Aranya Treasury - The Complete Shapeshifter Dragons Series, page 180
Yazina whispered, “Alright, that’s just freaky.”
Aranya touched the girl’s hand. “How are you doing?”
“A House besieged.”
“Ah … I see.”
“Aranya, when does it stop hurting?”
The Princess exhaled gustily. Mercy, o Fra’anior … grant me thy wisdom … she said, “At first, it’s crushing and overwhelming and you can’t think of anything else. The world seems grey, not golden as we see ahead of us. You wonder how you can live, or breathe; how you can ever laugh again.” She placed an arm over Yazina’s shoulders. “It fades slowly. One day you discover you can think about something else. Another day, you find your food tastes good, and then you might chuckle at something, but you feel guilty about being happy.”
Ardan dabbed at a treacherous dampness in the corner of his eye.
“Gnat?” Asturbar rumbled.
“Absolute pests.”
Aranya whispered, “They say life is there to be lived. But few people will tell you how to do that when the skies rain Drakes and the Thoralians butcher people like hapless sheep – or when those you love most are stolen from you, Yazina, or murdered by a beast. You question everything.”
Uncaring of her tears, the girl stumbled, “How …. how do you keep going, Aranya?”
“I wish I had glib answers, Yazina. Clever answers. One view might be that when the call came, I answered. I held up my hand and said, ‘Count me in. I will fight.’ Now I’m just too blasted proud to stop.”
Her reply was a soft sigh of dissent.
“Maybe I had no idea under the suns what I was doing, only that something had to be done by someone. By me. One something led to another, then to another …”
Aye, my soul’s starlight, Ardan encouraged. That is white fires truth.
Aranya whispered, “I fear it will not be worth the cost. When it hurts most, I cry out like Fra’anior belling amidst his Storm, ‘Why? Why must they suffer?’ And then I remind myself that is why I am here. I am here because some cannot speak, or they will never have a voice. Because some cannot believe. Because some cannot dream – I must be their voice, their belief, and their hope. Maybe if I can learn to shine brightly enough, despite all this, some might look to the light. Some might follow.” She was shuddering now; it was Yazina who was holding the taller girl, and they shook together as the Immadian Princess whispered, “Then we will discover that we can be more and become more. We can cherish our values, loves and dreams, and know that there can be goodness despite ruin, and hope that springs from destruction. We will learn that we can live and find beauty and laugh and curse evil and cry … and rejoice … and it will all mean something.”
Yazina clutched her so hard, Aranya’s recently Dragon-bruised ribs protested audibly.
Sensing movement, Ardan glanced over at Asturbar.
“Suffering murgalizards, that gnat got me too,” grunted the soldier, twisting his knuckles against his left eye.
“What gnat? What does this expression mean?” Leandrial asked curiously, but Ardan could literally feel the bent of her mighty maternal fires toward Yazina and Aranya. After a brief pause during which Zuziana explained, the Land Dragoness gurgled, “I think a gnat found my eye cannon also. Yazina, when I was alone and cut off from my kind for one hundred and fifty years, I kept going because I realised that to not hope, was to not live. I had to abide in hope. For me it was not even a choice I could allow myself.”
Yazina bowed her head. “Thank you both.”
The Land Dragoness continued, “Now, little ones, the First Egg has already been enfolded in the far mountains, as if it traverses a mighty tunnel or canyon. The Thoralians have accelerated beyond all projections, achieving speeds in excess of twenty leagues per hour by channelling a stormtide through the Passage of Dark Fires. From there, Yiisuriel reports that they have deployed the rearguard of their army to block our entry.”
Ardan asked, “The secret passage is open?”
“Blown wide open by the Egg’s power,” Leandrial rumbled.
“And the Thoralians have essentially abandoned their armies at the entrance?” Asturbar clarified.
The Dragoness bobbed her head. “So it appears, Marshal.”
“Seeking to delay us.” Asturbar narrowed his piercing grey eyes, scanning the horizon as if the secrets of the Thoralians were writ thereon for his perusal. “Interesting. That means the Thoralians no longer need air support for whatever they intend ahead. They have passed through the Rift unmolested before.”
