[FR] Kyrszith's Price
So! As you may recall, I've been head-down in the dragon game Flight Rising recently. And of course, when I'm head-down in something, I'm usually writing for it. Hence, here's the first story set in my dragon lair.
(Note for people who aren't familiar with FR: some things are probably going to seem a bit odd, as the FR game includes features like purchasing dragons at auction and fighting other creatures in the "Coliseum." So you'll see dragons talk about buying and selling each other with perfect casualness, for instance. In other words, this ain't Pern.)
Title: Kyrszith's Price
Fandom: Flight Rising
Length: 4542 words
Rating: Teen
Summary: In which the Smokeveil Clan gains an unexpected new member.
Kyrszith’s Price
The progenitor’s bellow thundered through the lair, startling a flurry of brilliantly colored birds into flight above the rain forest’s leafy canopy.
“FFENE!”
Uneasily, Dzhawn wondered if he ought to stay where he was, basking in the bright spring sun on the cliff heights, but as other roars joined the first in a growing cacophony, reluctant curiosity got the better of him. Stretching out his wings, he leaped over the edge and into a long, banking glide across the great meadow.
The fuss was over at the eastern edge, near the trail that had been carved through the dense forest growth, leading toward the nesting hollows. Dzhawn tensed as he saw Keri and Sirei both facing off against Ffene. All three guardian dragons stood with wings raised aggressively and head fins spread, their tails lashing in agitation and anger, and Dzhawn hesitated before coming to a tentative landing, not close enough to be directly involved in the argument but near enough to witness, because if this altercation was serious enough-and it looked as though it might be-it could shake the new clan hard. And as third senior, he just couldn’t ignore it. Unfortunately.
Seraphinx came fluttering in from cliffward, toning crossly to herself, and settled a little way off Keri’s right flank-not quite forming a unified front, but definitely not on Ffene’s side. Ffene read the coatl’s position as clearly as Dzhawn did; she lowered her head the least bit, rumbling at the back of her throat. Dzhawn glanced quickly about the vicinity. All of the clan’s adults were there-except for Xsendre, of course, but the elusive skydancer never came to any gathering. Suufu obviously wished he wasn’t there either; he sat hunched up at the edge of the forest, glaring blankly in front of himself, ears twitching and wings rowing in a ceaseless, compulsive rhythm. The other less-senior dragons stood or crouched at discreet distances from each other and from the argument, though they were all listening avidly, and-who was that blue crystal imperial?
Feoii eeled right up to Dzhawn’s side, to his annoyance, tongue lolling between her teeth in a hainu grin. “Ffene is in so much trouble,” she purred.
“So I gathered,” Dzhawn said drily. He looked around again. There were no hatchlings in sight; Seraphinx had probably just come in from settling them. “So what is this-”
“Ffene.” Keri took a half step forward, head raised and chest thrust out as he growled in his deep bass voice. “You dare to steal from this clan-”
“I didn’t steal!” Ffene snarled back. “It was clan wealth, and I spent it for the clan.”
“You spent it for your own satisfaction and pride!” That was Sirei, who usually was the calm rock in the midst of her mate’s stormy bluster, but she seemed even angrier than Keri, although in her it was quieter: an intense, focused tension, a hard green stare. Dzhawn could feel the clash of wills between her and Ffene, and he sat down quickly, coiled his tail around his toes and folded his wings in close behind himself, trying to be as unobtrusive as the largest dragon in the lair could possibly manage to be.
“You took three hundred gems from the hoard and used it to buy yourself a mate!” Keri boomed, and Dzhawn stiffened, choking down a squawk of shock. How could...surely not even Ffene would.... Next to him, Feoii breathed out a near-silent huff of laughter, her long whiskers curling in amusement.
“What do you expect me to do when the nests stand empty, when you’ve filled the lair with hatchlings and females and males too young to breed?” Ffene raised her head high, wrinkling her muzzle in scorn and defiance. “It’s time and past time for me to clutch-why make me wait?”
“The young will grow,” Keri declared sententiously. “The time will come. What are a few weeks to us? Or even a month? As a clan, we’re still just setting our roots.” His brief philosophical moment crumbled like wet sand before another surge of rage. “And yet you couldn’t wait-you took what wasn’t yours to take-!”
“Don’t I do my part?” Ffene challenged, lips drawing back ever so slightly from her teeth. “Don’t I hunt and gather and help dig out caves for lairs? I’ve earned my share of this clan’s wealth-”
“Those gems were a gift of the Gladekeeper! They were a most rare blessing and treasure!”
“I don’t care! Money is money!” Apparently recognizing the ripple of shock her words had caused, Ffene controlled herself with visible effort, then snorted, tossing her head in dismissive pride. “We’ll make fine young ones, he and I, worth every gem and more. They’ll be strong, and beautiful, and a glory to this clan.” She gestured toward the crystal imperial. “Look at him! Can you honestly tell me he’s not worth it?”
Dzhawn eyed the stranger. He was indeed beautiful, all harmonious shades of blue that shimmered into green on his mane and wingtips. Even in the half shade near the forest’s edge, his body glinted with rainbow highlights; in the full sun of the meadow, he’d be dazzling. His magenta eyes were wide with alarm, though, and he crouched low, his tail tucked under him, up against his belly, his slight, graceful body almost trembling with tension. He looked out of place, lost and near terrified, and Dzhawn felt keenly sorry for him.
“I’ll say this for Ffene,” Feoii murmured close to his ear. “She may be a sunblindingly arrogant bitch...but she does have eeeexcellent taste in males.”
Dzhawn made a noncommittal sound, reminded that not only was this dragon a stranger dropped right in the middle of a clan dispute, but he was going to be bred with Ffene. There but for the grace of the Gods go I, he thought, having felt Ffene’s hungry eyes on himself in the past, her heavy-clawed attention that made Feoii’s careless flirting no more than an insect’s annoyance, and his pity for the poor dragon increased.
“Well,” Keri huffed, obviously having trouble countering this argument.
