The Next Chapter of Dragons
To read the previous chapter: Chapter 0.
(copyright Cage Dunn 2016)
Chapter 1
The narrow laneways that led to the cliff-shacks below Aramel were filled to overflowing with humanity. All on the way up the path – away from the raging sea and the empty boats hung up and secured to the racks for winter. Pax sat on the cold stone wall above the main walkway and waited. She didn’t know why or what she waited for, but it was an instinct; one she had learned to trust. The two boys on the cobbled lane below tussled and frolicked until the tall one picked up a rock, raised his arm. The shorter boy grabbed him, pulled his arm down.
“It’s just that stupid purple dog!” Taller shoved his friend closer to Aranthi, who huddled against the wall in the darker shade. Was he trying to hide, become part of the shadows? Why didn’t he do that? Shadow said dragons had the magic to bend the light, to hide inside the bends of spectrum shadows.
“Don’t say that! You’ll get et – or you’ll get me et!”
“Don’t be stupid – it’s just a dog,” the tall boy ripped his arm away and shooed at Aranthi, waved his hands and hissed.
“Don’t! I seen it eat things; I seen it kill! Leave it alone!” Shorter grabbed at his friend’s arm again, tried to drag him away.
The not-quite hushed whisper from Shorter screamed into the walls, echoed and became louder in the funnel of rock-lined passages. Any one of the people moving along the lane would hear it, could have done something. None did – they would let the boys suffer the consequences for themselves, or let the Council deal with them. Some shook their heads or gave the boys looks that should have told them all they needed to know, but the taller boy didn’t, or wouldn’t, stop the game.
Shorter’s eyes were wall-eyed whites, the pupils too huge for the bright day that bounced off the pale white and pink-scribbled granite walls. Ready to run for his life. At least the fear was real, as it should be if he continued to do things to annoy a dragon-dog.
Aranthi stood his ground, slowly-slowly raised the scaly mauve-blue-purple lips to show a bare glint of his teeth; his back lifted and his shoulders hunched before he bared the full measure of bright white, rizzen-sharp multitudes of scissor-action incisors. The gums slid back as more length appeared. Retractable teeth – that was something new to add to the box of knowledge Pax was gathering on dragons.
A gap appeared as his nostrils flared; a dribble of white smoke that smelled of burning flesh and tar leaked through the gleam. A tiny blue flame blazed through the wriggle-curl of smoke; a single point of white heat came within a fingernail mark of the skin on the offender’s nose. His nose hairs singed to nothing from the focus.
Pax laughed as the two boys, probably students who should be in a class somewhere, screamed and ran. The noise they made was a good imitation of the blowholes at the entrance to the Fingers in a storm surge.
Beautiful music for beastly bully kids. Pax clapped as she laughed at them. What they did wasn’t right, wasn’t acceptable, but she wouldn’t report them, because she knew what they’d seen earlier, had gathered it from the front of their unguarded thoughts. Should she insist that all students learn to block their thoughts, or was it only the people who bonded with dragons who should be taught the ethics of thought-mining? Should she be the one who guarded her mind from seeking thoughts not her own?
Aranthi spun around as she swung over and dropped to the ground. He lowered his head and eyelids, scaly ears lowered and soft against his neck. Submissive? Not likely. Even if he looked like a dog, Pax always felt the burn of dragon in his aura.
“You shouldn’t scare them so badly,” she said, as she looked down the alley in the direction they’d fled. If Aranthi was still emotional or aggressive, she’d best be as non-confrontational as a healer could be. Calm him down before she asked him about the other incident.
“And they should not lay insult on ground they know not!” he snorted back with a bellow of black smoke and the smell of burned fish scales. And scorched fur.
“So, you’re not sorry you did it, but you want me to think you’re being contrite by offering the submissive look. Is that it?” She smiled when she felt his shock at her understanding. “You need to match the words and emotions to the actions, or they aren’t believable,” she added. Aranthi made a strange sound, the sound a child would make just before they screamed in frustration at having lost a toy, or when someone nipped their finger while playing the gob-snap game.
“I have been inside the mind of many dragons, you know,” Pax said. She pushed against his side with her knees until he walked beside her and down into the cooler contours of the laneways. To calm him and show she meant no harm, she also massaged the point between his eyes and the scales that looked like dog ears. A purple dog with a single pointed horn in the middle of his head, walking the lanes of Aramel.
It should have been a strange scene, something that made her think she was dreaming.
