It was at him again. The fearful prescience that pricked at his scales throbbed abominably, and though he didn't know it, caused him to effect a pained, distracted expression, almost comical. Rather like a surprised hatchling.
Ignitus chuckled at the thought. Lengthening his strides, he continued from the grotto, great muscular shoulders tensing after the habit of war. Good Ancestors, was he becoming like Terrador, unable to comprehend the concept of life without war? Well, considering that they had both been hatched in a critical time, when all dragon's save for females about to lay, were conscripted to fight, to kill, Ignitus could appreciate the other dragon's skeptic attitude towards the notion. Yet Terrador was enthusiastic about war, had seen its horrors, but didn't possess the initiative or the imagination to contemplate its end. This was not to say he lacked intelligence; he had a great mind and was a brilliant commander. He just lacked the ability to imagine.
Ignitus, however, could see past war. He could see a time where the land wasn't disrupted by rampant troops pillaging poor villagers of their food and efforts, destroying lifetimes of hard work, of clashing armies and injured dragons. And he believed in legends, most of all; over a hundred years of fighting hadn't dulled his ability to read the prophecies made by various dragons over the years, dragons with the gift to see things in the ancient Pool of Visions (Erze Di Sieghte as was written on the side of the great basin), dragons such as himself. That ability was much vaunted among dragonkind, even feared by the superstitious. And dragons as whole were superstitious, relying on the spirits of their Ancestors, the ancient dragons, to guide them, and it was the job of the appointed dragon Guardians, masters of their own differentiating elements, to quote and teach the old laws and instill them in the new generations. But, Ignitus thought dryly, not everyone favored these laws. Angyra, a young fire dragon with a temperament to match, delighted in defying the laws at every occasion, rolling her amber colored eyes at the very idea. She was not particularly stupid and could fight well, but her arrogance was enough to rival…rival Cyril's.
He stopped walking, groaning inwardly and twisting his head around to examine a part of his red and gold tinted hide, puzzled by the absence of any rut or blemish on the smooth scales. It was itching, but there was nothing there, no reason for it to be. Likely it was the feeling of chaos, that something was going to happen, that was prompting it. He abruptly turned around and re-entered the room, deciding to consult the Pool. Gazing into its shallow depths, he tried to discern the source of his unsettlement. But he was distracted; things were running through his head at the wrong time, preventing him from Looking; you needed a clear, receptive mind to see anything.
Usually, he went into a trance, and the surface of the water became like another world, a shattered mirror, moving images and indistinct shadows flitting through it that only a dragon with the gift to See would understand. Now it just looked like what everyone else saw it to be: a blank, eerily green surface, glinting like liquid emerald in the torchlight.
Ignitus was troubled.
The Pool was like an intimate friend, someone with all the answers, answers you could only get if you asked correctly, and his sudden lack of focus was disturbing.
This doesn't bode well, he thought, uncertain.
He heard the sound of four taloned feet approaching the Grotto, and looked up as a gold dragon, jagged markings that put him in mind of lightning bolts running from his neck to the base of his tail, entered, appearing surprised but pleased to find Ignitus there.
"Ignitus, my friend, how fair you?"
With an effort, he smiled, "I do well enough, Volteer." His fellow Guardian was cheery, as usual. And for as long as Ignitus had known him, he'd only changed that mood to a lesser one on two instances. One was at the death of his sire, the other when a dragon failed to hatch, having died inside its shell.
And he was not fooled by Ignitus's act of a good mood. "Now, Ignitus, I have been privy to your presence for a long enough time to percept when you are feeling sad, depressed, troubled, uncertain…"
Ignitus shook his head. That was Volteer. Eccentric, fond of using rather long words and inserting odd facts into a conversation without cause.
"Yes, you are right," he sighed, "I cannot escape the feeling that something terrible is coming upon us…Soon."
"Have you attempted to wrest the answer from the Pool of Visions?" Volteer was now acutely interested.
Ignitus gestured helplessly at it, "That was what I came in here for. I tried, but I cannot get my mind into the right state to See anything. That isn't a good sign, I fear."
"Do you suppose it has something to do with the broods of eggs? They're inevitably close to breaking shell. And this will be an auspicious ceremony!"
Ignitus agreed, for if the legends were true, the egg that was mounted upon the podium, separated from the others, would hatch a very special beast. Although he wasn't sure if making a fuss was the right way to go about it. It would only attract unwelcome attention, and yet…and yet if the egg did hatch a purple dragon, would it change the minds of skeptics such as Angyra or Vesoren? Would it rekindle their sense of Ancestral respect? Ignitus believed, as did Volteer, Terrador, and Cyril, that the infant would be what prophecy dictated, but not many others were of the same mind.
And of course, there was the question of the child itself. Unquestionably it would have to be taught to do what the prophecy foretold, but…it seemed a different thing, when the dragon was your own…he stifled the thought. No one must know. Not even the hatchling. There would come a time when Ignitus would tell it, when it was ready, but he must not let sentiment overcome duty.
Volteer was silent, for once, and he knew that the Lightning Guardian was respecting his mood. Casting a judicious eye over the eggs, Ignitus said absently, "they'll hatch in a day or two. They've hardened enough."
"Yes, of course. Though they may be late as dragon eggs fail to follow a certain predetermined hatching time. It would be helpful to us if they did, especially in such abhorrently brutal times. You know, Ignitus, I have heard that the Apes have a superfluous tendency to turn cannibalistic. Awful, unthinkable, incomprehensible I know, but they do practice it."
