Aranya Treasury - The Complete Shapeshifter Dragons Series, page 158
Now Ri’arion sat cross-legged between the paws of the three Dragons. “Come. We must find your Shadow, and renew the false oath-trace where Yiisuriel is. I fear it will not hold him long. Shut your eyes, Aranya. Now, focus on my voice.”
Aranya followed the prescribed exercise, calming and opening her mind.
After a moment, as she cast afar with ingeniously subtle intent concealed within a phasic shield, a reflexion of the Shadow Dragon entered her awareness. Consider him. Examine the detail … and a frown creased the Amethyst Dragoness’ forehead. Something struck her as incongruous about that image. Why did she scent subterfuge; a peculiarly Fra’aniorian hint about that mindset?
Because it was not real.
Suddenly, the image blurred. Rushed at her; the utterly unexpected. Faster than a blink it swallowed her whole. Aranya became a mote floating through an inconceivably vast cosmos within which she was but a speck struggling to stay afloat, to live, to shine amidst a piceous darkness that was no void. It was alive with malice. She was lost and alone, exposed, threatened … she reeled, fighting an overwhelming sense of panic. Had the Thoralians ensnared her mind? Ardan? The anarchic presence she had sensed and followed, was that –
MINE SHAO’LÛKAYN SHALL BE ROUSED, BROTHER-MINE, AND THEY SHALL CLEAVE THE SKY-SHIELD ASUNDER!
An immense vocal-psychic thundering almost smote her senseless. All was fires, a fathomless pit of soul-blistering agony such as she had never imagined, a compounding of expression upon so many different levels of being and of such communicative power, its import plunged her instantly into a merciless maelstrom of awareness overload. The voice was evil upon evil, the embodiment of ageless orange spite, vermilion wickedness and scarlet cruelty expressed upon a scale that found no computation in her capacity of expression. Infinity held the power to shatter a mortal mind.
More quietly, but with satisfaction seething like a caldera of bubbling Dragon acid, the voice continued, Wilt thou make no reply, o Fra’anior, abandoner of thy kind? How does exile suit thee, watching as my aeons-old vengeance grinds to its inevitable victory, brother?
Dramagon!
Somehow, the mote was party to an exchange between the monumental shell brothers, and now the true scope of her vulnerability crashed in upon Aranya’s consciousness. Where was she? Was she even within the universe she knew?
Then, the crimson being shifted ominously. Oh, do observe, mine shell brother – it’s a stardrop. Doth thy precious Istariela yet live?
Discovered! In the ensuing stillness, Aranya’s heart knew only terror. Then, the monstrous amplitude of Dramagon’s wrath lashed forth, thundering, BE SNUFFED OUT!
But the spear of Onyx was faster, flashing far faster than any self-respecting lightning bolt around the problem of ordinary space-time laws to spirit her away before the urzul-infused Command could complete its terrible work. Dramagon’s Word annihilated nothingness, and returned to him with a backlash that Aranya knew she could never have survived. Dramagon thundered his fury!
But in her realm, seven great throats lamented, O, Istariela my lost love, where art thou?
Chapter 9: Of Ancient Grudges
THE SHADOW KNEW he had detected something, out there in the West, but far farther than he imagined the Star could have travelled in such a short space of time. His intuition was right! How had she departed? When?
Urgently, he cried, Extra report. I have found the Star!
Prime overrode him effortlessly. Mighty Dramagon has answered our prayers, brothers! Gather! All imperatives falls before this new command. We three must fly to the House of the Mistral Fires and there wrest from Azhukazi the power of Necromancy, that the bones of Dramagon’s mighty servants might be returned to him, made whole by the unleashed power of the First Egg –
What servants? Tertiary cut in trenchantly.
They are called the Shao’lûkayn. Ardan shivered as his scales reacted to the connotations of that foul word. Dramagon, the Awesome Power of the Ages, grants us this charge. Fra’anior’s foul hold over this Island-World of ours can only be broken by his servants working within the Onyx’s protections.
Numistar broke through.
