Shadow Dragon (49 page)
“Seeing as you’ve all been plotting behind my back, Leandrial, I’ll make you that oath–if you still think you need it. Or you can just … ah, take my Dad as insurance.”
King Beran snorted unhappily. “I’ll miss you too, Aranya.”
* * * *
As the conference broke up, Ja’arrion caught Aranya’s attention with a gentle talon-tap upon her shoulder.
Stay and speak with us, o daughter of my egg-sister.
We’ve so much to be thankful for,
said his mate, Va’assia, overshadowing Aranya from the other flank.
And many things to thank you for, not least a daughter to hold, and a niece to love.
I …
Aranya sighed.
I feel as though I’ve only completed half the job.
“You’re angry with me,” said the Green Dragon, switching to Island Standard for Prince Ta’armion’s benefit, as he and Lyriela paused to listen to the conversation. “I apologise for what I said about fledglings. After all, Star Dragons are renowned for powers and skills that belie their relatively small stature.”
“Thank you, uncle,” she said, allowing a smile to unbend her stiff lips. “I’m truly happy to have found so many kin, all alive.” The jealousy which had begun to fester, fell away. It was right, and good, to be among family after having feared for so long that she was the only Dragon left alive.
“No half-jobs around here,” said Va’assia, letting an enormous, spine-popping stretch run the length of her body, ending in her tail. “I’ve slept fifteen years; now I feel so alive, I could bounce off the moons!”
“You knew my mother. How big was she?” asked Aranya.
“My sister was seventy-seven feet long, nose-tip to tail,” said Ja’arrion. “Prettiest Dragon you ever saw. It’s uncanny, meeting you, Aranya. Only your colour helps remind me who I’m talking to.”
What’s bothering you, cousin?
Lyriela asked.
Is it Thoralian?
“It’s partly Thoralian,” said Aranya, helping the Prince follow her question. “Ja’arrion, am I right in understanding that all of the Dragons Thoralian captured are Shapeshifter Dragons, like us?”
The fire in his eyes clearly communicated that he understood where her question was leading. “Aye, Aranya, that appears to be correct–although we don’t recognise twenty-eight of them. Most were Shifters that came from Shapeshifter lineages like ours, or those which arose naturally through magical processes or chance, a mystery which no Dragon scholar has ever deciphered. And before you ask the question burning in your hearts, Aranya–no, I never knew my parents. I’m sorry.”
“But you are mighty,” said Va’assia, with a rumbling of her belly-fires that betrayed her feelings for her mate. “Among Green Dragons, his powers are legendary–”
“Perhaps so, if my magic returns,” he said, regarding her fondly over Aranya’s head. “I don’t believe I’ve recovered from whatever Thoralian and his Chameleons did to me. One of them took the form of Va’assia when he captured me in our bedchamber.”
Thou, the fiery breath of my hearts.
She growled contentedly.
Thou, my soul’s roosting-place.
“Ah, resting-place, don’t you mean?” asked the Amethyst Dragon.
The Red extended her wing over Aranya’s back in a motherly gesture. “Petal, most Dragons call their favourite cave, their roost–preferably a sandy, warm cave with room for two, and space to brood over a few eggs.”
Discomfited, Ja’arrion coughed out a plume of fire. “That’s too much detail for these youngsters! Aranya, I can only concur with your suspicions. The non-Shifting Dragons are still missing. We remain only two of the three great races of this Island-World.”
Imbalance,
said Lyriela, at exactly the same moment as her husband said, “Imbalance.”
Lyriela’s shout of Dragonish laughter nearly knocked Ta’armion over. “Great leaping Islands!” he huffed, patting his ruffled hair back into place. “What did I say?”
The Dragoness nuzzled her husband fondly, making him stagger.
Come fly away with me, my lovely little man.
Shoving her muzzle as hard as he could in return, the Prince laughed, “Alright, you overgrown jewel, I know you’re talking behind my back. Out with it.”
Watching their sweet interaction, Aranya recognised suddenly that harmonies came in many different guises, great and small, loud and soft. Who was she to judge? In playing her part in bringing Ta’armion and Lyriela together, she had fostered one kind of balance, a beautiful harmony of two lives. Perhaps she and Ardan could be another. One thread, Thoralian, had been lost, but the greater imbalance of his malevolent domination of the Island-World had shifted, she hoped, forever. Across the world the powers and balances shifted continuously, harmonies and disharmonies rising and falling, all contributing to a greater song which she was only beginning to appreciate.
If only Izariela could have guided her into this knowledge.
