a claw, the Ancient Dragon’s deliberations pierced her. “A Maroon Dragoness lives, though I know not where. Her name is Ianthine. I have not sensed her presence in many a year. Since the Dragons drove her out, they must know where she lives. Ianthine is a wicked creature and never to be trusted, for she practices a vile form of magic called ruzal in the ancient Dragon tongue. The word means ‘twisting’ or ‘binding’. It is a magic of subterfuge and concealment, a magic capable of binding minds, even the minds of Dragons. And I suspect its touch upon thy life.”
Lia shook off a chill. Either the Ancient One had read her thoughts, or he had spoken with the Nameless Man. All these different powers circling her life, no better than windrocs stalking a likely victim!
“Long have I wondered about thee, Hualiama, pondering the enigma of thy existence. Surely, Gi’ishior Island was not thy birthplace.” A note of vexation crept into Amaryllion’s voice, a roaring of the vast furnaces of his faraway belly. “A redolence of the East, I guess.”
Her response slipped out, unthinking, “A guess, Amaryllion?”
“AYE A GUESS, EVEN I!” he thundered.
The power of his fury knocked the trio down the slope they had ascended to reach his eye; not far away, rock cracked and roared away in an unseen avalanche.
“S-sorry great D-Dragon,” stammered Lia, picking herself up. She dusted her knees. “I doubt thee not. This mystery pains my soul.”
What? Just listen to what spouted from her mouth! Somehow, ancient speech-patterns seemed to come to the fore whenever she spoke with Amaryllion, even if she spoke Island Standard. Why was that?
“I meant no harm, little one,” said the Dragon. “Speak thy heart.”
“I discovered I have magic, Amaryllion. Art thou surprised?”
“Vastly,” he snorted, a suitably titanic snort of amusement. Heat rolled over her; Lia realised that the Dragon must have breathed fire from his mouth, somewhere unseen beyond the wall of rock away to her left hand.
She chuckled, “And doth mine feminine mystery suffice to flummox a Dragon most ancient?”
HAARRRAA-HA-HA! Amaryllion boomed.
Precious Ja’al. He had saucers for eyes. He probably thought her utterly mad for jesting with an Ancient Dragon–never mind that the force of his laughter made them both stagger drunkenly back up the slope as they approached his eye.
“Come, Ja’al,” he said. “I would teach thee the Dragonish art of reading pictures and memories from the mind. Thou might thus aid Hualiama in her learning, by taking of what thy Master Khoyal remembers, and making it known to her.”
At last, the monk found his voice. “Of course, o Ancient One. Am I to understand that Dragons can read minds?”
“Of course, little mouse,” Amaryllion echoed. “It is a magical art, a gift claimed only by the most powerful Dragon magicians. The best subject is a willing mind, one open to examination. Beware, for a mind-reader can snatch thoughts from the unwary, and the most powerful–like Ianthine–can squeeze a mind dry, even as you Humans squeeze berries for wine. Tell Master Khoyal that he must instruct thee in the arts of Juyhallith, the way of the mind.”
* * * *
Departing the Ancient One’s cave, the two Humans and the dragonet spent the remainder of the night searching for the Tourmaline Dragon, but found no clues as to his existence. Footsore and wing-weary, they returned to the monastery at dawn, just in time for a full day’s training.
“I must find him. I must.” Lia repeated her mantra.
To Flicker’s disgust, Inniora’s consternation and Master Khoyal’s fury, Hualiama spent the following three nights doing exactly the same, traversing the slopes and walking the inner tunnels of Ha’athior Island, searching.
“When last did you sleep?” stormed the Master.
“Er … I don’t remember,” Lia replied, thinking it best if she did not.
“I cannot teach an apprentice who falls asleep on their feet–literally! Go to bed!”
“But I have to find the Dragon.”
How could she explain what drove her now, the imperative felt as a migraine squeezing her temples, throbbing, the restless tingling in her bones? She scowled at the sight of Flicker spying on her in the darkness. Islands’ sakes!
She tiptoed out at the hour of midnight.
Hallon and Rallon guarded the stairway beneath the prekki-fruit tree. Having flirted her way past the giant twins once, Lia knew she should not drop them into hot lava a second time. A sigh escaped her lips; she stared at the Jade moon, half-crescent as it sailed over the Island massif above, bathing the scene in a deathly green glow.