The Shadow did not know which of the brothers had spoken, but they supplied knowledge of a shield or power arching over the Island-World, protecting it from ancient forces lurking without. They knew that the two-headed Ancient Dragon, Dramagon, sought to return from his enforced exile to protect the world from their depredations. Fra’anior was a coward and a traitor for abandoning the Dragonkind; Dramagon would never do the same. His fires burned true.
Ardan said, Of course, the shield must allow the passage of inanimate physical objects.
Three minds fixed upon him. What did you say, Shadow?
Give the Onyx credit for basic intelligence, Masters, he sneered. Should a planet not breathe; should not all within grow stale and Imbalanced if all ingress and egress were cut off? The protections are phasic and highly nuanced in nature, developed for purposes limited mortal creatures such as ourselves cannot possibly imagine –
Silence! roared Secondary.
No, allow the Shadow to enlighten us, Tertiary snapped, cuffing his shell brother sharply with a psychic buffet.
Ardan said, I postulate that Numistar travelled in the form of a comet because only inanimate rock could safely cross the void between the stars, and upon arrival, she did reanimate herself using a power similar to that which Azhukazi must exert when reanimating his own bones. That is what we seek, is it not? They are one and the same capacity.
The third Thoralian sneered, Well, Shadow, a useful insight at last. You are not as much the gormless worm as you appear.
Prime noted, These thoughts are hardly his own. He has been reading the Dragonfriend’s lore. Where is the Star?
Already far ahead, Masters.
Carefully, Ardan summoned the Thoralians’ mental map and placed the Mistral Fires upon it, and then noted Aranya’s location in relation to the individual members of the triplicate, his own position sixty-three leagues North of her route, and Yiisuriel bringing the enemy forces steadily along behind at a speed of four to five leagues per hour – moving fast, for Air Breathers. Four dark minds considered the conundrum. None of the Dragons wasted time nor breath questioning how Aranya could possibly have divined where the quarry was. Star Dragons had their ways.
Prime said, We must beat them to Azhukazi, or confront them within that fortress. The so-called Jewels Azhukazi seeks are as nothing compared to the power he wields. Against such a formidable foe we will require our fullest strength, even if the Star is weakened as you have shared with us, Shadow. Summon the Drake packs! Accelerate the Egg’s travel to the North. Spare no lives! And Shadow – you will be responsible for flying us there in time. Shadow power has many uses, does it not? This you have learned from us.
Ardan inclined his muzzle. Aye, Masters.
But it would cost him. It would cost him dearly.
* * * *
“Still no sign of Aranya?” Leandrial rumbled.
From within the curl of her amethyst paw, Ri’arion raised an eyebrow. Not sleeping. Meditating. Zuziana should have known the difference, but he did have a freaky way of sitting utterly still for hours at a time. Aside from the expressive eyebrow, the only way she could tell he was still alive was due to the slight play of the pulse in his neck. Even his diaphragm appeared to be taking a nap – ah, meditating.
Fifteen further hours of travel. No change. No news. No actual target!
At least she had managed to nod off a few times. Leandrial’s storytelling usually had that effect, and no amount of inhabiting another body seemed to affect her need for additional sleep these days.
She fixed a fiery eye upon her beloved. “No. Poor Yistarill is tearing her hair out – uh, her scales off, I should say – over the possibility that a Shapeshifter’s souls can waft off on an existential holiday to climes unknown, or whatever my frustrating, magical, impossible girlfriend is up to today. I can tell you she still isn’t here. That’s all I know. And we’re still alive, which makes for reasonably good news.”
Ri’arion caressed the knuckles of Aranya’s left paw. “Progress check?”
Leandrial responded at once, “Yiisuriel and I have re-modulated the longwave frequencies and protocols but suspect the enemy have become aware of or are tracking this mode of communication. The disposition of the Drake packs has changed radically in the last hour. Also, you need to see this.”
The Land Dragoness presented them a mental map of the region. To the South, the extensive Doldrums region was an unmapped blank dotted with a paltry few stylised oases believed to exist there, and backed onto a jagged mountain range beyond which, again only according to a Wyldaroon draconic legend, lay the unreachable realm from which Chaos Beasts arose. The great mountain range curved like an immense hook about the south-western fringe of the Doldrums and up toward the more inhabited parts of Wyldaroon, passing the mysterious land of the forest-dwelling Dragonkind called Asjujian Emoflits, which dwelled upon a rare rooted Island called Mount Morgu-Zayê. Their purported sphere of influence under which their dracofloral ‘root network’ grew, encircled Morgu-Zayê to a distance of one hundred leagues. No-one believed the Thoralians would dare to attack the notoriously feisty Asjujians with their devastating aroma magic. Some of their scents were said to be so powerful, they could turn a healthy Dragon into a gibbering wreck. Permanently.
