Aranya Treasury - The Complete Shapeshifter Dragons Series, page 90
Ardan had joked about one more scar on his chest. Aranya could not shake the image of the Chameleon Shapeshifter’s inner form screaming its defiance at him, before expiring.
Zuziana, changed to her Human form, waved to Aranya. “Come, sit with us.”
Classic Zip, leaning casually against Leandrial’s knuckle. Nobody else would dare to treat a Land Dragon like that.
“Go easy as you settle down,” Jia fussed.
Aranya said, “I can’t do anything else. I’m not moving for a week.”
The Remoyan Princess settled herself in her customary position against Aranya’s neck, saying, “Commander Darron lost Estalia today, and every ship of his command. He only survived because one of those Reds up there – Haragoz – literally plucked him out of a drake’s mouth.”
Of the fourteen Dragons who had aided her strike against Thoralian, seven still lived. One would never fly again. Aranya sighed heavily. “Jia, sit with us.”
“How are you feeling, Aranya?” asked Zip.
“Good. My shoulder’s sore, but what hurts the most is that we lost Thoralian.”
King Beran waved his arms for attention. “Now that we’re all here,” he said, “it’s confirmed. Thoralian slew an Immadian soldier and stole his uniform, and has not been seen since. He and at least three of his kin, escaped.” Groans greeted this news. “Nak is recovering. He lost his left foot to a drake, but swears he’ll use the right to boot the creatures properly in the future.” Laughter all round. “Yedior the Brown collapsed and sealed all of the tunnels leading to the drake hatcheries, so at least we don’t need to worry about that – only the several thousand that escaped. And he confirms there are ninety-eight Shapeshifter Dragons yet to be revived, sleeping in those caverns.”
“They’re all on our side,” Zip called out.
Beran frowned at her, saying, “Reviving them will be some task.” Just then, a soldier appeared at the King’s side to ask a question.
Aranya’s head jerked in horrified realisation. “Zip, where’s Ri’arion? I haven’t seen … he didn’t –”
“He’s fine, petal. He’s aloft on Haragoz, conducting some kind of Nameless Man magical search for Thoralian. And when he gets back, I’m going to have words with him for riding another Dragon.”
“He rode Ardan.”
Zip folded her arms stiffly. “I refuse to dignify that.”
“Is this about him leaving you in the middle of the battle?” Aranya earned a sniff for a reply. “Zip, you had me on your back.”
“That’s different.”
“Zip, why’re you so upset? It isn’t something I’ve done, is it?”
“No.”
Aranya blew hot air between her fangs. “Have it your way. I’m too tired to argue.”
King Beran called down, “Ja’arrion? Would you brief us?”
“Very well, o King. Va’assia and I have spoken with the Dragons. We are eleven, including these fledglings – Aranya, Zuziana and Lyriela.”
The Amethyst Dragon felt her belly-fires churn, even as Zip stiffened against her neck. A fledgling? How demeaning a description, after all she had suffered. As if feeling the force of her response, the Green Dragon’s gaze settled upon her.
Ja’arrion added, “That number includes Rezzior the Red and his mate Fydurial, who served Sylakia but now vow to serve us. We plan to stay here, working to revive these Shapeshifters, and hopefully, restoring them to full health. We will establish a Council of Dragon Elders to regulate and advise our kind. In time, we plan to return to the ancient Halls of the Dragons at Gi’shior Island.”
Ta’armion said, “Gi’shior is the ancient home of Dragons, and Ha’athior houses your Natal Cave. Fra’anior welcomes you.”
“As long as we don’t cause trouble?” asked Ja’arrion.
The Prince’s jaw twitched. “Fra’anior welcomes you gladly. We will negotiate the matter of Gi’ishior and learn from our histories, even as we forge our future together.”
“Won’t you first consult the King of Fra’anior in this?”
The Prince turned to look up at the Green Dragon. “I’m married to your daughter, aren’t I?”
I’ll negotiate with my Prince, said Lyriela, curling her paw about him with a mischievous air.
