The Gift of the Dragons

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley,” the Grand High Chancellor of the Exchequer of the King’s Hand intoned, very deeply and grandly. His dark crimson robes, embroidered in gold thread and trimmed with silver sable, swished over the wooden stage as he gestured to the wide plain before him. “In the earliest times, as your ancestors have no doubt told you, there was nothing but wide forests, untamed rivers, and roving hordes of the awful and twisted Darkmarch. Our people — the few, the bold, the courageous — were so nearly annihilated. And then, just as death seemed certain, the first king, Ilqan Altiia, was given an extraordinary gift.”

He raised his hands, beautifully expressive, and paused for effect. The mass of citizenry below him tried hard to look as though they were paying attention.

“A most extraordinary gift,” the Chancellor repeated. “A golden dragon! A gift from the gods to one so noble, so pure of heart, that he alone was worthy. It was this dragon’s children and grandchildren that finally drove clear the Darkmarch and made our Valley the glorious paradise you have the supreme honor of residing in.”

His fine chin dipped as if overcome by emotion. His splendid gaze rested sternly upon a grubby child in the front row, who was, extremely loudly, eating a raw potato. The child, sticky and unrepentant, stared back and extended his tongue.

“Of course, as you great people all know too well, the Age of Dragons did not last. The older dragons passed away, laid to rest in the magnificent Silver Fields, and the young dragons began a terrible decline. Too soon, only one dragon was left, a golden female, and, though she had two beautiful gilded eggs at the time of her death, those eggs remained unhatched. Still, they were kept, passing from monarch to glorious monarch, a remembrance of that lost age of unmatched heroism and jewel-winged supremacy. And that was how it stayed. Until last year, when our magnificent King, Pityr Eracole the Forth, a true descendant of the blessed Ilqan Altiia, hatched a great Plan.”

The crowd, unsure if the pun was intentional, laughed quietly but politely. The Chancellor frowned. His brow crinkled. His scowl deepened.

“. . . conceived. He conceived of a great plan. He put the eggs on display and sent ambassadors all around the Valley to bring forth our greatest healers, our most celebrated minds, and our gentlest children, seeking to find one who, by chance, would unlock the secret of the dragon’s eggs. Many came, and many went. And then, unexpectedly, a champion. A blessed one. A healer, a giver, an unlocker, a holy and most wonderful person. A citizen! One of you! A chance pilgrim to the sanctuary of the eggs! Gifted with the touch of magic . . . the breath of life . . . the . . .”

“What is he saying?” hissed my grandmother, squinting over the tops of her glasses toward the center of the stage. The Chancellor’s robes glittered so brightly that his outline shifted and blurred in the sun. He was gesturing violently and erratically.

“All air, Gamma. You are wonderful. We are wonderful. The king is especially wonderful.”

“The little ones are upset.”

The two little dragons, just a week old, had their back ridges firmly up and their slender bodies tensed. The gold wrapped a thin tail around my grandmother’s neck, the blue, having settled atop her cane-hand, around one bony wrist. They were each about three feet long, if stretched out, but could still curl into egg-sized bundles. Their fragile wings, frail-boned and gossamer-clear, had not yet been extended.

“All right. He’s asking us to approach.”

“I don’t like this, Lia.”

I looked back. At stage right, where we had entered, a guard blocked the stairway. As I watched, two more joined him. Their armor was very shiny. Their spearheads gleamed. The little dragons shifted and squeaked. “We have to move,” I whispered, taking her arm. “Just a little closer. I think he’s waiting for something.”

As we made our way closer to the center, the massed citizens awakened, clapping and cheering, waving hats and throwing wildflowers from the plain. My grandmother hesitated, then lifted her arm from mine to wave. The crowd shouted. The Chancellor, smiling tensely, clapped and nodded to her before facing the people once more. “The gifted one! Behold, the dragons of the king! The noble, splendid, fertile gold! The brave and adventurous blue! These young . . . children of the ages . . . blessed beasts . . . dragons that will launch the Valley once more into its gods-given supremacy and ensure the undying name of His Majesty, Pityr Eracole the Fourth of Valley Rhone!”

