Wings of Renewal: A Solarpunk Dragon Anthology (33 page)

A girl caught him by surprise, her hand falling on his chest, dangerously close to the precious cargo in his pocket.
 

“Aren't you
exotic
?” she breathed, her cool fingers grazing the side of his face.

Nico bristled at her choice of words, his spine straight and a sharp admonishment on his tongue. He turned a glare on the girl and was startled to find himself lost in green hazel eyes and caramel skin. Freckles dotted her brown nose and her smile was pleasing. Nico had to blink to be sure she wasn't an illusion sent to distract him from whatever it was the witch had brought him here to do.

“Half-Japanese,” the witch replied in her honeyed, false voice.

“What's the other half?” the girl asked, pushing herself closer.
 

She couldn't have been any older than Nico, if even that.
 

He caught her elbows and pushed her back, shooting his mother a bemused grimace.
 

His mother smiled at him, one eyebrow cocked, and replied to the girl, “Something far more interesting.”

Nico's grimace changed into a glower. “I'm not for sale.”

“Everyone is for sale, Nico,” the witch replied.

“I'll leave.”

“Don't go!” the girl cried, lunging toward him.

He pushed her back and looked into her eyes again. Her pupils were dilated, enormous. She was drugged or entranced or both. Nico leaned toward her.

“You should go home,” he whispered, letting magic colour his words. “Sleep this off. Find meaning. You're better than this.”

The girl blinked and to Nico's great relief, took a step backward. “You're right,” she murmured, “I should. I am.”

Nico smiled to himself as she turned and marched right out the big red door she'd come through earlier, seeking oblivion from the witch in the city.

“Now, was that necessary?” His mother sighed.

“I'm sure she's already paid. Be satisfied,” Nico said. “I could make it my business to clear the room.”

The witch smiled at his empty threat. “You could, but you won't. Come. There's someone I want you to meet.”

Nico hesitated, again watching his mother's back as she disappeared into the long hallway leading to the rearmost room. There must be someone important waiting for him—this room was not for normal clientele. With a sigh, he followed, knowing he'd be unable to sate his curiosity otherwise.

The Red Door was not where Nico had grown up, but many of its curiosities were familiar to him—from the door itself, heavily enchanted with very old magic, to the baubles and trinkets that lined the walls and bookshelves in the hallway. These had been part of his life in the cottage in the valley, when the witch had allowed herself to age properly and helped instead of hindered those she met. She was a healer, and still is, Nico supposed, when it suited her. The magic Nico had learned from her had been only the very best, pure and whole and untouched by technology. That wasn't to say technology didn't have its place in the world, but for a time it'd had too much of a place.

Humanity had turned the tables on its dying planet in the twelfth hour. It had taken a massive culling of human life from rapidly changing weather conditions to spur the change, though the signs had been present for decades. But this was long ago, long before Nico was born. In the stories his mother told, magic had all but faded from the earth, drained out through mining and drilling and destroying. The golden age of magic had come to an end and with its demise, the dragons had left, too. Unconsciously, his hand went to his pocket and gently closed over the bulge there, his fingers a loose cage, comforted by the warmth and bulk inside.

His mother had slipped through a curtain of thick merlot velvet that Nico scanned quickly for magical influence. There was nothing save a spell to keep sound locked within their folds. So this meeting was in confidence. Nico stepped through the curtain. The laughter and hum of the front room cut out abruptly, replaced only with the sounds of wood crackling in the hearth.
 

The room was dim, but even in the darkness Nico could tell it had changed since the last time he'd visited. His heart thumped against his ribs as the details set in, from the heat of the wood fire to the threadbare rug on the floor, to the books on the shelves and the worn desk in the corner. Nico turned to his mother with wide eyes and she smiled. It was probably an illusion, but he saw her as she had been once, warm with soft greying hair and kindness in her eyes. She'd gone to great lengths to make this room into a replica of their cottage in the valley and Nico wondered at her aim. It couldn't be good. She touched his arm and directed her gaze to the chair in the corner, turned toward the fire.

“You have much to speak of and I have clients to attend,” she said quietly, in a voice that was her own.