Huaricithe had recited the legend that beyond the Western Mountains lay a wasteland to which Fra’anior had banished an ally of Dramagon’s, the Ancient Dragoness Iosaxxioa – an Iolite Blue Dragon, just like Azhukazi. The coincidence of Dragon colour and type was far too obvious to ignore, even if Iosaxxioa was supposed to have perished over a thousand years before.
The upper two thirds of Wyldaroon merged gradually into the inhabited reaches of hundreds of thousands of floating Islands arranged in Clusters according to complex migratory patterns that had to cause blinding migraines in any budding cartographer. The most-recognised regions were the Inner Kahilates, home to many small Island-nations that indulged in internecine political shenanigans – as if cultivating, betraying, destroying and reinventing alliances in the pursuit of greater glory was the pastime of choice – and above and East of these Kahilates again, the Pits of Wyldaroon and insular, aloof Yazê-a-Kûz. Their route struck toward the lawless Fringe. Bandit country, sniffed Huari. No place for decent Dragons of true fires.
“Bah,” Zuziana sniffed right back. “I’d much rather have my friend return than listen to your bellyaching.”
“Bah, I’d rather sit on your head.”
“Try me,” Zip suggested.
“I’m bored and ready for a scrap with those Thoralians,” said Gang, yawning lazily. “Battle plans one more time, anyone? We start by finding this Asturbar fellow and allying ourselves with his forces, roust out this ultra-dangerous creature Aranya seems so enthused about, slap Azhukazi down, and stop the triplicate. Any questions?”
“Skipped the part where we smack some sense back into Ardan,” said Zip. “I’m also sick and tired of borrowing someone else’s body. Could I have mine back, noble Fra’anior?” She paused as everyone glared at her. Maybe a touch too sarcastic? “Most respectfully, o mighty Onyx?”
This time, she meant it.
After a moment Huari rose in order to stretch her Dragoness-form restlessly. Then she stepped over, seized Zuziana’s hostess by the skull spikes, and bellowed, ARANYA! GET BACK HERE!
To everyone’s surprise, Zip squealed, “I felt her!”
Ri’arion cried, “She’s back?”
The Dragoness prodded her belly as everyone looked on anxiously. Eventually, Zuziana muttered, “Erm … no. That was the babies.” A second later, she sat bolt upright and screeched, “I felt my babies! First time!”
“The b-babies?” he spluttered. “How?”
“Aye! I don’t know how.” Clutching her husband in her paws, Zuziana did a silly dance that ended up in her tripping over Huari’s forepaw. She collapsed in a heap, giggling, “It’s amazing. Now, if we could just invite Aranya to share our joy …”
* * * *
“Thus, I hoped,” Fra’anior explained, closely watching the girl seated cross-legged upon one of his seven muzzles. “I hoped against hope, as mine Pygmies used to say, even knowing it could never be mine beloved. Istariela will never be restored to mine paw – I GRIEVE!”
Softly, Aranya said, “Let thine inmost fires not be dampened, mine great shell-sire.”
“Why not? What reason for hope might these downcast hearts yet find – save this mite who, seated upon mine scales, regards me without awe or fear?”
“Oh, there’s awe aplenty over here,” Aranya laughed, before gulping nervously. “But, no fear. Not any longer. I wish to express, o Fra’anior, that our hope may be rooted in this future congregation of Star Dragonesses to which you alluded. Much labour lies ahead and perhaps many years, but here, in my heart of hearts, I know. I just know she’s still alive. Lost, but alive.”
Her hand fluttered to her throat, feeling the hot heaviness there. The grief that reflected his in some small measure. Izariela. Istariela. Both lost. Could a family of Star Dragonesses be regarded as complete without either?