“It is time Fra’anior embraced all forms of its magic,” said the Prince, not without a shiver, “including addressing the status of the secret monasteries which follow the Path of the Dragon, and our magicians and Shapeshifters. I intend to outlaw the hunting of dragonets. You’re right. Not all Islanders long for the return of Dragons. But I have a few ideas, o Ja’arrion the Green, and my father is a reasonable man.”
“May it be so.” Ja’arrion nodded regally.
Listening to the Land Dragon’s respiration reminded Aranya of the sound of her own scarred lungs. Even now, she felt breathless. Are you unwell, great one?
I’m far from my natural realm, little one. Far above it. Even with the aid of the strange Human you call Nameless, I suffer from this thin, unpleasant air.
Then you must return to the Cloudlands.
Not without you, said Leandrial, in a far from comforting tone.
Me? I can’t go down there. It’s pure poison.
The Land Dragon growled, It is agreed. I will not leave without you and your oath, sworn in the name and on the grave of your Star Dragon mother.
Zuziana patted Aranya’s flank uneasily. Petal, hold the fires while I explain.
You’ve agreed something behind my back? Zip?
Aranya found her voice shaking with ire. Did everyone think she was an invalid, just because she had failed to defeat the Sylakian Emperor? Islands’ sakes, they had received the surrender of his forces, what little remained of them! Could it be because she looked beaten, as though she had been chewed up and spat out, several times over? Aye, she had failed. Now there were other, older Dragons who had their own plans, who saw her as a fledgling, and … she was no longer the centre of attention? Aranya chewed her lip unhappily. Please, let arrogance not be her motivation!
What desire did she have to lead the Dragons, anyway? What did she know? That path was the one taken by those who sought absolute power, the Thoralians of the Island-World. If being a Star Dragon meant seeking the light, as Izariela had taught her, then her path led another way. Aranya only wished she knew where. She had been powerful; now she was weak, and limited in what she could do. Living with that reality would be an adjustment – to use a perfectly Immadian understatement.
“Leandrial,” said King Beran. “Will you address us?”
In a voice that shook the earth, the Land Dragon said, “The legends of my kind tell of many First Eggs which hatched the Ancient Dragons. However, one Egg never hatched. For aeons, it lay in the Natal Cave, jealously guarded by the Black Dragon himself, Fra’anior, whose mate was Istariela, the Star Dragon. The Black Dragon grew exceedingly powerful in magic and great in stature amongst the Ancient Dragons, and though we know not the truth of the matter, we know that jealousy flourished and others plotted against him. Soon, there was war between the Ancient Dragons. The history is murky, but it is known that during that cataclysmic war, this potent First Egg came to be stolen by those Land Dragons who dwelled north of the Rift. Dragon rose against Dragon. The Land Dragons were wiped out, but at great cost – and the Egg was lost.”
“Millennia later, rumours arose among the Land Dragons south of the Rift that a First Egg had been found, resting deep in the fiery bowels of our world, where it had been guarded by ten thousand S’gulzzi – how would I describe them in your tongue? Creatures more spirit than flesh, similar to Dragons, who dwell in the unimaginable heat and pressure of our world’s core.”
“Under threat of retribution by the Ancient Dragons, our Elders appointed our mightiest and most cunning warrior, Shurgal, to retrieve the Egg and return it to its rightful place, that the balance of the harmonies might be restored. But Shurgal made a bargain with our most terrible enemies, the Theadurial, for the power he needed to complete this task, may his cowardice shrivel his soul! Shurgal retrieved the Egg, but bequeathed it to the Theadurial in exchange for immortality.”
Perhaps taking in the blank looks around her, or at least, detecting the reactions of her listeners, Leandrial explained, “Theadurial are intelligent creatures …”
Suddenly, a picture appeared in Aranya’s mind, and by the gasps around her, she knew that the others saw the same. The quality of the image was strange, as though viewed through smudged crysglass, but she saw a type of animal she had never imagined – an enormously elongated creature which appeared to be comprised of braided filaments, in consistency somehow both crystalline and metallic. It had many centipede-like appendages and cruel, hooked mandibles at both ends, with no apparent organs of sight.
