The Onyx Dragon (4 page)

Here, Chymasion.

The egg leaped on its bed of soft ralti furs, there in the depression where Shimmerith brooded over her clutch.
Who is this perfect creature?
A whisper, rife with longing.

Pip smiled at the memory.
Her father was my mentor; she became my teacher and my friend. This is Arosia.
She pictured a rose.
Named for this flower. She is Arosia, daughter of Balthion and Shullia, sister of Durithion, who rides the Albino Dragoness Jyoss. Silver–

Already on my way, my third heart. Because I like this idea of causing trouble.

Ask her nicely, Silver.

He answered with a smoky draconic snigger, already fading into the distance as he winged rapidly toward the Academy buildings.

A sharp tapping emanated from inside the egg. Evidently, Chymasion was not prepared to let any scale-mites grow beneath his wings! Pip chuckled happily at the mental image of a Dragon frantically quarrying his way through the egg shell; she yelped as Oyda patted her sore shoulder.

“Sorry. Congratulations, Pip. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

Shimmerith snorted right behind her shoulder, making Pip jump. “No. Only you could have produced this miracle, Pip. You are not a troublemaker. You are an instigator.”

“Now there’s a promotion for you,” Oyda teased. Pip sniffed disdainfully. “Shimmerith, is there any way under the suns we could help Chymasion?”

The Sapphire Dragoness made an eloquent, massively muscular draconic shrug. “If you feel you need the exercise, noble Rider, do not stint. But my fire cannot burn that egg, nor my claws dent it, nor does any Dragon magic penetrate the shell.”

Oyda threw up her hands. “In other words, toss that stupid question onto the nearest bonfire.”

Shimmerith’s laughter gurgled in her belly. She snapped out a paw to catch Amfyrion’s attempted ambush of Oyda.
No, my flame-heart. Humans are delicate. Sheathe those claws.

Aw, Mamafire …

Don’t you ‘aw Mamafire’ me, my scorching flame-son.
Shimmerith rebuffed him with a playful cuff of her forepaw, drawing a fierce snarl from the hatchling.
Fight. Where are your fires?
Amfyrion pounced at once; the Dragoness rolled him with a deft flick of her tail.
Good! Faster still, Amfyrion. Show me a Dragon who will grow into his shell-father’s paws.

While the Dragons played, Pip wandered into the Human-sized kitchen area to track down a snack–dried prekki fruit and roasted mohili grain–and to take a swig of cool, fresh water piped from a reservoir near the top of the mountain. Somehow, she had expected a longer respite after the first battle for the Academy. She had merely survived the opening skirmish. Silver had been dispatched to deliver a pre-emptive blow, to capture the Dragoness with the power of the Word of Command. He had failed. Yet was there not a chance that Silver was an unwitting dupe in a deeper, long-term strategy being played out by Marshal Re’akka?

She must not slacken her guard.

Pip worried at her lower lip. Heavens above and Islands below, did she not have enough concerns already without lumping Silver on top of it all?

Abruptly, Oyda put her arms around Pip’s shoulders. “Hey, Pipsqueak. Need one of these?”

How did she know? Pip pressed her forehead against Oyda’s shoulder, and heaved three Dragon-sized sighs in a row. So many pressures, such a perfect storm of possibilities which could carry her off in an unexpected direction at any moment. Mercy.

“Oyda, I just feel so unready.”

“Tell you a secret? We all do. As someone once said to me, ‘I only want you to be happy.’ Do you remember?” Pip bobbed her head. “When I first became a Dragon Rider, I was so overwhelmed by the implications of the responsibility I had taken on, I tried to run away. Emblazon tracked me down before I did anything truly stupid. I thought, then, ‘I’ve done it. He’s going to roast me in Dragon fire, and I deserve no less.’ But he wasn’t angry. All he said was, ‘You need to remember, my precious Rider, that the suns will continue to rise in the morning, and the moons will orbit our Island-World in courses unchanged since the dawn of history.’ And he was right. Each day, we can choose to put forth our worthiest foot, and the rest?”