“Bought izz bought,” Seraphinx spoke up in her thick coatl accent, alternately buzzing and atonally musical. “And thrrree eggzz hazz been laid.” Ffene had wasted no time, apparently, and Dzhawn shook his head in wonder at her boldness. “Too late to zzzay no now.”
“This must not set a precedent, though.” Sirei looked around at the assembled dragons. “Dragons of the Smokeveil Clan, are you in agreement that no dragon shall draw upon the clan’s treasure in the future without direct permission of the clan’s chief?” Dzhawn bowed his head in acceptance; flicking his gaze about the gathering, he felt relief that no dragon’s head remained raised in refusal, not even Ffene’s. It was an entirely sensible rule-in fact, one that should have been spelled out at the clan’s very beginning, but it must never have occurred to Keri, with his simple, blunt honesty and his firm belief in doing what was proper, that such an explicit rule was even necessary. That any dragon of the clan would brazenly walk right into the hoard and just take from it. Keri was strong willed and great hearted, deeply pious in service to the Gladekeeper, but young and not at all wise to trickery. Dzhawn thought back to his own upbringing among the Shadow dragons of the Tangled Wood, and breathed a soundless sigh. He was going to end up having to advise Keri, wasn’t he.
Sirei, though no older than her mate, was cannier and less trusting. Now she stared hard at Ffene as the dragons all straightened and lifted their heads. “Ffene,” she said, soft and deadly. “You’re on notice.” One lip drew up to bare a polished, gleaming fang. “One more incident like this....” Ffene returned Sirei’s glare, just for a moment, then ducked her head again in slow, sullen submission.
“And,” Keri cut in, his voice loud as a tree falling after Sirei’s leaf-soft murmur, “you will repay the clan every gem that you have taken!”
Ffene struggled visibly to contain her anger, but she couldn’t help the faint sneer that crossed her face as she responded. “No problem. With our hatchlings, we’ll make that money back in no time.”
“No. Dragonprice is clan money.” Ffene’s eyes widened in protest, but Keri pressed on inexorably. “You’ll repay the debt with your own gems. What you win in battle, what you uncover when gathering, what your familiar finds for you-that’s your share of wealth.” Keri’s green eyes burned with an implacable flame. “Dragons belong to the clan. Not to other dragons.”
There was shame in Ffene’s manner now, as well as fury. She lowered her head all the way, backing up for good measure. One of the older dragons in the clan, she was also one of the largest-Keri and Sirei together made just one of her, but they had been training to fight on the warfields, their bodies rippled with new muscle, and they stood side by side, united in determination and conviction. Looking around again, Dzhawn noted all the other dragons giving the exchange close attention. The clan was too new and small to have developed factions yet, and he didn’t think that Ffene was popular enough to win any power away from the progenitors, but it was probably something to watch out for. Part of him truly wished that Ffene would just take her insulted pride and go, leave the clan before some other conflict resulted in her expulsion, but that would certainly never happen before the eggs hatched. And it was true that she was a strong clan member, a good fighter, and an excellent provider. If only she were less abrasive....
Keri and Sirei had turned away to consult with Seraphinx, probably on something to do with the eggs or the hatchlings, which everyone took as a sign of the gathering’s end. All around, dragons stretched, stood, and then meandered off, affecting various degrees of casualness, even though they were surely all abuzz with thoughts and speculations. Dzhawn’s mind certainly was, and as one particular realization occurred to him, he slumped, groaning. “How am I going to write all this up for the chronicle?” he muttered.
“Have fun with it!” Feoii warbled happily. “Make it nice and juicy.” Dzhawn scowled at the other imperial, who was grinning at him again.
“There could be dragons reading our lore centuries into the future, wanting to learn about Smokeveil Clan’s beginnings. And almost the very first entry is a scandal.” He sighed heavily. “It just seems so...messy.”
“That’s life. Mates and eggs, fights and resolutions, drama of every kind-except when it’s dull, and you don’t want the clan’s chronicles to be dull, do you?” Feoii stretched again, from claw tip to tail tip, hollowing her back in spine-cracking pleasure and extending her wings to their full, impressive length. “Your dragons-of-the-future will love it. Trust me.” Standing up, she tucked her wings back with a flirtatious little fillip and a wink of one violet eye. “I’m going to go over there and say hi to Blue Boy before Ffene carries him off somewhere. You coming?”
It was that or leave the poor lost soul trapped between two overbearing she-dragons, and Dzhawn sighed again. “Yes,” he said. I’m coming.”
* * * * *
She’d screwed it up. She knew it, and the understanding burned like acid inside her chest. She should have held back, played the game and waited for her moment, but she’d just been so plaguing frustrated. And angry.
Two nest sitting empty, begging to be filled, and no mates to be had. And Sirei with her drab colors, still half grown, had Keri’s favor, had hatchlings to croon over and fought by the chief dragon’s side.
It was infuriating.
Snorting in disgust, Ffene turned away from the dispersing dragons and eyed the seed of the uproar, who was still crouching where she’d left him, wings tucked in tight as if to make himself as small as possible. She didn’t regret him-wouldn’t regret him. He was indeed gorgeous, all crystal and shimmer and smoke, in a dozen different shades of blue and teal. He’d be an ornament to the whole clan; even Keri had to agree, once his anger had blown over. And the hatchlings he’d spawn would enrich them all in both treasure and beauty. She was sure that her own children with him would be glorious-at the very least, striped like her but with more vivid colors. If she was truly lucky, they might even have an imperial. Or, dare she hope for it, a crystal guardian?
She sensed movement going against the general tide of departure and glanced over to see the two oldest imperials, Dzhawn and Feoii, pacing casually in Kyrszith’s direction. Bristling, she stalked toward him as well, only checking herself when he looked up at her with those anxious, guileless eyes, as bright and timid as those of a satin mouse. Better not to spook him-he’d had a hard enough introduction to the clan, and the last thing she needed was to drive him away from her. Turning her glower aside, she focused on the approaching dragons instead.
