Chapter 15 - Baiting A Dragon

Hualiama threw herself into a headlong dive. Scramble! Claw with the fingers! There was no time. Instinct alone wedged her body between two boulders, head tucked into a foetal position, as fire stormed along the narrow passageway, first blasting upward, then following the curvature of the tunnel to wash over the exposed parts of her body.

She remembered screaming. There was pain riven through her right arm and thigh, her buttocks and feet. Lia swam up from the blackness whimpering, the sickly-sweet odour of burned flesh making her gag. She had to escape.

Below, the Dragon purred like a hundred-times-larger dragonet. Satisfied.

Stretching her wounds was agony. What now, Great Dragon? she moaned in distress. I obey, I hurt … I die?

What a fool she had been, sashaying gaily into a Dragon’s lair. Let this be a lesson. Those who did not want to be rescued could never be, even if they regained the freedom of the skies. She had only wanted to help. She had only obeyed a heart laid desolate by a Dragon’s fate.

Lia hauled her body back down the tunnel as if she were a blind worm scraping inside its burrow. At the sound of her movement, the Dragon’s engine-like purr rose to a crescendo. GRRR-RRR-RRR.

“Stupid, unthinking beast.” Lia used the sound of her anger as a counterpoint against the pain. “You have to … unnh–” the world faded through black “–escape. Come with me.”

Heave herself onto a boulder. Slide back in a tangle of limbs, soaked with sweat. She had survived bad wounds before. She must not give up. Never give in.

Weakness washed over her. The world turned white with magic, while Lia’s awestruck thoughts seemed to flow through prekki-fruit mush. Always in extremity. Why could she not see the Island-World like this, where she knew each stone and boulder had come from a unique place in the earth’s fiery heart, and had been shaped by the unimaginable forces of creative Dragon fire … she saw vast, coiling Dragons themselves the size of Islands, speaking words of power in a language long passed from living memory, raising mighty towers of stone from the seething magma pits inside which she glimpsed the fiery heart of her world.

Hualiama saw ant-like Humans labouring beside the Ancient Dragons. Never again would Humans be slaves, King Chalcion liked to declare. But there was more. Surely, this was not the only way? Surely, there was a pattern of being together as Dragon and Human that would bring honour to that mighty, many-headed one, whose gaze burned darkly over all, all-seeing and all-powerful, who knew the fate of a Human girl ere she plummeted from a Dragonship bound for the Cloudlands?

Lia collapsed and recovered many times before reaching the gap beneath the boulder. She heard a flutter of wings.

Flicker.

The dragonet squeaked in horror, Lia, what have you done?

* * * *

There were rents in her clothes through which Flicker saw raw, charred flesh, weeping with her red blood and another clear fluid, the stench of meat cooked as she liked it–yet, this was her flesh. His Lia, burned.

Stupid, stupid straw-head! No word of warning would she hear. Her green eyes locked on his, occluded with suffering, as if a dark, lashing storm had broken within her soul, dampening her fires; as though even the hope of life itself had succumbed to the pain.

Flicker, darling. Bring Ja’al.

Be strong, Lia, he cried. I’ll be back before you know it.

The dragonet’s flight-muscles burned as he shot over the volcanic rim. He crashed into the monks’ meeting, shrieking his need. Ja’al hurtled out as fast as Flicker had arrived. The monk charged down the stairs, three at a time, taking the rope swing Flicker fetched for him and flinging himself over the divide … his blue eyes overflowing as he saw the blackened, battered form of Hualiama pulling herself hand over hand across the rocks, along the dangerously narrow mouse trail on the cliff side.

“I’m here, Lia.” He choked down a sob. “Come, climb onto my back.”

“Oh, Ja’al …”

They struggled to raise her. Lia had no strength left in her arms, so Ja’al bound her wrists with his belt and pulled them around his neck. Lifting her body, he used his loincloth to create a sling that kept her in place, leaving his hands free to grasp bushes and roots as he negotiated the steep descent back to the tree.