She finished her statement with a shrug.

They’re here,
Shimmerith called.

“Time for more mischief,” said Pip, rubbing her hands.

Maybe she ought to stop putting the idea into peoples’ heads?

Master Balthion came striding into the main roost-chamber with a vexed frown creasing his usually serene face. Mistress Shullia could have started a thunderstorm with her expression. And Arosia? Her shy friend’s green eyes appeared as large as a cat’s, full of trepidation and curiosity and no small measure of relief upon alighting on Pip. Arosia was barefoot, and her long, rich brown hair dripped water around her toes. She wore nothing more than what appeared to be a bed sheet.

Crossing her arms, Pip fixed Silver with an ominous glare as he sauntered into the roost, patently chuffed with his efforts. “You hauled her out of the bath, didn’t you, Silver?”

“Through the window!” growled Balthion.

“Naked and screaming to the heavens,” shrilled Shullia. “What do they teach Shapeshifters in Herimor? He brought ten Dragons and twenty guards down on us.”

“Almost started a war!” Master Balthion said.

“Well, I did see Pip naked when–ahem,” Dragon-Silver coughed, taken aback by the hostile reception. “Do I sense a nudity taboo in your culture?”

“In theirs, not in mine,” said Pip, with a little growling of her own. “Arosia, on behalf of the Lord of Beautiful Boorishness over there, I apologise. We jungle animals clearly have more refined manners.” As Silver’s belly-fires roared in indignation, she held up a hand. “All fireballs outside, Dragon.”

Silver lunged through the entryway to unleash his rage over the caldera.

“Very good,” said Pip, as the thunderous echoes faded. “Master Balthion, I assume you have some inkling of what this is about?”

“An egg which requires our Arosia’s help.” The Master glanced about. “Where’s the egg–great Islands! An Ancient Dragon? That can’t be real.”

Beckoning Arosia to her side, Pip smiled up at her tall, damp Sylakian friend. “Sorry about the bath, but I think you’ll find this much more exciting. Arosia, inside that egg is a Dragon eggling.” Arosia quirked an eyebrow drolly. “I know! Amazing, isn’t it? His name is Chymasion and I think he’ll make just about the biggest hatchling in history.”

At the mention of his name, all activity within the egg suddenly stilled. Pip had the sense that the eggling listened with every pore of his body.

Shimmerith added, “We all think my shell-son has special powers, Arosia. But he’s afraid to come out without encouragement. Without … you.”

The silence seemed as thin as fragile blown glass. Arosia stared at the Sapphire Dragoness, who essayed a draconic shrug of her wings. What explanation could anyone advance? This matter was beyond the rational realm, a matter of elemental Dragon lore.

Pip snagged Arosia’s trembling hand. “Come. Let’s you and I have a little chat with this Dragon.”

She knew. Her friend felt that first incredible, meaningful breath of destiny’s winds ruffling the secret waters of her soul, and by the intake of Shullia’s breath behind them, her mother realised it, too. Master Balthion stood with his arms folded, affecting that scholarly-thoughtful look that had been his staple when he studied a certain Pygmy girl behind the zoo bars. But his eyes sparkled.

“Go on,” Pip whispered.

Arosia lifted her hand. Touched the eggshell. “Chymasion?”

Poor girl, her voice wobbled and cracked like a dragonet’s chuckle. The instant she spoke, the egg shook and suddenly a frantic, redoubled tapping commenced in the interior. Arosia snatched her hand back with a tiny yelp, but the egg did not topple. Instead, it began to rock. It groaned, bulging here and there, as though the Dragon were stretching its limbs in imitation of a babe exercising within its mother’s womb.

“Again?” Oyda suggested.

“Do you think that’s wise?” Shullia said.

