The White Dragon

by Laura Resnick

  "Bharata Ma-al!" cried Linyan, setting his clan free of all restraint. And the slaughter began!

  Zarien moved quickly, but not quickly enough. His brother's blood was high, and his generosity in letting Zarien lead the setting of the nets without argument did not extend to letting Zarien make the family's first kill of the bharata. Orman whooped wildly beside Zarien as his harpoon sailed through the night and sank into the silver-gray and shiny-green scales of the nearest dragonfish. A terrible roar rose up from the water and echoed through the night. The dragonfish's agonized thrashing brought it crashing against the oarboat. Zarien braced himself as the boat rocked wildly and nearly flung him into his father's flaming torch. A dark stain spread through the water, absorbing the glow of the torches. It was the glorious cloud of the dragonfish's dark purple blood.

  "That one was mine!" Zarien said fiercely.

  "You can have the next one!" Orman shot back.

  "You do that again, and I'll—"

  "Easy, son," Sorin interrupted. "You'll get your chance. Let's finish this one!"

  "Aiola!" Orman howled. He raised his stahra and then brought its sharp edge down on the dragonfish's writhing back, again and again, until the spine was finally broken. The creature's sticky purple blood covered Orman, Zarien, and Sorin by the time the great body lay still in the water.

  Another silvery horn broke through the water's surface as yet another dragonfish tried to escape the deadly maze. It flailed its powerful spiked tail in a desperate attempt to clear a space for itself, hitting Orman's fresh kill hard enough to send geysers of bloody water high into the air. Its wild thrashing started pushing the just-slaughtered corpse away from the oarboat. In an effort to retrieve his kill, Orman leaned perilously far over the side, reaching for the stahra, which stuck out of the dead monster's back.

  This one, Zarien thought as the living one hurled itself frantically towards the surface again. This one will be mine. He fixed his aim on the massive heaving body which twisted and flailed in fear and rage.

  "Damn it!" Orman leaned out a little farther, ignoring his father's warning not to, trying to haul in his kill. The thrashing of the second dragonfish was driving the corpse beneath the surface. "It's sinking! Zarien—"

  "Let go of me!"

  "Help me—"

  Poised to make his first kill, Zarien tried to shake off his brother's grasping hand. He scarcely heard Linyan's nearby shout or his father's cry of alarm. It was only when the impact of their colliding boats nearly knocked him into the water that he realized the danger. He braced himself against the sudden pitch of the boat. His balance would have held—had not Orman's nagging grasp turned into a reflexive yank which tumbled him headlong into the sea.

  "Zarien!"

  Cool water engulfed him. Fear filled him, drowning all thoughts but one: Get out!

  His legs were propelling him back toward the surface almost before he realized what had happened. He crashed into the underbelly of a writhing dragonfish, a beast so huge it blotted out the flickering torches he had briefly glimpsed through the blood-clouded water.

  No, no, no!

  Another dragonfish rose beneath him. Its mouth brushed his legs.

  No! Not my legs!

  Horrible memories of legless men hauled out of the sea clouded his mind with panic. He'd rather drown than bleed to death on deck in terrible agony.

  Help!

  He would drown if he didn't get to the surface. He'd had no time to fill his lungs with air before—

  A flailing spiked tail broadsided him, snapping his head around, tearing open his flesh and nearly knocking him unconscious. Only the trained instincts of the sea-born kept him from involuntarily inhaling—and drowning.

  Get out, get out, get out!

  He boldly pushed between two enormous, heaving bodies which struggled in the maze. He prayed they were too panicked to notice a puny thing like him right now. He prayed that the smell of his blood, now clouding around him, would be concealed by the scent of their own.

  Through the wine-dark water, he saw lights flickering above him again. Hope blossomed in him. If he could break the surface. If his family could pull him out before—

  A huge body sank down upon him from overhead, pushing him back down.

  No!

