Contact – Suspense At Fifty Feet


Written June 11th, 2020 – June 23rd, 2020.

Published June 28th, 2020.

A/N:

So when I said that I was going to quit publishing 'n stuff in the first week of July, I didn't mean I would do it this month! Thankfully I'm still here for the regular bi-monthly Sunday publish, which I hope you guys enjoy. And if you feel starved for content, you can check out my profile. I've got seven other stories there currently, which I hope you enjoy. There is also a poll up where you can vote for which of my stories you like best.

To AppleTheAllwing, yes, I have plans for Peril, but no, she isn't coming into it just yet. You'll see. I suggest you make an FFN account so I can talk with you over PM, or join my Discord (the link to my server is in the first chapter's notes).

I've been blabbing too much. On to the story.


June 5th, 5,015: Somewhere in the Skywing Kingdom.

If yesterday was filled with bad, today was depositing the worse. It kept raining all that morning, hot droplets splattering on their scales and granting neither comfort nor relief; only strength-sapping wet.

"Is there water in the tinderbox?" asked Byrd, addressing not Chervil but a soldier who was behind him. "Chervil is fire-starter now, see. Pass it down."

"Yes sir."

Slogging along at a slow pace, there was little need for a flame just yet, but it would be good to know if they could make one when they stopped for supper, before it was so dark the light would twinkle for miles and give away their position.

There was always a delay while the dragons of third company relayed the word and Chervil worked and found the answer. Presently a muttering came up the column.

"There's no wet in the tinder, but Chervil thinks the forest is so soaked we won't be able to start anything anyway."

He should've expected that.

"Never the easy way, always the hard way," he said, under his breath, but the dragons in his company nodded when they heard it. There was a slogan in that. Certainly Stinger must've felt so; his dragons were bedraggled and even more sorry than Byrd's were, with no one in a worse position than they were, which was sure to cheer them up (so Byrd sarcastically figured). The whole group was plodding along to the east of them, in the same valley, reduced to third company's strength and less morale. The whole dratted affair was taking on the feel of a boondoggle.

Byrd was in the habit of checking his pouch every so often, to see what was in it and figure how much the rest of his dragons had; he was low on ration bars again, not terribly low but more than he would've liked: what little he had fit in the bottom third of the pouch, and that was no food for someone of his height and his strength. Still, they had supplies brought along – pilfered, there was no other word for it, pilfered – from Smolderfax, and that was enough to last them for a day or two more.

He was guiding them along with his compass for direction and astrolabe for latitude, and instructing them to use the instruments so they knew how, but there was some who were tagging along and never looking down to check which way they were going; not because they were disobeying orders, but because they had no compass.

When he grew exasperated of this he wheeled about and asked them, 'why are you losing your compasses?'

"There were two lost in the river," they said, "but in yesterday's spat we lost another one; cracked at the pivot, and perfectly useless."

So he could not fault them for that: lives took precedent over equipment, but the equipment was still valuable, for Hivewings had no direction-sense in this strange land, or if their hearts said one thing reality told them another, and they were left with only an incipient idea of where they were.

In time they flew to a fork in the valleys; they could turn left, and go almost directly west, or turn right and go straight north, along the coast and into the zone of the other companies driving forwards into the new land. The view from the bluff must be commanding; there were soot lookouts up there most likely – and there was the third option; they could go forward on their course; take their supper on the hill and then move on, if the soots had not yet seen them.

"The days have been filled with action since we got here," said Byrd, while his eyes were scything left to right, left to right.

"What do you think?" he asked Monarda. "West leads deeper into the country, but there's a palace I saw up north, and -" he raised his spyglass to ensure it was something real and not an artifact of the imagination brought about by the rain "a glimmer of water."

"North, to scout," said Monarda, not bothering (for the moment) to explain her reasoning. Byrd raised and lowered his head, seeking different angles.

"Over the hill then," he said. "Our current course seems the best. Fill your canteens in the stream here! We won't be getting much water in the highlands!"

These last sentences were directed to the body of the company. Soon there were Hivewings dipping canisters in the running blue stream, dappled by the small ripples of the rain droplets hitting the water with quiet sploops that mobbed together and became a racket. Then they scaled the ridge and set to eating a quick supper, with the sullen faces of second company nibbling at the edges of their provender a few dozen yards away.

"Sir!" It was Bolt. "I've got something; some tracks."

"Wandering off again?" said Byrd, but he stood up nevertheless, and wound a path through the birches to see what Bolt was talking about, striped bark sloughing on his shoulders as he went. There was an irregular outcropping of rock on the western side of the cliff, hard-faced and white and dirty-white and speckled with black and connected patches of reddish feldspar, and soaked with water in small hollows, pooling in clear puddles which looked refreshing to drink. But that was not what Bolt meant. Instead he pointed to four-taloned prints in the mud with his forearm while he clung to a tree. It was only now that he was close that Byrd smelled it; the wind had been blowing eastward, and though he could've been within fifty yards of this he never would've scented it.

"No Hivewing made those," he said. "Soots."

"They can't be more than a few hours old, or they would've been washed out by the rain," said Byrd. "How'd you find this?"

"I saw the rocks and I was curious about the view, and then I was curious about whether anyone else had used the view, so I checked it out and there the tracks were."

Bolt's inquisitive personality paid off once again.

"Excuse me a moment," said Byrd. He trotted back the way he'd come until he could see the backs of the dragons of third, relishing their meal, for they knew another would not come for a long while, and then drew closer, and closer, and was remarked at last about fifteen yards before he came into the ring.

"Post a better guard when you're having meals," he said, again disappointed. "You can't forget the sentries, even if it is good to have food in your belly."

Belatedly dragons got up and stood lookout each way.

