Dragon and Phoenix

by Joanne Bertin

  Her mask of calmness shattered like thin river ice under a heavy blow. Frightened for her child, Shei-Luin forgot when she was for a moment. “Get Yesuin. Tell—Phoenix help me, I forgot,” she wept, sinking to her knees in despair. “He’s not here anymore.

  “Murohshei, Murohshei—what shall I do? My baby; they have my …” She cried as she had not cried in years, her heart frozen with a mother’s grief.

  “Lady,” he said, “we can only go on.”

  The temple and its grounds were theirs. They were patrolling it, looking for stray bands of priests, when they heard a sound of unearthly beauty.

  Amura and his band followed the singing. Never, Amura thought, had he heard such a voice. It filled his heart until he thought he would weep; such splendor was more than mortal man was meant to know.

  Though it was long past dawn, the voice rose now in the solo passage from the Song. Amura had heard it a few times when he’d chanced to be in the temple on early errands; never had it held such beauty or such power. He led his party beyond an outcropping of rock and stopped in amazement, for the singer was Hodai.

  So—the rumors were true. By some miracle—or magery—the old nira’s Oracle had found a voice. And such a voice!

  The boy stood close to the edge of the cliff, facing them and the east, his hands clasped to his thin chest. He seemed not to see them as he sang. The ancient words flowed like liquid gold from his lips, soaring up and up into the final triumpant paean. This was the crowning glory of the Song. This was beauty to break the heart.

  But just as it reached the final note, the crystal purity of Hodai’s voice shattered. Amura cried out. His sword fell from suddenly nerveless fingers, and he covered his ears against the terrible betrayal.

  A moment later he recovered himself. He almost couldn’t bear to look at Hodai; what must the poor child be feeling?

  But Hodai’s face was blank; then sad wonder filled it. His lips parted. “Gahunk?” he said softly, to himself. His shoulders slumped. More animal-like sounds followed, all in that same tone of resigned sorrow. The now-pale lips closed once more.

  For the first time, Hodai seemed to notice he was not alone. His eyes met Amura’s, and Amura hoped he never saw such despair in a child’s face again. He walked forward slowly so as not to frighten the former Oracle, his hand outstretched. Zhantse would find a place for the boy in the tribe.

  Hodai bowed his head; his hands spread in a gesture of defeat. Then, before Amura could close the distance between them, Hodai drew himself up as proudly as if he stood before the Phoenix Throne and turned away. Three quick, decisive steps brought him to the edge of the cliff—and beyond.

  Amura cried, “No!” as the boy disappeared from view. Too stunned to move, to do anything, he stared at the spot Hodai had stepped from.

  He should go look. He couldn’t. Not for a hundred sheep and a hundred horses—wealth untold to his people—could he stand to look upon the small, broken body now lying far below. It would break his heart. Instead, Amura spun on his heel and led his men away. They followed without a word; one or two—fathers, they were—wept quietly, perhaps imagining their own children sprawled upon blood-stained rocks.

  Amura glanced up at the sun; vultures dotted the sky already. He broke into a trot. It was long past time, he thought, to see the Vale again.

  Linden came to rest on the ground some distance from the pyre that consumed both Pirakos and the phoenix. Yet even from this distance the heat of the towering flames beat against him, and it came to his mind that this was no natural fire. For, in his dragon form, he was immune to a natural blaze of any size; he’d once flown through the wind-whipped flames of a forest fire and felt nothing more than a pleasant warmth. Only a fire born of magic could cause the discomfort he felt now. And where the intense heat licked at his wounds, there came short, stabbing flashes of pain that he ignored. He was too exhausted—and saddened—to care.

  They had done what they’d come to do. And failed. Never again would Pirakos see the mountains of the north.

  But he died the death he wanted, Linden.

  Linden’s head snapped up. The mindvoice had a clarity to it he’d never heard before, but he knew that voice as well as his own. He just couldn’t believe he heard it now. How had she gotten here so soon after Pirakos? Not even a Llysanyin could come so far so quickly. Maurynna-love? he said in disbelief.

