Wings of Renewal: A Solarpunk Dragon Anthology (42 page)

“Don't come any nearer,” she panted, voice ragged.
 

“Rosalina, what in the world is the matter with you?” Albero asked.

“Keep her away from me! Padre,” Biancarosa said, “Anneria is trying to kill me! Just like Madre!”

Albero Re's expression was grim. He turned to his wife. “She knows,” he said.

The words were like a physical blow. Biancarosa clung to the railing, knuckles white. “Padre? You, too?”

“I'm sorry, Rosalina. But it was for the good of the kingdom. And so is this, now.”

Tears streamed down the little princess' face. “Padre, please. You can't.”

“Forgive me, Rosalina,” the king said. He looked at the queen. Anneria nodded. Then he moved forward.

Biancarosa's scream echoed off the cavern walls as she fell. It seemed too loud, unnatural, like the roar of a dragon. She felt nothing but the rush of cold air around her; then, blackness.

* * *

Seven years later…

Leaf looked out the trolley window at the bustling hub of Drachenstadt sprawling below him. Throngs of people hurried their way across the multicolored honeycomb of the solar-panel streets. A few people, probably tourists, stopped and pointed at a passing Skylyft trolley gliding over their heads. The trolley network wove through the city like a complex spider web, its farthest veiny threads stretching as far as the Alpines, interconnecting the mountain villages surrounding the city with the urban area.

He sighed, running a brown hand through even darker brown hair. Things couldn't be that bad if there were still tourists visiting Elvezia. It just
felt
that way.

A reptilian screech filled the air around the trolley. A few people gasped as a large, golden-scaled dragon soared past the Skylyft, the sun reflecting brightly off its skin. Even for native Elvezians, it was an unusual sight to see a dragon in the open air, this close to Drachenstadt. But these were unusual times.

As the dragon passed, Leaf caught sight of a human figure on its back. Marigold. She glanced over her shoulder and noticed Leaf in the window. She grinned and waved for just an instant, before the massive creature beat its wings once more and they disappeared from his line of sight.

Leaf's mouth turned up in spite of the worry gnawing at his insides. At seventeen, he wasn't old enough to have known the last
oratrice
—she'd left Elvezia long before Leaf was born, to marry the king of Stalia Nova—but even he knew the new Speaker for the Dragons was
different
. Her unusual habit of soaring through the sky on the dragons' backs was just the tip of the glacier.

She was waiting for him when the Skylyft at last pulled into the Sunglow Caldera station. She hurried towards him, leaning heavily on her walking staff, a swift three-legged gait.

“Leaf, you're back! How was your trip? Is there news from Stalia Nova?” she asked.

“There is,” Leaf said, “but this isn't the place for it. Will you convene a council of the dragons?”

Marigold frowned. “It's bad news, isn't it?”

Leaf chewed his upper lip. Then he nodded.

An hour later, the Forty were assembled in the vast Sunglow Caldera. Its basalt walls sloped up to the sky, forming a perfect circle of open air in the center of the chamber's ceiling. Marigold wore her elaborately embroidered
oratrice
robes. With her short mess of black hair covered by the golden-scaled headdress, she almost looked like royalty. It was a stark contrast from the scrawny mountain orphan Leaf had called friend for the last three years.

Leaf bowed respectfully when he entered the caldera. From their perches all around him, the Forty inclined their mighty heads.

The dragon to Marigold's right—her name was Goldrute, but Marigold always called her “Mother”—opened her mouth, showing three rows of fangs. A deep, rumbling growl rolled from the back of her throat. As she spoke, the air around her turned gold and silver, a shower of light fragments. Leaf caught snatches of words here and there, phrases Marigold had taught him, but he couldn't quite make the words form a sentence the way the Speaker did.

Marigold nodded, then turned to Leaf. “Friend Leaf, Knight of the Order of the Dragons, Guardian and Protector of the People's Nation of Elvezia, Equitably Chosen to Serve Equality”—she paused here to catch her breath—“welcome. The Forty are pleased to see you've returned from Stalia Nova safely. What news do you bring from the other side of the Alpines?”

“I've been in contact with several members of the Stalian resistance. Very few members of the populace agree with the war on Elvezia.”