Trumpet blasts cut the silence. The little gold, closest to me, hissed and shied. My grandmother, twisting to look, stroked the slim muzzle and made soothing noises. Her fingers trembled. Royal heralds ran forward, trumpeted again, and bowed deeply.

The King, when he emerged, strode forward with outstretched arms, smiling and nodding. The people fell silent immediately. He first congratulated the Chancellor, who bowed low and drew respectfully aside, and then thanked the people for gathering. “You arrive here today,” he went on, “to witness the birth of a new Empire. With these dragons in hand, our people will be stronger, our armies fiercer, and we can finally expand beyond the bounds of the land of our ancestors. I myself will lead the charge. You, your children, and the children of your children will live in a new and glorious time. Even now, my armies are seeking recruits. Your children will be honored to devote themselves to the service of the Kingdom. My dragons are young yet, but all too soon they will be ready — and we will be ready with them!”

The people, suddenly unsmiling, shifted and whispered among themselves.

“An entire wing of the palace has already been set aside for the use of the dragons, and I have staffed it with the finest experts and most qualified doctors to ensure their safety, development, and training. They will want for nothing, and, soon enough, you may see them flying magnificently overhead! The thanks of the Kingdom goes out to Madame Estella Homeholder, the awakener of the eggs, and the kingdom will personally see to her comfort and security as long as she lives.” His cool grey eyes rested upon my grandmother, and he gave her the honor of a short bow. I dropped my gaze and bent deeply, and she ducked respectfully over her stick. Still coiled around her neck, the fierce little gold chittered and bristled.

When I rose, I found the Chancellor at my left. “She must now give them to the King,” he murmured. “Tell her.”

“Lia, what is he saying?”

“He says you must give the dragons to the King,” I whispered.

She didn’t move. The King stood before her. His hand stretched out.

“Tell her,” the Chancellor repeated, louder. “Tell her to give them to the King. Her part is finished. She will be a rich woman.”

Her face was unreadable. Cold panic surged in my veins. The King’s smile became harder, sterner. The people were entirely silent. Then, slowly, the King’s grey gaze slid sideways, past my grandmother, over me, moving toward the guards at the back of the stage.

“Wait!” I forced a smile. “She is confused. She does not hear well. Give me a moment please, your Highness.” I caught her shoulder and huddled nearer. “He is looking at his guards. Gamma, what are you doing? We talked about this. We cannot keep them.”

“Lia, they don’t want to go.”

“But . . .”

“They are frightened, Lia. They do not like him. He’s not a good man.”

“Gamma, he has his guards standing by — I just caught him looking. He won’t hesitate to take them by force.” Tears welled in my eyes. I tilted my forehead against hers, feeling her softness, inhaling her scent of pine and grasses. She always smelled like home, even now, tinged with the sulfurous hint of dragon. “Gamma, I don’t want you to get hurt. He doesn’t care about us. Please, Gamma.”

She had been looking away. Now she raised her head, displacing my own. She was misty herself, but her green-gray eyes were calm and her gaze direct. “Beautiful child,” she said, fondly, touching my hair. “I have always taught you to act wisely, and you do, you do.”

I nodded. She smiled.

“I am going to do something very unwise,” she said. “I love you, Lia. Go join the audience when it’s time. You’ll know.”

“Please,” I whispered, fiercely, but she had already turned to the King and stepped forward. Her voice rang out, aged, yet bright and clear. She had thrown her shoulders back and set her feet firmly apart, drawing her remaining strength around her like a cloak.

“No,” she said. “I will not give you these little ones. I will not let you take them as a tool of war. There has been enough war. You are too young to remember, but I do. War sounds wonderful if you have never seen it. I have. I have, I remember, and I tell you no.”

The King smiled at her. “Madame, you are wise. I have consulted with my generals and I listen to them carefully. I know the memories you hold are painful. But every Kingdom has these pains, and every Kingdom must grow or perish. I want power not only for myself, but for my people. I want power so you and your children and grandchildren will live in prosperity. Give me my dragons.”

Gamma shook her head. “I have heard those words from your father and your grandfather before him, standing on a stage like this and trying to recruit our children to fight his battles. They mean no more from you. I will not give you these dragons. They are their own beings. They are not yours. They are not mine. They are not a tool or a weapon.”

