Dragonfriend (20 page)

“Master Jo’el,” he said, gathering the tall Master into a very un-Fra’aniorian hug. “You saved us from being slaughtered like sheep, today.”

“Master Ga’athar.” Over the shorter man’s shoulder, Jo’el’s eyes twinkled. “Sister.”

A wide grin ambushed Hualiama as the Master gathered Ja’al’s mother into his embrace. Beside Jo’el his sister looked tiny, but she had the same beak-like nose and piercing eyes, her expression quite at odds with the homely apron protecting her fine, sapphire-coloured traditional lace dress. The smell in the cottage made her mouth water. Yum! Mohili-wheat sweetbread a-bake, was it? Lia had seen her among the villagers helping set everything to rights after the battle. By evening, Ja’al’s mother must have found time to return to her housework.

They had worked all day. Hualiama exhaled. So many graves. Such wanton destruction.

Several younger faces peered shyly around a curtain at the back of the room, before ducking back with muffled giggles.

“It was the Great Dragon’s timing,” averred Ja’al, following his nose toward the oven.

Dusting her hands on her apron, his mother said, “Paws off the sweetbread, you thieving dragonet! Have you forgotten your manners, being surrounded by men all day long? Kindly introduce your companions, young man, before I introduce my rolling-pin to your left ear.”

Lia chuckled at Ja’al’s pained expression. Oh, what part of the Island-World would she not have given for a reprimand from her own mother …

Sweeping into an elaborate bow that showed everyone a trio of red-crusted cuts above his right ear, Ja’al said, “Followers of the Path of the Dragon Warrior, I am honoured to present my parents, Master Ga’athar and Mistress Yualiana. My father is the leader of this Island. Father, Mother, may I present our esteemed Master Jo’el, the monks Hallon and Rallon, and–”

“Shut the door, Hallon,” said Master Jo’el.

As the door creaked shut, Ga’athar addressed Hualiama with a jovial smile, “It seems our monks grow younger by the year. Was this your first battle, boy?”

“My first, aye,” she said, quietly.

Yualiana’s eyes narrowed as she turned from Lia to Master Jo’el. “Aye, a petite and very
pretty
monk, brother–oh! Heavens above and Islands below … it can’t be, we heard … no, no …”

“She looks better without the beard,” said Ja’al.

“Aye?”

One word from Yualiana, and her son began to steam around the ears. He sat down at the table with a thump, finding some fascinating detail on the opposite wall to engage his attention.

Next, Yualiana glared at her brother. “You great ralti sheep, our house is in such a state and you, you bring home …”

Fancy, for once, even Master Jo’el seemed flustered. He joined Ja’al at the table, while Hualiama looked on with astonishment. Someone could do that to Master Jo’el?

“Lia,” said the Princess.

With a preposterously fancy bow, such as Hualiama had not even seen the most fawning of courtiers possess the coordination to produce, Ga’athar said, “By all accounts, you gave a fine account of yourself in the battle today, your–”

“Just Lia, please.”

“I saw her leading Hallon and Rallon a merry dance,” said Master Jo’el. Shuffling their feet, the giant twins found their seats with alacrity. “You may remove your hood, Lia.”

Yualiana took Lia’s hand to kiss her knuckles. “Our household is deeply honoured. King Chalcion never made occasion to visit the Nameless Man. I assume that is why we are graced with the presence of–”

“A royal ward,” said Hualiama, with a brittle smile. “In reality, I’m as ordinary as … ah, without offence, I mean, anyone else. The monks have certainly thrashed me enough times …”

‘Ordinary?’ Ja’al inquired with his eyes, causing her sentence to trail off into silence. “Father, shall I see if the Nameless Man will receive Hualiama?”

Ga’athar nodded; Ja’al disappeared behind the curtain. Hualiama heard him dispensing fond kisses to his siblings, before a door creaked and all went quiet. Ja’al’s father said, “Princess, your intelligence was accurate. About an hour ago, several captives we interrogated confessed to being Ra’aba’s men. This was clearly Ra’aba’s plot all along–to force us to commit our warriors in the fight against the Dragons, or to destroy us.”

“Aye,” said Master Jo’el, making a tent of his long fingers, a habit of his. “He’s without conscience. Ra’aba has also demanded our warriors join his forces.”

“There’s open war?” asked Hualiama.

