Dragonfriend (23 page)

Master Jo’el’s long, spiderlike fingers came to rest on Lia’s head. A link. A bridge for the passing on of knowledge. Jo’el said, “It is a small magic, but one with enormous power. A sixth sense, if you wish–intuition and more. Open yourself, like this.”

Unfolding. In a time measured by an eye’s blink, yet which stretched like her despairing sensitivity upon the Dragonship’s gantry before Ra’aba flung her overboard, Hualiama saw the world painted anew. From the great bellying storm-clouds to the tiniest mote floating across the leagues between the Island-mountains, she saw bonds and influences and harmonies, a song of fiery magic as old as the aeons yet experienced by her for the first time. White-golden fire radiated from her being, concentric circles racing outward, perturbing and penetrating the magical fabric of the Island-World.

“He’s behind those clouds,” she said, pointing.

Her legs crumpled.

Next she knew, Master Jo’el held her in his arms, his lean frame surprisingly strong. His smile touched his features with terrible beauty, at once majestic and profound. He said, “We begin to discern the Great Dragon’s will for your life, Hualiama. There comes now a time of hiding and training, of decoding and learning the secret ways, and for this, you will work harder than ever before in your life. It will change you, Lia. That I can promise.”

Lia only knew that her mind soaked up the essence of the Master’s words like dry soil desperate for nurturing rain, while her ears seemed so wide open, she could hear his thoughts behind the sounds uttered by his vocal cords.

Jo’el’s smile gentled. “What you just did takes most Masters many years to learn. Yet that is the way of Hualiama, is it not? She is never content to give just half of her life-Island. Nay, Lia would summon even the impossible to her aid. Look, the dragonet comes.”

Lia, Lia,
wailed Flicker, shooting back to the Dragonship in a blur of wings and talons.
What was that magic? It was you, Lia! It was … oh!

Master Jo’el eased her to her feet. “She is well, dragonet. Just a little too enthusiastic, that’s all.”

Of course, Flicker’s eyes filled with fire. “I cannot leave your side but for a second and you are sticking your wings into danger. You are–what’s the word …”

“Incorrigible?” suggested the Master.

“Worse than incorrigible!” he snapped, winding his body around her neck. His eyes, churning faster than Lia had ever seen them with swirls of yellow flame, glared at her from mere inches away. “What did you do? What did you see? Truly, your behaviour is–”

Inniora supplied, “Intolerable? Insufferable? Insupportable?”

“Any of those words!” howled the dragonet. “All of them!”

Just then, the gloomy clouds clinging to Ha’athior’s slopes shifted slightly, revealing the unmistakable oblong shapes of two Dragonships leaving their volcano. Twin purple flags fluttered behind the foremast of each vessel. No Human eye could see the detail from that distance, but they knew the symbols of royal Fra’anior–the volcano for the royal house, and the windroc for Ra’aba.

The Roc had been visiting. What ill did this bode for the monastery?

* * * *

In the caves deep beneath the volcano lay a secret complex comprised of living quarters, training facilities, and the great libraries of Human and Dragon lore. Here, Lia and Inniora set up new rooms, and Lia began her training.

“This is Master Khoyal of Archion Island,” Master Jo’el introduced them. “He is the only master with first-hand knowledge of the art of Nuyallith.”

Lia stared at the age-bowed monk. He moved as though his hips were fused in place–how was he meant to teach her to dance? She scuffed the sand with her toes, looking around the large but low-ceilinged training chamber as she considered how to respond.

Master Khoyal said to Jo’el, “I’m afraid ‘first-hand’ is an inappropriate descriptor, young man.” Lia blinked–if Master Jo’el was young man, what did that make her? A tadpole wriggling in her mother’s womb? His rheumy eyes turned upon the royal ward. “You’re a Princess, yet not. How shall I call you? Aye, your beauty blows as the gentle winds upon the misted terrace lakes of my home Island. I shall call you ‘zephyr’.”

Whatever was wrong with the name ‘Lia’?

Khoyal said, “My great-grandfather was a master of Nuyallith. I have from him many scrolls of lore, which for reason of their great age will require copying to fresh scrolls. That will be your first labour, zephyr. Jo’el, my boy, we’ll need desks, ink and quills … over there. We shall set aside that chamber for study. I need rope. A laver of water to be set here in the cavern floor. Quick as a dragonet, boy!”

Hualiama stifled a giggle that threatened to land her in hot lava with Master Jo’el.