  He kicked wildly. Swam out from under it. Got tangled in the net of the maze.

  The heavy weight of another dragonfish careened into him, trapping him against the net. The tough fiber of the net cut into his skin as he was pushed harder and harder against it.

  His lungs burned like the Fires of Dar. He was dizzy, growing weak. The weight of the dragonfish would crush him in another moment, leaving his mangled carcass dangling from the net.

  Sanity came to him a moment before death did. What a fool he was! Instead of pushing uselessly against the net, he now reached through it, then let his right arm grasp the small knife sheathed at his waist. All sea-born folk carried one to cut tangled lines, nets, and seaweed.

  Fighting the fatal instinct to inhale, Zarien cut through the net's tough fibers and freed himself, slipping out of the deadly maze. He had sunk far below the surface, but hope renewed his strength as he rose through the blood-darkened water.

  It was the blood, of course, that prevented him from seeing the dragonfish until it was upon him.

  As its great jaws closed around his torso and its gleaming ivory teeth sank into his flesh, Zarien screamed. Water filled his mouth, his throat, and his lungs, but the agony of the dragonfish's attack was the only sensation he knew as it dragged him down to the age-old destiny of the sea-born folk.

  Chapter Two

  From one thing, another is born.

  —Tansen

  The arms which held Zarien were cool and soft, pulling him ever deeper into the dark water.

  His thoughts returned slowly, coming to him one by one, like lazy waves lapping at the side of a boat. He was underwater. He felt peaceful and serene. He wasn't holding his breath, nor was he drowning. Someone soft and voluptuous and cool-skinned embraced him. He felt no pain. No pain....

  The dragonfish!

  He gave a panicked start as terror quickened his heart. The lush arms tightened their hold around him. He struggled against the embrace, confused and scared.

  There is nothing to fear.

  The rich and unfamiliar feminine voice filled his head. It seemed to come from within him as much as from all around him. Increasingly alarmed, he struggled harder.

  You're safe now.

  They were going deeper and deeper, strong strokes propelling them ever further from the surface and survival.

  What happened to the dragonfish? Zarien wondered.

  I took you from her.

  He went rigidly still. A cold certainty flooded him. He tried to speak, but water filled his mouth. So he asked the question in silence: Are you Death?

  The gentle laughter which greeted this question seemed so incongruous that his eyes snapped open—which was when he finally realized they'd been closed.

  The darkness surrounding him at this depth was made all the more apparent by the brilliant incandescence of the female creature who held him in her arms. Zarien drew in a sharp breath of astonishment. The fact that this action didn't make him gag or cough, even as he felt the cool water flood his lungs, was startling enough to distract him for a moment. He stared at his companion in bewilderment, now also realizing how inexplicably clear his vision was.

  You're safe now, she repeated.

  She was as beautiful as she was strange, with veil-like fins flaring around her translucent body, revealing and concealing her voluptuous form as they flowed back and forth. Zarien, who had never before seen a naked woman who wasn't a blood relative, couldn't help staring. Her diaphanous skin glowed silvery-pale, like the moons on a misty night. Her full hips flowed down to a sleek tail whose undulations kept propelling both of them away from all that Zarien knew. Heat crept through his cold limbs as he became aware of the soft globes of her breasts pressed
against him. Instead of hair, something like spun pearls grew from her scalp, flowing around her in pellucid strands. She must be a dream. Or perhaps...

  A goddess?

  No, he must be dreaming.

  You're not dreaming. You fell overboard and were killed by a dragonfish.

  Then I am dead? he asked in sorrow.

  Not for long.

  You will return me to my family?

  In a way.

  Bewildered, he risked another question. What has happened?

  Ah.

  She slowly released him from her grasp, then slid her cool palms along his arms until she was holding his hands. She felt like both flesh and water, both real and unreal, firm and fluid all at once.