“Aye,” grunted Ga’athar, “but not here, not yet. Over in the East, the Kingdom of Kaolili fights Dragons constantly. A month ago, Lyrx’s main city was attacked and sacked–by renegade Dragons, we’re told. That’s over five thousand people! Six months ago, Telstroy Island fared little better. Half of their main town was reduced to cinders. Sapphurion–”

“The Dragon Elder, the leader of all Dragons,” Master Jo’el explained.

“Aye, Sapphurion would have us believe he’s fighting these renegade Dragons and protecting us. And just this last week, news reached us of four villages just south of Gi’ishior, plundered and set ablaze by an entire Dragonwing of feral Dragons.” Ga’athar’s hands twisted into fists. “It was an annihilation. Pure, wilful murder. Just as would have transpired here, at the hand of our own people, Princess, had you not intervened.”

Lia shifted uncomfortably on her seat. The false beard itched mightily, but Master Jo’el had commanded her to keep it in place. She muttered, “Master Jo’el leads the monks, not me.”

Jo’el’s lean hand rose to indicate the curtain.

“Oh.”

Her soft gasp preceded her as she brushed past the densely-worked lace hanging. As Lia passed into the small, dim room beyond, she heard Yualiana say, rather acidly, “A girl at the monastery, brother? How’s that been?”

“Educational,” said Jo’el, dryly.

“I’d wager on that!” his sister snorted.

“She’s an extraordinary young lady. Quite remarkable.”

Lia’s ears burned at the Master’s praise.

Ja’al clasped her fingers. “This way.”

Her eyes had no chance to adjust to the dimness before he swept her through a well-hidden doorway into a completely blackened room. Hualiama sensed the presence of men with weapons. Then, a metal door scraped open and bright candlelight dazzled her eyes.

The room was bare, save for a green rush pallet in the centre, and a flat floor cushion off to one side. Lia’s eyes moved first to the cushion, where a girl of about her own age knelt beside a half-size harp, her curly dark hair spilling from beneath a modest white headscarf. However, that girl was not the source of power in the room. A stillness pervaded the place, as deep as the Cloudlands, and perhaps as perilous. Hualiama saw a small boy seated cross-legged on the pallet, who could be no older than seven or eight summers of age. His arms protruded like sticks from the depths of a sleeveless robe of midnight blue, his head balanced like a small blue egg atop an impossibly frail neck, and his eyes appeared overlarge in a sepulchral face–the eyes, she saw, of a Dragon.

Yellow. Flaming. Drawing her irresistibly into the ambit of his power.

A joke about the ‘nameless boy’ had been poised upon the tip of her tongue. Instead, Lia stumbled to her knees and bowed her head.

“Child of Fra’anior,” said the Nameless Man, in a little-boy voice that belied the gravity of his position, “the Great Dragon apprised me of your coming. Long have I awaited our meeting.”

Unbidden, an image of Amaryllion’s monstrous orb filled her mind.

The boy intoned, “No, one greater than he. Sit, and take tea with me, Hualiama. For we are kindred creatures, you and I, the foci of fates thrust upon us. We feel the fire of the Great Dragon. We blaze. We burn. History itself trembles on the cusp of a new era. You and I are its ushers.”

Lia shuddered.

H
uAliama and the
Nameless Man did not speak as one of Ja’al’s younger sisters brought them redbush tea sweetened with honey. The girl strummed the harp with tantalising skill. All the while, the Nameless Man’s smouldering yellow eyes measured her with a barely-veiled might not unlike what she had felt in the Ancient Dragon. Lia considered the childlike voice which wielded verbal blades, the simplicity of a boy’s words incising past and future with equal facility.

“Ask your questions,” said the Nameless Man.

“I have many,” Lia admitted. “Perhaps the most important is, how can I restore the King to the Onyx Throne?”

“Find him and defeat Ra’aba,” he replied at once.

Hualiama knew her inward scowl did not go unnoticed. “Nameless Man, you know what manner of man Ra’aba is–”

“I do.”

“Then you know I can never defeat him.”

“I repudiate that conclusion. Nevertheless, the future is clouded.” The Nameless Man reached out with his free hand, swirling the steam rising from his small cup of tea as though he could thus read the mysteries of the Island-World. “You’re a puzzling one, Hualiama. Hard to fathom. A soul shadowed by an evil so great–” His eyes flickered very rapidly, turning from yellow to pure white and back again “–I sense the touch of a foul, perverted magic … a past crime concealed, yet it will come to light. Were I a man, grown into my full strength, I could perhaps wrest these secrets from you. Your heart’s deepest desire is clear to me. You seek knowledge of your parents.”

“I do,” she repeated, feeling more and more the child before the penetrating gaze of a boy half her age.

