Dragonfriend (39 page)

Giant steps, indeed. Flicker peered down a series of steps, each two hundred feet tall. The scale of the cavern stunned him, but after a time, he began to grasp what he was seeing. These were the same columns as comprised the Spits, but they lay side-by-side in a neat pile–rectangular columns each several miles tall and a quarter mile thick.

Lia said, “It’s like an ancient storehouse. Did the Ancient Dragons store these columns here, and then simply plant them in the Cloudlands to make the Spits?”

Grandion shook his head. “And this Dragon’s wings shiver in disbelief. Mount up, my Rider. We must find this Ianthine.”

Flicker rode with Lia while the Tourmaline Dragon made great hops and flying swoops down beneath the Spits, into a realm few Dragons had trod. When he looked up, it was to see the Human girl’s jaw so tightly clenched, her lips showed white at the edges. Perhaps two or three miles beneath the surface, Flicker began to smell something. Grandion oriented on the stench without anyone needing to say a word. Instinctively, they knew that was where they would find Ianthine. Her presence pervaded this space like an invisible mist closing its clammy tendrils about the travellers.

Swooping cautiously over a pile of desiccated windroc bones, peppered with rotting fur, entrails and other delights, Grandion brought them to a landing outside a low-roofed grotto carved into the southern wall of the main cavern. Here the rocks were brown, strangely organic, sprouting such a profusion of damp mosses and fungi that they could have been in the midst of a moist jungle–were it not for the incredible stench of stale urine and what Flicker finally recognised as faeces plastered on every conceivable surface, even the cave roof. The fungi were certainly well fertilised.

What is this place?
Grandion said.

Ianthine’s lair,
said Flicker.
She waits for us.

Hualiama had a hand on one of her swords, but then dropped it deliberately. She glanced at her companions.
Come.

The Human girl’s elevated pulse rate betrayed her qualms. Chattering softly to himself in approbation of her spirit, Flicker leaped up to Lia’s shoulder. He whispered an ancient blessing into her left ear,
The courage of Dragons be your portion, Hualiama of Fra’anior.

She
said,
Thanks, my friend. I’ll need every drop.

The grotto bent around a corner. As Lia moved forward, they passed out of the wind’s blast into a place of musty smells so concentrated that Flicker felt as though he had sniffed acid up his nose. The sound of water pouring resolved into a small waterfall tumbling fifteen feet into a shallow pool. The water’s phosphorescent glow lit up the cavern, and the flank of the Dragoness crouched beside it.

Flicker gagged. The Maroon Dragoness was easily twice the size and three times the bulk of Grandion. At least part of the stench was due to the open, weeping ulcers on Ianthine’s neck and flank, great wounds seemingly bitten out of her hide by an unknown agent, leaving bloody craters behind. What could be seen of her Dragon scales was the purplish red of a bruise, while the majority of her vast, bloated body was covered in scale rot or fungus, perhaps both. A flame-red eye fixed upon them.

Ah. Took you long enough, tumbling about my little realm. What a puny party. Ungracious greetings laced in snot to you, pathetic creatures.

Ianthine’s voice sneaked and slithered about their minds, riddled with a cackling undertone of madness.

Grandion came to a halt right beside Lia, panting, wild-eyed at the sight of this legendary monstrosity. Sapphurion himself had banished this Dragoness. Now they stood before her to ask a boon. Flicker’s three hearts skipped a beat simultaneously.

Drawing a shallow breath, Lia said, “The most sulphurous greetings of Fra’anior to you, Ianthine–”

Ianthine drowned her out in a volley of vile curses. “That black-bellied son of a volcanic flatworm! Skanky two-faced whelp of a bleating goat! Speak not his name, little one … but come.” She crooked a claw, abruptly crooning with saccharine malice, “Come to me. Old Ianthine wishes to sniff thy maiden beauty. Such a pretty thing. Belongs in this cave, it does. I’ve a hoard. All around us–what wonderful, foetid riches they are.”

Gulping audibly, Lia began to shift forward, Grandion whispered, “No, Lia …”

“Closer. Yes, closer it must come. Right under my paw.”

Hualiama stopped, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. “Do your sniffing from there, Ianthine. Then, I would ask you a question.”

“It wishes to ask a question?” Stretching her neck suddenly, the Maroon Dragoness brought her ruined nostrils right up to Lia’s chest and took a huge, wet sniff. “Ah!” she moaned, retreating suddenly, a fearsome thrashing of her body. “It smells … I haven’t smelled such in many a year. It reminds one of what was lost. Toothsome wench. Ianthine should eat it. Like she ate its mother, a pretty, two-legged snack she was. What is this question, this deception, this voice from my past?”