“Hel-lo!” Feoii bounded ahead of her companion, circling around Kyrszith in a graceful, rippling slither that ended with her muzzle far too close to his, their twitching whiskers practically touching. Ffene wanted to smack her head against the ground. “Welcome to the Smokeveils, pretty boy.”
“Er...thanks?” Kyrszith’s voice was a pure, light tenor, its silken smoothness marred only when it cracked high in the question’s rising inflection, a tremor of alarm. He’d sat up out of his frozen huddle, at least, if only to give himself a more polite amount of personal space.
“I’m Feoii.” The female imperial sat up as well, tufted tail flicking around her haunches. “And this,” she waved a negligent claw, “is Dzhawn.”
“Welcome.” Dzhawn dipped his head courteously. “Do you have a name?”
“My name is Kyrszith.” Idly Ffene wondered if he’d found it for himself or if he’d been named. “Thank you for the welcome.”
“What nice manners!” Feoii grinned. “It’s so refreshing!” With a sly glance at Ffene, she added, “Why don’t we take you on a little tour of the lair? We can have a lovely chat...assuming, of course, that Ffene hasn’t had a chance to show you around yet.”
Hesitating, Kyrszith turned toward Ffene, as if wondering if he should ask for permission, and then all three imperials were staring at her as Dzhawn and Feoii followed his gaze. Her face fins flared defensively, in spite of herself. She didn’t want anyone to make off with Kyrszith, especially not if Feoii was involved in it, and the urge to haul him away to their nest, to keep him all to herself, was almost overwhelming. But....
She looked at the young male, glimmering blue, shy and subdued and seeming very out of place, here in this rough-hewn, barely formed clan of strangers. An ethereal treasure, luminous and rare.
Precious.
And she knew better.
Let go the grip.
Let go, or like the water he resembles he’ll slip right through your claws.
Deliberately folding her fins, Ffene drew her muzzle up into a smile she didn’t feel. “Sure. Sounds like a good idea. I think I’m gonna go nest-sit for a while.” Her eyes flicked to Kyrszith. “You’ll know where to find me.” He ducked his head in hasty acknowledgment-almost submission, and part of her thrilled to that, even as she wondered uneasily what the gesture meant. Did he see her as his protector? As his possessor? Did he fear her-or even secretly resent her-for bringing him here?
What did he really think of her?
Then the imperials moved off across the meadow together, and Ffene turned toward the nesting grounds, refusing to watch them go.
She wasn’t going to bung things up again. She’d make nice, pay her debt, rebuild her reputation and prove herself in service to the clan. She’d give them hatchlings, strong, beautiful children; she’d win glory and wealth in battle. She’d show them that her pride in herself wasn’t unfounded-that she could do great things.
That she mattered.
* * * * *
As they walked, Kyrszith cast brief sidelong glances at the other two dragons, trying not to be too obvious about it. Both were full-grown adults, the male somewhat larger than the female, who was short and almost...chunky, at least for an imperial. Dzhawn was steel and white with a creamy underbelly; Feoii was tiger striped in gray and black. Their wings were both daub patterned, his in pale colors and hers in rich purples, as if to match their contrasting personalities. Both had violet Shadow-born eyes, and he wondered if they might be related.
Even more so, he wondered how they had come to be here.
He was distracted by movement: a small, sinuous form in flight, bright jade wings and brilliantly iridescent scales catching the sun. The imperial hatchling was crossing the meadow in low, bounding swoops, heading toward the place where the clan meeting had been held, but he banked sharply aside to backwing into a neat landing near them. “Oh!” he said, green eyes wide. “You’re the newest dragon.”
“Yes,” Kyrszith replied. “My name is Kyrszith.”
“I’m Hakukin.” The dragonet dipped his head, the respectful gesture given with an unself-conscious grace. “Very nice to meet you.” He turned toward Dzhawn then, his forehead wrinkled up with concern. “Dzhawn, do you know where Suufu is?”
“I last saw him at the forest’s edge; he’s probably still there,” Dzhawn replied, and Kyrszith tried to think whether he knew which dragon that was, but drew a blank. There had been a number of dragons at the gathering who hadn’t spoken, only watched and let their silent votes be known.
“Ah! Thank you very much!” The hatchling bobbed a second bow, a little sketchier than the first, then took off again, dashing away over the grass in renewed haste. Bemused, Kyrszith watched him go.
“There are...a lot of imperials here,” he murmured as they began to walk on. Dzhawn snorted softly.
“There are twelve adult dragons-”
“You’re number twelve,” Feoii interrupted cheerfully, “which seniority-wise puts you just after that funny little no-name wildclaw and ahead of Haku, once he turns adult.”
“-twelve dragons, of which five are imperials,” Dzhawn went on, giving Feoii a stern but resigned look. “Three are guardians, and then there are four singletons: coatl, fae, skydancer, and wildclaw. So while imperials might form a majority at the moment, it doesn’t mean that there are a great many of us.”
“Add three more, once Haku and the two girls grow up.” Feoii shook out her wild violet mane, which was rather in need of a trim. “In all honesty, though, it really doesn’t matter. It’s catch as catch can, starting out a new clan.” She blinked, and then grinned at Dzhawn. “Hey, I rhymed!”
“Anyway,” Dzhawn said, “this is the heart of the clan’s territory: the meadow.” The land before them rolled in a very gentle slope down toward the river, its length and breadth luxuriantly carpeted with medium-tall grasses and great swathes of maiden’s blush. The flowers bowed and rippled before the breeze, bent and sprang back as the dragons pushed through them; the colors reminded him of the Crystalspine’s light reflecting on the restless sea, and a pang of homesickness wrenched through him. Be still, he told his heart. Be still.
“All the land around it is ours,” Dzhawn was going on, sweeping one wing in an arc as if to encompass the clan’s holdings. “The rain forest, the cliffs and ravines to the north, the marshes on the other side of the river.” He paused, possibly for effect. “And, of course, the falls.”
