by Lyn Worthen
The blow, hard enough to knock someone’s head against the side of the cart, was probably not the reaction that man had been hoping for. “You brought the dragon’s whelp? That demon here? Are you daft? You think a dragon’s gonna pay rather than just rain fire down on us? Which one is he, quickly? We need to kill him and dump him as far away from us as we can. If the dragon catches us with him…”
Dracul realized his fuse was shorter than he had thought. What should he do? Too late to call the dragon unless he just wanted revenge and, really, Kalor would probably do that on his own. But to survive…
He felt a step on the side of the cart as someone called up, “He’s the dark one! I put him in shackles because he’s supposed to be a demon, though he seemed harmless enough to me. Still, must be evil incarnate to make his skin so dark…”
“All the more reason you should have let him be,” whoever was climbing the cart said. The weight shifted as he stepped over the cart’s side. “There he is.”
Suddenly, light flooded the cart as the roof, whatever it was, was snatched away as if by magic. Dracul peered over his loosened blindfold, consumed with both relief and dread, at the sight of his mentor, now in full-sized glory, dropping the shell of the shed he’d ripped away in a field and circling back. Dracul Morsus!
Dracul wasn’t gagged. “Master!”
I did try to tell you, Kalor said, but you cut me off.
Magerus spared a glance for the phoenix, circling in alarm. You may go home, Kalor. I shall deal with this.
Yes, master of my master.
The dragon perched himself on a nearby church and grasped the bell tower, intent on his errant pupil. What are you doing in such a state? Why have you not freed yourself?
“I appear to be shackled in iron and… er… it hampers my magic.” Hopefully, the dragon would not ask when he learned he was susceptible, but the next question was almost as bad.
You knew it would, did you not? How did you allow them to shackle you?
“I was incapacitated, unconsc— It’s a long story.”
I look forward to hearing it.
“Stop, you monstrous beast,” the man who had climbed into the cart said, a blade at Dracul’s throat. “I’ll slit his throat if you don’t leave at once.”
Threaten me, will you, human? Magerus said, letting acrid smoke leak out of both sides of his gaping mouth. He plucked a scale from his own shoulder and, with a flick of his talons, sent it careening down to strike the man threatening Dracul hard enough that he flew backward off the cart. And, as far as Dracul knew, he did not rise again. Too many humans are naught but vermin. Yet, to attack and threaten children is a disgrace to vermin everywhere. He sighed audibly, with a cloud of smoke. I will free you from your shackles, my child. I will leave it to you to show these creatures your power.
As he spoke, the shackles released. Dracul scrambled to his feet with what dignity he could muster. There were half a dozen men clustered around the cart, one recumbent and unmoving. Dracul recognized him as the man who had threatened him earlier. Dracul raised his arms and murmured a spell to the living entities around him. Vines burst from the ground to grow about the men’s legs and up their bodies, binding them in place. Ants and scorpions crawled up men trussed by vines and threatened eyes with their sting or bite – but did not do so. Yet.
“This is my power,” Dracul said, in the measured tones the dragon had taught him. He picked up the fallen blade and began to cut the ropes holding the other youths, who were now awake and regarding him with dread. As Dracul freed them, they scrambled from the cart and ran to join the crowd that was growing in the street.
A round man at the forefront of the mob stepped forward and shook his plump fist at the dragon. “Begone, foul beast. Do not threaten our town. And take your demon spawn with you!”
Dracul looked into the crowd, trying to find the faces of the people he had thought of as friends, but no one met his eyes.
Magerus looked down and blew a smoke ring that fell upon the fat little man. Perhaps he was the mayor. Shall I torch the town as a lesson for their effrontery?
“No!” Dracul called out, then added silently. Not all are guilty and I can punish those that are myself. And there are fathers that will likely have punishments of their own they demand from the law.
Come then, my morsel. It is time I took you home.