By then, Master Jo’el was at the prekki tree with five more monks. Hallon and Rallon rigged a rope bridge to Ha’athior Island, and moved Hualiama across the gorge in an improvised sling.

Ja’al said, “Sapphurion will be here in a matter of hours.”

“We can’t tell the Dragons,” said Master Jo’el. “They’ll burn this place down if they hear we trespassed on their holy Isle.”

The young monk cradled Lia in his arms. “Careful with her,” Flicker growled at Ja’al. She was tiny compared to him, like a wren tucked into its nest.

“What about the Tourmaline Dragon?” asked Ja’al.

“Hualiama must decide,” said Master Jo’el. “He was feral?”

“Feral,” whispered Lia, groaning through gritted teeth. “Can you heal a feral Dragon?”

Ja’al cut in, “Toss that despicable Dragon in a Cloudlands volcano! Sapphurion’s mate is meant to have healing powers. Can we ask her to treat Lia?”

“It’d be dangerous,” his uncle pointed out. “What if Lia speaks Dragonish in her presence?”

“What if she dies? Look at these wounds, Master.”

Flicker nodded quietly as he followed the men back up the tunnel. If a Dragon had injured her, a Dragon should heal her, his seventh sense insisted. There was a certain rightness about the notion, a completion of a necessary fragment in the impossibly complex song of the Island-World, the great balance alluded to in Dragon lore. Land Dragons were masters of the balance. But they dwelled in the vastness of the cloud-oceans between the Islands, between Kaolili and the Lost Islands, he had read, that hotbed of Dragon-hating Human magicians who were said to possess a power called Dragons’ Bane, the ability to bind a Dragon to their purposes and fling them to their death in the Cloudlands.

* * * *

Tiny Lia squealed happily, running into a Red Dragoness’ paw. She’s such a darling thing, said a voice.

We can’t keep her, my third heart. This was the great one, whose voice thundered with mellow, ageless wisdom. Humans are not our pets, not any longer. If their King discovers we’re secretly raising a Human on Gi’ishior Island, there would be terrible consequences–their adraconistic advisors would have all the excuse they needed for war, not to speak of our own enemies in the Council of Dragon Elders.

She’s so beautiful. So … bursting with the fires of life.

There was a silence of breaking hearts. That girl knew nothing of it, then, yet she remembered their voices.

You mourn our eggs, thou breath of my soul. The great voice sounded leaden. Just one hatchling when we dreamed of three.

That’s a truth born in fire, Sapphurion, said the Dragoness. Always, you know the flight of my wings, even when it must perforce dip into the Cloudlands with sorrow. What did Ianthine want with this one? Where did that ruzal-breathing witch find her? This is a great mystery, my third heart.

Giggling, the Human toddler ran unsteadily to the mighty Blue Dragon, holding out her arms.

When she fell, the Dragon scooped her up with great gentleness, for each of his talons were longer than her body. Here, little mouse. You cannot stay in our clutch forever. We must give you to the Human King.

I sorrow, said the Dragoness.

And I fly with thee in thy sorrow, said her mate.

* * * *

They had done to her what the Nameless Man had done, Hualiama realised. She was trapped in her own mind, unable to speak or respond as a maternal draconic presence examined her wounds. Then, the Nameless Man had saved her from being destroyed by Ra’aba. Now, she raved inside the echoing hallways of her mind, slipping into and out of lucidity. How could it be that a Red Dragoness stood in her cavern, alongside Master Jo’el, Ja’al and Master Khoyal? How could the Dragoness confer with them in low tones, while Lia lay helplessly abed, beneath a light cloth covering meant both to preserve her modesty and to conceal her identity?

Magic. Oh, the sweet, unattainable song of icy fire playing over her body!

“What kind of fire did this?” inquired the Dragoness.

“Dragon fire,” said Master Jo’el. “A feral Dragon attacked the girl–my niece. We brought her here, for we hoped you might accompany the Dragon delegation, o mighty Qualiana. Your powers of healing are peerless, even among the Dragonkind.”

