The drakka eyed each other. The look they exchanged reminded him of Jizara and Wistala sharing a private joke at his expense. His hearts ached at the memory.
AuRon spoke his long-rehearsed speech, not really knowing the manners of the dragons here, so he fell back on old phraseology that he’d at times heard from NooMoahk. “My name is AuRon son of AuRel. I come from Ghioz, bearing a message in friendship from the Queen. If you could arrange for me to reach your Lavadome so that I may deliver her words, I will hereafter call you friend.”
The dragonelles blinked at him, frozen, reminding him of nothing so much as startled monkeys he’d seen when he’d been a wingless hunter stalking the jungle south of Uldam.
“Some friend,” one of the drakka muttered. “A travel-thinned gray with a stumpy tail who talks like a drunk Wyrr. The Red Queen can keep him.”
Chapter 14
Wistala’s introduction to the Lavadome left her thrilled yet mazed, speechless despite words of admiration at its beauties fighting to get out.
After the tall cavern of the river ring, griffaran were wheeling in and out of shafts of light from cracks in the surface as cold waters carried their secrets beneath. They swam across, hearts pounding in the cold, the pain half exquisite. She climbed out of the water feeling more alive than she ever had before in her life.
Ayafeeia, three dragonelles, and three drakka accompanied her from the other end of the Star Tunnel and through a maze of twists, turns, and ancient chambers.
She thought she’d seen beauty enough to remember in the bright colors of the far-off griffaran.
Then they passed through another tunnel on the other side of the ring and entered the Lavadome.
After, she sensed that the others had been watching her to see her reaction.
The space seemed an impossibility, like a sea rolling above clouds rather than below, or a mountain hanging from the sky instead of growing from the earth. It was a separate world deep underground, vast beyond imagining and lit by the earth’s hot blood. At first she thought it an optical illusion, a strange effect like some of the murals she’d seen in the Hypatian libraries, or a garden-pool she’d seen near a seaside palace that visually met the ocean with many dragonlengths of sand and coral between the palace and the Inland Ocean.
Brighter than all the lava, a glowing orb topped the Lavadome, bathing a tall, squared-off rock Ayafeeia identified as the Imperial Rock, the residence of the Tyr and his family.
They ate a meal, food fetched by the youngest of the Firemaidens, immature females who, according to Ayafeeia, sometimes passed into the Firemaids.
Then they walked, walked until the light faded from the top of the dome, and they still hadn’t crossed to the other side of the Lavadome. Ayafeeia brought her to a depression in the ground with several caves in its walls and floor.
“Odd that a sink should be called a ‘hill,’ but this place is called Halfhollow Hill.”
The soil here was looser than elsewhere in the Lavadome. Wistala slid as she descended and had to brace herself with her tail.
“This is sacred ground to the Firemaids, Wistala. Here the First Score set tails-a-ring and promised to act for the defense of others’ hatchlings.”
“Why, could the mothers not defend their own?”
“Oh, it was a terrible time, during the war. Wyrr against Anklene against Skotl. Groups of dragons were seeking out egg-caves and smashing eggs, killing hatchlings, trying to break the will of the opposing clan or swap murder for murder.
“The First Score were all unmated females, from all three clans. The civil war was at its height. They swore to forsake their clans, guard any eggs or hatchlings brought into their protection, to remain neutral in the war.
“Mated pairs of dragons came from all corners of the Lavadome bearing an egg or two in their mouths. Many eggs were abandoned to the egg-smashers. Some were lost on the way.
“When Skotl came looking for Wyrr eggs they fought them as one, together. When Wyrr came looking for Skotl hatchlings they fought them as one, together. Only three of the First Score knew the key to their arrangement, and of them each knew only a part, so that pain could not reveal all.”
In her imagination, Wistala could see the dragons running for the caves with eggs in their mouths. Dragons fighting dragons above—that she hardly needed imagination to picture. Her own memories supplied the details.
“Ever since, the Firemaids have lived to protect eggs not their own. We guard far-off holes and the hills of our siblings. We prowl unlit tunnels and stand guard in the burning sun at the Uphold entrances.”