  The voice in his mind went on, He died cleanly, not like a wounded animal trapped in its own filth.

  It was Maurynna! The darkness lifted from his heart. Forgetting his wounds, Linden reared up onto his hind legs, wings fanning to hold him upright. He looked wildly around. No, there was no Llysanyin with a beloved figure upon its back racing through the ruins of the city.

  Look up, silly, the laughing mindvoice said. The love in it washed over him like springtime after a long, bitter winter.

  Linden did as she bade. In the distance he saw a dragon silhouetted against the sky. Scales the iridescent blues and greens of a peacock’s tail flashed in the sunlight. With a roar of pure joy, Linden sprang into the sky and raced to meet her.

  By Maurynna’s side flew another dragon, this one black. For a moment Linden thought it was Jekkanadar, and wondered where Lleld was. Then he realized this was no Dragonlord he’d ever seen before. A young truedragon, then, wounded in the ill-fated rescue attempt and left behind? No, Morlen would never abandon one of his kinswyrms; the old truedragon would have stayed.

  So who—and what—was the mysterious stranger?

  In the first flush of excitement, Linden hadn’t noticed how Maurynna and the strange dragon’s wings trembled with weariness. But now he did, and said to them, Land before you both fall from the sky.

  It was also, he realized, damn good advice for himself as well. He angled back toward the place he had just left. Once more he landed, but this time with a lighter heart. The others followed, the black dragon in the lead.

  Linden studied the strange dragon as it landed. It was black, like Jekkanadar, but didn’t have the brownish blotch on its right hind leg that the Assantikkan Dragonlord did, and was, Linden thought, a little larger than Jekkanadar.

  Was this a youngling truedragon, left behind, or could he dare hope … .

  Then he forgot all speculation as Maurynna landed and stretched out her neck to him. Wishing they were alone—and in human form—so that he could be more … demonstrative, he laid his scaled cheek against hers.

  Heart of my heart, he whispered in her mind.

  But before she could answer, a wild singing brought them all around. It was equal parts of pain and joy, and more terribly beautiful than anything Linden had ever heard. It raged through heart and mind, and he knew he’d hear it in his dreams for the rest of his life.

  At first he couldn’t tell from where it came. Then his dragonsight caught a movement in the blaze that consumed the enemies, a darker gold amid the towering yellow and red flames.

  The song came from the very heart of the fire.

  The priests were getting bolder, and he didn’t dare flame them. Jekkanadar knew the walls would just reflect his own fire back at him—the one kind of fire that could hurt him.

  But the priests had found spears somewhere, and crept closer and closer. The sharp heads glinted wickedly in the sunlight.

  Damn, he’d no wish to be stabbed to death. Jekkanadar drew breath; this would be quicker.

  Flames washed over him then, blue-green flames like a cool mountain stream. Yelping in surprised relief, Jekkanadar sprang into the air, his wing whole once more.

  Damn it all! a voice yelped in his mind. Watch where you’re going! Now let’s get out of here.

  Higher and wilder the song became. There were no words to it, just notes like liquid gold shimmering in the air, rising upon the fragrant smoke to the heavens. And still the dark form moved within the flames. Indeed, it seemed larger now, and more substantial. After a moment, Linden realized that it moved in rhythm with the singing.

  He also real
ized that the flames were dying down faster than he would have expected. The building that Pirakos and his enemy had crashed into was large enough, he’d thought, to burn far longer than this.

  Then two things became clear at the same time; the knowledge hit Linden like a blow. For with each heartbeat the fire died a little more. And as the fire died, the figure within the blaze became more distinct.

  The phoenix—a strange mindvoice gasped in Linden’s mind.

  He knew it was the stranger. As one part of his mind wondered that the unknown one spoke Yerrin—although with a trace of an accent he didn’t recognize—Linden finished, Is renewing itself.

  Moment by moment, the song of the phoenix turned from pain to joy. The last of the flames died away, revealing a giant golden bird like the one Linden had just confronted—and helped send to its death. He braced himself for another attack.