The great flaming lakes of his watching eyes whirled through many mellifluent colours in keeping with his emotions – the apricots of warm kin-regard, the greens of love-covetousness, and the darker tones of grief, to name but a few. Then, a rosy white appeared, radiant as the dawn, swirling through the other colours as he continued to regard her with such a seething enormity of love, she grew faint and overwhelmed. His paw rose to the side of his muzzle, and in a moment, she realised what he meant by the gesture. A breeze redolent of all the glorious, ever-aromatic complexities of draconic magic ruffled her long hair as she rose and walked over to the edge, to where she could reach up and touch the mighty pad of his paw that hung like a mountain over her world. A caress.
She said, “If the strength be given me, I shall discover her fate.”
Fra’anior replied, “I thank thee most fierily. Now, Dramagon moveth in power. Hearken to mine counsel. I may grant thee the exact location of Azhukazi, since mine shell brother hath conveyed the same to his minions, meaning to accelerate the plans he purposes through the Thoralian triplicate. Furthermore, being treacherous to the core, Dramagon did these many aeons since conceal his minions, these dreadful Shao’lûkayn – a word in urzul which means ‘demeaners of darkness’ – right beneath mine muzzle. They do indeed possess the power to penetrate a secret I had wished to share with thee, but had not yet dared for fear that the knowledge might be stolen from thee and turned to dread purposes. Yet now, it seems the stakes are higher than ever before. Dramagon seeks to undo my signature work from within; indeed, I adjudge it more than possible should his plans proceed unopposed.”
“I … I don’t entirely understand, o Fra’anior,” Aranya admitted.
“Precious one, the fires of our draconic life are attractive to other powers in this Universe – especially fires such as thine, the ingenuous brilliance of pure starlight. Creatures such as the Nurguz, whom the Pygmy Dragoness battled, number amongst these. That very creature, but one in number, did ravage the Island-World North of the Rift of its Dragonkind, consuming them with a bestial, otherworldly hunger. Such powers, unfortunately, abound in the greater Universe – thus I fear, without solid proof but mine own understanding of what unknowable destiny might have driven our First Eggs hence, that we Dragonkind are beleaguered and beset by mighty enemies.”
“I therefore devised a shield to hide all draconic life from their rapacious gazes until such a time as our parents – mine shell-ancestors – should seek us out and offer aid, yet in all the aeons of mine life, having searched far and wide and deep, no such help have I found. Perhaps they wiped out our ancestors. It seems perverse, even traitorous, to many Dragonkind that we must perforce hunker down upon our planet within the protective walls of the Rim-Wall Mountains, and hide like base worms from that which we fear. Our only survival strategy entails unbearable dishonour. Indeed, it is this very strategy that those of Dramagon’s ilk do from its inception despise. I have sympathy for their views. Even I baulked as I shut our brightness away from the predator, from the cold maw that ravens the night.”
“Yet you acted when others did not.”
“Aye, and was therefore hated by some, and triggered off the first war between the Ancient Dragons that resulted in great anguish and too many deaths. Now it seems that in isolating myself and my surviving brethren from mine world, I must leave the doing to those smaller but no less capable than I. Thou, Aranya.”
She bowed her head, shivering.
“Unbelief shadows thine heart’s pure fires, but I believe in thee. I believe!”
“Oh …”
“I understand how hard it must seem,” he said, breathing over her again with several of his other muzzles, causing her multi-coloured locks to twine about her body. She shivered despite the warmth. “Taste of mine fires and summon thy courage, o Aranya of Immadia, daughter of starlight – for she shall rise again!”
The portents rife in his declaration struck her speechless once more. She wanted to cry, ‘But who? Who shall rise again – me, my mother, the Pygmy Dragoness, or Istariela?’ Yet she realised he meant it metaphorically.
Suddenly, it seemed a paw shook her heart, and a faraway wind whispered, Aranya. Get back here. Huaricithe?
She said, “I must depart.”
“Anon,” said he. “Listen for the fires of mine deep Onyx hearts pulsating within thee. Memorise these coordinates, little one. Then I shall send thee back. It seems mine shields are easily passable by creatures of quintessential starlight.”
“Grandfather?” she said impulsively, using the Human term.
