The Summer Dragon

  I realized that I didn’t know who had authority over the other—Bellua or the Juza leader. Mabir was strangely silent. Borgomos sat with his hands in his lap.

  Addai pinned me with his tiny eyes. “In fact, I want to hear things from Maia’s point of view.”

  Bellua straightened. “When Maia has experience enough to explain—”

  “Experience?” Cairek interrupted. “It sounds to me like she’s had the only experiences that matter.”

  That shut Bellua up cold. In my mind, I thanked Cairek for stating something so obvious it shouldn’t have to be repeated.

  Addai clasped his hands behind his back, his beady eyes unreadable behind the gravings. “Go ahead, child.”

  I swallowed and glanced around the room. All eyes turned my way. “It never had form. It was shadowy and weak in a way, but powerful at the same time. I loosed arrows at it, though they passed right through. But I got the sense that it was”—I struggled for the right words—“studying me.”

  Addai leaned in. “Explain.”

  “It was in my head, digging around. It showed me things that it thought would crush my spirit.”

  “Showed you things?”

  I nodded. “In my head, like when you read a book and you see the pictures in your imagination, only stronger. Clearer. Pictures from a horrible book. In the end, I think it simply wanted me to be terrified.”

  “Were you?”

  I swallowed. “Yes.”

  “How do we know the supposed attack wasn’t all in your mind?” His face was unreadable.

  I stared at him. “It was so deeply in my mind that it gave me a nosebleed.”

  Bellua frowned. Addai studied me without a word. Borgomos stared at me with glistening eyes. I couldn’t look at him. I thought of all the prayers I’d offered to Getig, hoping for some insight into the monster. All the unanswered prayers.

  “She stood fast against it,” Father said. “Shouted defiance at it.”

  “But when it attacked,” Rov added, “our dragons took it apart as if it was made of paper. It dissipated and vanished, and we haven’t seen it since.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “It was strong while the Harodhi attacked us. But when it had to defend itself alone, it seemed diminished. Like it drew strength from them somehow.”

  Cairek nodded in appreciation. “It was no Horror, then, but something else completely.”

  “And that’s where, so far, answers fail us,” said Bellua.

  Mabir’s robes rustled as he sat up straighter. “I can offer an explanation, though only as a word from the ancients, not as my opinion necessarily—”

  “Careful, old man,” said Bellua.

  Addai turned his intense gaze on Mabir, who continued regardless. “I’ve studied the old traditions. They explain that when the world falls out of balance the dark Avar gain strength and presence—manifestations of balancing forces—the other side of Asha, who the ancients revered.”

  Bellua scowled. “All Avar are reflections of Korruzon, and so it could not have been Avar.”

  Mabir shrugged. “So you keep saying—”

  “Asha is a dead mythology of the past,” said Addai, his face twitching beneath the sharp gravings.

  “But they offer us an explanation.”

  “It was a demon,” said Bellua. “One of the rahza. Avar are reflections of Korruzon, and rahza are not.”

  With a freckled fist, Cairek thumped the table once for attention. “My dhalla always told me that the rahza were made of flame or filth, an’ were shaped like men. Sounds more like Horrors to me.” He cocked a blond eyebrow, having stunned Bellua to silence a second time. “Let’s hear the dhalla out, hey? Perhaps the old traditions can teach us something, even if their terms or doctrine were wrong.”

  Mabir watched Bellua and Addai for several moments, as if awaiting an argument. It didn’t come, so he glanced at Rov. The Captain shrugged.

  Mabir bowed his head to draw a deep breath and gather his words. “In Ashaani scripture, the Edimmu and Utukku were balancing forces that heralded the end of a cycle. They manifest to tear down the old world in preparation for the new, like termites in the rotting body of a tree. The Edimmu came of Shadow, manifesting emotion: fear, despair, anger. In every story, the Edimmu precede the Utukku, the Blight. The Utukku always follow. When society breaks down and war blankets the land, they too appear, bringing physical hardship—decay, disease. Starvation. Desolation. Death.”

