Vixen (11 page)

“We have a history.” Ion finally acknowledges.

“That’s what I thought. Please tell it to me.”

“My version is biased. No doubt your father would tell a much different tale,” Ion cautions me. He’s still not sharing, but I can tell he’s softening to the idea.

“I want to hear your version.”

He’s not really looking at me—he’s facing the stream, I think—but he’s close enough I could reach out and touch him if I didn’t think that would scare him away. Close enough he can speak quietly and I can still hear him. His story comes out with quiet reluctance.

“When World War One broke out my parents were concerned for my safety. I was determined to prove to them how very strong and able and brave I was, and managed only to endanger myself all the more. They reacted by sending me away to a safe place known to only a very few. My mother, you see, was from Greece. Greece wasn’t any safer than anywhere else, at the time, but she had dragon friends whose young daughter was betrothed to a dragon in Azerbaijan. I had forgotten that young woman’s name. It was Zilpha.”

“My grandmother? You knew her?”

“Not at that time, but yes, that’s how I found myself shipped off to a remote mountain village, sent to live with your grandfather, Ram.”

“All the firstborn males in my dad’s line have been named Ram, for generations.”

“Yes. This was before your father’s time, before your grandmother was old enough to marry. Your grandfather became my mentor, the older brother I never had. I had a fantastic time with him, and I truly believe he cared for me, almost like—”

Ion clamps his mouth shut.

“Like what?”

“A son.” Ion shakes his head with obvious regret. “I never imagined I was setting up a rivalry with his future son. By the way, your grandfather, Ram, was able to teleport. I do recall that distinctly.”

“How old was my father when my grandparents died?” My dad never talks about his parents. He doesn’t talk about much of anything, really. He’s a quiet guy. But I don’t even know what year his parents died.

Ion opens his mouth to speak, but then clamps it shut again.

Alarmed, I look at him closely and realize emotion has stolen his voice.

“Your grandparents,” he begins, then swallows a few times before he can muster words. He sighs. “You’ve heard of The Great Purge, the Yezhovshchina of 1936-1938?”

I shake my head. I mean, the words sound maybe vaguely familiar, but the Russian history I studied focused mainly on things that happened at least a century ago.

“I understand western studies don’t cover some of these lesser incidents of Russian history. Estimates vary widely, but somewhere around a million, or maybe two million people died.”

“Who?” Frankly, I’m a little alarmed that I don’t know about this period of history. How could that many people die, and I’ve never heard how or why?

“Stalin. He was paranoid. Those working for him were likewise afraid of being unseated and executed—a just concern, considering the foundation of death they stood upon. Anyone who was thought to be a threat—suspected saboteurs, elites, military officers, writers, thinkers, outsiders, minorities. It was an awful time. I was older, then. Old enough to know better, I suppose.” Ion swallows.

Quickly, I do the math in my head. He’d have been 32-34 years old at that time. And my father was born in November of 1925. He’d have been ten to twelve.

Ion opens his mouth.

Part of me doesn’t want to know what he’s about to say next. Part of me can guess already, and just wants to have it over with.

Maybe Ion feels the same way. He speaks quickly. “The executions were limited mostly to those inside the Soviet borders, or at least, that is what the official records later indicated. At the time, I thought I needed to escape for my safety. In retrospect, I was probably safest in my family home, but I was alone—had been alone since 1918. I suppose you could say I panicked. Anyway, I felt lonely, scared.” Once again, his words are cut off.

I reach for his hand and squeeze it.

Ion shakes his head and tells me in a raspy whisper. “Your father has every right to hate me. Every right to despise me.”

Though I need to hear what Ion has to say next, I hate for him to have to speak the words out loud. I can see the pain on his every feature. But there’s no way around it.

“I went to visit your grandfather. He was married by then. Your father was eleven years old. Perhaps it was because of the political turmoil in the nations all around, but your grandfather thought your father needed to learn responsibility, to take on a leadership role. He was frustrated by every hint of childishness.” Ion pauses and tilts his head to one side. “You know, in light of all that, it makes sense he wouldn’t have taught him to teleport yet. Your grandfather didn’t feel your father was ready yet for all that was to come.”

“If he was only eleven…” I offer when Ion pauses.

“Yes. Exactly. In a different age, there would not have been such pressure on him. But, isolated as they were, nonetheless, your grandfather and his people knew of the deadly violence that had broken out all around them. Your grandfather was worried, and rightly so. I wanted to help. I felt indebted to your family, and I could see that your father and grandfather were butting heads. They could both of them be quite stubborn, and the more they fought each other, the deeper they dug in their heels. At the same time, your grandfather pointed to me as an example of the kind of behavior your father should aspire to. So I thought, if I could get your father away from that, if I could help him to see his father’s wisdom…”

Ion’s voice fades again. He pinches his eyes shut, and I can’t help wondering what he’s remembering. Clearly, he wishes things had gone differently. “I offered to take your father on an overnight hunting excursion. A camp-out, an adventure trip, away from his father, to give them both a break, and to give me an opportunity to teach your father how to be a grown dragon. Everyone agreed eagerly to the idea. We set off, deep into the mountains. We hunted and fished. We got along well. It was the last time we got along. We saw the smoke and fire when we were halfway back to the village.”