His smooth lie darkened the fire.

After a long silence, Qualiana said, “I will accept your story and treat your niece, Jo’el, but you will owe me a favour. A personal favour.”

Unable to respond, Hualiama lay unmoving, drenched in equal parts of pain and astonishment. Dragons spied lies so easily? At last, coolness bathed her burns, a healing magic which traversed the most intimate, delicate pathways of bone and muscle, and she knew by the Dragoness’ groan and the transfer of arcane energy between them that Qualiana worked a mighty labour within the very warp and weft of her being.

After a very long time, Qualiana spoke. Do I know you, girl? Did I cradle you–the Dragoness’ voice caught, thick with emotion–in my paw?

Loving wings infolded her into a womblike space.

* * * *

From a prison of the mind, to a prison of the body.

Lia stared stupidly at her left wrist, tethered with a leather thong. Her neck twizzled. And the right. What was this? She lay on her stomach like a windroc soaring wide-winged upon the everlasting thermals of Fra’anior’s caldera, yet she was helplessly lashed to the frame of her pallet. Increasingly crazed thoughts avalanched through her mind. Pirates? Bandits? Torture from Captain Ra’aba? A draconic punishment for daring to set foot on Ha’athior Island?

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Er … help? Can somebody let me out?”

“She stirs at last from the royal pillow-roll,” said Inniora, moving into Lia’s line of sight. “Before you ask, this is for your own good. You kept thrashing about and scratching yourself so much that you were wrecking your chances of healing properly.”

“My own good?”

“Right. Red Dragoness say you no move. Heal good. Flicker say, you no move. Herbs stay put, heal good. Understand now? Inniora say–”

Lia fumed, “I understand I’m about to boot your backside so hard you’ll fly right over the caldera!”

Inniora folded her muscular arms with an infuriating smirk. “In which case, I’m leaving you right there. If you’ve the energy to squawk then you must be healing up.”

“Has anyone fed the Dragon? We must feed him. And–” Hualiama’s eyes flew wide “–how long have I been asleep? Will you untie me, you rotten tease … Inniora, laughing does not help. Please.”

Chuckling, “Slow down, grey falcon!” Inniora explained that Lia had been unconscious for four days after Qualiana exerted her healing magic. Flicker had delegated several dragonets to feed the feral Dragon assorted monkeys, lemurs and cave bats. Lia had dreamed repeatedly about being burned by the Dragon, she said, untying her friend’s ankles and wrists.

“You must not aggravate your wounds!” the tall Fra’aniorian admonished her.

“Are you angry with me, Inniora?”

“A little. What happened down there?”

“I was a fool,” Lia answered bitterly, explaining just how she had strutted into the Dragon’s ambit without a care in the Island-World. “Listen, I need to find out all about feral Dragons. Can you get Ja’al to raid the library for Dragon lore–no?”

Inniora laughed, “In good time! Great Islands, are you always this feisty?”

Lying still and healing up was not Hualiama’s favourite pastime. Thankfully, Ja’al arrived that afternoon to dump a pile of scrolls within arms’ reach. She devoured scroll upon scroll of Dragon lore. Dragons going feral was an old problem, she learned. On occasion during battle or as a result of trauma or grief, a Dragon might enter a feral state for hours, or weeks, or–Lia winced–permanently. The only sure cure seemed to be if the Dragon had a mate, who by reason of their bond could break them out of a feral state. Dragon scientists had tried magic, music, drugged food or even a shock therapy consisting of lightning attacks from a Blue Dragon, with variable and largely discouraging results.

One scroll suggested that ninety percent of all Dragons had become feral at one point or another in their lifetime.

The following morning, Master Khoyal arrived with Ja’al in tow. “Good,” said the Master. “How’s the head, Lia?”

“Full of fluff,” Inniora suggested.

The Master whacked her kneecap with his cane. “Go fetch me two hundred grains of sand, student. Hurry. Now, Ja’al, I want you to fill Lia’s head with as many forms as possible. She can start thinking about them while she’s convalescing.”