“In its pupal form, the Theadurial enters the body through wound or orifice, typically of a sick or elderly Land Dragon,” said Leandrial. “It attaches to the spinal column. Once the mouthparts grow into the lower brain stem, the parasite is able to control the functions basic to life – heartbeat, breathing and nerve impulses. After it reaches maturity, the Theadurial takes over the higher brain functions. It replicates by laying eggs inside the Land Dragon’s brain, driving the host to insanity and death.”
Aranya shuddered.
“We used to be able to fight them, or eject them with our magic,” the Land Dragon added. “Now, by the First Egg’s power, they enter even healthy Dragons. They will wipe us out.”
For a long time, no-one spoke. Stars began to prickle beyond the Jade moon’s crescent, the sounds of night slowly taking precedence, as if the day’s events still lingered. The Amethyst Dragon looked over her companions, the Dragons and the Humans, all overshadowed by Leandrial’s vast bulk, her breath stirring the trees two hundred feet from her nostrils. How fey the night seemed. How far beyond the imagination of a Princess of Immadia, who had willingly bound herself into exile.
Her hearts ached for the Land Dragon, yet, what could she do?
Pitching her voice into the deepening twilight, Aranya asked, “What is this ‘balance of the harmonies’ you spoke of, Leandrial?”
Zip hissed at her.
Leandrial, however, seemed to appreciate the question. The wash of her magic thrilled Aranya through and through. “Has your egg-mother taught you nothing, little one? Maintaining the balance of the harmonies is a Star Dragon’s paramount duty. Perhaps you might best understand it thus: it describes the way the Island-World ought to be in all of its magical complexity – physically and spiritually, in its relations between its different creatures and realms, and in the powers that inhabit our world. The balance may be damaged or destroyed by our actions, just as Shurgal condemned my people to slavery under the Theadurial.”
An imbalance and a horror.
An idea popped into her mind. Aranya asked, “Is the Rift in balance?”
“An astute question!” Leandrial lowered her voice as its thunder echoed off the surrounding hills. “Sorry. We believe it is not, Aranya. Our sages believe that the Rift is the reason the Ancient Dragons chose to leave our world.”
“Magic is being wasted by the Rift-storm?”
“No, little one. Our sages say it is being sucked away by the maelstrom to somewhere beyond the rim wall, into a greater world beyond this Island-World.”
Aranya considered the strangeness of Leandrial’s beliefs. She had so many questions. How she wished to know more of her Star Dragon heritage! Even a Land Dragon knew more than her.
“That is of lesser importance,” said Leandrial, her voice growing deeper and quieter at the same time, reverberating through her listeners like a slow earth-tremor. “For two hundred of your years, I have sought to return the First Egg to its rightful place. The Theadurial grow ever stronger. Briefly, I even held the Egg in my paw.” She gazed down at the assembly, flexing her talons as though remembering what she had held. “Then, Shurgal came upon me in my weakness. While we battled, the Marshal of Herimor seized his chance and stole the Egg for himself. Only such a calamity could have united the tribes of the Land Dragons. At once, we attacked the Humans who lived above the Clouds. But the Marshal escaped with the aid of a dreadful power, taking with him thousands of Lesser Dragons as he levitated an entire Island out of our grasp and across the Rift.”
Ja’arrion put in, “The Marshall corrupted the First Egg’s power to summon a Shadow Dragon.”
“Who, me?” Every eye turned to Ardan, who squirmed.
“It was not a beast as you are, little one,” Leandrial told him. “It was a creature of otherworldly magic and otherworldly appetites. It fed upon the magic of Dragons. Like the Theadurial, it was a succubus, a parasite.”
The Western Isles warrior cast Aranya a dark, apprehensive glance. She knew he was thinking about the Chameleon Shapeshifter. She ducked her head rather than reveal her churning feelings to him. How could she trust Leandrial’s assessment, given what she had seen? Yet Dragon magic was many-faceted, often startling in its rules and manifestations. She, authoress of a thousand-league storm, ought to understand that better than most.
Could she trust her treacherous heart when it came to Ardan, or the Ancient Dragon’s even more treacherous will?