A great task remained if she wished to help the Land Dragons and restore all of the Dragon-kind to their rightful place in the world. Aranya knew she had to learn how to listen, not with her ears, but with her soul.
May it be so,
she whispered.
* * * *
Long after nightfall, when men snored and Dragons flew among the stars in their fiery dreams, the King of Immadia appeared at the end of Leandrial’s talons and picked his way down to where Aranya, Zuziana and the Shadow Dragon slept, all in their Dragon forms, nestled between the Land Dragon’s paws. Given that Iridith, Jade and Blue were all full, he had no need for a lantern. And with two Dragons keeping watch that night after the battle, he had little to fear.
“Sparky? I see your eye agleam. Couldn’t sleep?”
“No, Dad.”
“Me neither. I came to check up on you, not that you need it.” He chuckled in his beard. “Call me sentimental.”
Aranya said, “Dad, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to rescue Mom.”
“Now who’s being sentimental? I can top that.” Taking a deep breath, Beran set his hand upon Aranya’s muzzle. “When you said you were an enchantress, that day on top of Izariela’s Tower, and I counselled you to find a better path, I did not mean for you to fly off to Herimor. Or to become a Dragon. Oftentimes, I still think of you as my girl, seven summers old.” His hand clenched. “Thoralian hurt my little girl, I told myself. I lacked the power to stop him. I consoled myself that Yolathion had swept you off your feet, only to find it was a Shadow Dragon you loved.”
Lowering her voice, she breathed, “I’m not certain about him, Dad.”
“Is that so?”
Which, translated from Beran-speak, meant, ‘I’m your father and I know better.’ Aranya sighed. “Dad, being linked by soul-fire isn’t exactly the same as loving someone.”
“No, because everyone enjoys that chance!” he snapped. Aranya gasped at his outburst; Beran gave her a wry half-smile and said, “Sorry, Aranyi. That wasn’t the gentlest way of expressing how jealous I am that you share such a deep connection with Ardan, when I never had that opportunity with your mother. Forgive me?”
Aranya nuzzled his hand. “I was the insensitive one. Ah, can I ask you a different question?”
“Only one? You’re slowing down on confusing this old man.”
“Unfurl this scrolleaf. Who’s this?”
Beran unfurled the proffered scroll, a sketch of a Dragon’s head which Aranya had drawn during her captivity and Jia had snatched up and stuffed in her pocket when they escaped from the Tower of Sylakia. He glanced over it. “Nice self-portrait, Aranya. I love the detail. Very skilfully done.”
“You can have it,” said Aranya. “Hang it up in your navigation cabin.”
“Oh, this is supposed to console me when you fly off beneath the Cloudlands?” Beran snapped his fingers rudely. “Ralti sheep droppings to that, as you youngsters say. Now, I came to say that you stirred up a respectable storm today, Sparky. We’d all have preferred Thoralian’s head served on a platter, but Sylakia’s surrender is a decent second-best–oh, enough with the Immadian understatement. It’s an outstanding achievement! Island-shattering, stars singing in the heavens … when I’m back in Immadia, I’m going to tell your brothers that their big sister saved the world, and–”
“Ah, saving the world’s a little premature, Dad. Thoralian’s still out there and if he returns with the First Egg … anyways, you’re about to be knee-deep in Dragons. I don’t think you’ll be getting much rest.”
That was worth a chuckle.
King Beran lowered his voice. “You will come back, won’t you, Sparky?”
“Oh, Dad. Of course I will.”
She put a paw about his shoulders. Beran laid his head against her muzzle, just beneath the hole exposing her cheekbone. He said, “I can’t believe I never did this with Izariela. I never knew; never imagined.” He dashed a tear away rather fiercely. “Now, one last thing. Do you still need me to give the Black Dragon that kick in the fangs, as I promised?”
Aranya changed her mind as to what she had been planning. “I’d appreciate it if you helped, Dad.”
“Just tell me how.”
Patiently, over the course of the next hour, Aranya taught her father the mind-meld techniques Zuziana and Ri’arion had taught her. When they were linked, Beran’s mind resting at the edge of her consciousness, Aranya took a deep breath.
Fra’anior, I seek you.
As always, the vision of the Black Dragon came rapidly and forcefully upon her. Dark thunderclouds, storm winds, the seven-headed monster bellowing at her from the chaos of cloud-citadel,
You! You should be hiding beneath a rock, where you belong. Why haven’t you done my bidding? Who is that with you?
My father, King Beran of Immadia. He will serve as my witness.