“Discovering your heritage is paramount, child of the Dragon. Paramount.” His gaze drilled the word between her eyes. “A clue is revealed. Seek the Maroon Dragoness.”

“What? Sorry–would that be the Dragoness I dream about?”

“Tell me your dreams.”

Hualiama began, haltingly, to describe her dreams of a Dragoness singing over her clutch, when the Nameless Man interrupted, “Show me in your mind. Quickly.”

Why the rush? Images eddied through Lia’s mind as though his insistence had stirred up a flurry of leaves, flitting past the all-seeing yellow gaze. She became aware of his mental processes, of a mind so awash in power it seethed like a volcano, seeking to pare the truth from the bones of what she offered him–yet also, she sensed a vast frustration. Why was her future unclear? What prevented the Nameless Man from finding what he sought?

And now, his response communicated fear.

Words formed in her mind, similar to a Dragon or dragonet’s telepathic speech.
There is a prophecy known to but a few Dragons, a prophecy concerning the unleashing of an aeons-old power upon the Island-World. Ask the Ancient Dragon if he can name it. Seek the Maroon Dragoness–perhaps she will know why you were brought up by Dragons. To stand a chance of defeating Ra’aba, you need to learn a technique rooted in the power of your dance.

Suddenly, the Nameless Man stood. “I must leave.”

“Wait!” she yelped. “What about the Tourmaline–”

“Follow your heart in that matter, Hualiama.” Old, melancholy, the boy’s eyes transfixed her. “Do not lose hope, even when your soul’s Island is cast into the abyss of despair. I promise to meditate upon all you have shown me. Should any new insight–”

“Wait. Why must you go?”

“He comes, and I cannot be found here.”

“Who?”

She knew. As an armoured fist pounded on the front door. A voice cried, “Open up in the name of the King!” Hualiama knew in her bones, her nemesis had come.

The Nameless Man’s hand moved in a strange form of blessing. Ja’al had already sprung a hidden hatch, which opened on a narrow tunnel. He said, “May the Great Dragon’s fire breathe upon your life.” Tears wet his cheeks, great drops that seemed to pour from his soul’s own well. “A double portion of courage be thine, beloved child of Fra’anior.”

His weeping, more than anything which had preceded it, terrified Hualiama. Trembling, she turned, her hand falling upon her sword-hilt.

“Well, quite the gathering,” sneered a familiar voice.

Ra’aba.

Before she knew it, Hualiama was on the move, sidling beyond the reach of Ja’al’s grasping hand, darting through the darkened room toward a crack of light.
Zing
. Her sword rang brightly as she drew it. Surely, justice would guide her hand this time.

The Roc said, “You did fine work against those pirates today. A happy coincidence, Master Jo’el, that you happened to be–”

As he spoke, Hualiama oriented on that despicable voice. Fleet and soft-footed, she arrowed toward the curtain. The bright candlelight in the room beyond made her target stand out amply well. It was a long shot, but an overhand throw should spin the blade through the curtain … “
Unh!
”

Every muscle in her body seized up. Hualiama landed hard, unable to throw out her hands to prevent her fall, the well-worn wooden floorboards abrading her right cheekbone as she tore through the curtain and skidded to a halt at the foot of Master Ga’athar’s chair. Though her body was as rigid as a petrified tree, she began to convulse, her feet drumming helplessly against the floorboards, her tongue sliding back into her throat.

Clearly, she heard Ga’athar say, “My son has these seizures. My apologies, Ra’aba.” He raised his voice. “Ja’al? See to your brother, would you?”

Someone was growling and frothing like an animal throttled in a noose. Panicked. Trapped inside of her own body. She heard everything, but had lost all self-control.
Gnnnnaarrr!
Lia bellowed at the darkness, breathless at the pressure of rock walls too close to her wings and ambushed by the madness of a creature entombed beneath a mountain. She broke her talons on unyielding stone. Back and forth she charged, driven into a frenzy as the rock closed in, looming, a visceral terror crushing her hearts and driving her panting, scrabbling and clawing up and down the narrow chasm, knowing only that she would perish if she did not escape, and she was … the Tourmaline Dragon?

The sounds of the room resumed. The sense of soul-crushing terror abated. Lia felt Ga’athar push her gently with his foot so that she did not break her teeth on the table leg. Was she meant to be grateful? Where was her sword? Heavens above and Islands below, what was wrong with her? Had she
been
the Dragon, somehow? This was beyond empathy. Beyond the Isle of wishing to be a Dragon, it was a lurch toward insanity.