“At least there’ll be something in her head–ouch!” Inniora yelped as the Master’s cane connected her elbow.

“Five hundred grains.”

* * * *

Flicker made it his business to stick closer to Lia than her own shadow over the following three months as she progressed from lying flat on her stomach to dancing like a dragonet–reference intended, naturally. She progressed from the faintly ridiculous waving of reeds, to a woman whose twirling form seemed clothed in shimmering steel, her blades moved so rapidly. Lia told him she dreamed in Nuyallith forms, as if her training existed in two realms, the physical by day and the mental by night. Certainly, her power multiplied. Hualiama broke Ja’al’s nose in combat while training with staves.

Lia wept for joy when Inniora held up two mirrors so that she could see her back. It was not perfect–perhaps the scar would always remain, a reminder of what the fungus-face had done–but the scar had subsided from an angrily red, keloid curve to a faded tan that blended with her skin. Her badly burned elbow regained its full range of motion. The damaged skin was only slightly rough to the touch, much of that improvement down to the herbal poultices Qualiana had decreed for her treatment.

The dragonet now instructed a class of apprentice monks in the art of herbal medicine, three times a week, a fact he never tired of impressing on Hualiama.

But she would not leave that trapped Dragon be.

Shards take it, Lia, are you singing to him again? Flicker was certain his eye-fires had turned green with jealousy. It isn’t working.

Amaryllion insists, she replied, conveniently skimming over all her other reasons–such as her constant blathering on about the worthless Tourmaline, and her claims of a special bond with him. Flicker’s scales crawled every time he considered her ideas. Sharing thoughts with a Dragon? Being … inside his mind? Madness.

Besides, if his girl shared a mental space with any creature, his name should be Flicker!

At least Lia had the wisdom to keep consulting the Ancient Dragon on a regular basis. Flicker had to admit, she was a brainless straw-head at times. Her eyes glazed over when speaking about Dragons. They became limpid pools when she considered the trapped Dragon’s state. And her hands grew deft with her new power, at once as hard-edged as blades, or as gentle as a mother dragonet’s brooding touch upon her eggs.

More like Lia insists, Flicker needled, nibbling her ear as they emerged from the secret stairway at the base of the monks’ nest. Another storm-season tempest had blown over, leaving a fresh and exciting scent in the air. I do enjoy your singing …

But?

We’re no closer to defeating Ra’aba.

Her shoulders stiffened beneath his paws. I wish you wouldn’t sully such a beautiful evening with the mention of his name, Flicker. Do you not think the fate of my family shadows my every waking hour?

Was he not family enough for her?

Appearing pensive, Lia took the vine rope in hand. They trod the now-familiar cliff path in a companionable silence, Hualiama’s hand rising to stroke Flicker’s neck in a gesture of apology. Perhaps his girl did understand how he yearned for the simple warren life, in the same way that she missed her family.

High in the rose-tinted sky, Flicker saw a Dragonwing wheeling over Ha’athior Island. Four Dragons–three Reds and a Brown. Patrolling? Hunting? Instinctively he flared his wings, shielding Lia from view as she lowered herself into the hole. A fifth draconic watcher appeared high above the cliff face, perfectly silhouetted against an isolated dark cloud. A huge male, the bright orange of a lava flow. A frisson ran the length of his spine spikes. Was that the Orange who had attacked his Lia? Not a good omen, shards take it!

Settling on her habitual boulder, a respectful distance shy of the place where she had been burned, Lia called, “Islands’ greetings, Dragon. It’s me, Lia, for only the hundredth time or so. I hope you’re not growing fat on all that monkey meat we’ve brought you.”

Silence. The beast neither stirred, nor did Flicker hear the muted thunder of the Dragon’s challenge as her arrival disturbed him. But the dragonet sensed a lurking draconic presence, just as his sixth sense had alerted him to the Dragons above. He smelled the Dragon, too. Over the months, the cave-stench had become rank. Why was it not worse? Was there another outlet for water or air?

