Chapter 8 - Charming Monks

If asked later, Hualiama would have been unable to recall how many days she spoke with the Ancient Dragon, for beneath the roots of Ha’athior Island, time assumed a surreal, imprecise aspect, neither demarcated by the twin suns or the moons’ waxing and waning, nor measurable by any other ordinary means. She sat or paced about, or even danced and performed her exercises, while Amaryllion looked on with lively interest and allowed her to pose question after question, debated points of consequence with her, and recounted the histories of the Dragonkind with perfect, unfailing accuracy. She slept and woke, and he was there. Lia sang ballads and sagas and histories for him, as many as she could remember. Flicker brought them food, but the Ancient Dragon seemed to need no sustenance. She wondered if he existed by magic alone.

Lia knew the exact moment she lost her fear of the great Dragon; when he told her that he was the last of his kind.

“The last?” she asked. “Are you not lonely, Amaryllion?”

“Not anymore,” he said.

She puzzled over this. “You mean–oh! Really?” Tears sprang to her eyes. “You lie … uh, sorry, Amaryllion. Without disrespect …”

He spoke excellent Human. In his fantastically basso earthquake-voice, Amaryllion said, “A person such as thee can hold herself in too low esteem, Hualiama, Princess of Fra’anior. I find thy heart neither undersized nor immature. For what worth mine words may hold, I value thy friendship more than thou knowest. This time thou hast given of thy freewill has accorded me great joy, as though a choice, molten droplet of the twin suns themselves came to reside in this dark cavern.”

“I … thank you.”

“Thou asked why I wait. Simply put, the time hath not yet come to fruition, little mouse. I will wait until it is time for my soul to depart this mortal flesh and return to the eternal fires of the Dragonkind.”

Lia ducked her head. It was too much for her to contemplate friendship with an Ancient Dragon, but there it was–he had put words to the softening sensation in her heart, to the warmth which she had begun to sense inhabited their interactions. What did it say about her that she struggled to make friends among the Human-kind, but she counted a dragonet and an Ancient Dragon among the finest friends she had ever known?

Amaryllion said, “I have a task for thee. For thou cannot tarry beneath this mountain forever, Princess. Thou must know that the man Ra’aba oppresses thy people, and foments war with the Dragons. Thy family must be found. And thou canst not reside upon Ha’athior Island–”

“I don’t want to leave, Amaryllion!”

“Wilt thou not learn to listen before spouting thy hasty words?”

Sometimes, the several thousand years’ difference between their ages became painfully clear, Lia thought. She nodded, but then essayed a cheeky grin. “Speak, o mighty Island-biter.”

“I am no Land Dragon,” said he, chuckling so mightily that the ground trembled beneath her feet. “I would have thee return here as often as thou might like to pester me with thy endless questions, Hualiama, to take instruction, or to keep me company.”

“See? You do think I’m a pest.”

“Oh, you Humans multiply like lice on a warm, furry body,” Flicker put in.

Lia scowled at him. “Overgrown mosquito. Desist before I swat thee mightily.”

And now she was beginning to speak as the Dragon did, in ancient speech patterns? Lia tasted these words with amazement, coupled with a sense of peace. They fit. Perfectly.

The Ancient Dragon said, “But there are other types of instruction, and the mellow company of those of thy own kind. Therefore, I propose that thou take up residence upon the small volcano just south of here. Within the cone, thou wilt happen upon a monastery of warrior-monks, who are worshippers of the Great Dragon, Fra’anior himself.”

Hualiama exclaimed, “There’s a secret warrior monastery … it’s been that close all along?”

“Didst thou not express a need to learn the weapons and techniques to defeat Ra’aba?” said Amaryllion. “The monks can teach thee the uses of weapons, and much besides. When the time is right, in thy judgement, ask to speak to their Nameless Man.”

“He exists?”

“Aye,” Amaryllion rumbled.

So, the mysterious, magical leader of the warrior monks was real. Her father would be–Lia clamped her jaw shut. The less King Chalcion knew about the Nameless Man, the better, for he had oftentimes ruminated upon taking the warrior monasteries ‘under his command’ or ‘breaking their subversive influence’. Now his daughter was about to join the undesirables. How would a Princess of Fra’anior be received if they knew her father’s view of them?

Still, the idea was excellent. She could learn the monks’ combat techniques and use them to defeat Captain Ra’aba! Maybe they would even have Dragonships. She could find out where her parents had been sent …

Lia enthused, “Thank you, Amaryllion! You’re the best. I’ll definitely come back, as often as I can. I’ll keep you up to date with everything that I’m learning, and sing you songs–”

He growled, “Forget and I shall be insulted, little mouse, so don’t make me shift this Island to come and fetch thee to thy fate.”

Her tiny laughter was drowned out in his thundering.