Aranthi made a sound like xanthorrhoea dust being sanded from the hard dry casing. If Pax didn’t know better, it would sound like a growl from a normal dog, but from a dragon, it was more a purr. Not a cat purr, a dragon purr. She’d have to think of a better word for it. Dragons and cats would not be the best of companions.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Pax asked. “I thought you’d be with Shadow or Gheis, or . . .? Where are the other dragons, by the way? Do you know?”
“Over the sea, the islands of tears, the far side,” Aranthi answered the last question.
“And why are you here, and not with them?”
“Not your business, human.”
“I’m not your enemy, Aranthi. Look into my mind to see – I’ll leave nothing hidden. And if you still don’t trust me, I’ll leave it at that. I won’t bother you again. Ever. Okay?” Did the dragons leave him here on his own for a reason? Or was it because he was too different to them? Either way, she’d find a way to get Aranthi somewhere safer; put him under the wing of an elder or teacher or . . . what type of mentor could a dragon be placed with? She wriggled the tips of her fingers on his head.
He didn’t respond, but Pax felt him in her mind. He was so subtle compared to the other dragons, so soft and gentle, so careful. Why was he . . .?
“Is there a problem?” she asked, her question focused tightly to his frontal thoughts. She felt his shame and anger and humiliation about something, but not the reason. Was it because of the cat? Or because he felt the need to eat, unlike the other dragons? Or was it something else – had someone been cruel to him? Hurt him? Pax felt herself offended on his behalf, almost raised her hackles.
“You don’t have hackles, human.”
His mind crackled with the humph and roll of mirth suppressed. Aranthi laughed at her. Pax straightened her back, stood upright, withdrew her hands from his hide. Scowled.
“Have you seen what you need to know?” Her voice became the Master, cold and authoritative, distant.
“I apologise. I did not know you were not of a humour,” Aranthi said.
“I do have humour, but not like that! I don’t like being laughed at. I don’t think anyone likes being the butt of mirth. Anyone.” She shut her mouth before she said too much.
“Yes, I agree. But I saw a picture in my head. Of you with a big ruff like a lion. Like the . . . like Kaleanae, but not, well not like his. Not like a feline. I am not doing well with this idea of apology, am I? And I do have a need to discuss things . . .”
Pax felt his struggle with finding the right words, the right level of emotional output. She had to remember he was very young. And very likely the only mind he’d shared was Shadow. Not the greatest or wisest of minds to share. Righteous, maybe; moral, yes – but not wise. Not yet.
She’d have to forgive him, and start from scratch.
“I heard all of that,” Aranthi whispered, a tinge of awe in his non-physical words.
Despite herself, Pax smiled again. She had to remember he was a youngling and alone. They were both young, even if she now wore a green cape; was a Master, a Teacher of Skills at the Military school of Healers. With gold stripes to indicate her previous rank – a student! And how new the rank was – no one had ever gone from student brown to master green in one test. She was the first, and the youngest, and the least worthy from the dragon mission.
“Why don’t we go somewhere else? Down to the fisher shacks?” She said.
Aranthi didn’t respond, but he walked ahead and turned down the path that led to the cliff trails and down and down through the winding walkways and complex tunnels, towards the lowest level, where the fishing shacks were stuck to the side of the cliffs, like the boats that hung next to them, all abandoned at this time of year.
The time of storms when waves could slam into the dwellings and suck the innards out of the flimsy timber nest-like structures if they weren’t attached strongly enough. There would be no storms today. There was time available to them both – no lessons for Pax, and no one had any idea what to do with a funny looking purple dog-dragon.
They could start a fire and he could catch fish and . . . discuss whatever it was he needed to say.
The slippery cobbles eased her way down – Aranthi didn’t slip – ah, claws out – but Pax slid and slithered on the black and green mosses and other tufty and trailing bryophytes that lived well in the damp and dark recesses of the dug-out passageways.
She was sure she could find some way to get him to speak about it, get him to share his feelings, tell her about the incident and who tormented him. She was a healer, and a Master healer now; should know how to lead a conversation to get information that people felt embarrassed about. Empathy and confidence and distance. That’s all she required for this task, not medicines or tools or assistants.
Not even gifted magic would be necessary.
***
Don’t forget – the gifts of story here are still waiting for the beta readers comments/feedback, so the final product may be different.
I hope you enjoyed it, and continue to follow the Sagas.
BTW – Why start at Chapter Zero – it’s to imply that this is no ordinary ‘set deep in the past with no technology’ story – they have access to technology; the people of Narrung are scroungers: of learning, of ideas, of inventions – if they can make use of the knowledge, they take it and make it their own.