Suddenly, Arosia tore free from Pip’s grasp and, rushing forward, pressed herself bodily against the egg, arms akimbo and trembling, as if she wished nothing more beneath the five moons than to meld with the creature within. In a wild voice she cried, “Chymasion, come to me! Arise!”

The egg tipped precipitously. Before Pip or Arosia could even begin to duck, there came a violent ripping sound
like a Dragonship’s air sack bursting in a storm, and bucket-loads of hot but not scalding liquid splattered them from head to toe. In a flash of green scales, the newborn hatchling bowled Arosia over, laughing, gurgling, licking her face and limbs with a bright purple, forked tongue, mewling with pleasure as the girl flung out her arms and hugged anything within reach. Arosia was laughing too, begging for relief; the hatchling leaped at Pip and slurped the sticky albumen off her face in one enormous lick, before bounding off in a welter of enthusiasm and running headfirst into his shell-mother’s flank.

Seizing the massive green hatchling in her paws–for he was three or more times larger than any ordinary hatchling–Shimmerith crooned in beautiful, multi-harmonic Dragonsong:

He breathes! He burns!

The Dragonsong of living fire,

Blessed eggling, born to fly.

Chymasion stilled. He stilled, but only because draconic magic overwhelmed him. Arosia, who had reached out to help Pip scramble to her feet, dumped her on the floor without a second thought. Mercy. Now she had a sharp pain in her lower back as a counterpoint to a new song of magic in her heart, a song of joy for Arosia and Chymasion. The young Dragon blinked, and Pip felt magic wash over her–like the Land Dragon, Leandrial, he appeared to be using emitted magic to supply sight, rather than ordinary Dragon senses. He was not blind. Chymasion likely saw more than any of them, even though his eyes resembled jade jewels indwelled by Dragon fire–utterly unlike the swirling fire-eyes of his shell-mother, and his colour beneath the layer of sticky, yellow-white albumen clinging to his hide was a remarkable jade-green that shone with a distinct inner effulgence.

Unusual colours, unusual powers–a belief enshrined in Dragon lore. Pip herself was an ultra-rare Onyx Dragoness. What did this forebode?

As if drawn together by invisible strings, Arosia and Chymasion approached each other. Diffident. Exultant. Buzzing with hope.

Human girl, thou art the quintessence of magic’s beauty,
Chymasion breathed.

Arosia sighed. “Chymasion, whatever you just said, I feel the same. I don’t understand. I feel as if you’re the piece of my life that has been missing all these years, yet I didn’t even know it was missing until this evening. What is this magic? Help us, Pip. Please.”

Finding her feet awkwardly, Pip explained, “This is the ancient magic of Dragon and Rider, the intertwining of a Dragon’s fire-soul and a Human’s soul. I believe your hearts have already spoken this oath.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she observed Balthion’s furious expression. Trouble. No need for the senses of the jungle-born to understand that. Yet this magic was immutable. It could no less be denied than the Island-World might be denied passage around the twin suns. Pip knew she must play her part, and let the future speak for itself.

Drawing close to the smitten pair, she began, “Repeat after me. Let us burn the heavens …”

Together, Arosia and Chymasion echoed, “Let us burn the heavens together, as Dragon and Rider.”

For sheer joy, the Islands shivered.

A
n HOUR LATER
, Pip found herself back in Master Kassik’s office on her favourite patch of carpet, this time, the object of a father’s wrath.

“You!” Balthion roared. His face had turned an improbable shade of puce. “It’s your fault! My daughter is not riding off to war! Arosia has barely turned fifteen summers of age and you, you wretched Shapeshifter Dragoness, have the nerve, the presumption, to force her into a Dragon Rider oath? Much as I love and respect you, Pip, I will not have you interfering in her life in this manner!”

Master Kassik said, “Calm down, old friend. Nobody’s riding off to war as yet.”

“No, I get to sweat for a few hours beforehand!”

“No mere hatchling is flying with us to the Crescent Islands,” Kassik clarified. “Silver, what’s your assessment?”

