Aranya Treasury - The Complete Shapeshifter Dragons Series, page 114
She shivered, staring unseeing into the fiery orange-red wall across the maelstrom, tasting eerie clues and fire-stoking whispers upon the desiccated breeze.
“You see what?” Aranya prompted.
A White Dragoness reborn! Zip heard herself cry. Then, darkness seized her.
* * * *
Four and a half hours saw them traverse the maelstrom. With the Azure laid low by her own paw, Aranya rode the metal disk into the upward-pouring fires around noon. The Foam-Riders worked unstintingly, while she stood alongside the crook of the first knuckle of Leandrial’s fore-talon, and tried not to think of how that joint alone was longer and wider than a fledgling Dragoness. The others rested and talked through Zuziana’s proposal of creating metal armour for Leandrial; later, Aranya debated the conundrum of the Rift-Storm’s Balance or Imbalance with her companions.
Now, even Zuziana was given to prophetic utterance?
At least, she harboured new hope …
We will return for your shell-daughter, Great Fra’anior, she said suddenly. We will find a way.
Thunder crashed at the fringes of her awareness.
The swirling curtain of lava-fire parted before them, crimsons and oranges and yellows playing with incendiary abandon, similarly to the inside of one’s eyelids when a person turned their shuttered eyes to face the noon brunt of the twin suns. The Haven pressed in. A pale orange mist played around its nose and sides, as the metal heated up to a furnace glow. The motion changed, swaying and trembling as the screaming storm slowly enfolded the metal disk. No Foam-Rider shirked its duty. Aranya had learned they had no gender. New creatures budded off the old in an organic process decided by the ‘Chief-fire’, who seemed to be a caretaker or god.
To Balance the Rift-Storm as she had immediately imagined, thereby wiping it out, would destroy these creatures. How could it be right to destroy life, even life that thrived amidst perverse magic? And if the Rift vanished by some miracle, where would all this uncanny power … go? It must originate from somewhere – for could she imagine that there might be a world beyond her own mountain-enclosed Island-World, these trapped fires finding ways to burst forth out there and destroy all life, whereas via the Rift-Storm their abominable taint was contained or dealt with in some manner beyond her ken …
She shivered so hard, Aranya lost another two scales. They had been loose. Va’assia said that some scale-turnover was normal for Dragons, but too much was unhealthy.
She whispered, Balance is so problematical.
Leandrial replied, Aye, little one. Balance is the simplicity of a petal, and the complexity of the Universe’s own song. It was Fra’anior himself, your grandsire, who did say, ‘The more I learned of Balance, the less I understood.’
If the Great Onyx himself could not … Aranya fell silent, feeling crushed.
In response, the great Dragoness bent that massive digit a little more, clumsily stroking Aranya’s flank. I wish thou wert mine own shell-daughter, little one. I did once mislay the Pygmy Dragoness. Never again, did I swear. Never again!
I am in mine hearts, the Immadian responded impulsively. Thou art mother, teacher, comforter and friend, Leandrial; mine staunch right paw. No Dragoness could ask for more in this life.
All between them was an absolute accord of fires.
Presently, the great muzzle bent until the light of Leandrial’s single eye burned upon the Amethyst Dragoness. In that glorious wash, light sang to light and sonorous tones played within melodies within threnodies, until the infinitesimal attained the infinite and what could be known was only the song of a moment, and each fleeting moment could but hint at the far greater, ultimately ungraspable tessellations of eternity.
So Aranya meditated; the day flowed into the past, and the companions slept in a protected haven amidst the ever-fires of the Rift-Storm.
By evening of the following day, the Dragons estimated they had travelled roughly three hundred leagues westward from the maelstrom. The enigma of their destination seemed no closer to revelation. Each time Aranya inquired, the Foam-Riders cried, or But they were willing to answer such questions as she could fashion about their environment – so she learned that the Rift-Storm grew wider the further West they travelled, and that there were many Havens. The Riders believed that the fires were generated by the Storm Elementals they had named before, creatures which dwelled beneath what they described as dark, solid earth – rock, she assumed, in the world’s core-fires. She teased out of them that Thoralian and Shurgal had both passed through; Shurgal’s passage was enshrined in their legends as forged by a fiery kernel of white-magic in his possession that ‘burned fire itself’ – unquestionably a description of the First Egg – and Thoralian on the wings of ‘evil, life-stealing non-magic’. Urzul.