Dracul leapt to the ground, ignoring the men he’d trussed with vines, informing his venomous cohorts to bite and sting or not as they chose and then return to safety. As he approached the church, the mayor stomped forward, curses on his lips.
Stand back, little man. You are not rebuilding your town from scratch only because my student is merciful. You will not be unscathed if he is threatened a second time. Magerus reached down his talon and Dracul stepped onto it without hesitation. You are a fool, he added to the townsman. My student is just as human as you, only with more humanity. With that, and a tremendous leap, Magerus launched himself into the sky, his adoptive son safe in this talons.
# # #
Bathed and fed at the dragon’s insistence, Dracul Morsus bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Master.”
I do believe you have been well-punished, more thoroughly than I would have done myself.
“I’m sorry that you were forced to come to my aid,” Dracul said, still stinging from the humiliation.
I am far more perturbed that you did not call for me yourself, but left it for your familiar to do. It is not a sin for a child to need help when facing criminals. Magerus, back to half size, narrowed his brilliant green eyes. Still, you likely learned more in this episode than from a thousand of my lectures, so I don’t doubt I will have to let you free for further adventures.
“Really?”
Magerus chuckled. Clearly, you have not yet learned to be leery. I will indeed. But…
Dracul stopped exulting. Magerus’ buts were infamous. “But…, Master?”
A smile peeled Magerus’ lips back from his sharp white teeth. Only after you have repaid the twenty-seven pieces of gold you stole from my hoard. You might go at once, if you have it on your person.
Dracul smacked his empty pockets though he knew, even if he had saved a few coins, there was no doubt his captors had stolen them. “And if I can’t, Master?”
You can earn them – and interest – back with labor. Magerus said, pulling his head back to reveal Hobart, the overlarge elephant staring disapprovingly at Dracul. I believe Hobart has quite the list of tasks for you.
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C. M. Brennan lives near Chicago with her husband. When not writing, she has worked as a graphic designer, actor, and director. She has written radio drama and gaming materials and her stories have appeared in Dragon Magazine and various anthologies. She is a graduate of Taos Toolbox, and an active member of SFWA and Codex. You can find her online at https://brennancm.wordpress.com
About this story, C.M. says: “In 2018, Peruvian archaeologists discovered over fifty previously undetected geoglyphs dated to 400-700 years before the famous Nazca lines, but know little about the glyphs’ creators. On Valentine’s Day of that same year, a gunman killed seventeen people at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. In the wake of the Parkland massacre, brave students began – and continue – to agitate for gun reform. I thought of those students while reading about the Peruvian geoglyphs. Their commitment to developing a better society than their elders left them was inspirational. Star Dragon is the result.”
It takes real courage to stand up for your convictions when challenged by people who are older and think themselves wiser than you. And though difficult, the way ahead is usually through learning to work together.
Star Dragon
C. M. Brennan
Amaru, stretched thin, holds herself together through will alone. She has grown used to the cold. Though she wept for millennia at being flung from her planet, though the vacuum of space changed her form, she accepts her new life in the heavens.
>
She holds tight to the bones of her spine ridge, the tip of her tail, her wing pins. What Amaru treasures most are her eyes. They allow her to watch an ordinary yellow star and one of its satellites – the blue-green gem where she once lived.
# # #
I clung to my father even as he peeled my fingers from his arm and bent them backward. I yelped in pain, stumbled, and fell. The loose dust of the animal enclosure puffed into my face, choking me as I scooted away from him.
The llamas rustled and moaned. I pulled my hand to my chest before a sharp hoof landed on it. Tears stung my eyes. While Mother was the rule giver, Father had been my comforter. He contradicted none of Mother’s decrees, but he always sympathized if I complained.
I tried another appeal. “I’m frightened.”
“You should be, Chaska.” He showed me his back, moving to the tall basket where he kept his herding supplies.
Still shocked by Father’s strange behavior, the thick smoke that filled the air, and the screams that had roused us in the night, I could only watch. He gathered tools, water skins, a blanket, and the bone flute he had been teaching me to play. “Take the animals east, girl. Head for the stars of the Waterbearer.”