  The bird’s head turned so that one scarlet eye stared at them.

  Linden caught his breath. Scarlet. Not green, but scarlet—like a dragon’s.

  *No. Not death. Release.*

  The mindvoice was tentative, as if unsure of how to use words. Indeed, Linden wasn’t certain if he really heard words, or just fitted them to the emotions that suffused the mindvoice.

  *Friends. Guard. Not let … capture again.*

  Fear filled the mindvoice. The phoenix held out its wings as if in supplication.

  Its feathers need to harden, the stranger said. His eyes were huge as he watched the phoenix.

  *Yes. Help.*

  We will, Linden answered with the others. He sprang into the air first and flew the short distance to the young phoenix. He landed, careful not to get too close to the wings. The others did the same.

  The young phoenix spread its wings, fanning them gently, then stretching out first one, then the other. The color of the feathers rippled, changing from the purest yellow to red-gold. At last the colors settled to a rich gold like an old coin, with the wing and tail feathers tipped with a ruddier gold. And when the phoenix raised its wings as if paying homage to the sun, Linden was certain he saw a greenish tint underlying the feathers of its throat. A tint he had not seen on the phoenix he’d fought.

  Then the wings swept down and the phoenix rose lightly from the earth. *Free now!* it sang.

  Indeed, yes, Linden thought as they watched the phoenix fly swiftly into the sky and disappear. They were all free now, especially those two who had suffered the most.

  Linden?

  He turned to Maurynna. Long fangs greeted him; startled, he flinched back. Blue-green flames washed over him.

  At once his wounds ceased hurting and the ache disappeared from his muscles.

  You’ve no idea, Maurynna said smugly, how long I’ve been waiting to do that.

  Lleld and Jekkanadar settled to the ground to rest. I’ll mindcall Linden, tell him what’s happened.

  Jekkanadar was only too happy to agree. Since they’d landed in an uninhabited area, he laid his long neck on the ground and closed his eyes. Lleld spread a wing over him.

  He was almost asleep when he heard Lleld shriek By the gods!

  He sprang up, looking wildly around for enemies. What’s wrong?

  Linden said there’s nothing we can do in Rivasha; both Pirakos and the phoenix are free, though Pirakos died—he thinks. He said to return to the Zharmatians for Otter, Yesuin, and the Llysanyins.

  None of which was cause for nearly frightening him to death. Lleld—what aren’t you telling me?

  Her mouth opened in a dragon’s grin. Maurynna wasn’t the only one no one felt! There’s another new Dragonlord, she caroled in joy.

  All Jekkanadar could find to say was, By all the gods … . Then he threw back his head and roared with happiness.

  Ending the conversation with Lleld, Linden said, We must do something about the fires.

  But what? Maurynna fretted. There’s no way we can bring enough water to—

  A voice like gentle rain broke into her mind. *Thee cannot—but we can.*

  She looked up in astonishment and gasped. For drifting in the sky were six ghostly dragons, long and slender like Miune. They were the color of fog, glittering here and there like mother-of-pearl.

  A soft rain began to fall. All around them the flames hissed and died.

  The Rain Lords, she thought in wonder.

  Miune had been right.

  Fifty-nine

  The first message raced through the mehanso like the wind before a storm: Strangers approach. Many strangers. It came with the running feet of the children, who spread the word as they raced to their homes. While Shima translated it for them, Linden watched from the rooftop as mothers hurried out of the stone houses and hustled the children deeper into the canyon.

  “Where are they going?” he asked.

  “To the Pillar,” Shima answered from behind him. “It’s an island of rock rising from the canyon floor. My people retreat there during invasions. No enemy has ever taken it.”

  Linden looked over his shoulder. “Do you think this is an invasion?” He pushed away from the low wall he leaned on. “We’ll need room to Cha—” He looked up at the sound of flapping wings. “What on … ?

  A small—as dragons went—fiery red dragon glided in circles above the canyon.

  “Lleld!” cried Linden, Maurynna, and Raven together.

  “Ah,” said Shima. “This is the Lady Mayhem you told me of?”

