Chapter Two

The Black Dragon

The storm raged on for two more days after the laying of the black egg, two more cursed days. The rain poured down in torrents in the rocky valley, until it lapped around the bodies of the two dead dragons. It filled the little hollow where the egg lay, floating it out of its resting place and carrying it away. The water flowed down the slope of the valley and into a river, and that took the egg with it and away.

It came to rest on the second day of the storm, deposited on a sandy bank. There it lay for an hour or two, and then it began to move. The baby dragon inside was afraid, and seeking to escape its prison and flee. The egg rolled along the bank, perilously close to the water, its shell cracking. Normally a hatching is slow, but this one was not. Flakes of shell, unbreakable to anyone but a dragon, came free. Before long they littered the sand like pepper on porcelain. When the shell was weakened sufficiently, the baby dragon thrust its limbs out and broke free. It sprawled on the sand, its tiny back heaving. The hatchling took in his first breath, his wings lying loosely on the wet sand and his little legs curled beneath his body. Just like the egg he had come from, he was black. His eyes, when he opened them for the first time, were golden and expressionless. Everything else was the colour of night. Even his wing membranes were black.

The hatchling rested on the sandbank for a time, but the lashing rain and the thunder were hardly restful. At length, chilled and afraid, he pulled himself away from the river and into the scant protection provided by an overhanging shrub. The black hatchling curled himself around the plant's trunk, and slid into a fitful sleep.

When morning came, it was in a blaze of sunshine and blue sky. The storm was gone, and the world rejoiced in the warmth of a new day. The change was so complete that it was as if the universe had shed an old skin and taken up a new, much brighter and more beautiful one in its place.

The hatchling woke up to find unaccustomed sunlight warming him. He opened his eyes and looked up from where he lay, blinking confusedly. What was this strange thing that touched his scales and warmed him so? It was strange but it did not hurt, and he decided that he liked it. He cautiously left the haven of his shrub and rediscovered the beach, sparkling and jewel-like under the sun. The river flowed merrily beside it, dark with suspended debris, the only relic of the previous day's storm. The hatchling patted the sand with his paws, liking its softness and its purity. He found a dark fleck of his old eggshell, and whimpered at the sight of it. It was a flaw amongst perfection, a stain on this little world. He picked it up between two claws, and dropped it into the river, where it disappeared. That made it better. He looked at the spot where the fragment had been, and cooed contentedly. Then he set out to explore further. The river water was cold, but he found he could drink it, and it tasted sweet, though it was a little gritty. He could not eat the leaves of the shrub; they tasted wrong. Nor could he eat the bits of wood that lay beneath it; they stuck in his teeth and would not be chewed. But he was hungry, and there had to be something here that could be eaten. He began to wander along the riverbank, looking for new things to try. His wings got in the way of his feet, so he tucked them neatly between his shoulders, occasionally re-opening them when he needed to balance. His tail he kept raised a little so that it did not drag. He kept his neck arched so his head was level, and walked briskly with the river's flow. That was how he found the rabbit.

The animal lay on the riverbank, its fur sodden and its limbs motionless. One eye was half-open and glazed, eternally winking at the bright sky which it could no longer see.

The dragon nosed curiously at the dead animal, not really understanding what it was. Since it did not move, it didn't occur to him that it had once been alive. To him, everything was the way it had always been. The rabbit smelled interesting; musty and spicy. Its fur tickled his nose, and he sneezed. He examined it further for a short while, and then tried licking it. The fur came away in clumps on his tongue; it tasted unpleasant, so he spat it out. But he tried again, this time biting at the rabbit's haunch. The skin broke, and suddenly he had a mouthful of blood. That tasted good. He chewed some more, then began to eat. It was delicious. Finally, he thought, he had found food that was right for him. He ate heartily, and felt stronger with every mouthful.

The rabbit was bigger than he was, and he stayed with it for several days, slowly eating his way through it. It sustained him, and he began to grow larger almost at once. Dragon youngsters grow very quickly, and can reach full adulthood in a matter of months. So he stayed out his early infancy by the river, drinking the chill water and eating rabbit-meat every day. When there was nothing left of the rabbit but a few gnawed bones, he taught himself to catch the silver fish in the river. It was hard, but he had a hunter's instinct. A half-hour or so of patient waiting, then a quick lunge at the water with his claws, and often as not there would soon be a fish wriggling on the sand.