“Chymasion is a most unusual hatchling,” said the Silver Dragon, head and shoulders inside Kassik’s office. “He stated that he accelerated his own growth for the reason that we will require him in the battles to come–specifically, that the Onyx Dragoness will require the services of his magic.”

“Impossible,” snorted Master Balthion.

“One would almost think you were the Dragon, Balthion, not I,” said Kassik.

Some communication passed between the men which Pip did not understand, for Balthion’s shoulders slumped and he buried his face in his hands. Between his fingers, he groaned, “Please don’t say it. Kassik, I know you’re a good man. An upstanding leader. I know you would not place any of these young ones in danger, save for reason of great need. If you fear for Casitha, then know my plight is similar.”

Again, Kassik did not speak. He only knelt before Balthion and placed his palm on the man’s right knee.

“Don’t ask this of me, Kassik.”

“I’m not asking. I wish to impress upon you that a Dragon just pledged the strength of his paw and the fires of his eternal soul to your daughter. And the truth is, Balthion, she would be no safer here at the Academy, or anywhere else in the Island-World. You heard what they did down south. Five thousand Dragons razed the Islands, leaving no single creature alive. Ay, she might live but a few weeks longer here. I am sorry, old friend.”

Pip stiffened. She had heard whispers of genocide, she had hoped against hope that her dreams might be disproven as meaningless nightmares; to have it confirmed as truth, made her feel nauseous. The Southern Academy had been utterly destroyed by the Dragons Assassins. What would they do to the Crescent?

She said, “Masters, why don’t you evaluate them?”

Kassik narrowed his eyes. “What’re you suggesting, Pip?”

“Why don’t you allow Chymasion and Arosia to fly with us as far as Sylakia Island? If Master Balthion still wishes to shield them, they can help with inquiries there or return safely to Jeradia via the Spine Islands.”

“Hmm.” The beard came in for a brisk scratching that reminded Pip of Hunagu rooting for fleas. “Good thinking, Pipsqueak. Perhaps I will interview this hatchling.”

Silver, would you summon Chymasion, please?
Pip asked.

Kassik arched an eyebrow. “He’s flying already?”

“I’m surprised you couldn’t hear the whoops from here, Master. Chymasion has already been fitted with a Dragon Rider saddle and flies aloft with Arosia.”

Balthion growled, “I accept, Pip. But just remember, I’m flying with you this time. I expect my camp to be made perfectly every night, hot tea on demand and my boots polished to Sylakian War-Hammer standards. Understood?”

“Certainly Master. Silver will be happy to oblige.”

Silver just aimed an unsheathed talon at her, which set both Masters laughing.

Kassik threw an arm about Balthion’s shoulders. “So, old friend. Shall we share a glass of my best Mejian red, before we go check on our students’ preparations? You choose which ones you’d like to boot first, and I’ll see to the rest.”

“Well done and bargained for.” Balthion clasped forearms with the Brown Shapeshifter.

“And me?” asked Pip.

“Haven’t you got boots to polish?” Master Balthion waggled his eyebrows at her, which always made her laugh. “Go remind Kaiatha to pack her father’s secret diary. Has she unscrambled it yet? I’ve an itch inside my left ear that says we’ll need that information to find the Order of Onyx.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And, Pip?” Kassik called.

Pip turned, already halfway to Silver. “Something else, Master?”

“Excellent work today, Pygmy girl. But no more surprises before bedtime, alright?”

“How can I promise the impossible, Master?”

* * * *

Bitter cold. She had known midwinter’s bite in the Sylakian zoo, yet this was bitterer. Deathly cold had attended the deaths of friends in her dormitory. This was deeper. She had known the chill of Telisia’s poison stealing between bone and marrow, between spirit and fire, yet this cold froze the very pith of a person’s living soul. Immedicable. Inescapable. Burning like cold-fire.

Pip whimpered in her sleep.