  The moment he was free of her protective embrace, he could feel the tremendous power of the underwater current. It pulled at his body, dragging fiercely at his weight. Only the grip on his hands kept him from being swept into the current's eddy.

  Face to face with the sea goddess now, his gaze was inexorably drawn to hers. He looked into the depthless pools of her eyes and saw his fate revealed there, the events of the bharata reenacted within her glimmering gaze. He saw himself, foolish in his eagerness, fall overboard when Linyan's oarboat collided with his own. He watched his own struggles beneath the sea's surface, and he wanted to weep when he saw how ferociously the dragonfish had attacked, mauled, and killed him. He saw the goddess tangle fiercely with the dragonfish, then carry his lifeless body away in victory. Embarrassment flooded him as he saw her press her translucent lips against his to breathe life back into him, and he nearly had to look away when he saw her nurse him from those lush breasts to restore his lifeblood.

  He watched his father return to his mother's boat and tell her and Morven of his death. His mother wept violently as she took a knife and repeatedly cut herself in mourning—an ancient sea-born custom which the Valdani had tried to outlaw. His father, his brother, and his grandfather all blamed themselves for Zarien's death. His mother hoisted dark purple banners from both masts to announce that one of her family had been taken by a dragonfish.

  I must go back, Zarien said.

  His mother's suffering made his heart raw. The guilt and self-condemnation of his male relatives were like the blows of a stahra. But he would end their sorrow, would bring rejoicing and celebration to his clan, if he returned.

  When the goddess didn't respond, he added more insistently, Let me go—please!

  I didn't save you for them. Now the voice in his head, so seductive earlier, was as cold as the sea.

  He pulled himself out of the visions in her depthless eyes and tried to think. He knew enough about the gods to realize that this one would probably want something in return for giving him life after what the dragonfish had done to him. She hadn't saved him just to send him back to his family.

  Of course, he said, aware of the current tugging at his body, aware that the price for life would probably be very high —and death a certainty if he refused. I thank you for my life. What must I do to earn it?

  He could have drowned in the beauty of her smile. You must bring me my consort.

  If Zarien were alive in the normal sense, he would have choked on his surprise. Your consort?

  The time has come. I must have him, and the sea-born folk need him.

  Then you are Sharifar? he guessed.

  Yes.

  His body bobbed in the current as he considered her demand.

  I will be honored to bring him to you, Sharifar. Where will I find him?

  On land.

  He recoiled so sharply that the goddess's own body jerked in response to the tug of his hands, rippling as water rippled in response to sudden movement. I can't set foot on land, he protested. It was unthinkable. She might as well ask the sun to rise in the west.

  Yes, you can.

  I am sea-bound! We do not—

  No, you're not, she said.

  Yes, I am. I'm Lascari!

  Not really.

  My father is—

  Your father was a drylander.

  Take that back! he snapped, heedless of her divinity. My mother has never—

  Your real mother died long ago.

  My moth—He stopped abruptly, realizing what she had just said. My real mother?

  Yes.

  He stared at the goddess in bewildered astonishment for a moment. No, you're wrong.

  You are not Sorin and Palomar's son.

  Of course I am!

  No.

  Sorin and Palomar are—

  They lied to you, she told him gently. Your whole life.

  No! His father a drylander? Absolutely not! No. You're wrong.

  I am Sharifar. I know.

  I don't believe you!

  You—

  You're lying!

  —must—

  No, I won't listen! I am Lascari!

  Zarien.... She warned him against such disrespect by releasing one of his hands. The current tossed him around violently. Sharifar's cool grip on his other hand was his only anchor, his only link to survival. The gods only knew where this current would take him if she let go.

  Darkness surrounded him. Cold filled him. He needed air. He needed to breathe. He would die any moment if he couldn't get air! Panic seized him. Pain consumed him. The deep wounds of the dragonfish's teeth began bleeding again. He'd be dead in moments, whether he drowned, bled to death, or was scented and attacked by another dragonfish.