  “Bedtime stories, to frighten small children,” said Addai.

  “Perhaps. But this ‘other’ in the caves caused fear in the Harodhi and attacked Maia’s thoughts with emotion. That sounds unnervingly like Edimmu. But there’s more to consider. The Ashaani would say that potentials have been unleashed. This could be the first appearance of something that will only grow in power. No one living has experience of any of it—unless Maia now does, somehow.” His eyes flicked to me. He looked scared. “I don’t like the way our paths cross their beliefs. The appearances of the Summer Dragon and now of this Shadow creature together are a warning. If it was Shadow or Blight, then, barring some miracle, what follows is inevitable.”

  “And that is?” Borgomos’s face was white.

  “The congregation of the Edimmu is the fearful, the desperate, the angry. It feeds on fear and grows on desperation, but it delivers anger. Upheaval and destruction. The end of a cycle.”

  I thought of the carvings of war and death in the cavern. My pulse pounded in my chest, in my fingertips on the table, in my ears.

  “Our own local lore remembers one such, but it was both Shadow and Blight. A statue stands timeless in the ruins, where Maia and Darian saw the Summer Dragon. It is a remnant of a previous cycle. The black dragon was known as the Dahak. It began as Shadow, but it grew powerful over time. And it turned the world to ruin.”

  My pulse throbbed in my neck.

  Finally Cairek spoke, a strand of his straw-colored hair hanging in his face. “We plan for the worst. Seal the caverns and pray that Maia bought us enough time with her courage.”

  Borgomos pushed his plate away and looked around the table from face to face. “What about us?”

  Cold, dense silence choked the room as Addai and Rov exchanged looks. Father’s face grew darker. I could tell that Jhem grabbed Tauman’s hand below the table.

  A breeze rattled the bamboo canes above.

  When no one else could find words to break the trance, Darian muttered, “You could hear a pixie fart in here.”

  Addai’s eyes snapped to Darian, but he took a deep breath and spoke to Father. “Be mindful of what happened to Cuuloda, Broodmaster. We’ll have our hands full enough protecting the aeries. We dare not absorb Cuuloda’s burdens.”

  “We fight this war for them, don’t you think?” Father turned to Rov, the lightning glint in his eyes. “What is our purpose—what are we doing here if we don’t protect each other?”

  Rov’s eyes didn’t so much as flicker. “There are engineers and war machines and another talon of Dragonry on their way. We have too many mouths already.”

  “It’s for the greater good,” said Addai.

  Borgomos was ashen.

  “Burdens?” I said, before I knew the words were coming. “You’re all a bunch of cowards.”

  “Lady, don’t take risks on my behalf,” said Borgomos.

  “We should take these people in, until they’re strong enough to move on or find their place.”

  Addai’s chin went up. “These matters are beyond your understanding, young—”

  “What’s hard to understand about compassion?”

  “Child, it’s a more complicated issue than you can possibly—”

  Father leaned across the table at him. “You couldn’t choose a crueler season to turn them out. Menog’s Day is just around the corner. Let them cele
brate in a village, amongst countrymen.”

  Borgomos stood abruptly and turned to face Rov and Addai. His clothes were tattered and dirty, but he squared his shoulders and straightened his back. He was clearly done groveling. “You should listen to your dhalla when he names your shadow beast in the cave. Call it Edimmu if you want. Or call it by its other names; we have seen them all. They’re real. Fear, Despair, Anger. They stalked us all the way from Cuuloda. Along the way we also met Disease, Starvation, and Death.”

  He let the last word ring off the walls around the courtyard, then turned and took up his Staff of Office, stripped of all precious material that he could sell or barter. “We can face them again here or face them on the road. The difference hardly matters. As to cowardice, that’s not for me to judge. I’ll leave that to you.”

  Rov studied the room long before he uncrossed his arms. He looked last at me. “Very well. You can stay until the engineers and equipment arrive. You’ll have that long to prove your worth. Those who cannot will have to continue on to Taskis.”