Poor Lia! Her reflexive shudder almost threw Flicker off her shoulder. Like him, she probably did not know what to believe, because the Maroon Dragoness’ tone was so hateful and filled with deliberate malice, it was as though she wished to cast verbal barbs and twist them into the flesh of her victim with the air of an expert torturer.

“I wish a boon, Ianthine,” said Hualiama, unsteadily. “You know something of my parents. I wish to learn who they are.”

“And what does it offer old Ianthine?” Flicker stiffened in concert with his perch. “Poor, pathetic Ianthine,” she whined. “She suffers greatly. A boon requires a payment, child. Make an offer.”

“I-I have some jewels h-here–”

“No, not jewels,” hissed the Maroon Dragoness. “Offer old Ianthine something more … interesting. You have power, child, more than you can imagine. Spend it wisely.”

Ianthine’s cackles were swallowed up in the organic morass of her chamber. Lia’s head swivelled as she took in her surroundings, buying herself time to think. Finally, she said, “I have nought, old Dragoness, but I am moved by your plight. I shall offer you a favour, as is common amongst the Dragonkind.”

“I accept!”

Flicker felt his eyes darken with horror. Every scale on his body tingled. The Dragoness’ glee, the instant response–what harm did she envisage for Hualiama? Grandion’s fires surged in a low rumble as the Dragon drew closer to Lia, curling his forepaw protectively over her shoulder.

“Offer her something else,” Flicker urged.

“Too late.” Ianthine continued to laugh. “It holds in its frail Human form the key, all the power I need to break free from this prison built by small-minded Dragons of limited understanding. Strange company Humans keep these days. A pretty Dragon on a leash, and a dragonet who shadows his mind? Deceitful little creature. I accept. Here is my boon, Human. Its mother? A trickster, a vile, veiled enchantress was she, who gave her babe to old Ianthine. Maybe I ate her. Maybe her twin, the madwoman. The envoy of the Dragon-haters, she came to Gi’ishior.”

So Lia was perhaps born on Gi’ishior, and the Human girl’s shell-mother gave her up to Ianthine? The dragonet’s mind reeled as he considered this. But Ianthine was not finished yet. Her forepaw lifted, the longest talon outthrust from its retractable sheath to tap Lia’s belly.

“Here, it is scarred. The one who did this, he is the father.”

“N
o!” HUALIAMA’s SHRIEK
tore through the cavern. “You lie! You vile, wicked filth!” Falling to her knees, she moaned, “Nooooo … please, it’s not true. Tell me it’s not true.”

She knew her pleading was useless, yet Lia clung to hope as a drowning woman clinging to a rope. Sweat oozed from her brow. It trickled down her body in droplets as thick as blood. She stared at Ianthine, recognising the truth before the Maroon Dragoness spoke.

“Confuses me, it does. Where is the lie? It comes with an innocent face, unaware of the secrets locked within its breast. The truth is told.” The Maroon Dragoness rocked back and forth on her paws, keening, “Its mother tortured old Ianthine, she did. She paid in blood and the soul of a babe she hated, a child spawned in pain and violation. Only the truth could sear such a delicious, writhing agony into its darkling spirit, as it bows before Ianthine’s knowledge. Aye, history stands immutable. He who tossed it to the windrocs, he is its father.”

Hot vomit laced with blood spewed out of Lia’s mouth. She was dimly aware of Grandion bellowing at Ianthine, of the Maroon Dragoness laughing uproariously at his futile, fire-spitting rage. Her power held the younger Dragon as helpless as a newborn hatchling. Then, a vast, crushing force ejected them from the cave as though Ianthine had hurled them outside with an invisible paw. Lia toppled into Grandion’s grasp. Bearing the dragonet in one paw and the Human girl in the other, the Tourmaline Dragon winged away up the steep staircase of recumbent rock towers, fire frothing from his mouth in shock and outrage.

For a time, Hualiama drooped insensate within the cage of Grandion’s talons.

Cool night air roused her at last. Grandion had brought them out of pitch blackness into the dull, grey world of the Spits. Perched upon a cliff ledge beside a trickle of water, he laid Lia down to check her condition. Flicker’s muzzle hove into view.

The dragonet chirped,
Lia? Lia?

Leave me alone. I want to die.