The Land Dragon continued, “Knowing all this, the Elders sent two dozen of our people, those who had never succumbed to the Theadurial, across the Rift, to pursue the Marshal and his beast. I alone survived that journey. Here, north of the Rift, I sensed a new power in the Island-World, a Lesser Dragon who had the power of the Ancients, the power to Command by magic. Her name was Pip. You call her the Pygmy Dragon. At Fra’anior, I saved Pip’s life. She promised friendship and help, and to summon me at the right time. But she was a traitor. She gave the First Egg to Shurgal instead. Using the Egg’s power, he escaped back over the Rift, leaving me stranded here in strange lands, which I have roamed for a hundred and fifty of your years, while my people suffered in unspeakable ways. I know this, because I have the power of visions, like you, Aranya. And they torment me.”
“You never tried to go back?”
Leandrial shivered at Aranya’s question. “Yes, I tried. Three times. But even a Land Dragon cannot cross the Rift on her own. This last time I was severely injured before I had to turn back. Then, the Black Dragon apprised me of your power and ordered me to hunt you, to set you on the right path – lest not we be mistaken, I thought you were the Pygmy Dragon traitor. I intended to destroy you.”
“We may have sensed that,” Zuziana put in.
“I did not understand,” said the Land Dragon, shaking her enormous muzzle. “You healed me with your magic near Jeradia, with the tears you shed into the Cloudlands. How did you know?”
“I … didn’t,” said Aranya, puzzled and amazed. “I do remember weeping my Dragon tears as I fled into the storm. What an impossible coincidence! But if it helped you, I’m glad I did, Leandrial.”
For the first time, Oyda spoke up. “Coincidence? In a Star Dragon’s life? This from the girl who, of all the places in the Island-World, chose to crash-land on my doorstep?”
“I didn’t choose!”
Oyda said, “Who guided you, then? Not me.”
Allowing her annoyance to curl between her fangs as Dragon fire, Aranya pressed, “So, Leandrial, are we to understand that Shurgal tracked you across the Rift and pinched the Egg behind your back?”
“YES!” The thunderclap of Leandrial’s fury rocked the moored Dragonships and triggered alarms on the Dragonships patrolling above. Beran quickly ordered his Signalman to signal the all-clear.
“I just don’t think Pip could have been a traitor.”
Now, a low, dangerous throbbing issued from the depths of Leandrial’s chest. “Do not test my patience, little one. You will travel with me to Herimor, where you will use your Star Dragon powers to restore the balance of the world. And I will have your oath, now.”
“I-I c-can’t, Leandrial.”
Suddenly, the Land Dragon’s paw darkened the sky above her. “YOU WHAT? THIS IS TREACHERY!”
Chapter 33: Family of Dragons
Aranya TREMBLED BENEATH the Land Dragon’s fury. Leandrial’s magic staggered her, pinning her in place while her paw hovered overhead, ready to slam down upon the Amethyst Dragon and end her life.
“I c-can’t p-promise the impossible,” she stammered. “Leandrial, please …”
The Land Dragon thundered at King Beran, “You gave your word, o King! Speak to your daughter, lest I terminate her life this instant!”
All was silent as Beran rushed down the rope ladder and ran over to Aranya. Leandrial’s paw did not budge an inch.
“Aranyi –”
It was just as she had feared. She said, “How could you make promises behind my back, Dad?”
“I promised you would help Leandrial,” he stated, unrepentant. “Thoralian has undoubtedly set off to find the First Egg. You said that he alone knows the secret of Izariela’s healing, and that if the First Egg ever fell into his hands, it would spell the end of our Island-World. Therefore, you must pursue him. What other choice do we have?”
“But … Dad, I’d help, but it isn’t physically possible.”
King Beran’s grey eyes turned wintry. “And why does Izariela’s daughter balk now, after all she has fought for, and suffered, and won?”
When he was angry with her, she became someone else’s daughter? Molten fury erupted into a scream, “Would you look at me? Look at what he did!”
Aranya had to pause to suck a whistling breath into her blighted lungs. “Look beyond the ugliness and see that I can’t even breathe properly, Dad! I haven’t the strength to battle Thoralian, leave aside the impossibility of crossing the Rift in the storms above it, or in the poisons below. I don’t have the strength to survive such a journey. He ruined my health, Dad. I’m not capable any more.”
Words of the wounded. She had not meant for them to emerge as raw and bleak as a winter storm over Immadia. Aranya hid her face between her paws, unable to bear their shock, their sympathetic glances.