Although Dragon-senses measured time without need for reference to suns, moons or stars, evening in this environment was hardly worth the name. The fires only appeared to burn brighter as the ambient light, somewhere above and around the Rift-Storm, faded. Indeed, the Foam-Dwellers had a word for darkness which translated as ‘the absence of fires’, apparently, a source of great agitation or fear.
At last, Aranya stirred, sensing excitement amongst the Foam-Riders.
Aye, said Leandrial. Her companion’s shields coalesced at once. You sense rightly. Many presences surround us and ahead, a mighty Fire of Fires … such as even I have never encountered. A majestic being of yore.
Aranya regarded Leandrial with wonder. Aye?
Observe.
The awestruck quaver in the Dragoness’ voice triggered a simultaneous lurch in the Amethyst’s three Dragoness-hearts.
The Haven nosed out once more into a place where the Rift-Storm had become divided in a complex pattern that originated somehow in the rock-formations she saw ahead and far, far below, at the limit of her Dragon sight – in the vertical dimension! Her talons tightened painfully on the Haven’s edge. As they passed over this illimitable abyss, demarcated at its edges by fountains of pearlescent, rainbow-hued fires, she saw Ardan and Zuziana similarly taking a better grip, even if it was on metal impenetrable to their talons, but entirely penetrable by Leandrial’s special Land Dragon magic.
Aranya caught her breath. Here, the Rift-Storm revealed at last its inner beauty – a terrible, soul-crushing beauty that cast into insignificance the reality one had taken for granted. The colours hypnotised. The scale dwarfed even Leandrial. Every fibre of her being thrilled with the knowledge that only an ancient, magnificent and even holy creature must claim such a setting for its habitation.
Ri’arion exclaimed, “Look at all the Havens!”
Many, many metal Havens peeked out of the storm-fires as though neatly shelved by a gigantic paw in regular rows, stacked perhaps a mile apart vertically and horizontally. Aranya counted thirty layers from below to far above, where the Rift-fires bent inward to obscure what might have been a view of the stars. Even here there was no respite. Leandrial laboured to extend her shields around them, especially Ri’arion, who was far more vulnerable to the heat than any of the Dragonkind.
Zip added, “The pattern strikes me as a Dragon’s paw-print. Look. Three peninsulas of rock out there. There are two behind us divided by the fire we’re travelling upon right now – three forward and two rear-facing. Structurally, a classic Dragon’s paw.”
“And a central column of fire arising from the Dragon’s palm,” added Ri’arion, patting his Dragoness approvingly.
Zip purred, “Aye, but I wouldn’t want to meet the Dragon whose palm print was ten leagues wide and twenty long, not counting his talons. He’d make even Leandrial look like a hatchling.”
Leandrial vented a decidedly muzzle-out-of-joint snort.
“See, we can’t always be the biggest in this life,” sniped the Azure, with a cheeky glint of her fangs.
Aranya growled at Zip, Don’t press your luck, Remoy.
“Perhaps I should investigate how big a splodge you’d make on this metal if I stepped on you, little one?” suggested the behemoth, with suitably expansive dignity.
As the disk slowed at the apex of the fires sandwiched between the two eastward-pointing ‘talons’, the great column of fire facing them grew rapidly brighter, as though infused with a presence from within. The orange fires brightened toward intense, suns-bright golds and yellows. Ri’arion shaded his eyes, while the Lesser Dragons’ secondary nictitating membranes filtered the glare automatically. Aranya checked with Sapphire, but the dragonet stood firm upon the flight-muscle of her right shoulder, her fire-eyes gleaming bravely. Upon the periphery of her vision, shiny grey Foam-Riders budded out of the metal Havens in their thousands. She saw some smaller ones among their number, perhaps family groupings or children …
declared the Foam-Rider nearest them.
Thankfully, Leandrial anticipated the mental cry of thousands and dampened the psychic wash. Still, Zuziana clutched her head and Ri’arion swayed in his seat upon her back. The fiery column swelled, filling the ‘palm’ of the Dragon’s paw, coalescing and streaming in new and beguiling patterns as an overwhelming presence began to solidify within. Aranya found herself thankful for their perch several miles from the phenomenon, for the heat escalated rapidly to thousands of degrees, visibly melting the fringes of their metal disk before the Foam-Riders began their dance once more, spreading the heat to mitigate its effect. Further, given the size of the beast forming within the flames, they could not have viewed it properly from close up.