Weeks passed, and in time those gave way to months. The black dragon grew and developed, first to the size of a cat, then a dog, then a cow. His wings got bigger and stronger, big enough to carry him. He began testing them, climbing into the tallest of the trees in the area and attempting to launch himself from the top. The first few attempts were failures which saw him tumbling headlong into the bushes, but he kept at it. In the end there came that glorious day when he held his wings out and leapt (though with his eyes closed), and found that they held him up! It was his first flight, though it was more of a glide to begin with, and nearly ended in another crash. When he realised he was still in the air and with nothing, apparently, holding him up, he panicked and let his wings fold. He fell like a stone, shrieking in fright and flailing at the air. But he came to his senses before he hit ground, and began frantically thrashing his wings. And – they worked! He found that if he beat them in proper time they lifted him back into the air, and that if he leant to either side he would turn. It was a triumphant day, and he spent the rest of it practising and experimenting.

During that time, he also developed in the mind. His previous innocence was slowly turning into experience, at least in some places, and he shed his babyish nirvana of thoughtlessness. Now he began to think about things. The dormant knowledge of speech awoke, though he would not be able to actually use it unless he met another dragon to practise it on. But he remembered the words his mother had so desperately whispered to him while he lay inside the egg, and in thinking about them he figured out the meanings behind the sounds. He remembered the violence that had heralded the night of his birth.

That was when he first learnt how to be afraid.

One word in particular stuck in his memory, and that was the name Surya had given him. He tried to speak it to himself, though at first the sounds wouldn't form properly and sounded wrong and clumsy. But he kept at it. Flying had taught him to persist.

'Ravana,' the name sounded good to him, and he said it again and again. 'Ravana, Ravana.' He tried other words, too, though they were meaningless to him. 'Fate. Must. Shall. Try. Ravana.' That was better, Ravana. A special word. He remembered it, stowing it away in his memory against the day when it might have a use.

He learnt about danger, too.

One night, while he slept in the shelter of a bush, he was awoken by a strange sound. He opened his eyes and listened to it. It was a sniffling, breathing, wet sound. He recognised it as the sound he himself made when he was scenting something. Did that mean that something was scenting him? He raised his head, somewhat incautiously, and saw… eyes. Dark yellow eyes. They weren't dragonish, as his own were in the shiny surface of the river. These were round and smaller, and predatory. Ravana pulled away from the eyes, instinctively baring his small fangs. He heard another sound, much more unfamiliar. It was a harsh, threatening sound. He realised that he was making it. The eyes turned and were gone. In the light of a new dawn, he could just see the sly, shaggy shape of a black wolf slinking away into the trees.

After that, he slept on a tree branch.

There were other predators around, though Ravana quickly grew too big for most of them to cope with. At the same time, he learnt that his claws and teeth could be used for other things than climbing and eating. A stray horse wandered into his valley one day, and showed considerable courage when he approached it. The animal reared threateningly, ready to kick if he got too close to it. At first he was merely curious, but when he went within range of the horse's hooves he took a painful blow to the forehead. He backed off, shaking his head and growling, and the horse took its opportunity to turn and flee. But Ravana's anger had been roused, and he went in pursuit. The horse was faster than he was, but Ravana opened his wings without thinking and took to the air. From there he could easily follow the horse, and it suddenly occurred to him that since it was alive it was probably edible. He swooped at the running creature. His long black claws sank deeply into its haunch and back. The horse screamed and tried to break free, but the young dragon was heavy and did not let go. Once again acting on instinct, Ravana took the horse's neck in his jaws and bit down hard. The horse went down, kicking frantically, but its fight was over almost before it had begun. Ravana held on grimly, and felt it go limp under him. It was the first real kill he had ever made, and it made his blood run hot and his heart pound in his ears. Growling under his breath, he began to tear savagely at the horse's flesh. It tasted good, better than anything he had ever tasted before. The thrill of the hunt and the fight had given an edge to his hunger that had never been there when he had fished for his food. That was when his hunter's instinct truly awoke.

With it came a new restlessness, a desire to be gone. It was puzzling in a way, since he'd never considered the idea of leaving his home before. But now the urge to explore was there, and with it was something even more strange: the urge to find other dragons. In short, Ravana was lonely. He was on the verge of adulthood, but had never spoken to another dragon in his life.

'Ravana,' he muttered. It was still his only word.