* * * *

The following day, as dawn outside the caves stretched Ha’athior Island’s shadow like a vast, animate finger across the Cloudlands, Lia and Flicker walked and flew respectively up to the White Dragoness’ lair. Having packed the immensity of their possessions into two pouches which Lia slung at her belt, they returned to Amaryllion and took lunch with him–an affair to make the most cynical soul melt in wonder, Lia thought. Lunch with an Ancient Dragon, anyone?

They spoke with Amaryllion for an hour before setting out along a new tunnel, taking a route which led ever southward and upward. Passing through a series of what appeared to be room-sized sapphire-encrusted geodes, they picked their way across a vaulting rock bridge above a depthless chasm, before plunging back into the mountain. By mid-afternoon, aided by Amaryllion’s excellent instructions, Human and dragonet came at last to a deep but narrow gorge, where daylight filtered from above through a matted layer of brush and vines. Hualiama scrambled over and under boulders the size of houses which had dropped into the chasm in ages past, while Flicker danced in the air above her and called her ‘slow-slug’ and ‘wingless worm’, charming creature that he was. She gritted her teeth, gave in, and lobbed a pebble half-heartedly in his direction.

He dodged with a titter of amusement.

They emerged directly opposite a serene volcanic cone, on a perfect afternoon. A thousand dragonets soared on the hot thermals above the seamless, sheer green slopes. Flicker, quivering, came to land on Lia’s shoulder with his claws sheathed, his eyes a-whirl with what she had come to recognise as curiosity and anticipation.

Hualiama smiled at him. “You could almost reach out and touch it, couldn’t you?”

“O for the wings of a Dragon,” he replied, quoting a famous ballad Lia had taught him, called Moons over the Cloudlands. Flicker said, “Shall I fetch you a handy monk?”

“And the moment the Dragons see them heading this way, we’re dead,” said Lia, scanning the cliffs above and below. “Sage advice, dragonet.”

Flicker shivered in one accord with her. Aye.

“There.” She pointed vertically down the cliff. “That’s where we’ll cross.”

Just three or four hundred feet separated the Islands at this point. Lia narrowed her eyes. Down there, thanks to a bulge in Ha’athior’s side, the gap narrowed to only a hundred feet, so close that the Islands resembled two brothers, one much older than the other, leaning together in whispered conversation. An ancient prekki tree leaned partway across the divide. That much was good. What was less good was that the gap extended vertically downward for at least two more miles. Her knuckles turned white at her sides. This was not the moment for vertigo.

Be strong, Lia, said Flicker, curling his paw around her neck to one side and his tail to the other. Let us eat and drink, and gather our wits, and then we shall make a Human fly. Why don’t you refresh yourself in this waterfall?

Hualiama took his advice gratefully. The water was barely a trickle, but blessedly cool, and tangy with minerals. She drank greedily before washing both herself and her clothes.

“Itchy, Flicker?”

He scratched his hide vigorously. “Scale mites. Blasted prickly inflaming insatiable pests!”

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“Great Islands, you make them sound exactly like this dragonet I know.”

This comment earned her a growl and a snap of his fangs.

“Can I help?”

“Talons are better than fingernails,” he protested.

“Especially where you can’t see, right?”

Leaping belly fires, it’s perfectly evident to me now that a lack of centuries of servitude has made some Humans insufferable. Flicker grinned widely, leaping up to assume his customary perch on her shoulder. Attend closely to your duties, slave.

Lia huffed, Slave? I prefer ‘straw-head’, you graceless wasp-snapper.

The dragonet ignored her loftily, launching into one of his lectures. Scale mites stick closer than a dragonet’s own shadow. On Dragons, the mites grow as big as your thumb, and they like nothing better than to shelter right under the root of a scale, where it is warmest, and in that cosy abode, lay their eggs and do other unmentionable things.

Unmentionable things?

Defecate, he said, succinctly.

Yuck! So, your beautiful scales are full of scale mite faeces?

This time, the dragonet gripped her left ear in his sharp little talons. He growled, One more word and I’ll shave this flap of skin and cartilage off the side of your head. I do keep myself mite-free, understood?

“Suddenly, I find the idea of scrubbing your scales strangely attractive.”

“What a pleasing improvement in your attitude–slave.”

So Hualiama learned how to tip up his scales to check for mites, while Flicker lolled in the hot suns and exerted himself to snarkier and snarkier comments. ‘Gently with the sensitive hide.’ ‘Hurry up, worthless minion.’ ‘Missed a scale there, you indolent wretch.’

Shortly, however, their fun gave way to impatience to continue. With the help of the long vines, it took Lia less than an hour to descend to the prekki tree. Galvanised by the prospect of escaping Ha’athior’s holy soil, she immediately set about preparing a vine to sling up to the branch. Having a dragonet’s deft paws made the job much easier. One fist-sized rock, a length of thin vine, and a decent cast–yes! Darting up to the tree, Flicker returned the loose end of the vine to her. Lia rapidly pulled a thicker, triple-braided length up over the branch.