At that, Kyrszith finally identified the low hsssshh and boom that had been teasing at the edges of his hearing all this time. Raising his eyes from the ground, he saw the cascade in the distance: what seemed like dozens of streams spilling from splits and crevices in the cliff wall, some joining together to form broader ribbons of water, others like single silvery threads. The falls crashed ceaselessly down into a forest of toothlike rocks of varying heights, and the spray that was flung up formed evanescent clouds of mist that sparkled in the sun before drifting away and dissolving into nothingness. The cliff walls were dark where the water gathered on them, but to either side they were banded in soft corals and ivories, golds and off-whites, the lush forest of the upland crowning them and in places spilling down their faces in a riot of greenery, while the teeth themselves stood starkly gray and white.
“It’s beautiful,” Kyrszith murmured. And indeed, it was. An unfamiliar, primal beauty, luxuriant and wild and unplanned, unless it were by the hand and mind of the Gladekeeper herself. So different from the Starfall Isles, where all things were oriented toward the pull of the sky, the intricate dance of celestial energies, the knowing and naming of every mystery. Just as this tiny clan of mixed dragons, a scattering of patterns, breeds and flights that had somehow all been drawn together, was so utterly different from his birth clan. Home flashed behind his eyes again, filled his mind like a burst of reflected light: the glittering, rune-carved halls filled with over a hundred dragons, all shimmering iridescent and dazzling crystal, sorted and assigned by colors to breed true, producing only the most exquisite children. His heart trembled inside him. He knew his role, of course-to be an adornment, exchanged for more wealth and greater reputation for his former clan, to bring pleasure and to father more crystal dragons for the clan that held him now. He had known it almost from the egg.
He hadn’t known that it would be so hard.
“Where...do we sleep?” he murmured, and chastised himself for the tiny quaver that crept into his voice. He had been trained to be better than that.
He had to be better.
“Erm.” Dzhawn scratched at his mane, appearing embarrassed. “Well. Things are still a little rough around here. The Nature-born dragons, of course, they’ll say that a little rain never hurt anyone.” His smile was more like a grimace, and it faded quickly into an uneasily thoughtful expression. “You’ve seen the nesting grounds-er, obviously. Those are pretty sheltered if you want to stay there for a while, even when you’re not actually nest-sitting. Or there are the hatchling caves, just for the time being.” As if mortified by his own suggestion, he hurried on, “Anyway, if you like, whenever you’re ready I can help you build or dig a shelter of your own.”
“Or you could just come and curl up with me.” Feoii wriggled up against his side, under his wing, and he startled at the unexpected contact. She favored him with a lecherous grin. “I’ll keep you warm, baby.”
“Feoii, enough.” Dzhawn’s growl was low, barely more than a mutter, but stingingly sharp. “It’s hard enough for him without everyone looking at him like a bag of meat sticks.” The words seemed to pierce right through Kyrszith, a pain that he hardly understood but that left him light-headed and nearly sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes-he was a scion of his clan, he would not weep, not for so senseless a reason-breathed slow and deep, once, twice. The other two dragons were silent, and when he blinked his eyes open again after a few moments, Dzhawn was gazing soberly out across the river, ignoring his brief lapse. That courtesy was familiar and welcome, at least, and it calmed him further. Feoii, on the other hand, regarded him with wide-eyed curiosity. At least, he thought it was curiosity, although there was also something speculative about it, a dark flicker of contemplation or analysis. He didn’t know what to say to her, so he simply glanced aside, lowering his eyes and waiting.
“Hey,” she said at last, her voice still playfully light but softer. “Don’t worry-I’m just teasing.” Her claws descended onto his head to tousle his mane with careless affection. “I’m not looking to mate right now anyway. Or anytime soon. Feh.” She scrunched up her muzzle. “Four clutches to four different mates-as you might be able to tell by my not-so-girlish figure.” Sitting up on her haunches, she preened at him in an exaggerated fashion, smirking.
“I thought it was all the honey-dipped hummingbirds,” Dzhawn murmured under his breath. Feoii made the rudest gesture imaginable with her tongue and whiskers, and Kyrszith barely managed not to hide his face in horrified embarrassment.
“Anyway, that was all before I came here. Now? We have more than enough females. I’m taking it easy for a while.” Feoii rolled away from him to lie on her back in the grasses, her legs in the air in the most undignified way as she bared her belly to the sun.
He would probably make attractive hatchlings with her, Kyrszith mused distractedly-most likely very purple and blue. The thought was presumptuous, perhaps, but he fell back on it anyway, because otherwise he had not the least idea what to make of her. Or of any of this.
How would he find his way among dragons like these? What would he be to them? And what good would all his long-studied arts and graces do, here in the wilderness of the Labyrinth?
“It’ll be all right,” Dzhawn said quietly, as if reading his mind. Kyrszith realized to his complete dismay that he’d been nervously biting one of his claws, and he curled his front toes into the grass, abashed and ashamed at the unconscious slip. “You’ll be okay. It’ll just take time to get used to things. And as Keri said, we have time. Remember, this is all very new for everyone” He stretched, then let his front legs continue sliding forward as his back end crouched until at last he was lying on his stomach, his position far more elegant than Feoii’s graceless sprawl. “It’s a beautiful day, if you want to rest here a while after this morning’s excitement. Or if you’d prefer to explore the lair some more, that’s fine. You can do whatever you want.”
Kyrszith looked down at his claws, still tangled in the grass. What did he want?
To go home...but no, that was impossible. If he returned, for whatever reason, he would be nothing, less than nothing. Even if they sent him to serve the Arcanist, he would still be forever scarred by the shame, the memory of him a lingering stain on his clan.
But if not that....
Tilting his head back, he stared up into the cloudless, wide-open sky, its endless blue as bright as his own scales. The thunderous song of the waterfall murmured on, strong and ceaseless.
Somehow, he pleaded-to whom, he didn’t know. To whomever would listen, he supposed.
Somehow, please...
...let me find myself a home in this place.
------------------------------------------
Our narrators:
- Dzhawn
- Ffene
- Kyrszith
A hainu is essentially a winged wolf; Dzhawn has one as his familiar.