Eyes of vermilion-and-white flame, swirling like a Dragon’s orbs, formed amidst the lustrous fires – tall and slit like a cat’s pupils, partially flanking a muzzle that reached four leagues below their position. The eyes themselves had to be two miles tall, Aranya heard the monk mutter. Of course, Ri’arion was making calculations while the rest of them just goggled in stupefaction.
We stand in the presence of majesty, the Princess of Immadia told her friends, spreading her wings and lowering her muzzle in a draconic obeisance.
Ardan, Zuziana and Sapphire copied her, while Ri’arion stood between his Dragoness’ spine-spikes to execute one of those ridiculous Fra’aniorian productions she would never quite grow accustomed to – twelve distinct hand twirls, seven deep bobs of the head, the whole ralti sheep.
Still the creature coalesced within its flame-column, assuming presence and detail by the moment. Ear-canals. Limbs. Scales – although all appeared to be the substance of pure flame, perhaps draconic flame coursing along conduits of metal or lava, Aranya could not tell. She touched Ri’arion’s mind briefly to check his body temperature, but so far, their shield was protection enough. A flaming paw rose from six leagues below. One digit advanced, itself longer than Leandrial’s entire frame. Aranya realised the creature moved with consideration for the tiny ones it addressed, but she was nonetheless discomfited to be the talon’s eventual target. It hove to perhaps seventy feet from the centre of her forehead, the heat now like a physical blow.
An earthquake shook them. ISTARIELA, I KNEW. ART THOU HER TWIN?
A-A-A … Aranya gritted her fangs. Aranya, noble Dragon-Spirit.
FRA’ANIOR PROPAGATED OFFSPRING?
The Amethyst Dragoness spread her wings a second time, holding a deep bow. I declare my ancestry. I am Aranya of Immadia, shell-daughter of Izariela the Star Dragoness and shell-granddaughter of Istariela the –
HO-HO-HO!!
Much more laughter and the creature would flatten the Rift-Storm on its own, Aranya thought crossly. As it was, their Haven rocked violently as the flame-beast’s laughter battered it backward half a mile; Leandrial corralled them in her paw as the Foam-Riders rapidly stabilised their home, seemingly unconcerned. The laughter thundered over them for over five minutes, drowning out everything, even the ability to think; hammer-blows of sound buttressed by a psychic storm.
AT LAST, I UNDERSTAND THE FATES! roared the creature.
GENTLE THY SPEECH, I BEG THEE! Leandrial boomed back, only she sounded like an echo’s echo in comparison.
Again, the laughter belted their entire Island backward through the fiery wash. ASK WHAT THOU WILT, O LEANDRIAL, THOU WILD-HEARTED WANDERER!
But just as Leandrial had been able to modulate her telepathic Dragonish, so this creature constrained his mighty power. Now, his speech was only as a thunderstorm breaking directly above one’s head, and each syllable, a drumroll of thunder. I am Infurion Abytharr Fireborn, little ones, a fellow-traveller with thy Fra’anior when this world was young. His mighty paw it was that welcomed mine spirit from the egg, for aye, I was born an Ancient Dragon but he was the Firstborn of Dragons, may his magnificence be honoured throughout the ages! Thy grandsire is mine elder by a mere thousand years in thy reckoning. He embodied, while I did not, preferring to make mine dwelling-place in the fires deep beneath the habitation of thy diminutive fire-kin. Aye, I am Infurion, ruler of the inner world. Who are these, thy companions?
The most sulphurous blessings of Fra’anior himself be upon you, noble Infurion, said Aranya, with another deep, formal bow. We are honoured to make thy acquaintance. Then, she introduced each member of their group by name and title.
These are my people, responded Infurion, gesturing broadly – in an Ancient Dragon’s parlance, that movement described a ten-mile sweep of his fire-dripping paw. Once, I sought to mimic Fra’anior’s creative genius. Thou might say, I was jealous of mine wing-brother. Aye, but in the best way, for the doings-in-life of these mine beautiful creatures have accorded mine heart-fires great joy. The slit eyes narrowed upon them. A strange companionship thou art, of Human, Land Dragon and Lesser Dragon – and this brave beauty, the miniscule yet unutterably joyous expression of Dragon fires.
