Doomraga's Revenge (12 page)

“Marrrrrnya,” said the highlord with a rumbling growl, “you should not be herrrrre!”

“Yes, I should, Father,” she replied crisply. “For I must speak to you.”

“Now, daughterrrrr?”

“Now.”

Smoothly, hardly making any ripples, Marnya approached. Focusing her azure blue gaze upon her father, she beseeched him, “Please, my lord, I ask you a boon. Just one.”

Bendegeit’s brow creased, tilting his crown forward. “What boon does my daughterrrrr desirrrrre?”

In the seconds before she answered, Basilgarrad wondered the same thing. What could she possibly want? The head of this green intruder on a stake? The chance to deal the death blow herself?

“I heard your conversation with this dragon.” She waved a flipper at Basilgarrad, spraying him with seawater. “And I want you to grant his request.”

Bendegeit started in surprise—as did the green dragon opposite him. “Why, my daughterrrrr, would you ask such a thing? What does this wrrrrretched intrrrrruderrrrr mean to you?”

Slowly, she turned her azure eyes on Basilgarrad. “He,” she announced with certainty, “is the dragon I’ve been waiting for. The one who will teach me how to fly.”

15:
S
PIRALS

Many are the ways to soar—some more thrilling, and more deadly, than others.

Fly?” asked Bendegeit and Basilgarrad in unison. Their deep voices boomed like simultaneous thunderclaps, echoing around the torchlit cavern, knocking off several more sea stars from the ceiling.

Keeping her luminous blue eyes fixed on Basilgarrad, Marnya nodded decisively.

“My daughterrrrr, you must—” began the highlord. But he stopped himself, considering a new idea. With a wry grin, he reached out of the water with one of his flippers and straightened his bejeweled crown, then declared, “Yourrrrr rrrrrequest shall be grrrrranted. If the intrrrrruderrrrr herrrrre can teach you to fly, then I will show him the trrrrrue cause of his trrrrroubles.”

“How—but, I . . . but . . .” sputtered the green dragon, caught entirely by surprise. Looking from Marnya to her father and back again, he finally managed to say, “But I don’t know how! She’s—you’re—a
water
dragon.”

“Nonetheless,” rumbled Bendegeit with a smirk on his titanic lips, “that is my decrrrrree. Accept my condition—orrrrr leave this rrrrrealm rrrrright now.”

Basilgarrad, boiling over with frustration at this turn of events, shook his head. Time was wasting! Yet he had no choice.

“I accept,” he growled. Turning to the young female dragon, he added, “We start now. This minute.”

“Excellent,” she replied, beaming. “I have always wanted to fly. Always! But no one here can teach me. When I saw you land, I knew that you were the one to do it.”

“How perrrrrfect,” said the highlord, his eyes burning brightly. “This will be rrrrratherrrrr amusing.”

“Right,” grumbled Basilgarrad. “Follow me.” Shaking his head, he spun himself around and started to swim back down the tunnel to the open sea. Close behind followed the highlord and his daughter.

As he passed beyond the pearly light of the cavern, Basilgarrad’s mind churned with troublesome questions. How could he possibly teach her to fly if she didn’t even have wings? Just how had that slippery eel of a highlord gotten the better of him? Was there still some way to get Bendegeit’s help?

As soon as they emerged from the tunnel, Marnya’s flying lessons began in earnest. They did not go well. With the amused highlord and his three unconscious guards (still slumped together on the rocky shore) as an audience, Basilgarrad tried to show her how to take flight, launching from the water. He pushed her from behind while she flapped madly, pulled her with his tail, and did everything he could think of to encourage her. But nothing worked. She could no sooner lift herself out of the water than she could magically transform her flippers into feathered wings.

At one point, a flock of seabirds—silver kingfishers—flew overhead. So close to the water they came, the dragons paused to watch them float above the waves, their wide wings reflecting the rich colors of the sea. Basilgarrad listened to the wings’ rhythmic swishing, drew a deep breath of salty air, and shook his head sadly.

Marnya, too, felt discouraged. As she watched the birds fly past so effortlessly, her eyes lost some of their radiance. And the highlord of the water dragons? His face, unlike the others, showed glowing satisfaction.

“Arrrrre you rrrrready to give up, Marrrrrnya?” Bendegeit called to his daughter.