  He had always believed he would die at sea, perhaps just this way—wounded and drowning... But now he would die not knowing the truth about himself, consumed by this terrible doubt, poisoned by Sharifar's humiliating claim.

  I am Lascari! And he would prove it.

  He would die soon enough. Perhaps even from another dragonfish attack. But he would die knowing who he was, knowing the pride of the Lascari was his by birth. He didn't want to die now, like this, in doubt and shame.

  I will listen, he conceded at last.

  A strong, cool hand grasped his flailing one and brought him face to face with the goddess again. His pain faded, his blood stopped flowing, and his lungs stopped burning. Angry and resentful, Zarien regarded Sharifar stonily and resisted the lure of her exquisite beauty. She smiled sympathetically.

  It's time for you to seek your true father, she told him, just as it is time for me to embrace my consort.

  My true father, he repeated without belief or enthusiasm.

  You will bring my consort to me.

  As you wish, he replied obediently, burning with outrage.

  You will make your own choices about your father.

  He couldn't stop himself, for thoughts flowed with far less control than words: Sorin is my father.

  Sorin raised you, but he is not your father.

  Then why didn't he tell me that himself?

  Because you were only a child.

  Suddenly, despite the goddess's protection, he felt the full weight and chill of the sea's depths again. Could Sharifar's claims possibly be true? Was this appalling discovery something Sorin would have revealed to him once he truly became a man?

  The affectionate name by which he had always known Sorin came unbidden to his thoughts: Papa...

  Sorin cannot be your father any longer.

  But when he knows I'm alive—

  You're going to walk the dryland, she said. You can never be Lascari again. Your sea-bound life is over.

  But I... His mind went blank as her words ripened in his heart. She was right. No matter who was really his father, and no matter how glad the Lascari would be to learn he was alive, setting foot upon land would ensure banishment from the clan for the rest of his life.

  This was the price of his life. He could never be Lascari again.

  He would have preferred death, except that he could not let Sharifar send him incomplete to that shore which had no other shore. He had to know the truth about his birth, about his blood, before he sailed into death.

  I... I will be an outcas
t. If he weren't hovering beyond life, somewhere in the domain of the gods, he would have had to fight tears.

  You will find your own life ashore, she promised.

  The sea is my life.

  The world is changing, Zarien. You must change with it.

  I want to see my—I want to see Sorin, he said suddenly. I want him to tell me. To my face.

  In time, perhaps. Now you must go in search of my consort.

  On land?

  Yes.

  Your consort is... No, surely not. Your consort is a drylander?

  Yes.

  You can't take a drylander as your consort! How can the sea-born accept him as their king?

  He is chosen by Dar.

  Dar is... She is not...

  The volcano rules even the sea-born.

  But the sea-born do not worship—

  The sea-born will accept my consort, as I will accept Dar's choice for my mate.

  Then I... I will bring him, Zarien said with far more resignation than hope. To earn my life, I will bring him to you.

  Perhaps sensing all the doubts he tried to hide from her, Sharifar added, It will be no small thing, Zarien, to bring back the first king of the sea-born in a thousand years.

  That, at least, was true. How will I know him?

  She smiled again. It's enough that I will know him.

  But I— He gasped when she released both his hands, abandoning him to the fierce current. Sharifar!

  She spread her graceful fins through the water and moved forward, following him. The shimmering veils grew larger and larger, covering Zarien, spreading around him like the open sky on a clear day. From this veiled covering emerged a long slender object, slowly floating toward him. He recognized what it was only moments before colliding with it—a stahra, the weapon of a man. Sharifar's gift to him, he supposed.

  He seized the metal-tipped oar in bitter resignation and let it take him where it would. The shimmering veils of the goddess drifted away, leaving him alone in the endless sea. The current shifted and pulled him in a new direction. Free of pain or the need to breathe, he let it carry him according to Sharifar's will, away from her and away from his own death.