HuAliama and the Nameless Man did not speak as one of Ja’al’s younger sisters brought them redbush tea sweetened with honey. The girl strummed the harp with tantalising skill. All the while, the Nameless Man’s smouldering yellow eyes measured her with a barely-veiled might not unlike what she had felt in the Ancient Dragon. Lia considered the childlike voice which wielded verbal blades, the simplicity of a boy’s words incising past and future with equal facility.
“Ask your questions,” said the Nameless Man.
“I have many,” Lia admitted. “Perhaps the most important is, how can I restore the King to the Onyx Throne?”
“Find him and defeat Ra’aba,” he replied at once.
Hualiama knew her inward scowl did not go unnoticed. “Nameless Man, you know what manner of man Ra’aba is–”
“I do.”
“Then you know I can never defeat him.”
“I repudiate that conclusion. Nevertheless, the future is clouded.” The Nameless Man reached out with his free hand, swirling the steam rising from his small cup of tea as though he could thus read the mysteries of the Island-World. “You’re a puzzling one, Hualiama. Hard to fathom. A soul shadowed by an evil so great–” His eyes flickered very rapidly, turning from yellow to pure white and back again “–I sense the touch of a foul, perverted magic … a past crime concealed, yet it will come to light. Were I a man, grown into my full strength, I could perhaps wrest these secrets from you. Your heart’s deepest desire is clear to me. You seek knowledge of your parents.”
“I do,” she repeated, feeling more and more the child before the penetrating gaze of a boy half her age.
“Discovering your heritage is paramount, child of the Dragon. Paramount.” His gaze drilled the word between her eyes. “A clue is revealed. Seek the Maroon Dragoness.”
“What? Sorry–would that be the Dragoness I dream about?”
“Tell me your dreams.”
Hualiama began, haltingly, to describe her dreams of a Dragoness singing over her clutch, when the Nameless Man interrupted, “Show me in your mind. Quickly.”
Why the rush? Images eddied through Lia’s mind as though his insistence had stirred up a flurry of leaves, flitting past the all-seeing yellow gaze. She became aware of his mental processes, of a mind so awash in power it seethed like a volcano, seeking to pare the truth from the bones of what she offered him–yet also, she sensed a vast frustration. Why was her future unclear? What prevented the Nameless Man from finding what he sought?
And now, his response communicated fear.
Words formed in her mind, similar to a Dragon or dragonet’s telepathic speech. There is a prophecy known to but a few Dragons, a prophecy concerning the unleashing of an aeons-old power upon the Island-World. Ask the Ancient Dragon if he can name it. Seek the Maroon Dragoness–perhaps she will know why you were brought up by Dragons. To stand a chance of defeating Ra’aba, you need to learn a technique rooted in the power of your dance.
Suddenly, the Nameless Man stood. “I must leave.”
“Wait!” she yelped. “What about the Tourmaline–”
“Follow your heart in that matter, Hualiama.” Old, melancholy, the boy’s eyes transfixed her. “Do not lose hope, even when your soul’s Island is cast into the abyss of despair. I promise to meditate upon all you have shown me. Should any new insight–”
“Wait. Why must you go?”
“He comes, and I cannot be found here.”
“Who?”
She knew. As an armoured fist pounded on the front door. A voice cried, “Open up in the name of the King!” Hualiama knew in her bones, her nemesis had come.
The Nameless Man’s hand moved in a strange form of blessing. Ja’al had already sprung a hidden hatch, which opened on a narrow tunnel. He said, “May the Great Dragon’s fire breathe upon your life.” Tears wet his cheeks, great drops that seemed to pour from his soul’s own well. “A double portion of courage be thine, beloved child of Fra’anior.”
His weeping, more than anything which had preceded it, terrified Hualiama. Trembling, she turned, her hand falling upon her sword-hilt.
“Well, quite the gathering,” sneered a familiar voice.
Ra’aba.
Before she knew it, Hualiama was on the move, sidling beyond the reach of Ja’al’s grasping hand, darting through the darkened room toward a crack of light. Zing. Her sword rang brightly as she drew it. Surely, justice would guide her hand this time.
The Roc said, “You did fine work against those pirates today. A happy coincidence, Master Jo’el, that you happened to be–”
As he spoke, Hualiama oriented on that despicable voice. Fleet and soft-footed, she arrowed toward the curtain. The bright candlelight in the room beyond made her target stand out amply well. It was a long shot, but an overhand throw should spin the blade through the curtain … “Unh!”