“Fire?” I echo.

Ion swallows repeatedly, as if trying to force the story up from its grave. “The stone fortress that is your family home. One entire wing was on fire. When we saw the smoke, your father wanted to change into dragon form and fly back. I cautioned him that we must be prudent, and we raced back to town on foot. I don’t know if it would have made any difference if we’d have flown in and arrived sooner. They were gone.”

Again, Ion falls silent. I squeeze his hand, questions spilling over, though I hate to prod at his painful past. “Who was gone? My grandparents?”

Ion nods. With the motion, a silent tear spills down his cheek. “Your grandparents, and their attackers. The villagers explained to us what they knew of what had happened. Dragons had come from the north—dragons we did not know. They asked to speak to your grandparents in private. They went into the assembly hall—it’s a wing of the house that is no longer there. It burned. Whatever was left, your father had torn down.” Ion pulls in a shaky breath.

My father has spoken little of my grandparents. I know I’m named after my grandmother, and I know she died when he was young. I have also seen the old footings of the assembly hall wing, which now make up the trellis bases of a beautiful memory garden, where climbing flowers create the walls and ceiling of a fragrant sanctuary.

My father rarely goes there.

I’m starting to understand why he might avoid it.

“The villagers weren’t sure what happened inside that room. All they could tell us was that they heard raised voices, and then fighting. They debated whether they should interfere, but it wasn’t until they saw the three visiting dragons flying away, that they pushed the door in and found the hall ablaze.”

“And my grandparents?”

Ion shakes his head sadly. “You know that dragons burn when they die?”

“Yes.”

“There was only fire. Nothing left of them.”

“So, they died? Both of them died?”

“What other explanation is there? The three attacking dragons flew away.”

“Empty handed?”

“Now that you ask, no. The attacking dragons were seen fleeing with large bundles clenched in their claws. The villagers supposed they’d come to ransack the valuables of your grandparents’ kingdom. Because of the fire, they were never able to identify precisely what was missing, so we don’t know what they took. They were gone before your father and I were close enough to see them—we arrived just as the villagers were finally getting the fire put out.”

My thoughts swirl. Why did the dragons come? What were they after that was so valuable to them, they’d kill my grandparents to get it? Who were the dragons, and where are they now? “Any chance they might have been the same dragons who helped with the Romanov execution?”

Ion sucks in a deep breath. “It’s possible. I couldn’t see much of the dragons that summer night in 1918. And of course, I didn’t see the dragons that killed your grandparents. But based on the descriptions the villagers provided, yes. They may possibly have been the same dragons, or some of the same dragons.” He shrugs. “Or completely different dragons. I simply don’t know.”

I close my eyes, picturing the peaceful garden as an assembly hall. I imagine strange dragons visiting. I see black smoke and fire. I can accept that these things happened, but one point sticks in my mind. “The bundles they carried away—” I swallow, cutting off my own question. Do I really want to know the answer?

If I don’t ask now, I’ll have to bring up the subject again. I don’t want to put Ion through that, so I ask quickly. “Is there any chance my grandparents were in those bundles?”

“In dragon form, no. They’d be far too large to carry.” Ion shakes his head conclusively. “And there’s no way they would change back into human form. The villagers said they heard raised voices only briefly before the talking ceased and the room was filled with the sounds of a violent struggle that lasted for many minutes. Since dragons can only speak in human form, we must assume they, as well as their attackers, changed into dragon form and fought. Your grandparents would not have been foolish enough to change back into humans in the midst of a fight. To do so would be to lose—to invite death or capture. No, they could not have been carried away as plunder.”

Ion squeezes my hand. His face radiates apology. I squeeze back. He understands. Since dragons can live indefinitely—hundreds, maybe even thousands of years—if my grandparents had been carried off, they might still be alive somewhere.

But of course, that’s a crazy hope. I mean, they’re dragons. Where could anyone ever keep them that they wouldn’t escape?

My brief hope that I might someday meet them, evaporates as quickly as it appeared.

Ion glances to the sky, where the sun is dipping toward the west. It will be dark soon—dark enough that Ion can fly away with me, and probably not be seen.

That is, assuming I can’t change into a dragon and fly out alongside him. Without saying a word to Ion, I pinch my eyes shut and try.

First I try changing into a dragon. When that doesn’t work, I attempt a trick I used to practice with my sisters, changing different body parts by themselves. Normally, I can sprout talons with no effort at all. Seriously, it’s easier than grabbing a knife from the kitchen drawer. Normally.

Today, though, it proves to be impossible.

When I open my eyes, I see Ion watching me. His lips form a small frown. “You tried to change?” He whispers.