“He’s crushed your spirit,” said Beran.
Zuziana, changed to her Human form, waved to Aranya. “Come, sit with us.”
Classic Zip, leaning casually against Leandrial’s knuckle. Nobody else would dare to treat a Land Dragon like that.
“Go easy as you settle down,” Jia fussed.
Aranya said, “I can’t do anything else. I’m not moving for a week.”
The Remoyan Princess settled herself in her customary position against Aranya’s neck, saying, “Commander Darron lost Estalia today, and every ship of his command. He only survived because one of those Reds up there – Haragoz – literally plucked him out of a drake’s mouth.”
Of the fourteen Dragons who had aided her strike against Thoralian, seven still lived. One would never fly again. Aranya sighed heavily. “Jia, sit with us.”
“How are you feeling, Aranya?” asked Zip.
“Good. My shoulder’s sore, but what hurts the most is that we lost Thoralian.”
King Beran waved his arms for attention. “Now that we’re all here,” he said, “it’s confirmed. Thoralian slew an Immadian soldier and stole his uniform, and has not been seen since. He and at least three of his kin, escaped.” Groans greeted this news. “Nak is recovering. He lost his left foot to a drake, but swears he’ll use the right to boot the creatures properly in the future.” Laughter all round. “Yedior the Brown collapsed and sealed all of the tunnels leading to the drake hatcheries, so at least we don’t need to worry about that – only the several thousand that escaped. And he confirms there are ninety-eight Shapeshifter Dragons yet to be revived, sleeping in those caverns.”
“They’re all on our side,” Zip called out.
Beran frowned at her, saying, “Reviving them will be some task.” Just then, a soldier appeared at the King’s side to ask a question.
Aranya’s head jerked in horrified realisation. “Zip, where’s Ri’arion? I haven’t seen … he didn’t –”
“He’s fine, petal. He’s aloft on Haragoz, conducting some kind of Nameless Man magical search for Thoralian. And when he gets back, I’m going to have words with him for riding another Dragon.”
“He rode Ardan.”
Zip folded her arms stiffly. “I refuse to dignify that.”
“Is this about him leaving you in the middle of the battle?” Aranya earned a sniff for a reply. “Zip, you had me on your back.”
“That’s different.”
“Zip, why’re you so upset? It isn’t something I’ve done, is it?”
“No.”
Aranya blew hot air between her fangs. “Have it your way. I’m too tired to argue.”
King Beran called down, “Ja’arrion? Would you brief us?”
“Very well, o King. Va’assia and I have spoken with the Dragons. We are eleven, including these fledglings – Aranya, Zuziana and Lyriela.”
The Amethyst Dragon felt her belly-fires churn, even as Zip stiffened against her neck. A fledgling? How demeaning a description, after all she had suffered. As if feeling the force of her response, the Green Dragon’s gaze settled upon her.
Ja’arrion added, “That number includes Rezzior the Red and his mate Fydurial, who served Sylakia but now vow to serve us. We plan to stay here, working to revive these Shapeshifters, and hopefully, restoring them to full health. We will establish a Council of Dragon Elders to regulate and advise our kind. In time, we plan to return to the ancient Halls of the Dragons at Gi’shior Island.”
Ta’armion said, “Gi’shior is the ancient home of Dragons, and Ha’athior houses your Natal Cave. Fra’anior welcomes you.”
“As long as we don’t cause trouble?” asked Ja’arrion.
The Prince’s jaw twitched. “Fra’anior welcomes you gladly. We will negotiate the matter of Gi’ishior and learn from our histories, even as we forge our future together.”
“Won’t you first consult the King of Fra’anior in this?”
The Prince turned to look up at the Green Dragon. “I’m married to your daughter, aren’t I?”
I’ll negotiate with my Prince, said Lyriela, curling her paw about him with a mischievous air.
“It is time Fra’anior embraced all forms of its magic,” said the Prince, not without a shiver, “including addressing the status of the secret monasteries which follow the Path of the Dragon, and our magicians and Shapeshifters. I intend to outlaw the hunting of dragonets. You’re right. Not all Islanders long for the return of Dragons. But I have a few ideas, o Ja’arrion the Green, and my father is a reasonable man.”