I’d taken the herd out alone before, but only when the grazing was close, and I could return by nightfall. If we’d be gone overnight, we always went together. And we never left in the middle of the night.
“Chaska. Daughter. This is the only way.” His voice cracked and then I was truly afraid.
He fastened a pack onto Izhi, the lead llama, and thrust a staff at me. “There’s only a bit of dried fish, Chaska. Even if we could make it to the grain stores, they’re empty. Try to trap some cuy when you get far enough away.”
“But where am I to go?”
“The highlands. Your mother and I will come as soon as we can.”
He’d search for Mother at the amphitheater. She was with the rest of the traders’ council as they formed plans to stop the rioting. The Lady or the temple clerics should have quenched the unrest, but it was their actions that had provoked these riots. The Lady herself had been the first victim of angry citizens.
“Is this happening because of Hwillak?” I asked. Our city had once celebrated Hwillak, a high-ranking priest, as the wisest man in Llaxta. But he and the Lady had argued once too often. She’d ordered the other clerics to perform a ritual banishment on him. Those who saw Hwillak afterward described a gibbering wanderer who shuffled out of Llaxta with only the robes on his back.
“Not all of it. There was trouble long before that.”
I knew. At the ceremony for my first moon-bleeding, the priestess told my parents I had the gifts to join their order, but Mother had refused to consider it. I’d tried to get Father’s support, but he’d agreed with her. “Don’t get tangled up in that. After the droughts and bad fishing, people are impatient with those in power.”
I’d argued that if I were a priestess, I’d show the others they couldn’t rule through might and magic alone.
I couldn’t convince my parents. Father continued to train me as a llama herder while Mother taught me to spin wool and make cloth from it.
Two years later, and with Hwillak gone, the citizens’ anger had only grown. I licked my dry lips. “How long can the riots go on?”
Father shook his head. “Unrest feeds itself but only becomes hungrier.”
I threw my arms around him. “Don’t talk that way! You sound like Hwillak.”
“He was wise. Too bad the Lady ignored his warnings. Now I must find your mother. Go.”
“But… for how long?” My tears spilled again as I wondered if this was the last time I’d see either parent.
“I don’t know. I’ll signal you when we’re coming.”
“How?”
He cast his eyes up, thinking. “When I play the Mayu on my flute. Then you’ll know.”
“Only if you play it the way you usually do.” I hiccupped as an inappropriate laugh threatened to overtake me. Father allowed himself a smirk. He always made one mistake when playing the song of Mayu. He would stop at that sour note to say, “That’s not how it goes.”
“Can’t you play the real note?” I’d asked.
“No. I agreed to give up magic when I joined your mother’s clan,” he’d answered.
Now he said, “I’ll play it as I always do. Go.”
I kissed his hand. He pushed me in the opposite direction of the mob’s roar and the flames which enveloped the temple. “Take back lanes and keep the llamas quiet. Don’t stop until you’re well out of the city.”
An orange glow from the burning temple mounds lit our way. I moved the herd through flickering shadows. Left to themselves, the llamas were faster than I, but if I let them get ahead of me, it might take days to find them again.
My pounding heart propelled me. I only stopped after I tripped over an unseen rock to land face first in dusty grass. The darkness had grown. Only Mayu’s luminous swath of star dust, shining down from the heavens, shed any light on the hills. The mob’s shouts had long faded.
I could go no farther. Our flight must have tired even the llamas, for when I stopped, so did they. My sweat cooled in the night air. I shivered and wrapped myself in the blanket Mother had woven with the design of the Llama and Baby Llama constellation. The wool smelled of sweet holy bush resin. The priestesses prescribed the plant to bring on good sleep, so Mother always tucked bundles of it into our blankets.
Despite the soothing scent, I couldn’t sleep. The Waterbearer burned my eyes.