“But that's excellent news,” Marigold said, dark eyes shining. “Then the Elvezian people's offer of truce, of joining our two nations in a union of states, should be well-received.”

Leaf scoffed. “The king of Stalia Nova is not interested in the opinions of his people. He wants more power, and he doesn't care who it hurts along the way.”

Marigold's face went rigid, and her eyes glazed over, getting that far-away look he'd seen before. Like she wasn't all the way here.

Goldrute leaned over and nudged the
oratrice
with one of her claws. Marigold blinked, then half-laughed. “Oh, sorry, Mother.” She began to rapidly translate, her fingers moving in deft strokes, tracing intricate patterns of gold light in the air.

When she was done, another dragon, this one with scales silver as the mist of a cloud, began to speak.

“All will be well, Friend Leaf,” Marigold translated. “The dragons will continue to guard Elvezia. The kingdom will not fall to the likes of the Oaken King.”

Leaf opened his mouth, then hesitated. He knew he needed to tell her, to warn her. He'd spent the whole journey back to Elvezia, the long treks through dark, secret tunnels, rehearsing it in his mind. But now, the words wouldn't come.

“Leaf? What is it?”

“There's … more,” he said. “Our allies in Stalia Nova … they heard rumors that the Stalian forces have …” He swallowed, forcing it out. “They've found a way to kill dragons.”

Marigold's hands had been fluttering like a butterfly, translating as Leaf spoke, but now they broke off in midair, flew up to cover her mouth. “That's impossible,” she gasped.

Around Leaf, the caldera shook with the rumbling voices of forty dragons speaking at once.

“It's just a rumor, Speaker,” Leaf said, raising his voice to be heard above the cacophony. “But I wanted to warn you. Just … be on your guard.”

Marigold nodded. Beside her, Goldrute watched Leaf steadily. Even after he turned away, he could feel the gaze of her jeweled eyes boring into his back.

He was soon dismissed to allow the council to convene, but Goldrute thundered after him, the weight of her vast form causing the tunnel walls around them to quake. She blocked the passage in front of him, and a growl came from her throat, the air around him glimmering as the magic formed a single golden word. It was a word he recognized, but he could feel it carried more meaning than just his simple name.

“Do you know, Dragonmother? The one thing that can kill a dragon?” His fingers moved clumsily as he spoke. They tripped over the stilted, unpracticed gestures, forming uneven light-strokes.

Goldrute closed her eyes and nodded her massive head.

Leaf exhaled. “I won't let it happen.”

He tried to push past her, but Goldrute stayed him, wrapping her long tail around his shoulders. When she spoke again, her words came clearer, sharpening in his mind, an almost-human voice whispering in his ear.

“Mother?” Marigold's voice echoed in the corridor. Leaf looked up to see her standing just behind him. “The council is waiting for you. What are you—?”

Goldrute glanced at Leaf.
 

“I will,” he whispered. “But I promise it won't come to that.”

The dragon nodded again and lumbered back toward the caldera, her scales shimmering in the light of the crystal lamps.

Marigold stormed over to Leaf, stomping heavily on her good leg. Her thick, black eyebrows were drawn. “What was all that about?” she demanded.

Leaf laughed, what he hoped was an easy, light sound. “What, you're the only one allowed to speak to Dragonmother? What was the point of teaching me the magic if I'm not allowed to use it?”

“Of course not,” said Marigold. “But you're
hiding
something from me, I can tell.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is it the Stalians? You don't believe they can actually kill the dragons, do you?” When he didn't respond, she scoffed. “It's impossible. Dragons are beings of pure magic. They're immortal.”

“Exactly. So there's nothing to worry about.”

“But?” She looked at him pointedly.

“But
you
are human, Speaker.”

Marigold sighed, pulling the golden headdress off and letting choppy wisps of black hair fall into her eyes. “So you're saying the Stalians will be after me?”

“I'm saying nothing of the kind,” Leaf said. “Listen, there's nothing to worry about. I've notified the other knights. They're forming a guard around the caldera as we speak. And I,” he added with a grin, “will stay here to guard you.”

She scowled. “I don't need a watchdog, Leaf.”

“What about a friend?”

Marigold scrunched her face up grumpily, but her eyebrows unfurrowed, and Leaf could feel her anger dissipating like fog under the morning sun.
 

“All right,” she said.
 

