deft with her new power, at once as hard-edged as blades, or as gentle as a mother dragonet’s brooding touch upon her eggs.
More like Lia insists, Flicker needled, nibbling her ear as they emerged from the secret stairway at the base of the monks’ nest. Another storm-season tempest had blown over, leaving a fresh and exciting scent in the air. I do enjoy your singing …
But?
We’re no closer to defeating Ra’aba.
Her shoulders stiffened beneath his paws. I wish you wouldn’t sully such a beautiful evening with the mention of his name, Flicker. Do you not think the fate of my family shadows my every waking hour?
Was he not family enough for her?
Appearing pensive, Lia took the vine rope in hand. They trod the now-familiar cliff path in a companionable silence, Hualiama’s hand rising to stroke Flicker’s neck in a gesture of apology. Perhaps his girl did understand how he yearned for the simple warren life, in the same way that she missed her family.
High in the rose-tinted sky, Flicker saw a Dragonwing wheeling over Ha’athior Island. Four Dragons–three Reds and a Brown. Patrolling? Hunting? Instinctively he flared his wings, shielding Lia from view as she lowered herself into the hole. A fifth draconic watcher appeared high above the cliff face, perfectly silhouetted against an isolated dark cloud. A huge male, the bright orange of a lava flow. A frisson ran the length of his spine spikes. Was that the Orange who had attacked his Lia? Not a good omen, shards take it!
Settling on her habitual boulder, a respectful distance shy of the place where she had been burned, Lia called, “Islands’ greetings, Dragon. It’s me, Lia, for only the hundredth time or so. I hope you’re not growing fat on all that monkey meat we’ve brought you.”
Silence. The beast neither stirred, nor did Flicker hear the muted thunder of the Dragon’s challenge as her arrival disturbed him. But the dragonet sensed a lurking draconic presence, just as his sixth sense had alerted him to the Dragons above. He smelled the Dragon, too. Over the months, the cave-stench had become rank. Why was it not worse? Was there another outlet for water or air?
Hualiama said, “So, following our theme of modern masters, o Tourmaline Dragon, today’s offering is, Arise, o Veriza! It was presented at court a few years back as a new opera in honour of the King’s fiftieth birthday, and tells the story of Veriza, a young Dragoness who longed to see what lay beyond the Rift.”
Her singing never failed to make him buzz with pleasure. Oh, Dragon eggs and flashing wings! Were her voice but a Brown Dragon’s magic, she could have sung open a tunnel to that Tourmaline Dragon and he could have paraded out of his entrapment on its very wings. The delights of Lia’s voice were completely wasted on that slack-winged, feral null-brain, naturally. But a discerning dragonet could bathe in its rich nuances and shadows, and dare to add a trilling descant in just a few places, eliciting from her a bright smile of encouragement.
She was leaking! Oh, Lia. Flicker wound his body around the Human girl’s neck, purring soothingly, allowing her strangely warm tears to splash on his scales. He glanced up and felt his belly-fires ignite.
Magic? His Lia was doing magic with her voice? For her eyes gleamed, an undeniably draconic curl of fire lighting them from within. She could not know. Hualiama sang with unstinting yearning of Veriza’s joy in flight, of her wonder at the Island-World’s marvels as she approached the sky-spanning Rift storm … and every scale on Flicker’s body prickled.
Extraordinary.
As the notes of her finale lingered in the gathering darkness, a deep growl issued from below, a voice of equally thrilling resonance. The Dragon said, “Bravo, Human girl. That was inexpressibly beautiful.”
Lia fell off her boulder and landed on her tailbone with a yelp.
She stared at Flicker in such jaw-gaping amazement, that he could not suppress a titter of laughter. I knew … he switched to Island Standard. “I knew you could do it, Lia.”
She mouthed, ‘You knew?’
The Dragon declared, “Thou hast seized mine third heart in thy delicate paws, if you’ll forgive the obscure reference. I … who are you? How did you find me? Forgive me, for I have been lost in the everlasting mists of the Cloudlands.”
Turning to Flicker, Lia gulped, “He’s the one. I know that voice.”
Flicker made a shooing gesture with his paw. Go on.