In response, Sapphire trilled a word in Dragonish Aranya did not understand.
Aye, little one. For thy sake. The talon-tip shifted, again settling upon Aranya as if Infurion intended to etch his words upon her body and mind. Mine Foam-Riders inform me of thine conversation regarding Balance. Know that every kind of magic exists in Balance. This that troubles thee is called Earthen-Fires of the Dragonkind; thy magic is Sky-Fires of the same Dragonkind, yet juxtapose the two …
Infurion’s mouth simulated an explosion. Aranya held firm as golden streamers of fire burst toward them. She leaned appreciatively upon Ardan’s sturdy presence in her mind, for rivers of multihued fire sheeted over their shields for long minutes.
The Ancient Dragon’s voice swelled, battering them like rocks churning in a whirlpool of lava. Thus, what is inimical to thy kind is boon to mine. Magic is Balanced, Star Dragoness – for in thy paw and the result of thy contemplation, lies a mortal danger to all Rift-dwellers and indeed, to all Dragons who exist in these fires of the uttermost Deeps. Yet there is also interdependence, wherein do exist the greatest mysteries of all draconic fire-life. Do not misunderstand the Balance, little one! Do not act in haste!
His thunder rolled over them and washed into the Rift-Storm, shaking its eternally-upwelling columns of fire. Aranya clenched her paws and endured, thinking: Her existence threatened an Ancient Dragon? Only a lifetime’s royal training kept the Immadian Princess’ jaw from sagging toward her scaly toes. Star Dragons were this powerful? Oh, Izariela, what wisdom she required to wield such power! For she knew what was to come. Infurion would act to protect his kind and his own survival. The nuances of his Dragonish expressed that as clearly as a shard of crysglass.
A third time she made obeisance, saying, I shall be guided by those greater than I.
Guidance is no substitute for oath-magic, little one. It is not the destiny-shaping oath-magic of a Star Dragoness. I SHALL HAVE THINE OATH!
Ardan growled, Don’t you bully her!
Infurion’s column flared unbearably. Mine is not the way of bargaining with lesser creatures! Be glad I do not extinguish thy miniscule lives forthwith!
Yet you fear her power. Ardan had no qualms expressing what Aranya had wished to hide. Ruddy direct Western Islanders! Her hearts sank toward her paws as he added, Let us deal openly, mighty Infurion. For all wish to live the days given to us beneath the suns, and our quarrel is neither with you, nor is your quarrel with us, I suspect. We seek the rightful return of the First Egg and the breaking of Thoralian’s power. And if all you seek is assurances, even the oath of a Star Dragoness, then I am a beetle and no Dragon. I humbly entreat you, Infurion – upon my honour as a Dragon – to speak plainly. May we aid your cause? Be it in our power, we shall. Gladly would I give my own oath upon this word, but I shall not put words in the Star Dragoness’ mouth.
To Aranya’s surprise, the fires of Infurion’s wrath appeared to simmer at a whiter temperature than before. Perhaps he liked outspokenness, or saw truth in Ardan’s words. The flaming eyes regarded them fiercely, great lakes of white-fires so intense, she shuttered her gaze in response, but could not thus shut out the Ancient Dragon’s power. At last, the great voice spoke not in thunder, but in a hypnotic melody like a thousand flutes playing at once.
Infurion’s Dragonsong washed over them to the unknowable beyond, O Fra’anior! Must so great a task rest upon shoulders so frail?
Aranya heard no reply, but the Rift-fires themselves seemed to shiver.
Even more softly, the flutes sang, I see thine hearts, Aranya of Immadia, kin-Dragon of the Great Onyx. For mine part, I propose to place into thine heart knowledge of the resting-place of the First Egg in the realm of the S’gulzzi, deep in the cracks beneath the Island-World, and into thy understanding, the nature of the corrupting urzul, which by the First Egg’s power, holds even mine might at bay.
Aranya froze. She heard Zuziana give a tiny bleat of shock; Leandrial’s muzzle immediately turned toward the Amethyst Dragoness, her eye-cannon brightening.