“Madame,” he said, “do not force me to bring my guards forward. I do not want you or your granddaughter to be hurt.”

“Then let us walk away.”

“Not with my dragons.”

They locked eyes. My grandmother, leaning on her cane, lifted her left hand to sooth the panicked gold dragon, and, flash-quick, the King caught hold of her wrist. My grandmother cried out. I pushed ahead, suddenly entangled with the Chancellor, but could not free myself quickly enough. The little gold dragon ran up my grandmother’s arm and screamed in the King’s face, just as the little blue launched itself from her hand and seized the King’s thumb in its toothless jaws. It hit the ground hard as the King shook himself free, twisting in the direction of his guards. I stomped on the Chancellor’s foot and he shoved me toward my grandmother, skipping nimbly backward as he did.

The wooden stage and the high walls of grey stone at our backs echoed the audience’s silence, and, in it, the King’s voice rang out like the crack of a great boulder. “Get them!” he bellowed. “Get them now!”

Several things happened at once. The guards, stirred into action, advanced with a great clatter of armor and tramp of heavy boots on wood. The King shouted words I couldn’t understand at them. The audience, momentarily frozen during this assault on their favorite, crashed on the stage like a wave, climbing up and over the edge in a surge of irate humanity. The King, defended by guards and followed by the Chancellor, hustled backward toward the castle gate as the horde descended. My grandmother stooped to catch up the little blue dragon, and, as I ducked to take her arm, a guard clubbed downward with the hilt of his blade.

Everything slowed down.

As his hilt descended, I screamed. The little gold hissed. My grandmother looked up. The arm that I held extended. The old hand reached out. The frail fingers reached to meet the guard’s clenched grip.

A muffled boom resounded. The arm I held withdrew. The guard was falling. Acrid smoke filled the air and I coughed wildly.

And then, all of a sudden, we were standing in a sunlit clearing, bordered by the tall and scarred old trees of the Darkmarch Forest.

My grandmother staggered and I staggered with her, still coughing and hacking, gaining my feet just in time to keep us both upright. The clearing was perfectly circular, grassy and filled with wildflowers, the green clinging vines of waxy mistletoe just visible in the dark branches that marched at the perimeter. A more different scene from the one we had just exited could not be imagined. A broad, half-decayed log lay a few feet from us, and this I helped my grandmother to settle upon. The little gold, still firmly perched, chittered at the little blue — which, apparently none the worse for wear after its abrupt departure from the King’s hand, clawed its way up my grandmother’s thick sleeve to reach its sibling. I dragged a deep breath. The dragons were okay. My grandmother was okay. I looked down at myself. No blood.

We were safe. I could breathe.

“Child,” a voice said, melodiously, “you have arrived.”

My breath caught in my throat. Something white seemed to flicker in the dark interior of the woodland. Heart thumping anew, I willed my eyes to adjust. The white shimmered again, nearer now, and soon resolved itself into the form of a beautiful woman. Cascades of nut-brown hair flowed over her shoulders, dusting the tan of her skin and mingling with the hundreds of silvery-white strands that made up the form of her gown. I was immediately reminded of spider’s silk, though, in all other respects, the lady was clearly in human form. Perhaps it was the eyes that watched me, ink-dark and liquid, or the limbs that seemed almost too long and too flexible.

“You have a wonderful gift,” she said, halting just at the edge of the shadow. “You power was sensed. We watch, you know, for exceptional people such as yourself. We are alerted to them. Often this power makes itself known in a time of conflict. In that case, like in yours, we transport the subject away . . . somewhere calm, peaceful. Somewhere we can speak. You are not too far from your own village, child, but we will not be disturbed here.”

I blinked at her. “But, I’m . . .”

“I know. It is a lot to take in. But we have sensed your power ever since you awoke the dragons.” Her languid, practiced, glance ran me up and down. Possibly disconcerted at seeing no dragons, she paused a second before continuing. “Awakening the dragons took some power. Of course, they sensed the magic in you, and that is why they chose to join you. But then, well, your little display with the guard really made the Head sit up and take interest. We could hardly believe it when our watching spell told us the news — an untrained subject threw back an armored King’s guard with magic! Of course, we knew then that we had to get you out immediately.”

