to come later that afternoon. She saw the whole of Fra’anior Cluster now, the Islands shrunk to a bracelet of green and black dots lost in an endless, lapping sea of Cloudlands, the habitat of Humanity almost impossible to pick out, apart from the green and red chequered cloth that described Fra’anior City’s famed gardens. Perhaps that dark speck just a hair taller than the rest of the city was the palace, where Ra’aba now ruled?
Seen from a distance of thirty or forty miles? Doubtful.
“Grandion, do I see the royal palace?”
He nodded. “Most impressive, Human girl. That is the palace indeed.”
Very condescending, Dragon! Perhaps it surprised him that she was able to feed herself or wipe her own nose.
“A Green Dragon rests atop the palace building,” he added, appearing to squint a little to focus on that faraway dot. “No, two. It appears your fears about Ra’aba are well founded, Human girl, unless that is a social visit.”
Copying his heavy sarcasm, Lia added, “Destruction of Human society being a Dragonish social pastime–for some.” Better she added that qualifier in haste! Quicker still, change tack before Grandion’s fire stomach did more than just growl at a thoughtless comment. She gabbled, “Grandion, you said many Humans had learned Dragonish. So doesn’t it stand to reason that Humans have been Dragon Riders before? History is a deep and broad terrace lake–”
“Not at all,” he said, now adjusting his flight path to aim them a few points east of northward, setting a direct course for Gi’ishior Island. “Saying that, I believe that you fail to appreciate the truly staggering proportions of draconic pomposity and arrogance.”
His chuckling eased her irritation at his attitude.
“Grandion, how high can a Dragon fly?”
“Best guess? Three or four leagues, Hualiama. In practice no Dragon flies that high because the air becomes bitterly cold, and altitude sickness can result.”
“Such as how I’m feeling a little breathless right now?”
“That’s probably awe at my flying prowess,” he claimed. “I’m surprised you aren’t breaking into song or washing my scales with your tears, Hualiama.”
“You think I’m weak, don’t you?”
He winged on in silence for many wingbeats, until Lia wondered if he would answer at all.
What she felt, was little. Everyone knew that the Island-World was vast, stretching measureless leagues from shore to shore. Immadia Island, the most northerly inhabited Island in the world, was said to lie over two thousand leagues from Fra’anior–although nobody knew for certain, because the instruments and techniques to measure such vast distances across the Cloudlands simply did not exist. The sheer scale of the tapestry unfurled below robbed her mind of comparisons, even of the capacity of speech. Grandion flew on, but the Island-World seemed to stand still. Fra’anior was the largest active volcano in the known world, yet even its bulk seemed insignificant, viewed from this height.
“I was the sole survivor of a clutch of three eggs,” he said, taking an unexpected tangent. “We are not certain if my brother and sister died of disease, or poisoning. After I broke the shell, my shell-mother fell into a deep sadness.”
The Dragon said, We call it a darkening of the fires, in Dragonish.
“Depression?” said Lia.
“That’s the word. For several years–my hatchling years–I saw little of her. But suddenly, one day, my shell-mother seemed happy. As I grew into a fledgling, which is a Dragon between two and five years of age, I learned that she had another hatchling, one upon whom she lavished all the love and affection I felt I lacked. Imagine my shock when I learned that my mother nurtured a Human child!”
Imagine the shock of the girl seated upon his back!
“You must never mention this secret to anyone, just as I will never knowingly reveal your grasp of Dragonish. Given your story, I assumed that child might be you, Hualiama, but I was mistaken.”
Lia, gripped so sharply by trepidation she was on the verge of vomiting, managed to gasp, “Oh?”
“Aye. That child had blue eyes, the depthless blue hue of a midnight sky. Yours are green–but a strange green, as if occluded by smoke.” Grandion cleared his throat, which in true Dragon style, meant producing a fireball. “That is aside. I was so jealous of that child, I could have killed her. I planned to, but my mother forbade me. Sick with jealousy, I held that tiny mite in my paws, and cooed and growled and played with her, and taught her the worst Dragonish words I knew.”
“A dark fire burned within my soul. Jealousy, but not