She wanted to run, to hide, for the shadow sought her unerringly, and the touch of its invisible claw was death. Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. Her eyeballs froze in their sockets. Frost crept through her veins, halting the latticework flow of life’s warmth, freezing in perpetuity that which was Pip. Her skin grew whiter than winter’s mantle, even the rich mahogany of her Pygmy birthright stolen by the march of her infirmity, the antithesis of all that was hale and golden and Dragon fire.

The creature hunted, its siren cry ringing across the leagues between the Islands, fey and furious. She cowered. Quailed. No! Not her Dragoness … the Shadow turned, seeing with eyes not of any world she knew, seeking … orienting on her …

“No!” With a scream, Pip fled her bunk bed and landed on her tailbone. Again.

Yaethi’s arms! Real and warm, they gripped her with a strength as tenacious and hope-imbuing as life itself.

“Oh, oh, oh mercy, Yaethi … it was here, the beast …”

At the same time, her friend whispered, “Pip, your skin’s ice! Are you alright?”

“It’s here!”

“Pip, nothing’s–Arrabon?”

The Green Dragon’s voice issued from right outside the dormitory’s closed and barred shutters. “I sense nothing, my Rider-heart.”
Nothing moves amiss, Pip. Be at peace.

“Then you must go to Shimmerith, as agreed,” Yaethi said.

Into the night? Into the Shadow-creature’s realm? She stammered, “I c-can’t go o-out there!”

Courage, Pygmy Dragoness,
Arrabon urged, filling her mind with overtones of safety, protection and a Dragon’s battle-readiness.
Fight fear’s dark-fires.

Where was her vaunted courage now? Fled upon the wings of some ridiculous nightmare? She must go. Accepting Yaethi’s cloak, Pip padded to the First Year Girls’ dormitory door to inform Jerrion and Barrion that she would fly to Shimmerith’s roost with Arrabon. They had heard the commotion.

But she searched the skies no less than a dozen times as Arrabon whisked her up the mountain to Nak and Shimmerith’s roost. Pip deliberately turned her thoughts to the advice she had sought from Master Adak during their three-hour conversation earlier that evening. Master Adak would not travel, for he was responsible for building the Academy’s defences and training the defenders. But he had waxed garrulous about the Crescent Isles and Pygmy culture, as was his wont, cramming enormous amounts of useful information into the available time. She needed to reflect upon his wisdom. Internalise his instructions for meeting unfamiliar Pygmies. Recap his description of the likely forms a Naming ceremony might take. There was so much a stolen child had never learned …

If she slept curled up in the Sapphire Dragoness’ paw, would she be safe? Could the beast stalk her even in Human form? Yet, Zardon had once sniffed out a Pygmy Shapeshifter in a cage. Could the beast do the same? Her presence might be exposing every single denizen of the Academy to mortal danger.

The sooner they departed, the better.

Within, Emblazon curled massively about his sleek mate and their three hatchlings, fully blocking the entrance to the crowded roost. But a sleepy round of shuffling afforded her a mouse-hole behind the wall of his flank to slip inside, right into the centre of their Dragon family, there to be engulfed in Shimmerith’s mothering paw. The Sapphire Dragoness crooned softly to her, as if Pip were one of her own hatchlings.

Despite her shivering, Pip found herself drifting off to sleep. Her last thoughts centred on the possibility of having two mothers. Or else, from where or what did a spontaneous draconic heritage like hers spring? Pollen-like magic blowing on the Island-World’s breezes?

* * * *

In the following morning’s pre-dawn chill, over a hundred Dragons, Riders and Academy staff converged on the field outside the infirmary. Wings rustled restively. Saddle-straps creaked as Riders checked them one more time. Weapons clinked. Maylin argued with everyone and everything around her, including the air itself, while Kaiatha and Duri stood hand in hand next to their Dragons, sharing a last-minute cuddle. Master Kassik, transformed into his massive Brown Dragon manifestation, stalked about snapping orders at anyone foolish enough to cross his path. There was something about being growled at from a height of twenty feet above one’s head that made Humans rush to obey. Pip grinned. Odd, that.