Every muscle in her body seized up. Hualiama landed hard, unable to throw out her hands to prevent her fall, the well-worn wooden floorboards abrading her right cheekbone as she tore through the curtain and skidded to a halt at the foot of Master Ga’athar’s chair. Though her body was as rigid as a petrified tree, she began to convulse, her feet drumming helplessly against the floorboards, her tongue sliding back into her throat.
Clearly, she heard Ga’athar say, “My son has these seizures. My apologies, Ra’aba.” He raised his voice. “Ja’al? See to your brother, would you?”
Someone was growling and frothing like an animal throttled in a noose. Panicked. Trapped inside of her own body. She heard everything, but had lost all self-control. Gnnnnaarrr! Lia bellowed at the darkness, breathless at the pressure of rock walls too close to her wings and ambushed by the madness of a creature entombed beneath a mountain. She broke her talons on unyielding stone. Back and forth she charged, driven into a frenzy as the rock closed in, looming, a visceral terror crushing her hearts and driving her panting, scrabbling and clawing up and down the narrow chasm, knowing only that she would perish if she did not escape, and she was … the Tourmaline Dragon?
The sounds of the room resumed. The sense of soul-crushing terror abated. Lia felt Ga’athar push her gently with his foot so that she did not break her teeth on the table leg. Was she meant to be grateful? Where was her sword? Heavens above and Islands below, what was wrong with her? Had she been the Dragon, somehow? This was beyond empathy. Beyond the Isle of wishing to be a Dragon, it was a lurch toward insanity.
Casually, Master Jo’el said, “So, how can we help you, Ra’aba?”
“That’s King Ra’aba to you, Dragons’ paw-licker,” growled a soldier. “Search the place, men.”
“Please don’t scare the children,” said Yualiana.
“How many in your sorry brood now?” asked Ra’aba. “Ten? Eleven? A few less after today?”
Dead silence.
Then, Lia heard the movement of heavily armed men shuffling around the house, checking under beds and peering into cupboards. Children whimpered. She hoped the Nameless Man–the boy–had escaped to safety. A hand turned her over, cradling her head. Fingers, scraping at the back of her throat, tugging at her slippery tongue. Sweet air flooded her lungs.
“Nothing, o King!”
“Curse it!” roared Ra’aba. Furniture shattered against a wall; splinters of wood spun past Lia’s nose. “Search again! Tear the place apart!”
Soldiers, going through the motions. Boots tramping past her head, while Hualiama helplessly tolerated the nearness of a man she could have loved. Oh, Ja’al. What if she had followed her heart?
“Curse her to a Cloudlands volcano!” screamed the Roc. Lia felt a dull thud through the floor, as if a body had slammed against a wall.
“Sire? Sire?”
Her body refused her command to look at the scuffles and grunts which followed. Abruptly, vile curses flooded from Ra’aba’s mouth. “I killed her with my own hands! Twice … the prophecy is broken. It must be. There’s no other way … no other person … the bane … that Dragoness brought it down on me … on us all …”
His voice broke down into meaningless babble, punctuated by more curses; now sobbing, the deep, rasping sobs of a man gripped by mortal terror.
“Tell us about the prophecy, Ra’aba,” said Ja’al’s father. “Perhaps we can help.”
“You’ll never have it. Never! I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you all if I have to.”
Sarcastically, aiming to rile, Master Jo’el said, “Ra’aba, no man can escape a word of fate spoken by the Great Dragon.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t understand.” Ra’aba’s voice grew fainter. Lia imagined his men were dragging him away from the house, down the path. Yet, his final wail carried to her hearing, “It’ll mean the end of us all … of everything we hold dear!”
* * * *
Hualiama knew Ja’al’s mother had noted the tender care her son bestowed upon the Princess of Fra’anior. Now beardless, she sported a hot red rash where her disguise had been glued to her much-abused cheeks. His mother was the least of her worries. She explained all that the Nameless Man had told her–or not–careless of the irritation boiling beneath her manner until Master Ga’athar crashed his fist down on the table.
“My son saved you from a reckless attack on Ra’aba!” he growled.
“I would’ve killed him!”
Ga’athar shouted, “You would not!”
“Not when I was thrashing on the floor like a speared trout, no!” Hualiama yelled back.
Master Jo’el said peaceably, “You simply aren’t ready.”
Lia roared to her feet, stung by his words, when realisation sucked the wind out of her Dragonship’s sails. The Master was right. The heat of righteous anger could only carry a person so far. Last time a thrown blade had fortuitously nicked the Roc’s skin. His reactions were quicker than a dragonet’s–she, of all people, should know. Ra’aba and his soldiers would have slaughtered this family. What a fool she was. She had to train. She must grow stronger.
