “And Shuja shielded him with his wings?”

  “I think so. It happened so fast—”

  “Just like the wilding sire did for you and me. Like he knew that’s how the Dragonry mounts do it. Do you suppose they do it out of instinct?”

  “Maybe. Honestly, how would I know?”

  He looked at me askance. “And the thing in the air, was it—”

  The Thing. “Darian, please—you’ve asked me every question at least three times. Take up your slack—Buk Buk is tripping on the lead.”

  “Don’t call him that.” Darian turned back to Aru, shortening the length of the lunge line. Aru grabbed the rest of the slack in his teeth and shook the rope like a terrier, then pulled backward on the line until Darian stumbled to his knees. Beside me, Keirr wheezed with the dragon equivalent of laughter, her tail lashing.

  Our qits had grown over the last month, doubling in length, quadrupling in weight. Keirr’s shoulders came above my knees, Aru’s to mid-thigh. They were strong too, and their wings now spanned nearly as great a reach as Darian’s arms plus mine. It made me proud but also a little sad to see my baby turning into a dragon so fast. No more lap-cuddles, though she still mowped like a nestling and sulked when I scolded her.

  Because of his size, Aru ran faster, leapt higher. But Keirr learned more quickly, and Aru often followed her lead. Darian took that as a challenge. The competition pushed all of us to improve faster.

  Which thrilled Father, of course. “What excellent qits they’ll produce one day!” he said. Often.

  That didn’t help Darian in the present moment, though. Aru tugged again and Darian toppled to his elbows with an angry cry of pain. I ran to Aru’s side, yanked the lunge line in his mouth down hard, and grabbed a fistful of ear-frill. “Aru! Shame on you, bad boy!” Then I clucked like a scolding dragon dam, which caused his head to droop and his tail to sag. He would learn the words and tone of voice eventually. But for now it was enough that he knew I was displeased.

  Keirr skipped past him, said, “Buk Buk” and clucked her own tongue mockingly.

  “Keirr! Hush now. Shhh! No more of that.” She dipped her head sheepishly, but looked at Aru and delivered a last tiny cluck. I suppressed the urge to giggle by frowning pointedly.

  Darian sat in the dust and rubbed his scarred left leg. The wound still gave him trouble. Though his limp improved, his strength hadn’t returned yet. “He obeys you better than he obeys me,” he said.

  The embarrassment in his eyes made me bite off the jest I had readied. I wanted to tell him what Mabir and I had done, but Mabir’s instructions were clear. Don’t tell Darian. I led Aru to his side, and he popped his qit on the nose with a reprimanding cluck of his own. Aru sat with his head hanging.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  I sat next to him and put an arm around his shoulder. He shrugged it off. “I told you, I’m fine.” He pushed to his feet and put Aru back to work.

  I took my anger out on the chicken carcasses I prepared for Keirr’s dinner.

  For most of our lives, Darian had been my big brother, my muse and commander. He expected me to follow him in the natural order of things. The appearance of Getig gave him a brief time as the center of attention, with the assumption that the Summer Dragon appeared for him. Even though he stood up for me after our trial in the caves, I knew he probably felt smaller than me for the first time in his life.

  I chopped the last chicken in two with the cleaver, left the blade imbedded in the block, stared at bone and meat and blood. “He has bad dreams, too.” The words came out even as the realization hit me. “The things that happened to us haunt him, but he’s too proud to admit it.”

  Keirr looked at me curiously.

  “Of course that’s it. I should have thought of it before. He covers it up well. Or maybe not so well.”

  Keirr blinked.

  “Can you say, ‘Darian?’”

  “No.”

  “Of course you can. Say, ‘Darian.’”

  “Boi.”

  “You’re awful.” I suppressed a giggle. “Say, ‘Darian.’”

  She rotated her head. “Drrrrrrym.” The “R’s” rolled melodically. Only dragons were capable of that pleasing sound.

  “Good! And you are a rapscallion, Keirr. Can you say ‘rapscallion’?”

  She considered for a moment. “Yhes,” she said.

  Keirr’s new favorite word. Everything good was “yhes.” Hwssh, Maia—Yhes. Bukaw—Yhes. Scratches behind the ears—Yheeess. She would often nod her head for emphasis. Keirr completely understood yes.