From her earliest dreams in the egg Wistala had thought herself a protector of her kind. Here stood a sister in spirit if not in body.
“How many dragons are in the Lavadome?” Wistala asked.
“A score of scores counted six, and another score of scores in the Upholds,” Ayafeeia said.
Wistala had never imagined that so many dragons could live in one place. But she’d seen the pens and cattle that supported the dragons, the scruffy hominids toiling in the dark, spreading manure in mushroom fields and then grinding the grown mushrooms into chunks of feed for themselves and the cattle.
“The first great Tyr, FeHazathant,” Ayafeeia continued, “he and his mate established traditions for the Firemaids, and set up the Drakwatch in imitation of the Firemaids. The idea was that Wyrr, Skotl, and Anklene would serve together and never come to blows again. The Firemaids and Drakwatch conduct skirmishes against each other. Many a mating has had its start in a good tussle against the drakes.“But this space is important in one other respect. Firemaidens take their first oath here. As they pass into adulthood some take the second oath and are trusted to hold a position. Then there are those who take the third oath, to remain unmated, or rather to mate with all dragonkind and defend it as our own.”
Wistala realized that she’d already made the decision when she heard the story of the First Score. Perhaps she’d found the meaning of her first memory, a hatchling dream in egg of flying above others, protecting.
Now she just had to find the courage to give voice to feeling and put it into words.
“May I . . . may I take the first oath? I would very much like to repay the debt I owe to the Lavadome. You did save my life—more than once.”
“I’d be delighted to exchange the words with you, Wistala,” Ayafeeia said.
“How—” Takea squealed.
“She’s a female dragon,” Ayafeeia said. “That’s enough, that’s always been enough.”
“But how can she ever be trained, if she didn’t pass through the rigors?”
“She looks like she’s seen rigors enough,” Ayafeeia said. “You have no idea, drakka, of the dangers of the Upper World.”
Wistala smiled. The other dragons looked at her as though she’d just vented herself, and she stopped. She’d been too long among hominids. “Oh, the Upper World has its hazards, but there are many fine things to see. It is rich in variety.”
“Rich in everything but dragons,” Ayafeeia said. “Dragons are hunted even into their egg-caves, like one long war.”
Wistala didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t be a lie. It was possible to coexist with the hominids. She’d proved that. She’d even met a dwarf or two she’d liked in the halls of the Wheel of Fire, though they’d have her head if she ever returned.
“Takea, you will prompt her with the words. You’ve won the honor.”
Takea’s griff dropped and rattled. “Maidmother! It’s an honor I’d as soon—”
Ayafeeia raised high her head. “Still that racket. You’ve won more honors than any other drakka present. It’s your place.”
The youngster shrank against the stares of the older dragonelles. “Yes, Maidmother.”
Ayafeeia pointed with her tail-tip to the gritty bottommost part of the hollow. “Wistala, you stand where your mothers and sisters stood before you.”
Wistala took her place and looked up at Ayafeeia and the other Firemaids.
“Wistala, if any part of this oath gives you doubt or pause, you may stop at any time. There is no shame or danger in not speaking the oath, only in not keeping it once spoken. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Takea fell into place next to her.
“How do you come to this place?”
A long pause. Ayafeeia glared at Takea.
“A maiden female, leaving family, clan, and line, of my own free will and with clear mind,” Takea prompted.
Wistala repeated the words.
“Why do you come to this place?” Ayafeeia asked. “Takea!”
“To join with my sisters in protecting our future,” Takea said, tail twitching petulantly.
“To join with my sisters—” Wistala repeated the rest.
“Will you give up duty to family, clan, and cave for the greater duty of protecting all dragonkind?”
“Yes, I will,” Takea said.
Wistala had a moment’s doubt. Should she stop the oath? She was a librarian of Hypatia, after all. But librarians held other posts, some were priestesses, some attended thanes as advisors—the librarians would probably appreciate an account of the Lavadome.