“May it be so.” Ja’arrion nodded regally.
Listening to the Land Dragon’s respiration reminded Aranya of the sound of her own scarred lungs. Even now, she felt breathless. Are you unwell, great one?
I’m far from my natural realm, little one. Far above it. Even with the aid of the strange Human you call Nameless, I suffer from this thin, unpleasant air.
Then you must return to the Cloudlands.
Not without you, said Leandrial, in a far from comforting tone.
Me? I can’t go down there. It’s pure poison.
The Land Dragon growled, It is agreed. I will not leave without you and your oath, sworn in the name and on the grave of your Star Dragon mother.
Zuziana patted Aranya’s flank uneasily. Petal, hold the fires while I explain.
You’ve agreed something behind my back? Zip?
Aranya found her voice shaking with ire. Did everyone think she was an invalid, just because she had failed to defeat the Sylakian Emperor? Islands’ sakes, they had received the surrender of his forces, what little remained of them! Could it be because she looked beaten, as though she had been chewed up and spat out, several times over? Aye, she had failed. Now there were other, older Dragons who had their own plans, who saw her as a fledgling, and … she was no longer the centre of attention? Aranya chewed her lip unhappily. Please, let arrogance not be her motivation!
What desire did she have to lead the Dragons, anyway? What did she know? That path was the one taken by those who sought absolute power, the Thoralians of the Island-World. If being a Star Dragon meant seeking the light, as Izariela had taught her, then her path led another way. Aranya only wished she knew where. She had been powerful; now she was weak, and limited in what she could do. Living with that reality would be an adjustment – to use a perfectly Immadian understatement.
“Leandrial,” said King Beran. “Will you address us?”
In a voice that shook the earth, the Land Dragon said, “The legends of my kind tell of many First Eggs which hatched the Ancient Dragons. However, one Egg never hatched. For aeons, it lay in the Natal Cave, jealously guarded by the Black Dragon himself, Fra’anior, whose mate was Istariela, the Star Dragon. The Black Dragon grew exceedingly powerful in magic and great in stature amongst the Ancient Dragons, and though we know not the truth of the matter, we know that jealousy flourished and others plotted against him. Soon, there was war between the Ancient Dragons. The history is murky, but it is known that during that cataclysmic war, this potent First Egg came to be stolen by those Land Dragons who dwelled north of the Rift. Dragon rose against Dragon. The Land Dragons were wiped out, but at great cost – and the Egg was lost.”
“Millennia later, rumours arose among the Land Dragons south of the Rift that a First Egg had been found, resting deep in the fiery bowels of our world, where it had been guarded by ten thousand S’gulzzi – how would I describe them in your tongue? Creatures more spirit than flesh, similar to Dragons, who dwell in the unimaginable heat and pressure of our world’s core.”
“Under threat of retribution by the Ancient Dragons, our Elders appointed our mightiest and most cunning warrior, Shurgal, to retrieve the Egg and return it to its rightful place, that the balance of the harmonies might be restored. But Shurgal made a bargain with our most terrible enemies, the Theadurial, for the power he needed to complete this task, may his cowardice shrivel his soul! Shurgal retrieved the Egg, but bequeathed it to the Theadurial in exchange for immortality.”
Perhaps taking in the blank looks around her, or at least, detecting the reactions of her listeners, Leandrial explained, “Theadurial are intelligent creatures …”
Suddenly, a picture appeared in Aranya’s mind, and by the gasps around her, she knew that the others saw the same. The quality of the image was strange, as though viewed through smudged crysglass, but she saw a type of animal she had never imagined – an enormously elongated creature which appeared to be comprised of braided filaments, in consistency somehow both crystalline and metallic. It had many centipede-like appendages and cruel, hooked mandibles at both ends, with no apparent organs of sight.
“In its pupal form, the Theadurial enters the body through wound or orifice, typically of a sick or elderly Land Dragon,” said Leandrial. “It attaches to the spinal column. Once the mouthparts grow into the lower brain stem, the parasite is able to control the functions basic to life – heartbeat, breathing and nerve impulses. After it reaches maturity, the Theadurial takes over the higher brain functions. It replicates by laying eggs inside the Land Dragon’s brain, driving the host to insanity and death.”