  Father looked daggers at Rov and Addai, placed a hand on Borgomos’s shoulder. “This isn’t over, Guildmaster. You have time. I’ll find places for as many of your people as I can.”

  Borgomos looked Father in the eye as he shook the offered hand. “Thank you again, Broodmaster.”

  “Find Jhem. She’ll let you down in the basket.”

  Borgomos bowed, then turned to me and offered a hand. When I took it, he placed his other atop mine and squeezed gently. “Lady,” he said.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  AS KEIRR AND I emerged onto the patio of the ruins, the sun peeked through a hole in the dark sky, lighting the scene as if by a soft lantern. It looked so different now. No water flowed in the stream. The undergrowth was brown. Flowers were replaced by prickly seed-heads on brittle stalks. Fallen leaves chased each other in the breeze like qits at play, skittering around the statue and collecting in drifts against the broken wall. Empty trees scratched at the ragged sky. I almost expected to see Waeges glide in over their bare tips the way Getig had a season ago.

  Keirr stepped high, touching trees and rocks with her nose and footpads, licking everything and clicking constantly. I wondered again at the significance of the habit. I listened and watched for clues, but it still wouldn’t come to me. As always, it brought my mother to mind.

  Together we approached the statue of Menog and the Dahak. Dried moss on the upper surfaces crumbled under my touch, so I brushed off as much of it as I could reach to reveal more of the sculpture. White Menog curled above the black Dahak, one forefoot gripping the monster’s neck. But the Dahak didn’t look the least bit defeated; its jaws were opened wide, talons raking. Even the thumb-claws in the wings ripped at Menog’s hide. Both Edimmu and Utukku—Shadow and Blight—Mabir had said; a monster that heralded the end of an age, long before even Korruzon. What a battle that must have been—two Avar in a titanic fight to the death, with the fate of the world in the balance.

  The wind swirled and I pulled my jacket closer. Change had engulfed us. There could be no doubt.

  Cairek’s men had felled a huge patch of trees north of the manor, right to the edge of the cliff so those on duty could see the paddock and the village below. Father wasn’t happy about that; he had a favorite path between the manor and the Roaring that was now laid bare. They left only a few of the biggest trees for their shade. They built nests from the severed limbs, reminding me of the wildings’ nests woven of branch and bone. The trunks were set aside until they could be turned into building material—more work for Fren that would keep us apart. Leftover twigs and branches were gathered for cook fires. Father grumbled, “There’s another entire wing on its way. I’ll have no trees left at this pace.”

  At least the Juza had taken up residence in the Temple stable and yard and not on the clifftop, though Addai was here most of the time, conferring with Bellua or simply strutting about with his hands on his hips, watching. Or circling overhead on his magnificent Torchbearer. The Juza were always fully armored and fully armed with sword, bow, and quivers of red arrows.

  Rov and Cairek planned future structures with Father, barns and barracks and tents that would come with the next wave. It was clear this was no temporary arrangement. The Dragonry was here to stay.

  Their conversations always left Father miserable. Sad angrr Grus would have said.

  With as few as three dragon-rider teams camped in the paddock, there wasn’t room enough to run the lunge line, so Father gave us permission to take Aru and Keirr for walks outside the compound with their weighted harnesses on—within bounds. For Darian, that meant constant visits to the Dragonry on the clifftop. He was obsessed with them, asking questions of the riders, inspecting the gear. It’s all he talked about. I preferred the silence of the forest.

  Keirr sat on the patio, turning her head from side to side and clicking calmly, eyes closed against the light.

  “It all began here, when we saw the Summer Dragon,” I told her. She opened her ear frills toward me and clicked again, though without opening her eyes.

  “Now it’s all become so strange. You and I get to come of age together in an armed camp.” I rubbed her ear frills, and she cocked her head at me. “But this is your world, isn’t it? Dragonry, Juza, Rasaal. Shadow and Blight. You were born into a world with Horrors. This is all you know.”