The Gladekeeper is the deity of the Nature dragons; the Smokeveils are a Nature clan.
Kyrszith's home lair--so many pretty dragons!
(Note for people who aren't familiar with FR: some things are probably going to seem a bit odd, as the FR game includes features like purchasing dragons at auction and fighting other creatures in the "Coliseum." So you'll see dragons talk about buying and selling each other with perfect casualness, for instance. In other words, this ain't Pern.)
Title: Kyrszith's Price
Fandom: Flight Rising
Length: 4542 words
Rating: Teen
Summary: In which the Smokeveil Clan gains an unexpected new member.
Kyrszith’s Price
The progenitor’s bellow thundered through the lair, startling a flurry of brilliantly colored birds into flight above the rain forest’s leafy canopy.
“FFENE!”
Uneasily, Dzhawn wondered if he ought to stay where he was, basking in the bright spring sun on the cliff heights, but as other roars joined the first in a growing cacophony, reluctant curiosity got the better of him. Stretching out his wings, he leaped over the edge and into a long, banking glide across the great meadow.
The fuss was over at the eastern edge, near the trail that had been carved through the dense forest growth, leading toward the nesting hollows. Dzhawn tensed as he saw Keri and Sirei both facing off against Ffene. All three guardian dragons stood with wings raised aggressively and head fins spread, their tails lashing in agitation and anger, and Dzhawn hesitated before coming to a tentative landing, not close enough to be directly involved in the argument but near enough to witness, because if this altercation was serious enough-and it looked as though it might be-it could shake the new clan hard. And as third senior, he just couldn’t ignore it. Unfortunately.
Seraphinx came fluttering in from cliffward, toning crossly to herself, and settled a little way off Keri’s right flank-not quite forming a unified front, but definitely not on Ffene’s side. Ffene read the coatl’s position as clearly as Dzhawn did; she lowered her head the least bit, rumbling at the back of her throat. Dzhawn glanced quickly about the vicinity. All of the clan’s adults were there-except for Xsendre, of course, but the elusive skydancer never came to any gathering. Suufu obviously wished he wasn’t there either; he sat hunched up at the edge of the forest, glaring blankly in front of himself, ears twitching and wings rowing in a ceaseless, compulsive rhythm. The other less-senior dragons stood or crouched at discreet distances from each other and from the argument, though they were all listening avidly, and-who was that blue crystal imperial?
Feoii eeled right up to Dzhawn’s side, to his annoyance, tongue lolling between her teeth in a hainu grin. “Ffene is in so much trouble,” she purred.
“So I gathered,” Dzhawn said drily. He looked around again. There were no hatchlings in sight; Seraphinx had probably just come in from settling them. “So what is this-”
“Ffene.” Keri took a half step forward, head raised and chest thrust out as he growled in his deep bass voice. “You dare to steal from this clan-”
“I didn’t steal!” Ffene snarled back. “It was clan wealth, and I spent it for the clan.”
“You spent it for your own satisfaction and pride!” That was Sirei, who usually was the calm rock in the midst of her mate’s stormy bluster, but she seemed even angrier than Keri, although in her it was quieter: an intense, focused tension, a hard green stare. Dzhawn could feel the clash of wills between her and Ffene, and he sat down quickly, coiled his tail around his toes and folded his wings in close behind himself, trying to be as unobtrusive as the largest dragon in the lair could possibly manage to be.
“You took three hundred gems from the hoard and used it to buy yourself a mate!” Keri boomed, and Dzhawn stiffened, choking down a squawk of shock. How could...surely not even Ffene would.... Next to him, Feoii breathed out a near-silent huff of laughter, her long whiskers curling in amusement.
“What do you expect me to do when the nests stand empty, when you’ve filled the lair with hatchlings and females and males too young to breed?” Ffene raised her head high, wrinkling her muzzle in scorn and defiance. “It’s time and past time for me to clutch-why make me wait?”
“The young will grow,” Keri declared sententiously. “The time will come. What are a few weeks to us? Or even a month? As a clan, we’re still just setting our roots.” His brief philosophical moment crumbled like wet sand before another surge of rage. “And yet you couldn’t wait-you took what wasn’t yours to take-!”
“Don’t I do my part?” Ffene challenged, lips drawing back ever so slightly from her teeth. “Don’t I hunt and gather and help dig out caves for lairs? I’ve earned my share of this clan’s wealth-”
“Those gems were a gift of the Gladekeeper! They were a most rare blessing and treasure!”
“I don’t care! Money is money!” Apparently recognizing the ripple of shock her words had caused, Ffene controlled herself with visible effort, then snorted, tossing her head in dismissive pride. “We’ll make fine young ones, he and I, worth every gem and more. They’ll be strong, and beautiful, and a glory to this clan.” She gestured toward the crystal imperial. “Look at him! Can you honestly tell me he’s not worth it?”
Dzhawn eyed the stranger. He was indeed beautiful, all harmonious shades of blue that shimmered into green on his mane and wingtips. Even in the half shade near the forest’s edge, his body glinted with rainbow highlights; in the full sun of the meadow, he’d be dazzling. His magenta eyes were wide with alarm, though, and he crouched low, his tail tucked under him, up against his belly, his slight, graceful body almost trembling with tension. He looked out of place, lost and near terrified, and Dzhawn felt keenly sorry for him.
“I’ll say this for Ffene,” Feoii murmured close to his ear. “She may be a sunblindingly arrogant bitch...but she does have eeeexcellent taste in males.”
Dzhawn made a noncommittal sound, reminded that not only was this dragon a stranger dropped right in the middle of a clan dispute, but he was going to be bred with Ffene. There but for the grace of the Gods go I, he thought, having felt Ffene’s hungry eyes on himself in the past, her heavy-clawed attention that made Feoii’s careless flirting no more than an insect’s annoyance, and his pity for the poor dragon increased.
“Well,” Keri huffed, obviously having trouble countering this argument.
“Bought izz bought,” Seraphinx spoke up in her thick coatl accent, alternately buzzing and atonally musical. “And thrrree eggzz hazz been laid.” Ffene had wasted no time, apparently, and Dzhawn shook his head in wonder at her boldness. “Too late to zzzay no now.”