Hualiama said, “So, following our theme of modern masters, o Tourmaline Dragon, today’s offering is, Arise, o Veriza! It was presented at court a few years back as a new opera in honour of the King’s fiftieth birthday, and tells the story of Veriza, a young Dragoness who longed to see what lay beyond the Rift.”

Her singing never failed to make him buzz with pleasure. Oh, Dragon eggs and flashing wings! Were her voice but a Brown Dragon’s magic, she could have sung open a tunnel to that Tourmaline Dragon and he could have paraded out of his entrapment on its very wings. The delights of Lia’s voice were completely wasted on that slack-winged, feral null-brain, naturally. But a discerning dragonet could bathe in its rich nuances and shadows, and dare to add a trilling descant in just a few places, eliciting from her a bright smile of encouragement.

She was leaking! Oh, Lia. Flicker wound his body around the Human girl’s neck, purring soothingly, allowing her strangely warm tears to splash on his scales. He glanced up and felt his belly-fires ignite.

Magic? His Lia was doing magic with her voice? For her eyes gleamed, an undeniably draconic curl of fire lighting them from within. She could not know. Hualiama sang with unstinting yearning of Veriza’s joy in flight, of her wonder at the Island-World’s marvels as she approached the sky-spanning Rift storm … and every scale on Flicker’s body prickled.

Extraordinary.

As the notes of her finale lingered in the gathering darkness, a deep growl issued from below, a voice of equally thrilling resonance. The Dragon said, “Bravo, Human girl. That was inexpressibly beautiful.”

Lia fell off her boulder and landed on her tailbone with a yelp.

She stared at Flicker in such jaw-gaping amazement, that he could not suppress a titter of laughter. I knew … he switched to Island Standard. “I knew you could do it, Lia.”

She mouthed, ‘You knew?’

The Dragon declared, “Thou hast seized mine third heart in thy delicate paws, if you’ll forgive the obscure reference. I … who are you? How did you find me? Forgive me, for I have been lost in the everlasting mists of the Cloudlands.”

Turning to Flicker, Lia gulped, “He’s the one. I know that voice.”

Flicker made a shooing gesture with his paw. Go on.

“O noble Dragon, I extend to thee the most sulphurous greetings of the Great Dragon, Fra’anior,” she replied, formally. The dragonet purred serenely. How well he had trained her in the proper etiquette of Dragons! “You have been lost, for you were feral–”

The Dragon gasped, “Your song-magic restored my soul-fires–who are you?” Suddenly, the Dragon seemed unsure, awkward. “How can I ever thank you enough, Human girl? Know that I am Grandion, a rare Tourmaline Dragon. Honour me with your name. I wish to know you.”

Hualiama replied, “Do you not recognise to whom you speak?”

Movement came from below, a restless, muscular pacing of a huge Dragon in a small space. “I do not–you! Trespassing again?” A vast, throbbing chuckle echoed in the tunnel. “You aren’t much of a respecter of rules, are you, Hualiama of Fra’anior?”

Her laughter cascaded from their tunnel into the space inhabited by the Dragon, a wild storm of merriment suddenly unleashed. Relief, Flicker thought. Delight. The melody of a heart unchained, reprieved at last from the shackles of grief.

“Not when it comes to rescuing Dragons,” she returned pertly.

“Threatening a pretty girl with being trampled beneath my paw was not enough?”

Lia’s unconsciously sweet smile roused the dragonet’s belly-fires. She winked at Flicker, who was unimpressed with the tenor of this conversation. He hissed, Stop flirting with him, straw-head.

He’s the one flirting.

Defiantly, Hualiama retorted, “Oh, your paw is immensely strong, Grandion.”

The Dragon growled, “Then why not obey?”