“Zephyr!” said Khoyal, clicking his fingers rudely at her. “You will swim the underground lake two hundred times every day. We’ll need bars for gymnastic exercises–boy, are you still standing there? Where’s that little scamp, your nephew, with my scrolls?”

Master Jo’el scurried off.

Lia nodded. She had seen the underground lake, through a short tunnel off the cavern where they berthed and maintained the Dragonships. It had to be five hundred feet across if it was an inch. The Master would have her swimming miles every day. Good. But, copying scrolls? What kind of training was that?

“Two hundred laps,” said the Master. “A lap counts as there and back.”

Grr. Double that.

Ja’al arrived, carrying such a great armful of scrolls he could barely see where he was going. Lia smelled the mustiness from where she stood.

“Put them in that cave,” directed Master Khoyal. “Hurry up with the rest. Don’t dawdle!” The Master smacked her arm with his cane. “Idle hands, zephyr? Go help Ja’al carry those scrolls.”

The crack of his cane became a metaphor for her new life beneath the Island, hidden from Ra’aba’s prying eyes and, undoubtedly, his spies. Master Khoyal valued hard work as the path to mastery. “Eighteen hours of work. Nine to sleep,” muttered Lia, copying a scroll carefully. She eased her bruised knuckles, punishment that morning for a spelling error. “Only eighty laps today? Lazy little zephyr.” She had to stop lest she sink to the lake-bottom.

Khoyal was not unkind, but she was starting to dream about his whispery commands, when she was not suffering through sweat-soaked nightmares about a certain Dragon’s fate.

Hualiama eased her back. She and Flicker had spent their entire rest day–and the night, returning at dawn–searching up and down the avalanche site. Surely the Tourmaline Dragon was buried beneath ten thousand tons of rock? No sound, no sign, no possible route had they found, not even a hint of a crack that might lead within the Island. Her fancy new magic skill had been resoundingly silent.

Next week’s rest day, however, promised more entertainment. She would take Ja’al to meet Amaryllion.

“Coming to bed?” Inniora asked, sleepily.

“Just finishing this scroll.”

“If your head drops any lower, you’ll fall asleep and start drooling all over your work.”

“I do not drool!”

“Except over my brother.”

Lia huffed, “Inniora! He’s taking his vows tomorrow. End of Island.”

“Well, over that Blue Dragon, then–what was his name?”

“I don’t know. Fibber. I do not drool over Dragons.”

“Except when you dream about them,” Inniora said. “You talk in your sleep.” Lia favoured this with an expression no Princess should ever have made in public. “If I wanted to know your secrets, all I’d have to do is ask you questions while you sleep. Say, who’s Qualiana?”

Lia rubbed her eyes wearily. “Mate of Sapphurion the Dragon Elder, Red Dragoness. Over one hundred feet in wingspan, powerful healing capabilities beside the usual Red affinity for fireballs and lava attacks–why?”

“Night before last you mentioned her name, clear as the twin suns rising over Iridith.”

“Qualiana? Why would I dream about her?”

“Squirmy, aren’t you?” Inniora grinned. “To bed!”

“Shut your chirping parakeet-mouth. Better still, give me something to tease you about. There’s a man in your life, isn’t there? Ja’al was hinting. And, what reason under the twin suns could there possibly be for me to copy so many scrolls, blast them into a volcanic ruin!”

Lia jumped as Flicker chirped in her ear, “So that you learn, zephyr, and don’t just skim through the scrolls as you’re wont to do. Knowledge must be internalised before it can be reproduced as skill.”

Both girls chuckled at his flawless imitation of Master Khoyal.

A spiralling triple-loop showcased the dragonet’s skills as an aerial acrobat. Eyes a-whirl, he added, “Ask Inniora about Chago, straw-head.”

“Chago?” Lia turned on her three-legged wooden stool. “What would you like to tell me about Chago, Inniora?”

She swatted at Flicker as he whizzed past. “Nothing.”

Hualiama needled, “We are talking about Chago, Sub-Captain of the Royal Guard, right? The tattooed giant from the Western Isles?”

The taller girl developed spots of colour below her cheekbones. “He’s half Fra’aniorian.”

“I know … isn’t the story that he inherited his height from his Fra’aniorian father and his brawn from his Western Isles mother? He’s rather Dragon-esque, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’d say that flying pest of yours had better watch his wings!”

* * * *

To her mortification, Hualiama wept her way through Ja’al’s vows. Duty. Fidelity. Service and honour. The words were beautiful and poetic, but Ja’al’s elation as he spoke his vows, struck her as a hundred times more beautiful yet. His soul knew peace; she had done right. She would suffer this wound and lock it away in her secret storehouses of grief and loss.