Leaf grinned.

* * *

Leaf stood behind a rocky outcrop in the far corner of the courtyard, watching Marigold from a distance. She'd quickly grown irritated with his constant hovering, but as much as she detested it, he couldn't let her out of his sight. He had to protect her, to protect Elvezia. The dragons were his people's only defense. The People's Nation had no military, apart from the handful of knights guarding the Sunglow Caldera, and no government to speak of; they'd traditionally been a land of neutrality and equality, sustaining themselves by providing the world with energy and technology. Stalia Nova's attack on them was unprecedented, and Leaf didn't know what would happen if the dragons fell.

But more than that. Marigold was his best friend, one of his only friends. He was going to keep her safe, or die trying.

Marigold sighed, looking into the clear water of the Speaker's well. “I know you're there, Leaf. You might as well stop skulking in the shadows and come over here.”

His face colored. He thought he'd been well-hidden, but he should have known better. He never could keep anything from Marigold.

She climbed onto the side of the well, her feet dangling over the water. “How long is this going to go on?” she asked when he drew near.

“I … I don't know. As long as it takes, I suppose,” he said.

Before she could reply, a high-pitched cry rang through the open air of the valley. Marigold looked up in alarm. Leaf jumped to his feet, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

A Dragon Knight appeared in the courtyard. His hand was clamped around the arm of a small boy, perhaps six or seven years old, with flaxen hair and skin as white as snow.

“Speaker,” the knight said, inclining his head toward Marigold, “I found this boy skulking about the tunnels. No one knows where he came from. He says he was looking for you.”

The boy sniffled. Bright tear-trails streamed down his cheeks. “
Signora
, please help me. This man is hurting me.”

“Of course, little one. Friend Knight, release him! He is just a child.”

“Marigold!” Leaf hissed, clamping a hand on her shoulder. “He's Stalian!”

She shrugged him away, her dark eyes flashing. “He's just a child, Leaf,” she repeated.

The little boy ran to Marigold, flinging his arms around her legs. She winced, and Leaf placed a hand against her back to steady her.

“
Signora
,” the boy wailed. “Padre and Madre … I cannot find them! We were coming across the mountains, to escape the war, but the”—he stuttered for a moment, struggling to think of the word—“the
neve
fell off the mountain!”

“Refugees,” the Dragon Knight said. “Must have gotten caught in an avalanche.”

“Then his parents …” Marigold frowned, then bent and took the boy's hand in hers. “Come along, little one. The dragons will take care of you. What's your name?”

“Apple,” the boy said.

“
Apple
?” Leaf repeated. “That's an Elvezian name. But you are Stalian?”

“It's my new name,” the boy explained. “Madre and Padre said we are Stalian no more.“

“That's fine, Apple,” said Marigold, cutting Leaf off. “You are welcome here in Elvezia. The doors of friendship are open to all.”

The boy's small fingers clasped firmly in one hand and her walking staff in the other, Marigold led them across the courtyard. For a brief moment, Apple glanced over his shoulder at Leaf, and Leaf froze.

The child's dark eyes, black as night, looked so strangely familiar.

* * *

That evening, the dragons gathered in their massive roosting hall, deep in the heart of the mountain. Scores of nests carved from niches in the stone honeycombed the walls, disappearing into pinpricks too high to discern. The huge cavern glowed orange, as if warmed by a bonfire, but Leaf knew this was the glow of the collective dragons' magic.

The boy, Apple, sat beside Leaf at the small, human-sized table situated far below the roosts. Marigold carried over a hot bowl of
minestrone
and set it in front of him. “To remind you of home,” she said with a smile.

“Home,” Apple repeated in a small voice.

She handed another bowl to Leaf and moved back to the solectric cooking hearth to retrieve some soup for herself. “I know how scary this all must be, Apple,” Marigold said as she walked back to the table. “I was in your shoes once, you know. I also lost my parents to the mountains. The dragons took care of me then, just as we'll take care of you now.”

“Did you also come from Stalia Nova,
signora
?” asked Apple.

“No. The dragons tell me I was born in a small village in the Elvezian Alpines,” Marigold replied. “I don't remember much about my childhood. I lost my memory in the accident that killed my parents and damaged my leg. That was seven years ago. Probably before you were born, eh, Apple-blossom?”