Aranya shuddered.
“We used to be able to fight them, or eject them with our magic,” the Land Dragon added. “Now, by the First Egg’s power, they enter even healthy Dragons. They will wipe us out.”
For a long time, no-one spoke. Stars began to prickle beyond the Jade moon’s crescent, the sounds of night slowly taking precedence, as if the day’s events still lingered. The Amethyst Dragon looked over her companions, the Dragons and the Humans, all overshadowed by Leandrial’s vast bulk, her breath stirring the trees two hundred feet from her nostrils. How fey the night seemed. How far beyond the imagination of a Princess of Immadia, who had willingly bound herself into exile.
Her hearts ached for the Land Dragon, yet, what could she do?
Pitching her voice into the deepening twilight, Aranya asked, “What is this ‘balance of the harmonies’ you spoke of, Leandrial?”
Zip hissed at her.
Leandrial, however, seemed to appreciate the question. The wash of her magic thrilled Aranya through and through. “Has your egg-mother taught you nothing, little one? Maintaining the balance of the harmonies is a Star Dragon’s paramount duty. Perhaps you might best understand it thus: it describes the way the Island-World ought to be in all of its magical complexity – physically and spiritually, in its relations between its different creatures and realms, and in the powers that inhabit our world. The balance may be damaged or destroyed by our actions, just as Shurgal condemned my people to slavery under the Theadurial.”
An imbalance and a horror.
An idea popped into her mind. Aranya asked, “Is the Rift in balance?”
“An astute question!” Leandrial lowered her voice as its thunder echoed off the surrounding hills. “Sorry. We believe it is not, Aranya. Our sages believe that the Rift is the reason the Ancient Dragons chose to leave our world.”
“Magic is being wasted by the Rift-storm?”
“No, little one. Our sages say it is being sucked away by the maelstrom to somewhere beyond the rim wall, into a greater world beyond this Island-World.”
Aranya considered the strangeness of Leandrial’s beliefs. She had so many questions. How she wished to know more of her Star Dragon heritage! Even a Land Dragon knew more than her.
“That is of lesser importance,” said Leandrial, her voice growing deeper and quieter at the same time, reverberating through her listeners like a slow earth-tremor. “For two hundred of your years, I have sought to return the First Egg to its rightful place. The Theadurial grow ever stronger. Briefly, I even held the Egg in my paw.” She gazed down at the assembly, flexing her talons as though remembering what she had held. “Then, Shurgal came upon me in my weakness. While we battled, the Marshal of Herimor seized his chance and stole the Egg for himself. Only such a calamity could have united the tribes of the Land Dragons. At once, we attacked the Humans who lived above the Clouds. But the Marshal escaped with the aid of a dreadful power, taking with him thousands of Lesser Dragons as he levitated an entire Island out of our grasp and across the Rift.”
Ja’arrion put in, “The Marshall corrupted the First Egg’s power to summon a Shadow Dragon.”
“Who, me?” Every eye turned to Ardan, who squirmed.
“It was not a beast as you are, little one,” Leandrial told him. “It was a creature of otherworldly magic and otherworldly appetites. It fed upon the magic of Dragons. Like the Theadurial, it was a succubus, a parasite.”
The Western Isles warrior cast Aranya a dark, apprehensive glance. She knew he was thinking about the Chameleon Shapeshifter. She ducked her head rather than reveal her churning feelings to him. How could she trust Leandrial’s assessment, given what she had seen? Yet Dragon magic was many-faceted, often startling in its rules and manifestations. She, authoress of a thousand-league storm, ought to understand that better than most.
Could she trust her treacherous heart when it came to Ardan, or the Ancient Dragon’s even more treacherous will?