Collapsing into her seat, Hualiama fought bitter tears. She would not cry on account of that man! Never again! Yet she was afraid, so dreadfully afraid. How could she ever face Ra’aba? Please, Great Dragon, lift this soul-shivering destiny from her life …
“It is said,” Jo’el added, “that Ra’aba has a mysterious, magical capacity akin to the rare Dragon skill known as stone skin. You told me of the legend that he had never been touched by another blade, Lia. Except yours.”
“He wasn’t prepared, that’s all,” she spat. Stone skin? None of her delving into Dragon lore had mentioned that ability, nor had it mentioned Dragon-empathy so deep-seated, it was as if she had inhabited a hide of gemstone hue … “You heard the Nameless Man. Much as I would have loved to hear, ‘Do this and your victory over Ra’aba will be assured’, what he said was, ‘To stand a gnat’s chance in an erupting volcano’–well, that’s my point. And what, by every Cloudlands hell in the entire Island-World, do my parents have to do with the price of silk in Helyon? Riddle me that!”
She glowered at the group gathered around the table. Fulminating. Fuming at the dragonet, who had just suppressed a purr of approval at her ire–she hardly needed his encouragement!
“Another sweetbread?” Master Jo’el offered her the basket.
“More spicy ralti stew?” suggested Hallon.
“A cheeky dragonet’s tail to stir the stew?” Rallon grinned, holding up Flicker’s tail. He had gently lifted the dragonet off Hualiama after Flicker arrived in a mewling mess, scratching at the front door, clearly feverish and delusional.
Flicker cracked open an eye. “What say you I stir your intestines with my talon?”
Lia grinned grimly. Clearly the herbs she had instructed Ja’al’s nineteen year-old sister, Inniora, to prepare, were having the desired effect. “He’s touchy about his tail,” she advised. “Treat it as a sacred object.”
“He’s beautiful,” said Inniora.
“Mmm,” purred Flicker, switching laps with alacrity, nestling into Inniora’s sky-blue Fra’aniorian lace gown with an exaggerated sigh. “Tell me more, you lovely girl.”
She was the girl who had played for them in the Nameless Man’s chamber. Inniora had all the graceful height that Lia lacked, a mischievous twinkle in her dark brown eyes, and hands which appeared to be calloused from the use of a blade. She moved as though she knew how to take care of herself, but had a gentle air about her that belied the firmness of personality expressed in her definite chin and jawline. Inniora took possession of the dragonet in a way that made Lia’s blood boil.
Ja’al said, “Inniora, maybe you should play some soothing music for Lia.”
Mutinously, Hualiama grumbled, “When I feel like soothing someone’s head off their shoulders? I think not! You heard our report, Master Jo’el. I’ m sorry, but I didn’t expect to come to Ya’arriol to be told I can flutter my eyelashes at Ra’aba and dance him off the Onyx Throne!”
“Now, Lia–”
“Ooh, it’s my deep, dark destiny.” Despite her intent to keep a lid on her volcanic emotions, words tumbled over each other in a bid to escape. “I tremble on the cusp of a ruddy volcano! This way, I toss myself into the caldera; that way, I fall into the Cloudlands. Has anyone ever heard of a maroon-coloured Dragoness? Islands’ sakes, no! Red, aye! Crimson, of course! Greens enough to forest a hundred Islands. So I’m supposed to just march up to some mythical Dragoness and demand to learn about an ancient and perverted prophecy and trust it has to do with my parentage? How in anybody’s imagination does any of this make sense? How will the Dragoness not slay me on the spot?”
From behind her, Yualiana put her hands on Hualiama’s shoulders. “Are you scared, petal?”
“If I were a Dragon I’d be spitting fire!”
Ja’al’s mother leaned close, clasping Lia exactly as Queen Shyana used to. “I’d be, too. We all understand that feeling. You try defending your children in wartime and see if you don’t know a fear that turns your bowels to water.”
“If anyone is scared, it’s Ra’aba,” said Inniora. “I’d take comfort from that, Lia.”
Comfort? Hualiama stared at her hands.
Inniora touched her arm. “What is it?”