“Perhaps they expect help from Infurion?” Ardan suggested. “Could that be the Imbalance Leandrial sensed?”
“Infurion would surely balk at crossing Fra’anior, wouldn’t he?” Aranya disagreed.
“The Great Onyx is no longer here to protect his territory,” argued the warrior. “But you’re right, we received aid from Infurion before. He holds no love for the Thoralians.”
For the benefit of their companions, Aranya recounted all that had passed as they attempted their first Rift crossing, and the bargain that they had struck with Infurion in exchange for his aid and blessing. They debated the matter until the fierce golden suns finally dipped beneath the Cloudlands, but came to no new conclusions. Ardan wished that Fra’anior had revealed something of Infurion’s motives or background when he had spoken with her before, but his enmity with the Thoralians appeared genuine – they had parasitized his creatures, after all. Whether he possessed the power to obstruct their wiles, supported by the First Egg, or how he would react when the Egg reached the Rift that he regarded as his own, sacrosanct territory, was another question entirely.
Leandrial counselled, “That he has no history of treachery proves nothing, little ones. Infurion is an Ancient Dragon and will regard himself as far higher than any of us. His needs will always assume pre-eminence in his thinking.”
Aranya said, “Fra’anior alluded to a greater issue, one I cannot imagine how Thoralian might aim to achieve – but we must be aware –”
You never told me, Ardan accused.
I … didn’t, she apologised with her tone. Forgive me?
Trying to read her strangely pensive mood, he said, Aye, in advance for whatever delightful secret you’ve been hiding from me.
I’m sorry, Ardan!
No need to be.
He was too narked to dissemble. Softly, the Princess added, There are mysteries about my nature that I haven’t even worked out for myself, Ardan, but I promise I will try to be better about sharing everything with you in the future. It’s been so busy inside, I just want to hide sometimes –
Oh, you may as well tell everyone, now, he growled, and bit back a self-directed curse. Stupid tongue! We can speak later, beloved.
Am I, still?
He gritted his teeth. Can we try to ignore the stubborn male pride? Aye, you are!
Aranya said, “I wonder if you remember me working with the linguists on a potentially new draconic language?”
“Indeed,” rumbled Leandrial, “a most curious utterance, little one, but almost undoubtedly draconic in origin – my understanding is that the explicit dracotonic tones and harmonies do not correspond with any known draconic language or dialect. Might it be a type of proto-draconic utterance, do you think? I know that you dream of the Great Onyx. Did you dream this, too?”
“It was early evening, and I was wide awake,” Aranya said, “but you are correct, noble Leandrial. I did wonder afterward if I had not dreamed it. This is what I heard –”
Focussing on producing the liquid notes, she intoned, /O stardrop! Precious … peril …/
Her companions stared at her. Flustered by their awed responses, Aranya said, “Iridiana, do you understand it?”
Her sister frowned. “I … I’m not sure. Maybe. The latter word is a bit muddled to my mind; I think it’s something about an endangered treasure, right?” She held up her hand to forestall Aranya’s sunken-hearted response. “Let me explain. I feel as if I should understand. It sounds familiar – achingly familiar – but I want to assure you, I see where you might be going with this and I don’t believe my lack of perfect understanding proves or disproves anything.”
Now, Nyahi was practically reading her mind.
Having a twin definitely promised unexpected dimensions!
Trying to smooth the frustration from her voice, Aranya said, “I hoped it might be a star language, as in, a clue as to the identity of our ancestors – tracing back our maternal line through Izariela to Istariela and … beyond? Where did our grandmother come from?”
“Ari grand-star?” Sapphire piped up unexpectedly.
Aranya spluttered, “Aye, Sapphire. I did mean my maternal great-grand … star?” Frowning rather fiercely at the suns-set, she said, “Fra’anior did not know what the utterance meant, but he was quick to stress the importance of continuing to investigate. He misses Istariela, you see. He misses her desperately. And you, Iridiana, you were very close indeed. I believe that those words, mean, ‘O stardrop, precious … peril.’ The communication seemed garbled, as though it originated in a place impossibly far away. But it was definitely speech. I’m certain of that.”