Flicker wound his body around her neck, purring,
Are these happy tears? Or sad?

She wiped her eyes.
How’s about ridiculous tears, Flicker?

Hualiama. Attend.

Dragonet and Human stiffened alike.
Amaryllion?
she ventured.

It is I.
His voice must surely judder the Islands off their foundations, Lia thought, as a mental earthquake faded into the recesses of her mind. The Ancient Dragon rumbled,
I wish to meet with thee tonight. Bring he who speaks his vows. Now, Fra’anior shall bestow honour upon him.

Having entered the Chamber of Dragons through a secret tunnel, Hualiama, Flicker and Inniora stood concealed behind a rich tapestry to observe proceedings. Ja’al and his family knew they were present, but none of the other monks knew. Flicker had snidely advised Lia of legions of young monks wailing and lamenting in the halls for weeks as they mourned her absence. Lia snidely introduced her elbow to his ribs.

The Chamber was a unique meeting-place. A rough-hewn, round obsidian table dominated the room, surrounded by chairs each carved of a single monolithic block of stone or gemstone which represented a Dragon’s colour–ruby, emerald, sapphire, onyx, jade, a brown stone she did not recognise, and a white that could be diamond, only Lia could not imagine any diamond being large enough to seat a person in comfort. Ja’al stood at the far end of the room, between the twin golden statues of Dragons, their forepaws raised and clasped together to form an archway above his head.

JA’AL OF FRA’ANIOR!

This time, the room did quake. Hualiama grabbed Flicker as he voiced an involuntary squeak; his talons stabbed her right bicep, but she kept silent. Every monk gasped except for Master Jo’el, who looked gallingly unperturbed.

KNEEL, JA’AL.

Somehow, Lia sensed that this new voice, fraught with ageless power and majesty, spoke through Amaryllion. How could this be? Where did Fra’anior speak from, and what gave that most kingly of Ancient Dragons the ability to speak through space and perhaps even time, to interrupt at this very moment?

Ja’al knelt as though his knees had felt a scythe.

Great Dragon?
He fell face-down.
How may I serve thee?

I accept thy vows,
thundered Fra’anior, the many-headed Black Dragon of legend.
I bless thee with wisdom and Dragon fire, and with the power to seek justice for my people. For all are mine, Human and Dragon alike. Care for these my children, as I shall surely care for thee. I name thee Ja’al the Just, the divider of truth. Know that my paw shall rest upon thy shoulder all of thy days.

With that, the mighty voice vanished.

Stunning. Those gathered departed in reverential silence.

* * * *

Inniora’s back and right arm flexed, every muscle leaping into definition as she strained upward to tuck her chin briefly over the exercise bar. “Five.”

“Roaring rajals, would you look at her?” grumbled Hualiama. “What girl in their right mind manages five one-handed pull-ups in a row, Flicker?”

“Not you,” said the dragonet, helpfully.

“Oh, go chase a mosquito somewhere! Better yet, how’s about fishing up a few trout for dinner?”

“My mother says I’m scrawny enough to give her a case of the blister-fever,” said Inniora, dropping lithely to the ground. “Your turn.”

“Scrawny? You’re all muscle and bone.”

Lia found herself the recipient of a quirky grimace. Inniora said, “It’s ralti-stupid, I know, but I’d trade four inches of height and a sackweight of muscle any day for a few of your curves.” The dragonet sniggered; Lia mentally suggested he tie his neck in a knot. “Though, my mother was aggrieved that any Princess should look so manly. She’s promised to alter some clothes for you.”

“Manly? Hualiama?” Flicker was laughing so hard, he had a case of the fiery hiccoughs.

“Flicker, this is girl talk.” Lia pointed at the cave entrance. “Trout!”

Oh, can’t I talk clothes and curves with you, Human girl? It’s such fun–

“Get out!”

He sulked out. Meantime, Lia regarded the bars of their exercise frame with a jaundiced eye, trying to stop blushing up a storm. She was developing a healthy hatred for their daily regimen, and that dragonet and his penchant for stirring up trouble … Inniora pasted a diplomatic half-smile on her lips, but Lia sensed she was howling with mirth inside.

Lia said, “Right. Twenty-eight today?”

After Lia had completed ten pull-ups, Inniora said, “So, that was a surprise for Ja’al. Does Fra’anior always speak at these events?”