“I buried five children today.” Her fingers trembled. She formed them into fists. Faintly, she said, “One was a little boy. He had this toy Dragon. Of his family, he was the only one left alive when we found him. I sang to him as he died in my arms.” She opened her hand. Imprinted upon her palm, she had clutched it so tightly, was an exquisitely carved wooden Dragon. “I felt so stupid and helpless. As my tears wet his face, he looked up and saw this Dragon scale that I wear, and he said, ‘May the Great Dragon comfort you, lady.’ As if I were the one who needed comforting! And then he said, ‘Why didn’t the Great Dragon save us? Why?’ And I had no answer. I held him, and whispered that he was loved.”
Master Ga’athar said, “The nature of evil is to destroy all that is precious.”
“The nature of love is that it can be wounded, but never destroyed,” said Master Jo’el. “Like a Dragon’s soul, it rises from the ashes, reincarnate.”
Lia stared at them, bereft of words.
What was it about these monks and their insights?
“You’re right,” said Ja’al. “Ra’aba just confessed to murder. How can he be the rightful King?”
Master Jo’el said, “The kings of this Island-World are hardly above murder, Ja’al. But he is not the rightful King, nor can he ever be. Our task is clear. We must restore our King to the Onyx Throne, and defeat Ra’aba’s plot, before he brings down ruin upon Dragon and Human alike with his evil collusions. We must understand this prophecy. What ruin does Ra’aba envisage, apart from that which his reign will produce?”
In the ensuing silence, the dragonet purred, “How do you murder a person twice? Is this a Human saying? Of course, I saved Lia through an incredible feat of bravery–”
“Once, Ra’aba threw me off his Dragonship,” said Lia, her mind racing. “The second time? Did Ra’aba send that Orange Dragon to roast me? The Dragon addressed me as the Princess.” Unconsciously, her voice echoed the Dragon’s growl, “‘Run. Scream, if you’d like. I’ll give you a count of three.’”
Ga’athar’s fist pounded the table again, making the plates jump. Rallon swore unhappily, while a tic jumped in Jo’el’s cheek. Yualiana laid her hands on Hualiama’s shoulders to comfort her.
Hallon pointed out, “But Ra’aba said, ‘With my own hands’.”
“Has anyone–anyone else–tried to murder you before, Hualiama?” inquired Master Jo’el. “Because it seems to me that this Orange Dragon knew you all too well.”
“Er, well, there was another Dragon who stood on me. But he turned out to be nice.”
Lia chuckled glumly as Flicker’s eyes filled with baleful fire. The dragonet complained, I’m nice. I saved your hide. That craven beast was a sulphur-stinking monster who dared to attack my favourite girl!
Flicker, you’re awesome.
He sniffed, Obviously the sheer magnitude of my awesomeness is wasted on the likes of you.
She said, “And then, one day, Ja’al and I were sitting on the rim-wall above the monastery–”
“Doing what, exactly?” inquired Yualiana.
“Talking,” said Lia, at exactly the same instant as Ja’al had a coughing-fit and turned a fine shade of purple. “Well, I …” Her fiery blush did not help her cause one iota. “I-I d-didn’t mean–”
“I kissed the Princess to save her from a Dragon,” Ja’al said, firmly.
His mother’s hands felt like a Dragoness’ claws, digging into Lia’s shoulders. She could not see her expression, but from the way she snapped, “Explain!” it must have been a picture. Beside her, Inniora stifled a chuckle beneath an extremely fake cough, while Hallon and Rallon wore the identically stunned expressions of startled ralti sheep. Yualiana stalked around the table, pouring berry-wine into the tall wooden goblets from a large wineskin, the very tension in her manner demanding answers.
“You kissed my brother?” needled Inniora. Poor Ja’al’s nerve rather deserted him as he slumped in his chair. “Wasn’t that like kissing windroc droppings?”
“We saw her first,” said Rallon. “Why didn’t we get kisses?”
Flicker put in, “Actually, Lia kissed me first, after I saved her hide.”
“Bah, what’s so special about a kiss?” snorted Master Jo’el. “I got one for my birthday.”
Yualiana paused over her husband’s goblet, staring across the table at her brother in a way that made him turn as red-faced as Hualiama. He quickly busied himself with his bowl of stew. Yualiana said, “I can’t believe my pointy ears. What kind of a monastery are you running, brother? Fomenting rebellion against Ra’aba, taking in stray royals who run around kissing monks … and you, son!”
Ja’al narrowly avoided slipping off his seat. “Me?”
“When are you taking your vows?”
“Actually, that’s the main reason we’re here–apart from meeting the Nameless Man, of course.”
His mother snapped, “Are you taking your vows?”