So, a puny Lesser Dragon and an even punier Human King would counsel an Ancient Dragon?
Aranya bridled at his scorn.
You disrespect us, Black Dragon.
Then earn my respect, hatchling! Do as I command.
She was aware of her father mentally shaking his head; Aranya soothed him with a touch of her mind. The Black Dragon drew closer, weighing heavier on the link between them, as if he sought a means to enter her soul. She needed to state her business quickly.
O mighty Black Dragon, do you know who I am?
The voice lowered to the pitch of an earthquake, contemptuous and biting.
You’re a disobedient, rebellious hatchling without a shred of the shell-sense given the least of the Dragon-kind; one who presumes to know better than the most powerful and ancient of all Dragons!
Having expected this response, Aranya mastered her anger.
No, Fra’anior.
No?
He thundered,
Do you know any word other than ‘no’, you feckless little–
She cut him off sharply.
This is me. Look closely.
A mental image of the Amethyst Dragon, filled in with all the detail her artistic mind could supply, winged its way over the unimaginable leagues of space, and perhaps time, to the mind of the Ancient Dragon. Silence rippled and deepened between them, pregnant and treacherous.
Or perhaps, if I assume this colour …
Within her, Beran gasped.
She hunkered down behind her mental defences as Ri’arion had taught her, layer upon suffocating layer of protection, fearful that Fra’anior’s response might destroy her mind.
The Black Dragon rasped,
Impossible! Yet, you do not lie.
Aranya said,
So, with respect, may I start to call you ‘grandfather’?
End of Book 2
Aranya’s adventure continues! Please read
The Pygmy Dragon
before diving into the 3
rd
volume of the
Shapeshifter Dragons
series.
Marc is the bestselling author of over a dozen fantasy books. Born in South Africa, he lives and works in Ethiopia with his wife and 4 children, 2 dogs, a rabbit, and a variable number of marabou storks that roost on the acacia trees out back. On a good night you can also hear hyenas prowling along the back fence.
When he’s not writing about Africa or dragons, Marc can be found travelling to remote locations. He thinks there’s nothing better than standing on a mountaintop wondering what lies over the next horizon.
If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review on Amazon.com, or reading one of my other works. Every review matters and I read them all!
Where you can find me:
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Other Books by Marc Secchia
Dragonfriend Series:
(Teen, Young Adult and older readers) When a woman loves a Dragon, that love will change the world. As war between Dragons and Humans engulfs the Islands, Hualiama must unravel the secrets of her tragic past in order to confront an evil that threatens the very existence of the Dragonkind. For love that is tested in the crucible of fate must burn, or die.
Dragonsoul (coming in 2016)
Shapeshifter Dragons Series:
(Young Adult and older readers) Chained to a rock and tossed off a cliff by her boyfriend, Aranya is executed for high treason against the Sylakian Empire. Falling a league into the deadly Cloudlands is not a fate she ever envisaged. But what if she did not die? What if she could spread her wings and fly?
Long ago, Dragons ruled the Island-World above the Cloudlands. But their Human slaves cast off the chains of Dragonish tyranny. Humans spread across the Islands in their flying Dragonships, colonising, building and warring. Now, the all-conquering Sylakians have defeated the last bastion of freedom–the Island-Kingdom of Immadia.
Evil has a new enemy. Aranya, Princess of Immadia. Dragon Shapeshifter.
Shapeshifter Dragon Legends:
(Young Adult and older readers) A young Pygmy warrior is stolen from her jungle home and sold to a zoo, where she lives for seven years before being kidnapped by the Red Dragon Zardon. Now, the courage of the smallest will be tested to the utmost. For Pip is the Pygmy Dragon, and this is her tale.
The IsleSong series:
(Young Adult and older readers) A story for anyone who loves the ocean and its whales, salt water in their hair, and the gentle rasp of beach sand between their bare toes. This story will transport you to a beautiful, unspoiled ocean world where people have to rely on Whales to travel between the islands. A world where danger can, and does, lurk beneath any wave.
The Girl who Sang with Whales (IsleSong Book 1)
The Shioni of Sheba series:
(Middle Grades and older readers) Unique African historical fantasy adventures set among the myths and legends of ancient Ethiopia.
Shioni of Sheba #1: The Enchanted Castle
Shioni of Sheba #2: The King's Horse
Shioni of Sheba #3: The Mad Giant
Shioni of Sheba #4: The Sacred Lake
Shioni of Sheba #5: The Fiuri Realms
Epic fantasy
(New Adult and Adult readers) Epic length tales of unique worlds and powers.