Grandion said,
That deceitful, manipulative egg-eater played us false! Malice and untruth infest her hearts. Lia, she lied–Ianthine must have lied. There’s no way on this Island-World Ra’aba could be your father.

I need to wash myself.
Lia stumbled over to the trickle of water. Suddenly, she plunged her head beneath the flow, yanking her clothes violently.
I must wash. I’m dirty, dirty, so dirty …

You’ll freeze. Please.
The Tourmaline Dragon tried to draw her gently away from the flow; Hualiama punched his talons with her fists, uselessly, screaming that he was hurting her, that she was in pain, that he should let her fling herself off the cliff … and suddenly shudders overtook her so violently that her teeth clacked together. Lia curled up into a ball, unable to weep for the horror that choked the very living pith out of her soul and poured it out in a stream of raw anguish.

This wound could never be stanched.

Somewhere in the distance, through a roaring in her ears, Lia heard Grandion continuing to insist that Ra’aba could not be her father. How could he be so adamant? Obstinate reptile! He had prekki-fruit mush for brains. She too was adamant–Ianthine had neither lied, nor had she stinted in taking vicious pleasure in her revelation.

Lia moaned,
Amaryllion, why didn’t you warn me?

With the help of a stiff following breeze, Grandion flew until the night grew old and Noxia’s silhouette bulged out of the endless Cloudlands. He brought his charges to a safe landing in a remote dell beside a burbling stream. Even a Dragon must sleep for exhaustion, but he would not rest until Hualiama assured him rather fiercely, yet with an apologetic touch to his muzzle, that she was finished with reckless, suicidal thoughts. A certain stiffness seemed to leach out of his muscles as she spoke, leaving a weary Dragon to close his eyes, but not his ear-canals.

Hualiama felt hollowed out, a shell of one who had been Lia, royal ward of Fra’anior, Dragon Rider.

Her eyelids shuttered upon a familiar nightmare in which she fell eternally from the Dragonship, terrified, hopeless and alone. Waking when the morning was well advanced, biting her tongue to keep from sobbing, Lia washed in a streamlet behind a fallen log, not ten feet beyond Grandion’s flank as he slumbered in the hot suns. Though the water’s freshness helped clarify her fevered thoughts, Hualiama found herself scrubbing her skin compulsively with sand from the streambed, desperate for the pain of abrasion, as if that could possibly cleanse her of the past, of the need to know and remember what was branded on her heart forever.

She dropped her hand. No. Starting now, she would deny Ra’aba any dominion over her life.

Lia touched the White Dragoness’ scale, still dangling on its thread between her breasts, whispering, “When you abandoned your eggs to face the Black Dragon’s fury, you summoned another to care for them. And you protect me even now, through this.”

A symbol? It was just a Dragon scale.

Ianthine’s words played through her mind. Much was puzzling, but there were clues. Ianthine had clearly recognised her, either by sight or smell, or some other Dragon sense. Lia’s mother was a ‘trickster’–an old word for an enchantress–while the reference to a veil suggested an Eastern woman, one who hailed from the Kingdom of Kaolili. This concurred with Amaryllion’s conjecture about her birthplace. The Dragoness had first claimed to have eaten Hualiama’s mother, only to backtrack with some drivel about a twin. From what she recalled, it was unclear whether her mother was alive or not. Either way, she had given up her babe to Ianthine.

A child born of violation. She shuddered. Nothing spoke more truly to Ra’aba’s spirit than that statement. Could she envision it? An envoy had journeyed from the East to the Halls of the Dragons at Gi’ishior. Somehow, that woman had encountered Ra’aba, who had forced himself upon her. A child resulted. Perhaps she had tarried nine months, perhaps the woman had fled to her home, traumatised. In madness or in hatred of a babe she had never wanted, she had delivered the infant to the Maroon Dragoness. Why? For what purpose? How had a mere infant escaped that Dragoness’ clutches? And if she had dreamed accurately of being brought up by warm, caring Dragons, where did they fit in?

Lia felt as though she were stringing the beads of her life together. She had a string and a handful of beads, but some were missing. Some beads were hateful, bespeaking horror and shame. Some were rubies and diamonds, the sparkling emblems of love and friendship. One was still unknown, a blue gemstone which she sensed was good. And one represented a beautiful, faithful dragonet …

Lia?
A soft chirp.

Flicker stood on the log, his primary eyelids squeezed shut ostentatiously.
See? I’m respecting you by not regarding your nudity.