“Not nearly, Father!” she replied. But the forced tone of her voice belied her words.

Basilgarrad, at that moment, decided to try a different approach, focusing on how to move her flippers. “It’s different than moving through water,” he explained, holding her flipper just above the surface. “Air, like water, is strong enough to support our weight. But it’s different—lighter, thinner. To fly, you can’t just row through it. You first need to
place
yourself on it, then
glide
upon it.”

“How can I glide on the air,” she asked in exasperation, “if I can’t even get out of the water?”

“By using your flippers more like wings!” he said for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“I don’t know what that means!” she protested. “Isn’t there any way you can show me?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do all this time!” he said crossly.

“Well, it isn’t working. Can’t you show me more clearly?”

“Not unless I—” He caught himself. “Wait! I have an idea. It might not work. But if it does . . . it just might show you what you need to see. And, Marnya”—he glanced over at Bendegeit, impatiently blowing streams of ice out of his nose—“we’re running out of time.”

“I know,” she replied. “Whatever this idea is, let’s try it.”

“All right. You need to trust me. Do you?”

She peered at him for a long moment, her blue eyes sparkling like ocean mist. “Yes.”

“Then stay right where you are while I dive beneath you and . . .”

“Lift me into the air?” Her azure eyes opened wide. “You can do that?”

“I can try! Because the only way to show you how wings really move is to let you see up close what I do when I fly. Then, perhaps, you can do it yourself.” He frowned. “I’m just not sure I can lift someone as big as you.”

“Try!” she pleaded, splashing the water with her fins. “This really could work!” Lowering her voice, she added, “Don’t forget, you’re not doing this for me. You’re doing it for Avalon.”

Her words gave him a new burst of energy, as a spark ignites kindling. Without waiting another instant, he swam some distance behind her, filled his lungs with the briny air, and dived under the waves.

Whooooosh!
He rose out of the waves just beneath her, working his tail furiously to gain forward momentum. With a mighty heave, he lifted her onto his back—but could he possibly carry her into the air? Stretching his huge wings to the fullest, he worked them with all his strength, straining to lift this heavy load above the surface of the sea. Never had he thrown so much effort into beating, beating, beating his wings!

Marnya, meanwhile, held on to his back, wrapping her claws around his muscular shoulders. All the while, she watched the powerful sweep of his wings, trying to understand how they caught the air—enough to glide.

Smashing through the water, shooting spray in all directions, Basilgarrad threw every bit of his strength into trying to take off. He whipped his wings, waved his tail, and stretched his neck upward. Harder he tried, and harder, ignoring the weight that pressed him down and the growing aches in his back, shoulders, and tail.

Lift her, Basil!
he commanded.
Lift her!

Finally . . .

He rose out of the water. Rising skyward, he climbed slowly, bit by bit, until his wingtips and tail no longer splashed against the surface. At last, completely airborne, he beat his wings powerfully, carrying his passenger higher. Soon they were soaring far above the water—and the highlord who sat watching them in amazement.

“You did it!” trumpeted Marnya.

“Yes,” he replied, a ring of satisfaction in his voice. “Now watch carefully.”

Arching his wings backward, he suddenly stalled in midair. Even as his passenger gasped in fright, he changed the wings’ angle, catching an updraft that carried them higher. Then, banking to the side, he spun several tight turns, spiraling around and around far above the iridescent sea.

“This is marvelous,” she said dreamily, speaking right into his ear. “If only I could—no! Wait!”

Relaxing for an instant, she had allowed a claw to slip off his shoulder. Pulled by the force of his spiraling turns, she started to lose her grip. Her balance. And her only support.

“Help!” she screamed, sliding completely off his back.

Basilgarrad rolled underneath her, trying to give her new purchase. But she couldn’t grab hold in time. Her claws scraped down the scales of his back—then touched only air.

“Help me!” she cried, tumbling downward.

Basilgarrad stopped spiraling, veered, then plunged after her as fast as he could. But he knew, given the distance between them, that he could never reach her in time. The same realization had also struck her father, far below, who was bellowing and waving his flippers wildly.

Marnya, spinning as she dropped, could see the blue expanse of the sea approaching at an alarming rate. Though she’d never experienced anything like this before, she sensed that hitting the water at this speed would be almost as violent as hitting solid land. She might or might not live, but could easily break her flippers, her back, or her neck.