“Of course,” spluttered Ja’al. “No mere kiss could stop me–this very week, in fact. The whole family’s invited. With no disrespect, Princess–”
“By the First Egg, Lia,” Flicker interjected, “didn’t you kiss him properly?”
When it became apparent that embarrassment had stolen Ja’al’s tongue, Lia said, “We had to fool a Dragon, Flicker. But Ja’al’s incorruptible, which is rather helpful, considering …”
Unexpectedly, the dragonet launched off Inniora’s lap, turned sharply in the air, and smacked down on Ja’al’s shoulder. In seconds, Ja’al was being treated to a close-up view of a pawful of razor-sharp talons. The dragonet hissed, “You don’t like my Lia?”
Eyes bulging with alarm, the young monk quickly clarified, “No, no … it’s not like that at all.”
“Is she not the greatest prize of a thousand Isles?”
“Of course she is.”
“And what about her eyes–do they not sparkle with magic?”
“Flicker,” Lia warned.
“They do,” Ja’al agreed.
“So, as a Human male, you admit that you find my Lia attractive?”
Taking in his mother’s frown, he gulped, “Er …”
“Flicker, get your claw out of his nostril!” snapped Lia, beyond amusement now.
“Very attractive!” Ja’al howled.
The dragonet made an unmistakably curvilinear gesture with the forepaw that was not holding Ja’al’s nostril hostage. “What about the size and shape of her br–”
Crimson washed over her vision. Hualiama found herself leaping to her feet, roaring in Dragonish, ENOUGH, FLICKER! Her chair crashed down behind her, but that sound was drowned out as her cry shook the room like a minor thunderclap.
Flicker, being the sensitive dragonet that he was, bared his fangs at her. Into the dead silence that followed her cry, he deadpanned, “Ears.”
So help me, you are unbearable! Lia stormed around the table. Her hands clawed before her as she angled for the dragonet, fully intent on throttling the flying pest, otherwise known as her friend. I’m so ashamed! Everyone knows exactly what you meant, you outrageous … you exasperating … beast!
The dragonet gasped, You just did magic, Lia.
Don’t think you can excuse–what? His comment caught her so off-guard, Lia stumbled over the leg of Master Ga’athar’s chair and landed squarely in Ja’al’s lap.
Once a flurry of apologies had been made, Lia found her seat again. With the help of a swig of ice-cold lemon water, she calmed her flustered nerves, and tried to think through the crumbs the Nameless Man had tossed to her. What did it mean to be a child of Fra’anior, she wondered? And where exactly would she start looking for one rare Dragoness? Oh. There was one Dragon who might make a captive audience, if he was still alive.
She could start by finding the Tourmaline Dragon. Did Dragons return favours? Most likely he’d chew her up for trespassing on the holy Isle …
Just then, Master Jo’el formed his finger-tent and inquired, “What language was that, Hualiama? And when did you learn magic?”
She stalled, “Magic? Are you certain, Master?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her as though it were one of his batons aimed at her skull.
“Petal,” said Yualiana, aiming a visual cudgel of her own at her brother, “Why don’t you tell us your story? Perhaps together, we might breathe the Great Dragon’s truth into these matters.”
Unfolding her tale calmed Hualiama’s frayed nerves. Flicker entertained everyone by recounting an embellished version of his feat of rescuing her–not forgetting to explain her nicknames of ‘straw-head’ and ‘flat-face’. He lapped up the laughter like a feline which found itself hip-deep in cream, preened outrageously at their compliments and of course, begged for more.
But all too soon, the conversation returned to Lia.
“Your answer?” said Master Jo’el.
Hualiama sighed.
“You’re too hard on her, Jo’el,” his sister admonished. Now officially invited to her son’s oath-taking, Yualiana appeared to have mined a vein of sympathy for Lia’s plight.
“No,” said Hualiama. “I’ve no need to tell you that this is a grave secret …”
He said, “You speak the forbidden tongue.”
“Aye, Master.”
“Hmm.” That was all Master Jo’el volunteered on the subject. Having expected a grilling, she felt like a trout hooked out of a terrace lake.
Flicker chirped brightly, “Of course, the Lesser Dragons would slay Hualiama in a wing-flip if they learned she could speak Dragonish, so keep those fangless traps of yours shut, by my wings. Anyways, I’m sure any Human can learn to speak Dragonish, even the stupid ones. I taught Lia, after all.”
“Thanks!” She smacked his scaly rump.
“Look, Ja’al, you do some magic, right? Listen.” Flicker said telepathically, You egg-headed excuse for a male, how dare you refuse my Lia? You must have scrambled windroc eggs for brains.
