YOLANDHE’S ISLAND

The fog receded, revealing small islets and rock ledges down below. Amberhill perched on the cliff edge, watching waves froth and foam in shades of green and blue around them. They were not, of course, islets, and mostly not rock ledges. No, they were dragons at rest. One drowsed nearby on the island hidden in the woods, burrowed beneath leaf and loam, but the rest lazed in the ocean. There were nine all together, if one counted Scorch.

He peered around into the woods behind him as if someone might creep up on him and observe what he was up to, but Yap remained down by their camp with Scorch, and Yolandhe was walking the far shore. Akarion was quiet.

He remembered that first time he’d walked out to this cliff with Yolandhe. There had been “shadows” in his mind that he had not understood. Yolandhe had already introduced him to his “inheritance” in the cavern, but this part of it had eluded him and his dreams had become theirs, dreams of flying, of swimming, and of resting in the earth. Yolandhe had brought him here so he would understand the presences in his mind, but had recommended he not awaken them. Amberhill soon understood why, when Akarion trespassed and forced the issue.

Since then, he and Yolandhe had visited this place so he might accustom himself to entering the minds of dragons, but always with Akarion taking control, and Yolandhe there in case things got out of hand. He had managed to control Scorch on his own, but one of the big ones? Scorch was one thing, and they another. Daunted, he almost turned away to head back to his cave. Then the promise he had made to Beryl Spencer came back to him and shamed him into standing his ground.

He clenched his hands into fists. Cool damp air blew his unruly hair back. He could do this. He would do this. He had to, and he had to try without Akarion taking over. He unclenched his right hand and drew it up so he could gaze into the ruby eye of the heartstone, his dragon ring.

Gazing into it was not enough. He must think into it. The color red infused his senses, glistened in his mind’s eye. He reached out to the somnolent minds filled with vague image-thoughts of pursuing prey, napping in the sun, skirmishing for dominance, and mating—all very much the simple ruminations of predators. As they grew aware of him in their minds, however, a more complex emotion colored their perception: hatred. Hatred for him.

The intensity of their regard almost caused him to quail and break off contact, but he caught himself. He could not show weakness. Showing weakness could very well prove fatal. As Akarion would have done, he forced his will into them.

Attention, he commanded them. It was more the feeling than the actual word they understood.

Heads arose from the waves to watch him with glistening eyes. They were actually too far off to see their eyes in detail, but he could well imagine the jewel facets of irises, and the slit pupils.

To his horror, the head of the big black rose up right in front of the cliff he stood on. The dragon’s snout was longer than he was tall. He wanted to run, felt faint. The dragon’s exhalation washed over him with visible ripples of heat. Sweat broke out on his forehead. It was no time to swoon or panic.

Go, he ordered the black, to put distance between them, and he directed him to an offshore ledge.

The black regarded him for several ominous heartbeats and seemed to consider whether or not to obey, but then he slowly slid down back into the water at the base of the cliff. He took his time swimming out to the rock ledge, almost casually.

Amberhill’s legs shook and he feared they wouldn’t support him. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. One by one, he ordered the dragons out to the rock ledge. The others moved more quickly as their leader was already there awaiting them. When the eight were assembled, they gazed back at him, their minds poking into his even as he tried to concentrate and push his will into theirs.

He went through a series of exercises with them as Akarion would, making them swim to and fro, fly in low interlooping circles and spout fire. They grudgingly obeyed him and he was beginning to feel confident. It wasn’t so hard after all. He even directed them to do tricks. He made the silver do a somersault in the air, and the red one take a deep plunge from among the clouds down into the water. He laughed and clapped his hands. This wasn’t so hard at all. It was even amusing, and he threw his arms wide open to the sky, elated by the power and strength of mind he possessed to control such monsters.

A ship on the horizon happened to catch his gaze as the red did a final backflip. He shaded his eyes as he watched it make way. Three masts, as far as he could tell. It would never come to the archipelago; they never did. Many ships passed by, but the lore and oddness of the islands, and the difficult currents, caused superstitious sailors to steer well clear. Nothing he could do would draw them in for a rescue.

After watching the ship for a while, he realized his mistake. Because he had noticed the ship, so had the dragons. They launched from the water and flew in an arrow formation in its direction.

“No!” he shouted. “No!” But while his attention had strayed to the ship, they’d slipped his control.

He tried to gather his wits and stare into the ruby so he could reconnect with their minds, but he was pushed out by their excitement.

Return, he ordered, throwing his will into it.

They did not obey.

He could only watch as they shrank the farther away they went. They circled the ship. Their spouts of flame were mere sparks at this distance. It would look much different from on board the ship’s deck. As the sails burned, he could only imagine the panic of the crew. Were there others on board? Passengers? Possibly families with children?

“No,” he whispered.

He could not see what the dragons did to the people, and for this he was grateful. There would be no escape if the dragons decided they were tempting morsels. They hovered and lingered as the rest of the ship burned. Sometimes they dove into the water, no doubt after anyone who decided to take their chances in the ocean.

He hid his face in his hands. It had all gone so wrong. He had not meant for this to happen. The idea was to prevent this kind of thing.

“Oh, gods,” he murmured, watching the smoke rise into the sky as the remains of the ship sank.

Amberhill now understood how the dragons were weapons of terror, weapons of destruction. Could they truly be controlled? He shuddered for what it meant for the mainland, for Sacoridia, should Akarion’s monsters decide to leave the island for new hunting grounds.