Nico's eyes stayed trained on her back as she passed through the curtains and out of sight. It wasn't like her not to make introductions; it wasn't like her not to moderate the conversation and direct it how she wanted.
 

“Nicomedes Darkwater, let me look upon your face, boy.”

The voice was deep and ancient, rich with the undertones of a knowledge older than Nico could imagine. Nico's senses were overwhelmed by magic in those words, not compelling but simply
there
, lingering on every syllable.
There
as though it were impossible for it not to be. It spoke to Nico of mountains, and not the peaks where the air ran thin and unbreathable but the very centre, where the rocks whispered history and magic still built as easily as it did in Nico's fingers.

Nico took a shaky step toward the chair, shrouded in the dancing shadows of the flames, his feet surprisingly leaden. The witch never called him here unless it was a matter of great import. Although what she considered “great import” had changed over the years and Nico had let his guard down. He'd expected some fool scheme to rob imprudent men of their money, not to meet with someone who knew the arts. No, that was wrong. That's not how this person felt. This was someone who
was
the arts and such people were so very rare. Even Nico and the witch were poor substitutes for the sorcerers of the past. Sorcerers like the person in the chair.

“Come,” the voice said with a gentle edge, “I mean you no harm, boy. I only mean to look upon you.”

Nico was struck by a memory of the time he dove off the cliffs and into the sea on a dare. He'd stepped quickly into danger, as the only other option had been to run from it and that was an alternative he couldn't abide. It was the same walking toward the voice. He rounded the chair and halted, surprised to find a strong, young man with trailing dark hair and brown skin, a sharp jaw, and golden eyes that burned like the sun. Nico looked away, blinking rapidly and feeling the man's eyes on him.
 

The man laughed, a deep rumble that shook Nico to the core, not unlike his mother's amplified voice earlier.
Unlike
her tactic, however, the laughter resonated warmth and pleasure. There was movement in his pocket at the sound and Nico rushed to cover it with his hand, glancing at the visitor. He'd kept the secret safe for so long, safe from his mother, safe from those who would stamp its life out—Nico had no intention of handing it over now. The man's eyes had fallen on the pocket and a faint smile touched his lips. Nico's back straightened and he considered arming himself with magic against this strange man.
 

As though the man had heard his thoughts his eyes flicked back to Nico's face, eliminating any of his traitorous plans and forcing him to look away. Nico was afraid, but not. He expected the worst, and the best. The visitor was a stranger and a familiar.

“Who are you?” Nico pushed out in a strained whisper.

“You are powerful. Like your mother.”

Nico's lips twitched in irritation as he felt the tug of magic not his own pulling at his face and lifting his chin. “Clearly not as powerful as you.”

Nico raised his eyes to meet the man's, despite knowing they would burn. The eyes that had flared like miniature suns had dulled somehow, as though the light had been purposefully quelled for his benefit. Nico frowned and repeated his question. “Who
are
you?”

The man smiled and pushed himself upright. He was as tall as Nico. No, taller. No, shorter. Nico took a step back. The man's presence was ethereal, intangible yet as solid as Nico himself. His pocket bounced beneath his hand and Nico stepped back again.

“Show me,” the man said, holding out his hand.

Nico didn't have to guess what the man wanted to see, and despite the incessant squirming inside his pocket—or maybe because of it—he didn't want to hand it over. He shook his head wordlessly and the man huffed, amused. Still, Nico felt no malevolence in his magic. It simply
was
. The man with the golden eyes did not attempt to influence Nico with powers again, even though he could have quite easily. Even more than before, Nico wondered at who he was speaking with in the back room of the Red Door.

“The world is changing, Nicomedes. You would do well to accept the shift in the tides.”

“The tides shifted long ago,” Nico said quietly.

“They shift again,” the man said just as quietly.

“What do you want?”

“Only to see you.”

Nico scowled. “You see me now. What do you really want?”

“Only what you want.”

“Oh, and what is that, pray tell?”

The man threw back his head and laughed. The laughter was unlike anything Nico had ever heard before. It was sunlight and cloudless skies and crystal clear water. It was every smile he'd ever had and all the joy he'd ever felt, all at once. Nico fought against his own smile in sheer rebellion. When the man looked into his face, he only laughed harder.