The Land Dragon continued, “Knowing all this, the Elders sent two dozen of our people, those who had never succumbed to the Theadurial, across the Rift, to pursue the Marshal and his beast. I alone survived that journey. Here, north of the Rift, I sensed a new power in the Island-World, a Lesser Dragon who had the power of the Ancients, the power to Command by magic. Her name was Pip. You call her the Pygmy Dragon. At Fra’anior, I saved Pip’s life. She promised friendship and help, and to summon me at the right time. But she was a traitor. She gave the First Egg to Shurgal instead. Using the Egg’s power, he escaped back over the Rift, leaving me stranded here in strange lands, which I have roamed for a hundred and fifty of your years, while my people suffered in unspeakable ways. I know this, because I have the power of visions, like you, Aranya. And they torment me.”
“You never tried to go back?”
Leandrial shivered at Aranya’s question. “Yes, I tried. Three times. But even a Land Dragon cannot cross the Rift on her own. This last time I was severely injured before I had to turn back. Then, the Black Dragon apprised me of your power and ordered me to hunt you, to set you on the right path – lest not we be mistaken, I thought you were the Pygmy Dragon traitor. I intended to destroy you.”
“We may have sensed that,” Zuziana put in.
“I did not understand,” said the Land Dragon, shaking her enormous muzzle. “You healed me with your magic near Jeradia, with the tears you shed into the Cloudlands. How did you know?”
“I … didn’t,” said Aranya, puzzled and amazed. “I do remember weeping my Dragon tears as I fled into the storm. What an impossible coincidence! But if it helped you, I’m glad I did, Leandrial.”
For the first time, Oyda spoke up. “Coincidence? In a Star Dragon’s life? This from the girl who, of all the places in the Island-World, chose to crash-land on my doorstep?”
“I didn’t choose!”
Oyda said, “Who guided you, then? Not me.”
Allowing her annoyance to curl between her fangs as Dragon fire, Aranya pressed, “So, Leandrial, are we to understand that Shurgal tracked you across the Rift and pinched the Egg behind your back?”
“YES!” The thunderclap of Leandrial’s fury rocked the moored Dragonships and triggered alarms on the Dragonships patrolling above. Beran quickly ordered his Signalman to signal the all-clear.
“I just don’t think Pip could have been a traitor.”
Now, a low, dangerous throbbing issued from the depths of Leandrial’s chest. “Do not test my patience, little one. You will travel with me to Herimor, where you will use your Star Dragon powers to restore the balance of the world. And I will have your oath, now.”
“I-I c-can’t, Leandrial.”
Suddenly, the Land Dragon’s paw darkened the sky above her. “YOU WHAT? THIS IS TREACHERY!”
Chapter 33: Family of Dragons
Aranya TREMBLED BENEATH the Land Dragon’s fury. Leandrial’s magic staggered her, pinning her in place while her paw hovered overhead, ready to slam down upon the Amethyst Dragon and end her life.
“I c-can’t p-promise the impossible,” she stammered. “Leandrial, please …”
The Land Dragon thundered at King Beran, “You gave your word, o King! Speak to your daughter, lest I terminate her life this instant!”
All was silent as Beran rushed down the rope ladder and ran over to Aranya. Leandrial’s paw did not budge an inch.
“Aranyi –”
It was just as she had feared. She said, “How could you make promises behind my back, Dad?”
“I promised you would help Leandrial,” he stated, unrepentant. “Thoralian has undoubtedly set off to find the First Egg. You said that he alone knows the secret of Izariela’s healing, and that if the First Egg ever fell into his hands, it would spell the end of our Island-World. Therefore, you must pursue him. What other choice do we have?”
“But … Dad, I’d help, but it isn’t physically possible.”
King Beran’s grey eyes turned wintry. “And why does Izariela’s daughter balk now, after all she has fought for, and suffered, and won?”
When he was angry with her, she became someone else’s daughter? Molten fury erupted into a scream, “Would you look at me? Look at what he did!”
Aranya had to pause to suck a whistling breath into her blighted lungs. “Look beyond the ugliness and see that I can’t even breathe properly, Dad! I haven’t the strength to battle Thoralian, leave aside the impossibility of crossing the Rift in the storms above it, or in the poisons below. I don’t have the strength to survive such a journey. He ruined my health, Dad. I’m not capable any more.”
Words of the wounded. She had not meant for them to emerge as raw and bleak as a winter storm over Immadia. Aranya hid her face between her paws, unable to bear their shock, their sympathetic glances.
“He’s crushed your spirit,” said Beran.