Flicker desperately wanted to bite Lia as a dragonet might discipline a naughty hatchling. What was she thinking, swapping banter with a Dragon? On Ha’athior? Moreover, a Dragon who had burned her to cinders? Lia rolled her eyes, smiling in the face of Flicker’s warning growl. She seemed delighted, abuzz with energy, and he was most displeased.

She said, “I took it more by way of advice.”

The cough of the Dragon’s fireball brought the scents of sulphur and smoke to Flicker’s nostrils. “Advice?” The force of Grandion’s displeasure made the rocks tremble beneath them. “I hunted you, girl! I spied on you–you practically walked over my tail without seeing me–slammed you to the ground, and roared in your ear, and you call that advice?”

Lia added airily, “Oh, if you must know, Grandion, I did leave the Island for a bit. But then you were attacked by those two nasty flying ralti sheep and I couldn’t leave you to die alone in a cave. So aye, I took it for advice.”

Evidently summoning up his reserves of patience, the Dragon growled, “While I appreciate the food, Human girl, I’ll have you know that monkey meat is the foulest substance under the twin suns.”

“What kind of food would you prefer, o sizzlingly majestic one?”

* * * *

“Ouch!” Lia glared at the dragonet. “You bit my ear, you flying rat.”

You deserve it–you can’t talk to a Dragon like that, Lia. You just can’t.

Says who? What was wrong with Flicker? His eyes blazed darkly, a shade of burned orange that rarely filled his eyes. Was he afraid the Dragon would burn her again? But he sounded so friendly. Her heart danced skittishly, behaving like a dragonfly investigating a pond.

Grandion called, “Who’s up there with you?”

“Some dragonet a windroc dropped in passing,” said Lia. “He’s called Flicker.”

Grinning toothily at her, Flicker said, “O Grandion, would you prefer Human meat, lightly toasted? I have the perfect candidate.”

Lia tried to smack his rump, but he danced out of reach.

The unseen Dragon rumbled, “While I agree that she’d make a royally tasty snack–” Hualiama gestured at Flicker, ‘See? He’s the one flirting!’ “–the girl I trapped beneath my paw was so dainty a scrap she’d barely whet my appetite. No, I’d prefer a whole ralti sheep, if you can manage that, dragonet.”

“Maybe in ten thousand pieces,” said Lia, rolling her eyes. “Grandion, we’re here to help you escape. Can you see any possible way out of that cave? I really need your aid–can we come down into the cave and help you find a way out?”

“Ah, rather not,” said Grandion, in a strange voice.

“Why not?”

“I’ve been feral for some time, I’d imagine.”

“Three months,” said Lia.

The resonant voice performed the audible equivalent of squirming as he said, “Let’s just say there’s a great heap of rancid meat, rotting bones and worse down here.”

He’s covered in Dragon droppings, Flicker tittered.

Why can’t we smell that? There’s a definite whiff of rancid meat …

Dragon droppings don’t smell. But everything else down there stinks like a windroc’s breakfast.

Raising her voice, Hualiama said, “Of course, I understand that any self-respecting Dragon would want to look his best for a lady–for royalty, no less.”

“Oh, naturally,” Flicker teased, flicking his wings beneath Lia’s nose. “Grandion, it’s getting dark and Lia promised Master Khoyal she would return before nightfall. I must tuck the Princess into her plush bed and sing her to sleep.”

“That would be a hard pallet,” Lia put in, with another fruitless swipe in the dragonet’s general direction, “and Grandion, I’m a royal ward, not a–”

“You won’t leave me in this grave?”

The Dragon’s plaintive cry was far removed from his confident basso rumble. In it, Hualiama perceived an undertone of terror, the madness of a creature accustomed to gracing the measureless realms of the skies, now trapped in a stinking hole.

Before she could formulate a response, Flicker called, “Grandion, Lia’s been telling you stories and singing to you every other day for three months, even though you tried to kill her. What does that tell you?”

The rasp of the Dragon’s breathing sounded over-loud in the enclosed space. Faintly, he said, “I remember some things. I can never apologise enough, Hualiama. My honour is smoke, not flame.”

She choked out, “I will return.”