“You are your mother's son, Nicomedes.”

“I'm still at a disadvantage. And you are?”

The man smiled again, ignoring his question and holding out his hand, palm out. “Show me the dragon, Nico.”

The familiarity in the way his name rolled off the man's tongue struck him as odd, but somehow not unnatural.

“Do I know you?”

“The dragon.”

Nico bit back a retort, knowing there was little point in pretending he
didn't
have a dragon in his pocket. His fingers shook as he undid the button, the tiny dragon crawling onto his fingers. She was getting bigger every day, but still fit easily in the palm of his hand. She glowed like a tiny sun, golden and hot against his skin. Nico didn't know where she had come from, but he had known her name was Fia and that he would never be without her again.

It was painful to watch Fia jump from his fingers into the strange man's palm. He admired the tiny dragon and smiled kindly as Fia butted her head against his fingertips fondly. Nico felt a rush of emotion, wanting to snatch back the dragon in a fit of possessiveness. She was his. No, that wasn't quite right either. She was meant for him; they were meant to be together. He watched her as she happily rolled in the stranger's hand and felt an acute sense of betrayal.
 

 
The man held Fia out to Nico, his fingers brushing Nico's hand as he gently deposited the dragon into it. His fingers were hot against Nico's, scorching as though the suns of his eyes were real stars, as though his whole body was made of them. Nico was hit suddenly by a memory. He was very small and they lived in the valley; his mother still laughed freely. The man was there, laughing, too. His hands were monstrous compared to Nico's, enclosing his own tiny fingers and spinning through the field together, dervishes in the late summer sun. He remembered the heat of this man's skin on his, hot in a way a person shouldn't be, but never painful. Never harmful. He remembered the sound of the man's laughter as it rumbled through his chest while he held Nico close.

Nico took a step back, his breath shaky and uneven. “Who are you? Please, tell me.”

The man sighed. “My name is of little consequence. You know who I am. It's in your heart.”

“You speak in riddles.”

“And live in the mountainside.”

“You see into my mind.”

“Not as easily as others.”

“You've slumbered.”

“Until your mother woke me.”

Nico stilled at the man's words. He told him no lies. Nico knew him in his heart and he knew what he was, even if he couldn't quite bring himself to say it. His eyes fell to Fia, who watched his face with keen amber eyes, knowledge and meaning apparent within them.

“Did you send her to me?” he asked, his thumb nervously stroking Fia's scales.

“I could not. She sent herself. She is a part of you, Nicomedes.”

“As are you.”

The man chuckled. “Not like her. The tides are shifting, my son.”

With those words, another rush of memories hit Nico, although these were not his own. A green planet teeming with life and abundant water. Nico knew it was in perfect balance from his bird's eye view and felt a great satisfaction. Then black smoke and choking toxins filled the sky as busy humans milled on the earth's surface, burning and tearing down the life that sustained them all. There was darkness for a time and a coldness that surrounded his body. It was uncomfortable, but it was life still and there were others, safe within the mountainside. And there they stayed for hundreds of years.
 

Then there was a girl. A human girl. She had one grey eye, the other black as pitch, and long, straight black hair. She'd found her way inside the mountain and smelled of sunlight and green grasses. With her arrival came something far more important—hope. And love. And a boy, made from both of them. A boy who carried the weight of the new world. But he wouldn't carry it alone. He had a sister.

Nico looked at the dragon curled in his hand. “Fia,” he whispered.
 

“The tides are shifting,” the man said quietly, “and we rise again.”

Nico's eyes fell upon the visitor again and he could make out his true form, just barely. The black scales and sheer size of him, the incandescent glow of his yellow eyes, the ridges of his back that would cut like diamond and open the world. And wings. Massive, iridescent, and powerful. Nico saw a bright future, one of harmony and togetherness. One where dragons and humans lived together. One where Nico and his dragon-sister would be accepted, not as oddities but as idols of a new age. Nico looked into those burning suns, the eyes of his father, and knew instinctively what to say.