  This had once been a sacred place. I suppose I always knew that, but I understood it now, even if the faith of those long distant people eluded my understanding. Keirr’s history was tied to this spot, which only deepened the feeling of sanctity for me. I kissed her nose and scratched her chin.

  I’d given up on prayers—they seemed no more useful than wishes. Perhaps I prayed to the wrong Avar. But the ruins soothed me. They always had, even before Getig showed himself to me here. They felt like Truth, even if I didn’t know what that meant.

  I needed to talk to Mabir. Or Fren, but I’d barely seen either in weeks.

  “Come on, qitling,” I said. “Let’s go home.” Keirr trotted happily after me, but the forest seemed all too quiet.

  Suddenly I heard the solid thwack of an arrow hitting a tree. I knew that sound well enough, though I couldn’t place the direction until I heard it again. I pinched Keirr’s snout gently and held a finger to my lips, then edged closer to the source.

  Fren stood in a clearing, head turned hard left, bow arm extended and an arrow knocked. Shirtless, lean and chiseled from a working life. His scars stood out. Vivid stripes surrounded with the healing script, some of it scribbled up the sides of his neck and down his left arm, but it was most concentrated in the center of his chest.

  He released his arrow and it smacked into the tree again. I craned my neck for a look. He turned at the snap of my footstep. “M’ lady! I apologize. I didn’t know there was anyone about.” He set his bow down, grabbed up his shirt and crawled into it. “Just trying to loosen up these scars whenever I can and get my bow strength back.”

  “I’m so sorry, Fren. Do they still hurt?”

  He smiled. “M’lady, our scars give us strength. They toughen us. There’s no shame in scars.”

  I didn’t know what more to say. I stepped out of the undergrowth to see his shots.

  The target, carved into the side of a dead tree, sported a perfect cluster of three arrows in the center. “Wow. You’re a really good shot. Father always said so.”

  He looked at his cluster of arrows, then at me, then back at his grouping of arrows. “Well, a man gets a reputation.” Then he looked at me with his brow puzzled into a frown. “Is there something I can do for you, young ma’am?”

  Father opened the man-door to the brood platform and gestured us in. When I was small and angry and needed a swat on my behind, his eyes looked just like this.

  Keirr was still just small enough to enter that way if she crouched with her wings folded tight and ducked her head. She
clicked and nosed everything. Fren looked about as if he occupied hallowed ground.

  Father squared off in front of me, hands on hips. “What is this about, then?”

  “I’ve made a point of staying away from Fren.”

  Father nodded encouragingly, as if to coax the rest of the thought out of me.

  “I didn’t want to risk drawing Bellua’s eyes—”

  “Good. I don’t need Bellua or Addai focusing any attention on either of you. It’s bad enough already with Borgomos and his folk practically venerating my two wilding daughters.” He absently patted Keirr’s cheek as he said it.

  “But I need to ask you something I should have asked the day Fren returned.”

  Father looked very dubious. “Which is?”

  “Fren is the best archer in all of Gadia. You’ve said so yourself.”

  “Yes. So?”

  “So, you should hire him to teach me archery.”

  Father only stared.

  “Hire him to teach me how to use a proper bow. Darian too, for that matter. Who would argue with you, after what we went through and the dangers we faced? And may yet face.”

  Fren grinned and looked Father square in the eye. “It would be my honor, Broodmaster.”

  “Seriously?” said Father to me. “You fly in four weeks—”

  “I know.”

  “Are you ready to take on more work?”

  “Yes!”

  He shook his head, staring at me. Then a chuckle parted his lips.

  “Why is that funny?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Because you’re right. Also because you have no idea what you’re in for but—like your Mother—you go there anyway.”

  “What did you get me into this time?” Darian asked one afternoon, after Fren added more sand to the bags we hefted.

  “This is how my father taught me,” said Fren. “And it’s exactly how it’s done in the Dragonry. Ten more pulls on each arm for complaining.”

  Darian groaned, but after that moment he applied himself. He even became competitive.