I searched the sky for friendlier constellations. The Llama and her Baby floated, dark in Mayu’s bright river. As always, Mother Llama’s face looked misshapen. One eye dripped down the side of her face, settling onto her neck. To one side, the Toad and the Partridge guarded her from the Serpent. On the other, the Herder prevented the Fox from making mischief.
Another dark creature floated in Mayu’s sky river – one Father had never named. Unlike the Llama, this constellation’s two starry eyes, centered between what might be great wings, seemed to focus on me.
“It’s too powerful,” he had explained. “I have no right to name it. I don’t know if anyone does.”
“Not even Hwillak?”
Father’s face had shuttered at that. I never pressed him when he wore that expression.
Hwillak might have known the star creature’s name, but if he still lived, the banishment ritual had ruined his mind. I stared at the constellation’s stretched shape and yearned to know its story. “How did you get up there? What happened to you?”
Even as I murmured the question, the constellation changed in front of my exhausted eyes.
Its outline shimmered in every color of the rainbow.
# # #
On the sparkling blue and green surface of her former home, a red dot blooms. Amaru cannot tell how large it is. Time and space feel different in her new life. Still, the crimson blot throbs with sorrow and terror. The memory of her loss returns, and with it comes the urge to relieve the distress she senses.
Her home was perfect once. But when a meteor hit, annihilating or expelling her kind, it was a place of fire, pain, and fear. Amaru has long consoled herself knowing that World Mother, though injured, is strong. But now Amaru sees this red stain.
She wants to help. She can break the forces that both hold her together and tether her to this place. As strong as she is, though, she will not arrive in one piece unless someone summons her.
The planet’s name returns to her: Earth. It has its own note in the celestial melody. Amaru will never forget it. She sings the Song of Mayu into the void and waits for a response.
# # #
As light from the strange constellation’s eyes pierced me, the song of Mayu filled me. I scrambled uphill and strained my ears. I prayed to our family’s god: Please, let this be Father’s flute.
The tone wasn’t that of a flute, a voice, or any other instrument I knew. The llamas drowsed, not hearing the music. I rea
lized it must only be playing in my mind.
Fear squeezed my heart. Did this mean Father was dead and now his spirit made this music? But then a note – different from the mistake Father always made – sounded in my mind. The true note held the hint of a word, one I had never heard before.
What could create such a sound in my mind, so detailed, perfect, and true?
If my father played, the message was not the one we agreed on. Still, someone was sending me a message. To discover what it meant, I must let them know I heard it.
I fumbled for my sack and put my flute to my lips. The tune came easily until I came to the note Father always misplayed. After the briefest of hesitations, I played the true note.
A vibration surged through me and warmth filled me. The constellation’s eyes flared even brighter, and I paused, astonished. The flute slipped from between my lips. The warmth and the light receded.
I began again. This time I played the tune to the end. A warmth, like that of midday, suffused me. The valley grasses glowed with their own light. The llamas woke from their drowsing, alert but not alarmed. I let the melody fill me and played it over and over. It comforted me.
Into this dreaming peace, sudden cold darkness fell. Izhi honked, raising cries among the other llamas. The hairs on my arms lifted. They crackled with the same power I remembered feeling during holy days at the temple. The rank smell of an unwashed human filled my nostrils.
“Stupid one!” The sharp words, pronounced nearer than I expected, hit me like a slap.
I felt, rather than saw, someone rush at me. Though the magical darkness rendered me sightless, I realized who it was. Hwillak’s deep voice, remembered from a dozen ceremonies, was unmistakable.
We landed on the ground in a heap. Hwillak’s weight stopped my breath as he grabbed for the flute, but I held tight. His fingernails dug painful scratches in my face. I pulled my arms tighter into my body.
He stopped. I thought I’d gained a reprieve until something hard crashed against my skull. My vision filled with stars. Hwillak pulled the flute from my grasp. He got off me, and I sucked in lungfuls of air.