“Make sure you tie it properly,” she called up to Flicker.

“Ready,” he called back.

Fine. She could do this. All she had to do was take her life into her hands …

“You should start lower,” Flicker advised. “You don’t want to jerk the vine with your weight.”

Hualiama clambered down a further ten feet, until she reached a reasonably flat boulder which would allow her a two or three-step run-up. Right. She leaned back, testing Flicker’s knot. Now she had fifty feet of vine to work with, a target of the prekki tree’s base, and a dragonet who needed an arrow-swift education in what not to say to a woman. Grr.

She peered over the edge. There were no trees further down, just a straight drop to a red-hot lava flow, if her eyesight served her rightly–not that it would make an iota of difference if she fell from this height. Before she could think the better of her madness, Lia launched over the abyss.

Thump, thump-thump. Her heart pounded up in her throat as she swung smoothly across the divide. Land. Twist–wobble and grab! Safe.

Lia tied the vine to the base of a strong purple-current bush. “I’ll be seeing you again,” she said, patting it fondly.

“Now the madwoman is talking to bushes,” said Flicker. “Come on.”

“I need a rest before we climb that cliff.”

“Why don’t you just take the staircase?” asked the dragonet, flicking his eye-membranes drolly at her. “Or would that be too easy for a stubborn Human? Er–what does it mean when you put your hands on your hips like that?”

“Exasperation!”

Flicker’s expression clearly communicated that Humans were a great mystery. He said, “There’s a stairway hidden just inside this crack.”

“Luckily for you.” But Lia’s scowl mellowed. “Let’s go spy on the monks.”

So, could she conclude that the monks once had reason to secretly visit Ha’athior Island? Lia considered this as she trudged up the never-ending, perfectly regular spiral staircase. A thick layer of dust made it clear that the stairway had not been used in many years, and she had to brush her way through fifty feet of dangling spiderwebs near the top. The entryway was completely overgrown, well-hidden in a rocky outcropping directly behind the most ancient prekki tree she had ever seen, its roots gripping the boulders like gnarled Dragons’ paws.

Lia crept into the monastery.

Suns-set spoke its valediction to the dying day, casting the scene in a rich, ruddy light. She emerged near the shore of a neat, circular crater lake, surrounded on all sides by a rim wall three or four hundred feet in height. To her right hand stood an ancient temple, part-built and part-carved into the rim wall, so overgrown with prekki trees and towering giant figs that she guessed it must be extremely well concealed from the air. Directly ahead of her, on a wide stone porch, a wizened, bald-headed monk faced a class of equally bald-headed but lean and muscular young men, all of whom knelt in absolute stillness, and not one of whom wore more than a loincloth by way of attire.

Her cheeks flamed scarlet. Oh, flying ralti sheep! They were all men–of course, she should have remembered. Most of the secret monasteries were exclusively devoted to men, who would not appreciate their vows of purity and celibacy being challenged by the unwelcome, even offensive, presence of a young woman, Princess or none.

“Is this sight attractive to a Human female?” Flicker inquired.

Lia shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“As a matter of purely scientific speculation, is it considered normal behaviour for a Princess to start drooling in the middle of–”

“Go stuff your mouth full of intestines, you insolent insect,” Lia returned, her tone sweet yet as honed as a dagger. “Make yourself useful. Go scout or chat to your dragonet friends.”

To her surprise, Flicker darted off at once.

Hualiama padded through the trees, making for the back corner of the building, thinking that she might perhaps find an older monk to take into her confidence. What a shame, all of those gorgeous young men taking vows of service to the Great Dragon!

The wide porch extended around the side of their building–a temple, she thought, eyeing the solid columns, beautifully stone-carved with images of Dragon life, of great Dragons raising up Islands and scholarly-seeming Dragons instructing Humans before stylised models depicting the orbits of the suns and moons. Lia ran her fingers over the carvings. Amaryllion had painted a picture of a time of excitement and adventure, when the Island-World was young and all things seemed possible, but she wondered if the Human slaves had found enslavement to Dragons quite so novel and thrilling.

Pensively, she wandered inside the temple building, following the timeline of a war between the Dragons.

Lia found herself inside a great, echoing hall, lit by a number of tall crysglass windows around a central cupola. Turning absently to her left hand, Hualiama continued along the histories, passing between a row of great columns and the chamber’s circular outer wall, whose panels were decorated in marvellous, illuminated paintings. Such an artist’s eye for detail. How many years must these have taken to complete? Her bare feet made no sound upon the flagstones as she moved around her half-circuit.

A startled cough caught her attention.