Nak sweated over affixing a massive war-harness to Emblazon, who clacked his fangs at an armourer who accidentally prodded him in the flank with a Dragon lance. His harness included space for three warriors aside from his Rider, Oyda, and mounts for flanking and rearward-facing war crossbows.

Pip eyed all of this activity from a short distance apart. She did not want to tangle with Emblazon in his irascible mood. Sleek and gleaming like a molten bar of silver even in the early gloom, courtesy of a last-minute lava bath and hot-oil treatment, Silver chatted earnestly to Chymasion and Arosia. Instructions, Pip suspected. Battle tips.

Her sharp eyes picked out a shadow descending a tree near one of the Academy buildings. It vanished into a narrow alleyway and did not reappear. Ha. Hunagu thought he could sneak up on a Shapeshifter Dragoness, did he? Yet, given the Ape’s supreme jungle-craft, it took Pip a long time to figure out how he had disappeared. Astonishing how a dark-furred Oraial Ape, who stood fourteen feet tall on his hind legs, could utilise the scant cover to camouflage himself perfectly. She scanned the open fields, the retaining terrace wall that separated the higher ground of the buildings from the lower field, and tugged crossly on her crazy curls. Where was he?

A tiny bush shifted up there on the wall. The drainage ditch. Ay! The Ape must be bellying along. Pip padded across to the wall. Now, he could pass right above her, and then she would …

“Pip-Pip!”

A huge, furry arm snaffled her up.

She hooted back in Ape-language, “Hunagu mighty-jungle-hunter. Good-good? Ready fly?”

“Ready get mate.” He thumped his barrel chest with a fist easily larger than Pip’s torso. “Ready go home. Pip go home? Stay home?”

That Pygmy spear of truth pierced her sorely. Hunagu had lost none of his ability to see straight to the heart of a matter. Never think Oraial Apes were simple, she admonished herself. Never think that simple speech equated to a simple mind, or a deficiency of heart. The Ape cradled her in his arms just as he used to cradle a Pygmy child to shelter her from his mother-Ape’s madness. There had been love in her Pygmy village, she remembered. But Hunagu, an animal to most people, had been the first to teach her a deeper kind of love, a love rooted in loyalty and sacrifice, a love which had saved many of her friends’ lives during an attack on their dormitory.

Would she see the dormitory again? This Academy?

“Hunagu go to jungle, take mate, have big-big family. Be happy-happy,” she said.

“Huh,” he snorted. “Pip family stinky no-good Dragons?”

She chuckled merrily. Kassik would transport him in a net which had been reinforced with metal cables. She pointed, “That Dragon. Silver.”

“Huh. Pip pretty. Dragon ugly pig-face pile of bat droppings …” He descended into unintelligible grumbling.

“Mount up!” bellowed Kassik. “We’ve a Marshal to kick in the teeth!”

Emblazon, Tazzaral and Emmaraz saluted these words with massive battle-challenges. Even Silver joined in the roaring, Pip noticed, until draconic thunder shook the nearby window-shutters. So much for anyone still trying to sleep.

Immediately, Faranion, Jerrion and Barrion scaled ropes dangling from Emblazon’s harness. Maylin yelped as Nak pinched her behind. “Move this rondure, o Empress of the East,” he smirked. Oyda promptly hauled Nak off by his left ear, snapping, “Get on your Dragon before Emblazon mistakes you for a stringy piece of goat-meat, Dragon Rider.” Durithion and Kaiatha buckled into their saddle harnesses onto Jyoss and Tazzaral respectively. Casitha balanced upon Chymasion’s shoulder, checking Arosia’s saddle and harness with expert hands, before running along his flank and leaping gleefully into Kassik’s upraised paw. She was so excited; Kassik could not help but bare his fangs in a Dragonish grin.