He stayed where he was for a little longer, though. The horse kept him fed for a week or so, and since there was so much of it he could afford to leave some fragments of hide and offal behind. By the time he was done with the carcass, his itch to leave had grown stronger, and he was ready to scratch it.

He took to the air once more, fanning his wings in the light breeze that blew over the valley, and surveyed the landscape. His valley followed the river off into the distance, but outside it there were rough mountains, stretching far off toward the horizon. They called to him more strongly than the valley did, and so he set out toward them, flying with easy, powerful strokes of his wings. Little did he know what awaited him. If he had known, he would probably never have set forth at all.

Ravana flew for several hours without seeing anybody, dragon or otherwise. The mountains below him did not change, but his valley disappeared into a mass of grey, unwelcoming stone. He'd never flown so far before, and worried that he would somehow forget how to do it or that his wings would fall off if he used them too long. But they beat steadily and didn't falter, and in time he began to marvel at their strength and how flexible they were. He tried flying higher, wanting to see how high he could go. The clouds, once a roof over his head, now became a new backdrop to fly against. They didn't resist his entry as he'd thought they would, but let him in as easily as if they were water. They felt cool and misty against his wing membranes, and when he tried biting at them they tasted just like water. But it was cold up there, too, and after frolicking amongst them for a while he found he was chilled and his muscles were stiff and sore. So he descended once more, and enjoyed the play of the sun on his back. He looked down and was astonished. The mountains were ending. Beyond them there were plains and lush forests, and a landscape unlike any he had ever seen.

But it was more than that, so much more. Dragons! Dozens of them! They were flying below him, all massive, powerful creatures. Most strangely, none of them were black like himself. Instead they were all different colours; red, green, blue, yellow, brown… they were like a shifting, shimmering rainbow of colours. Ravana was enthralled. They were so beautiful! And though they were not black, they were dragons. It was odd; he'd always thought dragons were all black. But still…

He hovered overhead, wondering what they were doing. They seemed to be in a state of violent motion, weaving about and never staying still. Sometimes they would dive toward the ground. Ravana cooed in wonder. Perhaps they were dancing! It was such a beautiful dance, with their bright, butterfly colours gleaming in the sunlight. He wanted to join in, and thoughtlessly descended from the clouds, wide-eyed and excited.

At first the other dragons didn't pay any attention to him, but one happened to fly to the same level as him, and glanced in his direction. The other dragon was a green male about his age, and his yellow eyes widened at the sight of Ravana. Ravana smiled at him, trying to be friendly. The green dragon stared silently at him.

What the green dragon saw was something out of a nightmare. A huge dragon, black as night, with utterly evil golden eyes. Even his claws were black. Two fangs protruded, not from his upper jaw, as with other dragons, but from his lower jaw. The white fangs were sharp and stood out against the black face. Long spikes framed the black dragon's face like a crown, wickedly sharp and barbed. The expression was hard to read, but dominated by those cruel, cold eyes.

The green dragon roared aloud in fright, wheeling away from his vision of evil as fast as he could go. Others were alerted by the sound and the motion, and looked around. They saw Ravana, hovering uncertainly just over their heads. Some also showed fear and fled away, but others were angry. One enormous blue dragon bellowed; 'The black dragon! Brothers, to me!'

Two others, equally massive, came to his sides, and the three of them attacked Ravana. He watched them, uncomprehending. Why did they look so angry? Was there something terrible behind him? He turned to look, but there was nothing there. Still he didn't flee, not realising they were intent on killing him. Then the big blue dragon reached him, and lashed out with one huge forepaw. The claws scored deeply over Ravana's face, which burst into pain. He screamed, trying to protect himself with his foreclaws, but almost at once blood was everywhere. It flowed into his eyes, blinding him. Panicked, he did the only thing he could think of: he dived. The three big dragons struck again and again, covering his back and haunches with scratches. One of them snapped its jaws at him, catching the black dragon's tailtip and crushing it. Ravana fell, turning over in the sky, blood dripping from a dozen wounds. Then the blue dragon blasted him with fire. It shrivelled the scales on Ravana's hindquarters, but by good luck the youngster was too far away by this time to catch the full force of it. If he had, he probably would not have survived. He opened his eyes, blinking away the bloody tears, and found he was plummeting head-first toward the ground. There were… creatures there. He had never seen their like before. They were pale, almost white, and stood on two legs. Some were sitting on horses, like the one he had killed. They were tiny, almost ridiculously so…