Tenderly, Ardan said, “You imagined – you hoped, Aranya – that you might have heard from the original Star Dragons?”
“Aye.”
Nyahi added, “Remember Shan-Jarad’s description of my egg?”
“ ‘It was at once an egg, and a spark,’ ” Zip quoted, at exactly the same instant as Asturbar said, “ ‘The creature called it a droplet of fire life.’ ”
“Then why don’t you understand … Starrish, or whatever it was?” Aranya gritted her teeth in frustration. “Shapeshifters understand Dragonish automatically. We are born to it!”
Zuziana said, “Whereas Star Dragons, who are expressions of Star Fires and are therefore by definition exactly the same as us ‘normal’ Dragon Shapeshifters … shall I continue, noble best friend, or will you just admit your brain is spurting prekki-fruit mush once again?”
Aranya threw up her hands. “Oh, Zip!”
“How you abuse my name. Just admit I’m right.”
“That’ll be the day ralti sheep dance on rainbows,” Ardan suggested.
She had to laugh. “You’re right, petal.”
“That I am. Now, why don’t you tell us the rest of your story?”
Friendship was so much about learning to laugh together.
Shortly, she continued, “My friends, Fra’anior told me that there are other powers out there amidst the Universe, powers of illimitable evil that roam the spaces between the stars, and are inimical to draconic life in ways that we can hardly begin to imagine. They see us as food. In the time of the Pygmy Dragon, one of the Thoralians managed to summon to our Island-World a creature called the Nurguz. On its own, just one creature devastated virtually all draconic life North of the Rift. It was insatiable. Out there are myriad such creatures, many greater and more voracious still. Fra’anior did not say so, but I believe he implied creatures which are so powerful, they prey upon Ancient Dragons.”
Her companions stilled.
“Those creatures would like nothing more than to discover a planet filled with snacks made of the finest fire life and star-life. Therefore, aeons ago when he broke the eggshell, one of Fra’anior’s very first tasks was to establish a planetary shield to protect tasty nibbles – us – from those hostile cosmic powers. To be our bulwark and our sanctuary. He refined his masterwork innumerable times, but the basic design remains the same. The magical shield, which encompasses our entire world, is anchored upon the Mystic Moon. Aye, Mystic is its source of power. The moon is comprised almost purely of horiatite.”
She held up her fists. “So, imagine my right hand is us and my left is the Mystic Moon. A spherical or bubble shield encircles both of my hands, and those constructs stretch to connect with each other via a long, thin tube – the magic involved is elegantly simple, yet profound. The connection between us and Mystic is malleable. It must be given the complex orbits of the six Moons –”
“Six?” Asturbar echoed quietly.
“Aye. There is one more, which has been a secret kept by the Ancient Dragons until now. Ironically, the Onyx called it Dramagon’s Bequest.” Aranya pursed her lips with a decidedly sour air. “It used to orbit Yellow, but about four thousand years ago, that moon crashed into Mystic and disrupted the shield. Fra’anior made repairs with the help of several of his brethren and the buried moon was forgotten. What he did not discover until much more recently, was that in a very similar way to how the First Eggs travelled through the cosmos, Dramagon’s Bequest was not actually a moon. It was a hollowed-out asteroid which contained a deathly payload of cosmic organisms called Shao’lûkayn.”
Asturbar puffed out his cheeks. “They sound delightful.”
“Fra’anior doesn’t know exactly what they are or what they do, but when I crashed into an argument between him and Dramagon –”
“Now, you’ve met Dramagon?” Ardan gasped, smacking his hand to his bald pate.
She smiled thinly at him. “Aye. Dramagon the Red promptly mistook me for Istariela, it seemed, and tried to squash me like a bug.” The Ancient Red had also called her a stardrop, she recalled now with a frisson of affirmation. It all fit. “Had Fra’anior been less quick I would be a deceased star right now. Dramagon is inconceivably powerful. That incident was when Dramagon revealed the presence of the Shao’lûkayn – and this is also going to sound unbelievable –” she had to suck in a long breath to steady her voice “– but the Storm of Storms suspects the Thoralians will try to fly to the Mystic Moon using the power of the First Egg, crack open Dramagon’s Bequest, and command the creatures within to break the protective barrier over our Island-World and thus pave the way for the Ancient Red’s return.”