“This must not set a precedent, though.” Sirei looked around at the assembled dragons. “Dragons of the Smokeveil Clan, are you in agreement that no dragon shall draw upon the clan’s treasure in the future without direct permission of the clan’s chief?” Dzhawn bowed his head in acceptance; flicking his gaze about the gathering, he felt relief that no dragon’s head remained raised in refusal, not even Ffene’s. It was an entirely sensible rule-in fact, one that should have been spelled out at the clan’s very beginning, but it must never have occurred to Keri, with his simple, blunt honesty and his firm belief in doing what was proper, that such an explicit rule was even necessary. That any dragon of the clan would brazenly walk right into the hoard and just take from it. Keri was strong willed and great hearted, deeply pious in service to the Gladekeeper, but young and not at all wise to trickery. Dzhawn thought back to his own upbringing among the Shadow dragons of the Tangled Wood, and breathed a soundless sigh. He was going to end up having to advise Keri, wasn’t he.
Sirei, though no older than her mate, was cannier and less trusting. Now she stared hard at Ffene as the dragons all straightened and lifted their heads. “Ffene,” she said, soft and deadly. “You’re on notice.” One lip drew up to bare a polished, gleaming fang. “One more incident like this....” Ffene returned Sirei’s glare, just for a moment, then ducked her head again in slow, sullen submission.
“And,” Keri cut in, his voice loud as a tree falling after Sirei’s leaf-soft murmur, “you will repay the clan every gem that you have taken!”
Ffene struggled visibly to contain her anger, but she couldn’t help the faint sneer that crossed her face as she responded. “No problem. With our hatchlings, we’ll make that money back in no time.”
“No. Dragonprice is clan money.” Ffene’s eyes widened in protest, but Keri pressed on inexorably. “You’ll repay the debt with your own gems. What you win in battle, what you uncover when gathering, what your familiar finds for you-that’s your share of wealth.” Keri’s green eyes burned with an implacable flame. “Dragons belong to the clan. Not to other dragons.”
There was shame in Ffene’s manner now, as well as fury. She lowered her head all the way, backing up for good measure. One of the older dragons in the clan, she was also one of the largest-Keri and Sirei together made just one of her, but they had been training to fight on the warfields, their bodies rippled with new muscle, and they stood side by side, united in determination and conviction. Looking around again, Dzhawn noted all the other dragons giving the exchange close attention. The clan was too new and small to have developed factions yet, and he didn’t think that Ffene was popular enough to win any power away from the progenitors, but it was probably something to watch out for. Part of him truly wished that Ffene would just take her insulted pride and go, leave the clan before some other conflict resulted in her expulsion, but that would certainly never happen before the eggs hatched. And it was true that she was a strong clan member, a good fighter, and an excellent provider. If only she were less abrasive....
Keri and Sirei had turned away to consult with Seraphinx, probably on something to do with the eggs or the hatchlings, which everyone took as a sign of the gathering’s end. All around, dragons stretched, stood, and then meandered off, affecting various degrees of casualness, even though they were surely all abuzz with thoughts and speculations. Dzhawn’s mind certainly was, and as one particular realization occurred to him, he slumped, groaning. “How am I going to write all this up for the chronicle?” he muttered.
“Have fun with it!” Feoii warbled happily. “Make it nice and juicy.” Dzhawn scowled at the other imperial, who was grinning at him again.
“There could be dragons reading our lore centuries into the future, wanting to learn about Smokeveil Clan’s beginnings. And almost the very first entry is a scandal.” He sighed heavily. “It just seems so...messy.”
“That’s life. Mates and eggs, fights and resolutions, drama of every kind-except when it’s dull, and you don’t want the clan’s chronicles to be dull, do you?” Feoii stretched again, from claw tip to tail tip, hollowing her back in spine-cracking pleasure and extending her wings to their full, impressive length. “Your dragons-of-the-future will love it. Trust me.” Standing up, she tucked her wings back with a flirtatious little fillip and a wink of one violet eye. “I’m going to go over there and say hi to Blue Boy before Ffene carries him off somewhere. You coming?”
It was that or leave the poor lost soul trapped between two overbearing she-dragons, and Dzhawn sighed again. “Yes,” he said. I’m coming.”
* * * * *
She’d screwed it up. She knew it, and the understanding burned like acid inside her chest. She should have held back, played the game and waited for her moment, but she’d just been so plaguing frustrated. And angry.
Two nest sitting empty, begging to be filled, and no mates to be had. And Sirei with her drab colors, still half grown, had Keri’s favor, had hatchlings to croon over and fought by the chief dragon’s side.
It was infuriating.
Snorting in disgust, Ffene turned away from the dispersing dragons and eyed the seed of the uproar, who was still crouching where she’d left him, wings tucked in tight as if to make himself as small as possible. She didn’t regret him-wouldn’t regret him. He was indeed gorgeous, all crystal and shimmer and smoke, in a dozen different shades of blue and teal. He’d be an ornament to the whole clan; even Keri had to agree, once his anger had blown over. And the hatchlings he’d spawn would enrich them all in both treasure and beauty. She was sure that her own children with him would be glorious-at the very least, striped like her but with more vivid colors. If she was truly lucky, they might even have an imperial. Or, dare she hope for it, a crystal guardian?
She sensed movement going against the general tide of departure and glanced over to see the two oldest imperials, Dzhawn and Feoii, pacing casually in Kyrszith’s direction. Bristling, she stalked toward him as well, only checking herself when he looked up at her with those anxious, guileless eyes, as bright and timid as those of a satin mouse. Better not to spook him-he’d had a hard enough introduction to the clan, and the last thing she needed was to drive him away from her. Turning her glower aside, she focused on the approaching dragons instead.
“Hel-lo!” Feoii bounded ahead of her companion, circling around Kyrszith in a graceful, rippling slither that ended with her muzzle far too close to his, their twitching whiskers practically touching. Ffene wanted to smack her head against the ground. “Welcome to the Smokeveils, pretty boy.”