“No, really, I . . .”

“I know, I know. Such a shock! We are, you see, well . . . not quite a school, but a system, a system of people whose calling it is to help the exceptional find and develop their powers. There are so few magic users left, you see. We must preserve and assist all the youth who find this power within them.” She twinkled at me. “You will enjoy the lessons, I think. We have wonderful instructors. The Head is so kind. Of course, we cannot stop the conflict you are intended for, but we can postpone it until you are ready. You will return here with increased skills, confidence, friendship . . . perhaps even young love.”

“Yes, I mean, that sounds great, but . . .” She tried to interrupt, but, this time, I was ready for her. I almost had to shout. “It’s my grandmother!”

I moved aside, revealing Gamma, seated atop her log with the little blue and little gold dragons on her shoulders like particularly fantastical epaulets. The woman blinked. I continued.

“It’s not me you want. It’s my grandmother. She woke the dragons. She . . .” My ears burned with shame. “She faced off the King. I didn’t . . . I didn’t have the guts. I told her to give them up. She’s the strong one. She, well, I didn’t know until you just said, but she’s the one who threw back the guard, too.”

The woman sounded incredulous. “Your grandmother?”

“Yes.”

“Your grandmother has never used these powers before?”

My grandmother stabbed her cane into the earth and pulled herself upright. She stepped forward, squinted at the woman, removed her glasses, and squinted again. “I always knew I had something,” she said, half to herself, then louder. “The milk never curdled on me and my bread always turned out. There are signs. I thought . . . well, I knew there was something.”

“You never explored this . . . this inclination?”

“I had children to raise. I had dishes to wash and clothes to clean and a house to run. I had no time. And then,” she looked at me, and her face softened, “my son passed away and landed me with this one. A good girl. I’ve been raising her ever since. I am seventy-six years old.”

“It’s most unusual.”

“I’m not as bad as I look,” my grandmother continued, composedly. “My eyes aren’t as good as they were, I don’t hear so well as I did, and I have the arthritis, but I don’t need the cane as much as I let on and I’ve still got my wits about me. I could feel something coming on when I was up on that stage and it felt like I could fight back a bit, so I wasn’t about to back down. I love this girl but she’s grown now and she can take care of herself. I would rather fight and take the consequences than give these little ones up without a struggle.” She glanced at the blue dragon, snuffling her ear, and nodded. “I don’t know why, but I got attached to them right away. It’s like I’m a mother again. I’ve always been an easy sell on sweet young things that need to be taken care of. And these ones, well, they get in your head. Determined little creatures.”

The woman stared. “You can talk to the dragons?”

“Not much, mind. It’s more thoughts and feelings. I wasn’t quite sure for days. But yes.” My grandmother looked quite pleased with herself, and I felt a rush of pride. “I can talk to the dragons.”

“It’s quite irregular, but we may still have space for you.” The woman met my grandmother’s eyes, suddenly looking much younger, slightly more awkward, and significantly less alluring. “Madame.”

“Only,” said my grandmother firmly, “if Lia can come as well.”

A little glow of hope lighted within my chest. I had, of course, known that there was a mistake. I knew the woman wanted my grandmother — that she was the special one — and yet I couldn’t help feeling disappointed that that glowing future of magic, friendship, and love was not to be my own. Added to the disquieting prospect of losing my only family and having to make my lonely way home from Darkmarch Forest, I had been detecting a distinct wash of self-pity, unpleasantly warring with my joy for Gamma. It had made me feel like a louse.

“Friends and relations . . .”

“Are very distracting, I’m sure, in most cases. In this case, I need my granddaughter to help me along and to read things for me.”

“Well . . .”

“I am seventy-six years old,” my grandmother reminded her.

“Yes, well . . .” The woman looked momentarily harassed, but then gave a humorous little shrug of surrender. “Yes. Very well. Madame Estella Homeholder, Awakener of Dragons, you may bring your granddaughter with you to the Citadel of Mysteries.”