Ashamed, I fight back tears and nod.

I tried.

And I failed.

“It’s okay. I’ll fly you. Let’s make sure we have all our things, and then we can get going.”

I nod, but I don’t make any move toward preparing to leave. It’s just too awful. I hate thinking about it, but the possibility looms like an endless wall, blocking off my future. “What if I can’t ever change again? Am I even still a dragon, if I can’t take dragon form? I’m useless.”

“You are still a dragon. You will always be a dragon.” Ion’s fingers brush against my cheeks, and I realize I’m crying.

“I’m supposed to bear dragon babies and propagate the species. How can I lay an egg if I—”

“You’ll just have to give birth like a human.”

“But what dragon would ever want me like this?”

“I want you.”

I freeze. Ion looked away the moment he spoke, as though the words escaped before he even realized he was going to say them. But now he looks up at me sheepishly.

I gulp a breath that sounds like a hiccup. “I thought you wanted rid of me.”

“For your own good, yes. You need to be with your family. You and I—you’re injured because of me. I live in a land thick with yagi. It’s not safe—especially not for raising dragon young. And I can’t be with you in your homeland, because your father wants to kill me. Even if we ran away together, and I abandoned my homeland, leaving Eudora as an unwatched menace, you would never see your family again. I’ve thought this through, these last four days. I’ve analyzed every angle and there isn’t one. You need to go to your home and I need to go to my home, but in all honestly, Zilpha—” he breaks off talking. He’s looking into my eyes as though the future is there, and all hope and every joy-yet-to-come.

His voice cracks as he continues, “When you came to my door, I knew I should turn you away. I tried to. I thought, when I sent Jala away, that you would go to. When you stayed—I couldn’t ask you to leave. And the longer you were there, the more I felt…things. When I look at you, and I see the way you see me…I can’t explain it. For the first time in decades, someone is looking at me with something other than revulsion or disdain. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” I’m confused.
Sorry
is usually reserved for something bad. He hasn’t said anything bad.

“It’s completely selfish of me to care for you, to even spend time with you. I cannot offer you anything good, only further risk of injury or death. Your parents despise me. The longer you’re with me, the more you’re cut off from them. I will not ask you to be cut off from your family. Having lost mine, I know the sorrow of it. I’d give anything to have my family back. I won’t ask you to give up yours for me. I cannot love you as you deserve to be loved. But Zilpha, in my very selfish heart, I want you.”

Can anyone blame me for what happens next? Really, I have no choice, not after a speech like that. And technically, I only intended first to hug him. But the way we were leaning against the boulder, with me standing higher up the hill so that our faces were on just the same level, it’s no wonder what happens.

I kiss him.

And he kisses me back.

It lasts maybe one whole second, during which my every hope flashes before my eyes, all of it a future that, given the reality of our lives, could never possibly be.

But oh, it’s beautiful.

For that one second I feel like I’m soaring on a perfect gust of wind, even though my feet never left the earth.

Ion pulls back, cutting all those feelings short before they’ve hardly started. “We need to get going.” He strides over to the curtain and my clothes. “These are dry.” He tosses me my things.

My blood is pounding through my veins, now, obliterating my exhaustion. I feel suddenly strong again, or perhaps just self-conscious, and dress quickly. Ion carries the curtain high above the jungle floor so it doesn’t get dirty. “Ready?”

“Can’t we just teleport there?”

“I might be able to. Long distances can be difficult. The distance you cover—it comes from your energy stores, whether flying or teleporting. As tired as I am already, to try to leap so far might sap all my strength.

“Besides, it’s easiest if I can see the place where I’m headed, or at least, picture it clearly. It’s nearly impossible to teleport to somewhere you’ve never been before, not unless you’ve got a clear picture of the place and know its location. But taking things, especially living things, is another issue entirely.”

“How?”

“When I teleport, my clothes stay with me. Anything I’m holding in my hands usually stays with me, but the bigger it is, and the longer the distance, the greater the risk that I won’t be able to carry it from the start point to the end point. And living things—you recall that I flew the salmon home after my fishing trip? I didn’t attempt to teleport with them. Living things have a will of their own.”

“But if I want to go with you—”

“There. The spot where you lay for the last two days. Let me try to take you there.” Ion wraps his arms around me, and for one blissful moment I’m standing with my cheek pressed to his shoulder. I can feel his heart beating, but I try to think only of going to that spot not so many yards away, that level place in the jungle—

He’s gone. No, he’s standing in the place where I lay earlier, and I’m standing here, next to the rock. I haven’t moved.

Ion walks back to me shaking his head. “It’s a difficult trick to learn, even with all your dragon faculties intact. We don’t have time to practice. I need to take you home.”

“And then what? You toss me on the balcony and fly on toward your home alone?”

“I’m not
tossing
you anywhere. I will stay long enough to see that you are reunited with your parents, and to offer them my humblest apologies.” Ion holds out the yellow silk and starts wrapping me snugly.