Ja’al peered inquiringly him.
“Are you Humans all born deaf?” Aloud, the dragonet chirped, Egg-head.
Leg-bread, the young monk chirped back.
Lia chuckled, “You said, ‘Leg-bread.’ Like this, egg-head.”
Egg-head, Ja’al repeated faithfully.
Flicker and Hualiama burst out laughing. Everyone else looked on in bemusement.
“So, uncle,” said Inniora, “now that your monastery takes women, when can I start?”
With great dignity, Master Jo’el ignored his niece’s question. But Lia did observe that his jaw tightened, and his gaunt cheeks seemed rather more pinched than a moment before.
Inniora turned to Hualiama with an overzealous smile. “Doesn’t every Princess need some kind of handmaiden? Er, companion to the royal personage? Someone to stitch their dresses? Perhaps a royal dragonet-carer, who feeds and pampers the royal pet?”
“Desperate,” said Ja’al.
Flicker purred softly, “Actually, I find her attitude most stimulating.”
“You’re mine,” growled Hualiama.
* * * *
Flicker’s eyes whirled with curiosity and pride. Twice now, straw-head had surprised him with positively draconic responses. Obviously, his skilled tutelage was not wasted! He had thought Lia incapable of properly civilised behaviour such as jealousy, and the fire in her tone revealed a hitherto veiled strength of character and purpose. And just take her thunderous rage, earlier! Oh, by the First Egg of all Dragons, he’d have her breathing fire, soon!
Ha. Only he could have been smart enough to spy her potential–instantly. Why else leap off the cliff? Now, he knew his role. He must guide the Human girl with a firm paw and protect her from the fungus-faced one, until she attained her destiny. His chest swelled. That the Ancient One should have chosen him for such a task! It struck him that she was a perfect Dragoness, a creature of guileful fires and complex passions. The glint of her scales concealed much from these fellow-Humans, but unsurprisingly, the superior intellect of a dragonet had penetrated her subterfuge. He’d have to watch her more closely from now on. Magic? Fury filling those smoky green eyes with flame? Oh, his beautiful Lia, she was a hatchling trying out her wings for the first time.
But his student must not suspect he was wise to her cunning feminine ways.
“A true Princess treats her dragonet with respect,” Flicker said loftily. “Now, this is how you issue orders, Hualiama. Inniora, fetch your harp this instant. You will accompany the fabulous firebird of Fra’anior as she sings O Erigar, My Island for us. You will all attend closely to the words.”
Slow-as-sheep Humans. They perched on their ridiculous wooden platforms and made noises of undignified confusion as Inniora fetched and prepared her instrument. Hualiama stood, moved a little to the kitchen area, clasped her hands beneath her sternum, and filled the room with song.
Look at how they appreciated her performance! Yualiana closed her eyes with a soundless sigh of pleasure. Master Ga’athar balanced on the edge of his seat, his eyes alight and his blunt hands clasped in his lap. Hallon and Rallon sat bolt upright, as though a sly dragonet had stuck them each with a claw. And Ja’al? His eyes were alight, fixed upon Hualiama as though he wished to devour her.
In the fifth stanza, Master Jo’el’s head finally snapped up. He gaped at Flicker, who cocked his head aside. Did the twin suns dawn within your mind, Human?
Hualiama’s song faltered as she took in the Master’s response.
“Repeat that!” snapped Jo’el.
She sang:
The whirl of swords in ancient dance,
Did the terrible Fraga entrance,
‘Nuyallith!’ roared he, ‘what dread power is this …’
“Master,” Lia gasped, “I always thought ‘Nuyallith’ a proper name. But if Fraga the Red is fighting Johoria Dragonshield at this point in the tale, it doesn’t make sense. The word sounds … Dragonish, really. Isn’t that right, Master?”
Jo’el shook his head. “Perhaps it’s a dialect of Dragonish, Lia–the histories hint at a secret draconic tongue which expresses words of extraordinary magical power, words which raised the Islands from the Cloudlands, for example, and separated the good air from the poisons below. I do know that there’s an ancient martial art called Nuyallith, which used to be practised by the predecessors to the monks who follow the Path of the Dragon Warrior.”
“Nuyallith?” Master Ga’athar echoed. “Isn’t that just a legend?”
“What are the old names for our arts?” Jo’el challenged.
Blank looks around the table preceded Inniora saying quietly, “Ullith, the open hand. Fuyallith, the way of staves, Xarallith, for thrown weapons …”