One of them shouted some word, and there was more fire blasting at him. With it came dozens of little stings all over his face and neck. Ravana didn't think. Maddened by pain and fear, he opened his mouth and felt… heat. A plume of pitch-black fire came out of his mouth, burning away the little creatures on the ground. He heard them screaming, and felt a pang of dark joy in his heart. Then, metres from the ground, he spread his wings and flew. The other dragons chased him, all fangs and claws and blazing eyes, and he flew away as fast as he could go. He didn't know where he was going. He could hardly see. His injuries threatened to overwhelm him, and his mind was a mass of confusion. But from the confusion came one thing, one pure, clear thing. It wasn't a thought, but something much simpler and more primal. If it could have been a word, it would have been: fly. So he flew. He forgot everything else. He climbed for height, beating his wings as he had never beaten them before. Then the clouds enveloped him in their blessed cool and calm, and he left the raging and the roaring behind. He didn't stop, though. He flew on, hidden amongst the clouds. It had become very windy… why was it so dark?

Lightning flashed, unbearably bright. Thunder crashed in answer. And then there was only dark, and storm.

At the edge of the Spine, the assembled dragons forgot their fight with the Elves. They also forgot their intent to kill the black dragon. The vile thing had been easily visible amongst the whiteness of the clouds, and the blue dragon king and his brothers had been within inches of catching him and striking him down once and for all. But then the blackness of the black dragon had spread outward into the clouds, the day had darkened, and in seconds a storm had gathered. It was unnatural. The dragons panicked. The black dragon had summoned a storm to protect himself and to punish them for attempting to kill him. It was power unlike any they had seen before. The Elves, too, were frightened. They had their own legends of a black dragon, and they were as black as the dragon itself. They too abandoned their fight, and fled on their white horses. Seeing this, the dragons felt no joy, only fear. They hated the Elves, to be sure, but they knew of the pale race's courage. Anything that could make them run away like this was truly something to be frightened of. So they gathered their dead and returned to their homes, heavy-hearted and much afraid.

How Ravana made it back to his home he never knew. But he rediscovered his valley, and his heart gladdened at the sight of it. He tried to land by the river, but it was more of a collapse. His painful legs gave way as soon as he tried to land on them, and he fell onto his stomach, panting and groaning. His back ached horrendously, his face was stiff and bloody, and his eyes would only open half-way. Luckily his wings and legs were sound, but the end of his tail was sheer agony. He curled it around with difficulty in order to have a look at it. His wavering vision showed a mangled mess of black skin, red flesh and white bone. The end of his tail was utterly ruined and extremely painful, but it was his heart that hurt the most. He wondered why; he didn't remember having been hit there, and when he checked there was no visible wound. Yet still it throbbed and ached, as if he were being stabbed there with a claw.

Thunder sounded overhead once more. It began to rain.

Ravana watched it expressionlessly, feeling the water beating on his face, washing away the blood. It cleaned his eyelids and allowed them to open fully, and he stood still, letting the rain wash him. Its cool caress made him feel better. At length, though, he grew too tired to stay there. He walked stiffly up through the trees to the cliff-face. There he found a rocky overhang, and curled up beneath it. He lay, too exhausted and afraid even to sleep. He tried closing his eyes and breathing slowly, but, try as he might, sleep would not come and keep him safe, if only for a few hours, from the newly dangerous world around him. So he just lay there, feeling his painful body, and allowed his mind to relive the horrors of the day. He remembered the beauty of the other dragons, the bright promise of morning. And he remembered the joyful flight of discovery through the mountains, and how he had discovered the clouds. Then he remembered other things. The fear of the green dragon. The anger of the giant blue monster that had hurt his face. How the other dragons had closed in like a huge claw, intent on destroying him. The little creatures on the ground, and their strange ability to summon fire. The black flame that he had somehow breathed on them, and how it had made them scream as he himself had screamed. The memory pleased him, for some reason. Was he glad to have hurt them? Yes, he was. He found himself wishing that he had done the same to the other dragons.

But he was frightened and bewildered, too. Why had they attacked him? Had he done something to upset them? But if so, why had some shown fear? It never occurred to him that he might look scary. He was only young and weak, after all, and they were much bigger than him.

Ravana lay and brooded for a long time, not even noticing the continuing storm. In time, as night closed in on him, he found he had discovered a new emotion. Hatred.