“Er...thanks?” Kyrszith’s voice was a pure, light tenor, its silken smoothness marred only when it cracked high in the question’s rising inflection, a tremor of alarm. He’d sat up out of his frozen huddle, at least, if only to give himself a more polite amount of personal space.
“I’m Feoii.” The female imperial sat up as well, tufted tail flicking around her haunches. “And this,” she waved a negligent claw, “is Dzhawn.”
“Welcome.” Dzhawn dipped his head courteously. “Do you have a name?”
“My name is Kyrszith.” Idly Ffene wondered if he’d found it for himself or if he’d been named. “Thank you for the welcome.”
“What nice manners!” Feoii grinned. “It’s so refreshing!” With a sly glance at Ffene, she added, “Why don’t we take you on a little tour of the lair? We can have a lovely chat...assuming, of course, that Ffene hasn’t had a chance to show you around yet.”
Hesitating, Kyrszith turned toward Ffene, as if wondering if he should ask for permission, and then all three imperials were staring at her as Dzhawn and Feoii followed his gaze. Her face fins flared defensively, in spite of herself. She didn’t want anyone to make off with Kyrszith, especially not if Feoii was involved in it, and the urge to haul him away to their nest, to keep him all to herself, was almost overwhelming. But....
She looked at the young male, glimmering blue, shy and subdued and seeming very out of place, here in this rough-hewn, barely formed clan of strangers. An ethereal treasure, luminous and rare.
Precious.
And she knew better.
Let go the grip.
Let go, or like the water he resembles he’ll slip right through your claws.
Deliberately folding her fins, Ffene drew her muzzle up into a smile she didn’t feel. “Sure. Sounds like a good idea. I think I’m gonna go nest-sit for a while.” Her eyes flicked to Kyrszith. “You’ll know where to find me.” He ducked his head in hasty acknowledgment-almost submission, and part of her thrilled to that, even as she wondered uneasily what the gesture meant. Did he see her as his protector? As his possessor? Did he fear her-or even secretly resent her-for bringing him here?
What did he really think of her?
Then the imperials moved off across the meadow together, and Ffene turned toward the nesting grounds, refusing to watch them go.
She wasn’t going to bung things up again. She’d make nice, pay her debt, rebuild her reputation and prove herself in service to the clan. She’d give them hatchlings, strong, beautiful children; she’d win glory and wealth in battle. She’d show them that her pride in herself wasn’t unfounded-that she could do great things.
That she mattered.
* * * * *
As they walked, Kyrszith cast brief sidelong glances at the other two dragons, trying not to be too obvious about it. Both were full-grown adults, the male somewhat larger than the female, who was short and almost...chunky, at least for an imperial. Dzhawn was steel and white with a creamy underbelly; Feoii was tiger striped in gray and black. Their wings were both daub patterned, his in pale colors and hers in rich purples, as if to match their contrasting personalities. Both had violet Shadow-born eyes, and he wondered if they might be related.
Even more so, he wondered how they had come to be here.
He was distracted by movement: a small, sinuous form in flight, bright jade wings and brilliantly iridescent scales catching the sun. The imperial hatchling was crossing the meadow in low, bounding swoops, heading toward the place where the clan meeting had been held, but he banked sharply aside to backwing into a neat landing near them. “Oh!” he said, green eyes wide. “You’re the newest dragon.”
“Yes,” Kyrszith replied. “My name is Kyrszith.”
“I’m Hakukin.” The dragonet dipped his head, the respectful gesture given with an unself-conscious grace. “Very nice to meet you.” He turned toward Dzhawn then, his forehead wrinkled up with concern. “Dzhawn, do you know where Suufu is?”
“I last saw him at the forest’s edge; he’s probably still there,” Dzhawn replied, and Kyrszith tried to think whether he knew which dragon that was, but drew a blank. There had been a number of dragons at the gathering who hadn’t spoken, only watched and let their silent votes be known.
“Ah! Thank you very much!” The hatchling bobbed a second bow, a little sketchier than the first, then took off again, dashing away over the grass in renewed haste. Bemused, Kyrszith watched him go.
“There are...a lot of imperials here,” he murmured as they began to walk on. Dzhawn snorted softly.
“There are twelve adult dragons-”
“You’re number twelve,” Feoii interrupted cheerfully, “which seniority-wise puts you just after that funny little no-name wildclaw and ahead of Haku, once he turns adult.”
“-twelve dragons, of which five are imperials,” Dzhawn went on, giving Feoii a stern but resigned look. “Three are guardians, and then there are four singletons: coatl, fae, skydancer, and wildclaw. So while imperials might form a majority at the moment, it doesn’t mean that there are a great many of us.”
“Add three more, once Haku and the two girls grow up.” Feoii shook out her wild violet mane, which was rather in need of a trim. “In all honesty, though, it really doesn’t matter. It’s catch as catch can, starting out a new clan.” She blinked, and then grinned at Dzhawn. “Hey, I rhymed!”
“Anyway,” Dzhawn said, “this is the heart of the clan’s territory: the meadow.” The land before them rolled in a very gentle slope down toward the river, its length and breadth luxuriantly carpeted with medium-tall grasses and great swathes of maiden’s blush. The flowers bowed and rippled before the breeze, bent and sprang back as the dragons pushed through them; the colors reminded him of the Crystalspine’s light reflecting on the restless sea, and a pang of homesickness wrenched through him. Be still, he told his heart. Be still.
“All the land around it is ours,” Dzhawn was going on, sweeping one wing in an arc as if to encompass the clan’s holdings. “The rain forest, the cliffs and ravines to the north, the marshes on the other side of the river.” He paused, possibly for effect. “And, of course, the falls.”