Ignitus almost chuckled. Volteer was so…so completely unaware how much he scandalized others with his speaking habits, and was usually forgiven on the condition that he was a Guardian, and no one but another Guardian had the right to call him to task. And the other Guardians found it much more amusing to watch him ramble on and on to an erring youngster without interfering, taking a kind of cruel pleasure in the despairing look on their face. That was a much more effective punishment than any injury or restriction. A stern word was not severe enough, restrictions bred resentment, resentment harbored anger, anger encouraged disobedience, and the cycle repeats itself. But this…it was a punishment that they enjoyed enforcing, and efficiently put the dragon on its guard to avoid going through the process again.
And Ignitus, as the leader of the Guardians, was required to do something or he would appear incompetent, an inferior leader. So he chose this.
He turned around as another dragon stumbled clumsily into the Grotto, panting. Ignitus recognized her as one of the previous season's clutch; making her one of the youngest dragons, save for the three unhatched broods. The hide was platinum, bordering on a silver colour. Her wings spread out for balance, she made a barely adequate bow (which for a dragon involved sinking forward on the forelegs and inclining the head in a particular fashion) then gasped, "Ignitus, sir, they-we need you and the other Guardians at the West point. Something terrible has happened."
"What, child?" he asked her, not unkindly.
"They found a body, I think. I didn't get a good look. They sent me here for you"
Ignitus exchanged a startled glance with Volteer, before assuring the dragon, "we'll go, don't worry…what is your name?"
"Harlith, sir."
He gave an acknowledging nod, and at Volteer's urgent bugle, he shook out his wings.
"Harlith, can you show us where exactly the commotion is?" he asked her. The young dragon nodded, and gestured with a toss of her head for them to follow.
Ignitus beckoned to Volteer, who had somehow managed to remain silent, and followed Harlith outside. She jumped aloft first, then hovered, waiting for the older, heavier Guardians to accompany her, then began to wing westward, her sleek form glinting in the sunlight. Ignitus stretched his wings out further, settling into a controlled glide. There was, for the first time in several days, enough wind to allow that. The weather, he thought sardonically, did not give much care for the dragons that flew in it or the older ones whose wing muscles tired far quicker after hundreds of years spent in aerial combat. It was a rugged, wild force, indifferent, emotionless, and uncontrollable. A force to be feared and respected, he wryly reminded himself, altering the thin fingers of bone stretched between the membrane to rise with the wind. His predecessor, Berylsythe, now a few years dead, had been at a complete understanding with nature, which was unusual for a fire dragon, even a Guardian. That sort of peace with the land was normally a trait of an earth or wind dragon, for their elements corresponded more openly with nature than fire did. Fire was the giver of life, he remembered, it swept away the old, dead plants, and replaced them with new growths, verdant green patches in a sea of ash.
He watched Harlith's flight pattern out of the corner of his eye, making sure that he didn't go off track. He realized then that he was trailing behind Volteer, who had caught up to the messenger dragon and was chattering like a hatchling to her. She glanced back at him, a bemused expression on her face.
Reassuringly, he winked at her, chortling to himself. She handled Volteer's extraordinary speech flow quite well, for one so young. He then reminded himself that he should not be lax in his attitude towards the dragon, who was, after all, unused to such humor in a Guardian.
Harlith suddenly folded her wings and dove, a hesitant greeting roar to which the pompous, loud bugle of Cyril responded, adding to Ignitus and Volteer, "and about damn time too!"
Ignitus swooped down, back winging to land near the ice Guardian, asking, "what has happened?"
"Murder, that's what," he replied, eyes blazing as coldly as Ignitus had ever seen in Cyril.
"Murder? Who? Why?" Ignitus felt like a child again, asking questions that nobody knew how to answer.
The enormous green bulk of Terrador overshadowed every other dragon there, as he said in his deep gruff voice, "We don't know. Thedal here," he indicated a flustered looking earth dragon, "found the body lacerated and broken and came to me. The young ones are setting up a howl."
"The ones from the previous clutch?" Ignitus inquired. When Terrador nodded, he said, "Well then, I must compliment you, Harlith" he turned to the edgy silver dragon, "on acting so logically when the rest of your brood were panicking."
She appeared startled, rustling her wings, before thanking him and adding in a shy voice, "I didn't really know what they were screaming about, so I came to you. If I'd seen it…" She shuddered.
"You did as you ought, Harlith, and we are grateful to you," Terrador said tartly, stopping the dragon's flow of modesty effectively as a clout on the head.
Ignitus craned his neck to try and see over the dragons clustered around the body, "Let me through," he ordered, not deigning to lower himself by pushing through. The distressed group parted, leaving a clear path for him. And then he saw the body. It was hideously mangled; its wings twisted cruelly backwards, neck and legs lying at impossible angles, blood pouring from deep raking wounds all over its body. It seemed like there was more torn hide than intact. Ignitus closed his eyes for a moment, shutting out the horrible sight, then threw back his head, the other dragons following his lead, and roared a mourning ululation, the voices of every dragon becoming one.
As Terrador had mentioned before, the younger dragons continued to squall after the tribute had been accorded, and had to be hushed by the others.
He met the eyes of each of his fellow Guardians, and they dipped their heads sorrowfully. He felt exhausted, and knew that he could not show it, for dragonkind needed a strong leader, so he could not admit weakness, not yet.
This is not right, he thought upon returning to the Temple, first the premonition, then the Pool of Visions failing, and now a dragon has died, with no reason visible. Oh, those eggs had better hatch soon. With morale so low, the birth of a new generation needed to happen. To improve faith and spirits of his kind.
He settled down in the wide cavern, folding his wings with a sigh of relief. Perhaps, after a good, long rest, he would find a solution.