Her mind raced. What do birds do to slow down? How do they turn a fall into a flight?

Instinctively, she arched her back, trying to lift her head so it wouldn’t be the first part of her to hit the water. At the same time, she stretched out her flippers—long and sturdy, if narrower than wings—more from the natural urge to grab hold of something than to accomplish any real goal. As her head lifted, she found her belly taking more of the wind. And with her body more horizontal, her flippers, too, caught more air. The webbing along the flippers’ edges expanded, opening to the rushing wind.

Gradually, her headlong plunge became more of a diagonal descent. Holding her flippers out wide, she slowed herself slightly, feeling the substance of the air beneath her body. She tilted her flippers to the rear, slowing some more and gaining a tiny bit of control. Angling her belly upward, she could almost feel supported by the invisible blanket beneath her.

In seconds, she had changed from an object plummeting
through
the air . . . to a creature riding
on
the air. Now she was drifting. Gliding.

Flying!

Flippers outstretched, she slid into the sea, spraying a huge wave of water that drenched her father. But he didn’t seem to mind. As he swam over to greet her, nearly losing his crown in all his excitement, she turned her gaze skyward.

Thank you, green dragon
, she thought as she watched him descend.
For this gift. This flight.

16:
S
HADOWS

What we see is useful, provocative, or inspiring. But what we don’t see is essential.

True to his promise, the regal Bendegeit, having satisfied himself that Marnya hadn’t suffered any broken bones, agreed to help Basilgarrad. He spun around on the glittering waves, splashing water in all directions, and started to lead his beaming daughter and their now-honored guest back to his hidden cavern. There, where his magic was strongest, he would grant the boon.

As they neared the mouth of the cave, the three unconscious guardian dragons, sprawled on the rocks, began to stir. Just as Basilgarrad sailed by, the dragon with the scarred snout awoke fully—and gaped. Seeing the dastardly intruder who had bested him was upsetting enough, but to see that intruder swimming contentedly alongside the highlord and his daughter was more than the guardian could bear. He roared wrathfully at Basilgarrad and lunged at his foe, spraying blue icicles on the rocks.

Alas, he failed to notice that his tail had been tied into a knot with the tails of his companions—a small precaution that Basilgarrad had taken before leaving them. As a result, the lunging water dragon suddenly came to a halt and hurtled backward. He smashed, with more angry roars, right on top of his companions. All three guardians fell to kicking and biting each other, only tangling themselves more.

“Ahoy there, Scarface!” called Basilgarrad as he sailed past. “Have a nice nap?”

No answer came but for a chorus of growls, roars, and bashing heads.

Moments later, the highlord and his daughter plus Basilgarrad reached the luminous cavern. Torches, holding the phosphorescent light of the sea, projected the three dragons’ shadows against the walls. The green, blue, and purple paua shells glowed even more radiantly than Basilgarrad remembered. He shook himself with anticipation, knowing he would soon learn the answer to his—and Avalon’s—biggest question.

Glancing up at the high ceiling with its colorful mosaics made of sea stars, he said to the highlord, “Something tells me that a new mosaic might be added sometime soon.”

“And what prrrrrompts you to say that?”

“Just a guess,” said the green dragon mirthfully. “A historical scene would be nice—say, the first water dragon ever to fly.”

Bendegeit’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Perrrrrhaps you arrrrre rrrrright.”

Marnya chortled gleefully. She turned her azure gaze on Basilgarrad, watching him with gratitude.

Floating in the center of the cavern, the highlord of the water dragons cleared his throat, a deep rumbling that echoed around the walls. His expression now serious, he faced Basilgarrad and commanded, “State the question you wish me to answerrrrr.”

The green dragon’s eyebrows lifted. “What—or who—is behind Avalon’s troubles? The fighting, the fraying peace, the spreading blight. Who is causing this?”

Bendegeit inhaled a deep breath, as if he were breathing in the very question. Then, with a powerful slap of his flipper, he struck the water’s surface, sending a great fountain of spray into the air. Countless droplets, sparkling in the torches’ light, rose toward the ceiling, slowed their ascent, then hovered for an instant before raining downward.