  Maurynna nodded. “The same.”

  Linden changed to mindspeech and greeted Lleld, letting the others “listen” in.

  Lleld rolled in the air. What a lovely place to fly—the currents are strong! I saw the children being herded away, but everything’s well. It’s only our party approaching. She rolled again. Silvery laughter bubbled in Linden’s mind.

  How long? he asked.

  Four, perhaps five candlemarks. The three of us and Shan could be there sooner, but the Zharmatian horses can’t match the Llysanyins. Oh, and speaking of Llysanyins, Shan is a … tad annoyed that you never came back for him, Linden.

  The last was said far too innocently for Linden’s peace of mind. He could just imagine Shan’s temper; a “tad annoyed” his ass. Making a mental note to stay out of reach of hooves and teeth, Linden slid a snake-eyed look over his shoulder as Maurynna and Raven burst into laughter.

  “I’ll remember that,” Linden muttered at them.

  I must return, said Lleld. She banked out of her lazy circling and flew back the way she had come. Then, faintly, came, Do remember to dodge, Linden.

  “Shima,” Maurynna said, wiping her eyes, “does your mother have a good supply of bandages to hand?” Once again, she and Raven dissolved into laughter.

  A puzzled Shima looked in mute appeal at Linden.

  “Ignore them,” he growled. “They think they’re funny. Shan has a bit of a temper sometimes, that’s all.” Linden stalked off down the stairs hugging the outside wall, pointedly ignoring Maurynna and Raven.

  Above him he heard Shima ask in a worried voice, “Bandages? Temper? Are all Llysanyins like that?” and the others trying to reassure him between bouts of laughter.

  No, Linden wanted to yell back. I was just the lucky one.

  Damnation. Maybe he could find an apple somewhere.

  Jhanun would pay. For now he had escaped her but, by the Phoenix, he would pay for the theft of her child.

  Dressed in tunic and breeches of Zharmatian cut, but made of Jehangli imperial brocades, Shei-Luin rode at the head of a troop of soldiers as they galloped along the main road to the capital. Xahnu rode pillion behind her as a Zharmatian child would. When he tired, Murohshei would take him.

  Once I am in the capital again, I must consolidate my power, for there will be war—I know it. Jhanun will fight me to the death for Jehanglan, for he is a man. But I am a mother—and will hound him beyond the gates of Death for my youngest son should any harm befall Xu.

  Jhanun did not yet know what he faced. But he would—if it took her the rest of the
both of their lives, he would learn.

  It wasn’t quite as bad as he’d thought it would be. Linden and the others stood with the Tah’nehsieh leaders as Lleld, Jekkanadar, and Otter, with the whooping Zharmatians ranging behind, cantered into the valley. Leading them all was Shan.

  When the stallion saw Linden, he neighed angrily and broke into a dead run. Linden stepped forward and held his ground. He heard gasps behind him as the charging stallion closed the distance with no sign of stopping.

  Linden hoped Shan knew what he was doing. Hell—he hoped he knew what he was doing. If Shan didn’t stop in the next few heartbeats, it would be impossible for him to end the lethal charge.

  He’s gone too—!

  Somehow Shan did the impossible. At what Linden would have thought beyond the last possible instant, Shan skidded to a halt in front of him, nearly sitting in the dust to do so.

  The next thing Linden knew, strong white teeth snapped in his face and at his chest, once, twice, a half a dozen times almost before he could blink. Finished, Shan turned his head so that one angry eye was fixed on Linden. The stallion’s ears were pinned tight against his head.

  “Are you quite through?” Linden asked mildly.

  Shan snapped once more at Linden’s face.

  “Look what I found.” Linden reached into his belt pouch and held aloft his prize—a dried apple.

  One black ear twitched forward, then the other. They quivered with anticipation.

  For one moment, Linden considered teasing Shan with the apple, then decided that he’d no wish for a broken foot or worse, even if Maurynna could Heal him now. He held the wrinkled morsel out on his palm. “Here.”

  The apple disappeared with a loud crunch.

  “Friends again?”