  I laughed despite my mood, impressed by the fact that, regardless of what she could or couldn’t say, she knew the meaning of “Can you say?” Language was part of her, part of what dragons are. As I fed and watered them, I listened to their alien conversation, a completely strange collection of clicks, rumbles, purrs, and whistles. I recalled Keirr sneaking up on a chicken carcass with her eyes closed and her ear frills fully deployed, clicking, and her odd response when she opened her eyes again. Something related to sound had happened, and it happened in their speech, too. I thought of Shuja in the cavern, clicking once loudly before announcing, “Fee-t. Come fas-t.” Keirr’s poppa, Malik, had made the same clicking sound as he followed us through the caverns. Our dragons only made the singular click when they were away from the aeries. At home, a click was usually followed by several more in diminishing volume, either quickly or slowly, then a rumble or purr. I knew that was important, but I didn’t get how. Not yet. I wondered how much Mother had figured out, and what she could have told me about dragon speech.

  And I thought about the two mothers who lived in my head—the one who talked to dragons, and the one who cursed me before she died.

  Word came that Mabir and Bellua had declared Fren recovered and healthy, and allowed him to return home. I expressed disappointment that he wasn’t in the aeries, working for us as Father promised. “He needs to see his family and settle his personal affairs,” said Father. “But he’ll be back before long. I still owe him a debt.” We’d been stabling Fren’s horse in the tack house, and his son, Domu, had long since collected her without my even noticing. I wanted to see Mabir again too, but I wondered if Bellua had put himself between us.

  One day Fren walked out of the forest into our manor yard, on the exact path he’d taken to deliver a load of wood chips almost two seasons ago. I dropped my shovel and pail.

  “Fren!” I ran to him, with Keirr trotting behind me. I wanted to throw my arms around him and hug him hard, but I worried about aggravating his wound. I stopped and held out a hand.

  “Young ma’am! It’s good to see you!” He pulled me into a warm embrace. “I’ll take a hug, please, m’ lady.” I gave it gladly.

  I drew back to look at him, overcome with happiness. He’d shaved the beard grown during his unconscious weeks, leaving only his goatee. I remembered him with more girth. His loss of weight wasn’t obvious in the Temple hospital, but it was now. His shirt and vest were new—Father had paid for those.

  I felt redeemed at last. The aeries were finally whole. “How’s your shadow, Fren?” I asked cheerfully.

  He smiled and wiped a tear off my cheek with a thumb. “My shadow is well.”

  “Mine too. You don’t
know how relieved I am to see you.” The slate of Bellua’s omens was finally wiped clean.

  “I’m here to start work—” he began, but then his eyes grew wide at something behind me. I turned to see Keirr, sitting politely, her head tilted to the right. “This pretty silver creature is the wilding?” he said. “Look how big!”

  I clicked for her to join me. “This is Keirr. And Keirr, this is Fren. Please say hello to Fren.”

  Keirr took a step forward, then sat again. Such a little lady. “Herrro, Phrrrem,” she said with the beautiful, rolling dragon “R”s.

  Fren shook his head in amazement. “If my horse ever said such a thing I would fall right off her!”

  I scratched her chin. “Keirr, if it weren’t for Fren, you wouldn’t even be here. His injury brought us together.” She looked at me sideways.

  Fren smiled at me with eyes crinkled.

  “Oh, Gods, Fren. Can you ever forgive—”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. I survived to meet this silver wilding and to see you again.”

  I leaned closer to him. “Do you remember speaking to me in the Temple?”

  His smile faded and his brows pinched, revealing something between concern and puzzlement. “I wish I could remember, lady ma’am. But Mabir told me about it. It’s true, what I said: I’ll wear these scars with pride. The rest of it—I don’t know what it means, but don’t you fret over it. I’m here to get my strength back and loosen up these tethers across my body.”

  “I wish I could talk with you about that. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  Fren looked concerned. “What sort of trouble could you possibly—”

  “Bellua,” I said, lowering my voice, even though I knew he was nowhere around. “He doesn’t like Asha or the old tales. He watches every move, records every word. If he learns that you are an elder in a forbidden church, I don’t know what—”