Mercy. Two strapping young monks guarded a towering doorway here, directly opposite the entryway she had used. Twin frowns creased their foreheads, while their identical hands rested on identically enormous two-handed swords scabbarded on their backs. She tried not to stare at their sculpted torsos–how much training did they do every day to build such a wealth of lean, perfectly-defined muscle? There were few such tasty specimens at the palace … quick, look somewhere else before she started drooling just as Flicker had accused her! Ridiculous girl.

Lia’s eyes flicked to the vertical, gold-leaf illuminated inscriptions left and right of the doorway. ‘Chamber of Dragons,’ she read. Promising. Returning her gaze to the twins, Lia gazed up at them with all the innocence she could muster. She murmured, “Islands’ greetings to you.”

“What’re you doing here, girl?” said one monk.

“And how did you get here?” asked the second, his gaze reminding her of exactly how little she wore by way of clothing.

Before she knew it, Lia found herself making a gesture she had seen Fyria using to devastating effect on several of her suitors. She bowed her head downward and slightly to the left, and then gazed up at the tall twins through her eyelashes. She tucked an imaginary platinum strand behind her ear.

“Could one of you men open that door for me?” Lia cooed, with her most demure smile.

“Warblit,” spluttered the first monk, turning decidedly pink.

“Urglemadder,” agreed the second, losing any interest in drawing his weapon.

Ignoring her heart thudding madly in her throat, Lia allowed her smile to linger on them, which was no hardship at all. “Pleeeeeease?”

“Glubbadoo,” they chorused, rushing to do her bidding.

In a moment, the great doors creaked open and Lia slipped within, finding herself standing in a richly appointed chamber, stuffed to the rafters with treasures. Great tapestries hung from every wall and even from the ceiling. The golden statue of a Dragon in the corner to her left hand was life-size, standing three times her height at the shoulder. Smaller, equally exquisite statues of dragonets, carved in ruby and emerald and obsidian, stood upon golden plinths arranged around the chamber. Lia goggled in wonder. What was this place? An inner sanctuary? She should not be here, except that it was all so marvellous, she had forgotten how to breathe.

Stepping silently over to the great Dragon, she thought, I greet thee, kin of Fra’anior.

“Master Jo’el, you are late for–by the Great Dragon! Who are you?” A portly monk gaped at her from a gap between the hangings, his face flushing rapidly from red to purple. “Thief! Miscreant! Vermin! Pond skater!”

Lia gaped right back at him. Pond skater?

“Rallon! Hallon!” screamed the monk, the saw-toothed edge of his voice arresting Lia’s incipient flight. “You ralti-brained excuses for guards, get in here! There’s a thieving dragonet right beneath your noses. I caught her red-pawed! You scoundrel, keep your grubby little paws off my darlings. Masters, we are under attack!”

At this, the hangings swung wide and a gaggle of elderly monks peered about the chamber, clearly bemused.

“Hold her, Hallon, you fool!” the monk snapped.

One of the massive, six-foot-six twins wrapped his arms about Lia’s chest and yanked her off the ground. “Mind what you’re grabbing,” she snapped.

Hallon dropped Lia as though he had clutched a red-hot boulder. Rallon, racing toward his twin, suddenly found a petite girl crumpled at his feet and measured his considerable length over her bowed back, bowling into the group of monks, while the portly one hopped from one foot to the other, screeching like a demented windroc.

Cries surrounded Lia, “Seize her!” “It’s a girl–I swear, that has to be a girl, not a dragonet.” “Thief!” “Unhand my treasures, filth!” “What’s all the excitement about, I ask you?”

Lia made a desperate grab for a toppling plinth, only to have her knuckles rapped by an elderly monk’s cane. The ancient treasure fell and shattered, scattering pieces of jade everywhere. Rallon or Hallon, it hardly mattered which, leaped on her back and set about trussing her like a ralti sheep bound for market. Despite the fact that she did not intend to fight back, Hualiama found him discouragingly excellent at his job. In seconds, he had pinned her arms and secured her wrists between her shoulder blades, finishing off his handiwork with a loop around her neck and a viciously tight knot.

Realising exactly which strip of cloth the young monk had used to tie her up, Hualiama blushed furiously. Mercy! Look somewhere else, anywhere else–ruddy gorgeous monk! One image burned in her mind forever …

“Calm yourself, Master Ja’alkon,” said one of the old ones to the rotund monk, whose face had by now assumed an unhealthy hue.

“Calm myself?” he screamed, swinging his foot wildly at Lia’s neck, only to miss and clatter the man on her back right on the point of the chin. He toppled like a felled tree. “This is sacrilege! Sedition! A riot! Brothers, it is beyond belief–we have a girl on our Island! The Black Dragon himself bellows his outrage. Wretched cur! Slime-dripping spawn of the Cloudlands! You shall be beaten–”

A new, calm voice cut through the hubbub. “Enough.”