“No!” Ardan’s dark skin tone had turned grey.
“Should that day come to pass,” Aranya said, “calamity is far too gentle a word. It would be genocide – no, even worse. Global extinction.”
All the others, even Leandrial, glanced up at the gathering evening and shivered.
Aranya shuttered her eyes. Noble grand-shell-father, you only ask the impossible. Strengthen thou me according to the task.
Somewhere, seven heads inclined to her, listening intently.
Chapter 23: Dramagon’s Plot
THE MYSTIC MOON had fascinated balladeers since time immemorial. Now they knew why. White was merely a brilliant point of light, faraway and unchanging. Yellow was the huge, dominating presence overshadowing most days. Blue and Jade played a lesser role, disappearing behind Yellow or vanishing into thin crescents bleached by the brilliant twin suns. Unlike the others, Mystic was a strange, complex traveller. She had been known to take orbit around Blue, but since records began, astronomers and Dragon scientists had puzzled over her behaviour until they documented a once-a-century phenomenon, when Mystic switched to an orbit that circumnavigated both their world and the Yellow Moon, but at a highly unusual and variable declination. Perhaps magic explained orbital mechanics that outright waggled their wingtips at the constraints of gravity better than any logical hypothesis could postulate, for Mystic was famously unruly. To Aranya’s annoyance, Fra’anior had commented that it was this very contradictory behaviour which had led him to dub the moon as female!
Most vexing of him.
To her surprise, Aranya opened her eyes to find Ardan shaking his finger beneath her nose. “To the Moons? The Moons! You … words fail me!”
“Aye?”
The Western Isles warrior grunted, “Very well. Tell us about this sixth moon.”
Her jaw tightened at his sarcasm. Undeserved sarcasm. It was Ardan’s way of reacting when his worldview was shaken, as it had been from the beginning by a Shapeshifter Princess. Aranya replied evenly, “It’s another of Dramagon’s clandestine projects. All we know of the Shao’lûkayn is three things: One, their fundamental nature depends upon the power of urzul. Two, they are powerful enough to destroy the planetary shield. Three, their name means ‘demeaners of darkness.’ ”
Zip said, “I take it from your report, His Lightning-Shot Awesomeness is not able to offer aid in time?”
“He is offering help, as in, telling us what he needs us to do,” Aranya scowled – at herself. That did not work very well. “His self-imposed exile from our Island-World was a calculated risk. A one-way trip to the beyond, precluding all possibility of return. However, his kin are wily and magic is ever-evolving, adapting with the tenacity of life itself. In the days of the Dragonfriend, Numistar Winterborn survived a millennia-long journey to our Island-World buried in the heart of a comet. In our time, it appears that Dramagon’s 6,000 year-old plot is about to come to fruition, with the retrieval of the First Egg combined with the ascendancy of an obedient trio of hench-Dragons who possess a unique combination of powers and ambition. Fra’anior said he cannot break in from the outside to help us without attracting attention of the lethal kind, and he cannot teleport in because that route was deliberately cut off. Break the shield, and we expose our world. Even Dramagon’s wrath pales into insignificance before that prospect.”
Not that the Thoralians cared. They would doom all for the sake of winning their ascent.
The Princess continued, “Infurion taught us that urzul, the power that the Thoralians know and the Theadurial use to parasitize Land Dragons, is a corruption of his native Earthen Fires, the fires that rule and are contained in the Rift. Ruzal was a perversion of Sky Fires or our type – uh, your type – of fundamental fires. The Dragonfriend fought the scourge of ruzal in her time and apparently defeated it. But Fra’anior provided a key insight. Dramagon’s ultimate plan hinges upon returning to find this ruzal magic, as it is a living type of magic – in Dragonish, the lost remnant of his spirit.”
“Hualiama didn’t actually defeat ruzal?” Nyahi echoed.
“No. I believe she hid it,” Aranya explained. “Perhaps she lacked the means or the power to defeat even a fraction of Dramagon’s magic outright.”