At that, Kyrszith finally identified the low hsssshh and boom that had been teasing at the edges of his hearing all this time. Raising his eyes from the ground, he saw the cascade in the distance: what seemed like dozens of streams spilling from splits and crevices in the cliff wall, some joining together to form broader ribbons of water, others like single silvery threads. The falls crashed ceaselessly down into a forest of toothlike rocks of varying heights, and the spray that was flung up formed evanescent clouds of mist that sparkled in the sun before drifting away and dissolving into nothingness. The cliff walls were dark where the water gathered on them, but to either side they were banded in soft corals and ivories, golds and off-whites, the lush forest of the upland crowning them and in places spilling down their faces in a riot of greenery, while the teeth themselves stood starkly gray and white.
“It’s beautiful,” Kyrszith murmured. And indeed, it was. An unfamiliar, primal beauty, luxuriant and wild and unplanned, unless it were by the hand and mind of the Gladekeeper herself. So different from the Starfall Isles, where all things were oriented toward the pull of the sky, the intricate dance of celestial energies, the knowing and naming of every mystery. Just as this tiny clan of mixed dragons, a scattering of patterns, breeds and flights that had somehow all been drawn together, was so utterly different from his birth clan. Home flashed behind his eyes again, filled his mind like a burst of reflected light: the glittering, rune-carved halls filled with over a hundred dragons, all shimmering iridescent and dazzling crystal, sorted and assigned by colors to breed true, producing only the most exquisite children. His heart trembled inside him. He knew his role, of course-to be an adornment, exchanged for more wealth and greater reputation for his former clan, to bring pleasure and to father more crystal dragons for the clan that held him now. He had known it almost from the egg.
He hadn’t known that it would be so hard.
“Where...do we sleep?” he murmured, and chastised himself for the tiny quaver that crept into his voice. He had been trained to be better than that.
He had to be better.
“Erm.” Dzhawn scratched at his mane, appearing embarrassed. “Well. Things are still a little rough around here. The Nature-born dragons, of course, they’ll say that a little rain never hurt anyone.” His smile was more like a grimace, and it faded quickly into an uneasily thoughtful expression. “You’ve seen the nesting grounds-er, obviously. Those are pretty sheltered if you want to stay there for a while, even when you’re not actually nest-sitting. Or there are the hatchling caves, just for the time being.” As if mortified by his own suggestion, he hurried on, “Anyway, if you like, whenever you’re ready I can help you build or dig a shelter of your own.”
“Or you could just come and curl up with me.” Feoii wriggled up against his side, under his wing, and he startled at the unexpected contact. She favored him with a lecherous grin. “I’ll keep you warm, baby.”
“Feoii, enough.” Dzhawn’s growl was low, barely more than a mutter, but stingingly sharp. “It’s hard enough for him without everyone looking at him like a bag of meat sticks.” The words seemed to pierce right through Kyrszith, a pain that he hardly understood but that left him light-headed and nearly sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes-he was a scion of his clan, he would not weep, not for so senseless a reason-breathed slow and deep, once, twice. The other two dragons were silent, and when he blinked his eyes open again after a few moments, Dzhawn was gazing soberly out across the river, ignoring his brief lapse. That courtesy was familiar and welcome, at least, and it calmed him further. Feoii, on the other hand, regarded him with wide-eyed curiosity. At least, he thought it was curiosity, although there was also something speculative about it, a dark flicker of contemplation or analysis. He didn’t know what to say to her, so he simply glanced aside, lowering his eyes and waiting.
“Hey,” she said at last, her voice still playfully light but softer. “Don’t worry-I’m just teasing.” Her claws descended onto his head to tousle his mane with careless affection. “I’m not looking to mate right now anyway. Or anytime soon. Feh.” She scrunched up her muzzle. “Four clutches to four different mates-as you might be able to tell by my not-so-girlish figure.” Sitting up on her haunches, she preened at him in an exaggerated fashion, smirking.
“I thought it was all the honey-dipped hummingbirds,” Dzhawn murmured under his breath. Feoii made the rudest gesture imaginable with her tongue and whiskers, and Kyrszith barely managed not to hide his face in horrified embarrassment.
“Anyway, that was all before I came here. Now? We have more than enough females. I’m taking it easy for a while.” Feoii rolled away from him to lie on her back in the grasses, her legs in the air in the most undignified way as she bared her belly to the sun.
He would probably make attractive hatchlings with her, Kyrszith mused distractedly-most likely very purple and blue. The thought was presumptuous, perhaps, but he fell back on it anyway, because otherwise he had not the least idea what to make of her. Or of any of this.
How would he find his way among dragons like these? What would he be to them? And what good would all his long-studied arts and graces do, here in the wilderness of the Labyrinth?
“It’ll be all right,” Dzhawn said quietly, as if reading his mind. Kyrszith realized to his complete dismay that he’d been nervously biting one of his claws, and he curled his front toes into the grass, abashed and ashamed at the unconscious slip. “You’ll be okay. It’ll just take time to get used to things. And as Keri said, we have time. Remember, this is all very new for everyone” He stretched, then let his front legs continue sliding forward as his back end crouched until at last he was lying on his stomach, his position far more elegant than Feoii’s graceless sprawl. “It’s a beautiful day, if you want to rest here a while after this morning’s excitement. Or if you’d prefer to explore the lair some more, that’s fine. You can do whatever you want.”
Kyrszith looked down at his claws, still tangled in the grass. What did he want?
To go home...but no, that was impossible. If he returned, for whatever reason, he would be nothing, less than nothing. Even if they sent him to serve the Arcanist, he would still be forever scarred by the shame, the memory of him a lingering stain on his clan.
But if not that....
Tilting his head back, he stared up into the cloudless, wide-open sky, its endless blue as bright as his own scales. The thunderous song of the waterfall murmured on, strong and ceaseless.
Somehow, he pleaded-to whom, he didn’t know. To whomever would listen, he supposed.
Somehow, please...
...let me find myself a home in this place.
------------------------------------------
Our narrators:
- Dzhawn
- Ffene
- Kyrszith
A hainu is essentially a winged wolf; Dzhawn has one as his familiar.
The Gladekeeper is the deity of the Nature dragons; the Smokeveils are a Nature clan.
Kyrszith's home lair--so many pretty dragons!