"That's a warning to you," said Byrd. Seeing that they were almost done, he added, "Follow me, quietly and carefully."

They stuffed the rest of their rations in their mouths and got up one-by-one, each not wanting to seem lazy to his fellows but also wanting to enjoy a second more of sweet rest, and, folding the lookouts away from their post, came along with him to where Bolt was – or should've been. The soot tracks were there, and Byrd's prints came up, muddled about beside them, and then went back, but there was no Bolt or trace of Bolt. Byrd stood for a moment, puzzled.

"He must have followed the tracks," he said under his breath, and led the whole troop along with him. So they went, with the soldiers sending stones skipping down the sheer cliff and stepping on sticks which cracked loudly and breaking brush branches with much snapping of the boughs and much hissing of leaves being displaced by conspicuous orange-striped bodies. At any rate, Bolt's scent was coating the trees all along the path; he was a smaller dragon than the others, and better fitted to that sort of thing, though the trunks were bent sideways where he'd passed and the roots were protruding from the wet ground like grass shoots. Byrd slapped mud all over himself as if he were bathing in water, and the others did this a little, but it was a decidedly conspicuous party which crept through the woods that dreary, itchy afternoon.

Ahead they saw bits of orange moving in the trees, and ducking and weaving beneath the canopy, furtive, as if not wishing to be seen. Third company raised their weapons and stilled themselves, and prepared for battle, then lowered them. Byrd would've been feeling rather silly too, if he had not at first recognized the flitting manner as Bolt's, and waved off his dragons at the last moment before they might have skewered a friendly.

"Report," said Byrd, whispering. "Quietly now; the woods have ears."

Bolt dropped to the ground and there was a splattering of mud; indeed, the dragon was coated in it up to his hocks.

"A gaggle of soots up ahead, twenty or so – three-twenty on your compass, if you point the needle north. They looked confused, didn't spot me."

"They might not know where we are," said Byrd. "Press on; half of you camouflaged and half of you badly camouflaged."

So far they had not seen any large enemy groups, and this, combined with the element of surprise, foisted a queer irreverence of the enemy on Byrd. There was one group of them which he truly respected, but most of them were dead now, and the dragons they were currently fighting were – competent, but not good enough to stop him in his tracks. So he thought.

At any rate, they were drawing near the spot Bolt had told them of now, and if they had not had him they had their noses and their eyes, for the spoor of scent led straight and true, and the trail was hot.

Now and then a dragon would hop on three legs, scratching, but the noise was more subdued now, and no one dared breathe a word: the mission was of such portent nobody wanted to spoil it. They were going along the side of the ridge, where droplets joined and made trickles, and trickles came together in fans and formed temporary brooks, and the brooks flowed down well-worn ravines they all had to cross unobtrusively, two dragons at a time, for more than forty of them.

And where was second company? Creeping around the sides? Going their own way? Sitting pretty? Probably nursing casualties. But bad communication on Byrd's part meant thirty able dragons who might've been able to provide backup were unaware of the imminent action. That was squarely his fault.

Now he saw russet scales through the leaf canopy, heard faint muttering waft to his ears and knew they were close to the enemy camp.

Unlike Stinger, the enemy posted forward sentries, and now there was a rustling in the woods, much quieter than third company's, but audible. They kept moving, quicker now, and with their heads farther up, trading vision for stealth. Still the brown trunks obscured any movement beyond a few hundred yards: a tactical nightmare but for the ridge being only a few hundred yards wide. So that helped.

A rush of wings filled the air with sudden fluttering, and third company paused, waiting, listening, until it had quieted, and then picked up the pace again, faster now. They burst into a meadow and found some hastily abandoned leaf-beds where soots had lain by the scent of it, but nothing else. The enemy had packed up his paraphernalia and was gone.

"Looks like they cut and run, sir," said a soldier. "No worries."

"Get some flank lookouts, and someone above the canopy, and hold weapons at the ready," he said.

'Somebody' meant him, it turned out; he had the only spyglass in the company and he was almost the only dragon who knew how to use it. He hovered with the wet tree boughs tickling his claws, and again swept the horizon with his detailed gaze. But the enemies had disappeared into the dark trees, and with their superior speed could come back at their leisure while third company beat the bushes, if they would. But it was getting too late to do so, and that would waste energy. Byrd reckoned on them coming to him.

"They'll come back," he shouted down from the canopy. "Run the swiftest of you to bring second company up here, and we'll make camp in this spot."

"Yes sir."

Wearisome travel; a drink, a supper, a hunt, some creeping, a rush and more creeping, and at the end of it disappointment that there'd been no combat and relief that none of his dragons had died. He felt he'd learned something, even if it was impossible to know exactly what. There was a jumble in his head, a puzzle to be solved. He hadn't sensed it until recently. He didn't know how large it was, or even if he had all the pieces. Once they clicked, something would changed, but for now, July fifth was coming to an end, and Byrd was letting it go.

Stinger wasn't. Second company muttered despondently amongst themselves long into the night, and ever anon they would cast glances at their brethren encamped on the rocks. Glances they aimed mostly at him.

Nobody asked for a tune.


July 9th, 5,015: the Icewing Palace.

"The Ring of Benighted Nobles has sent a petition asking you to repeal the temporary rebuilding powers, ma'am," said her cousin, Hailstorm.

Queen Snowfall took the scroll into her silvery talons and clipped it to the reading desk: a Sandwing innovation Blaze still occasionally used, when she paid visits to the Kingdom. It was Snowfall's to use now, and in her opinion it ought to stay that way. The black, engraved metal and finished wooden stand contrasted sharply with the angular geometries of the gleaming royal chamber orthe frosted, snowflake-etched windows looking out on the foggy polar sea. The ocean roiled with whitecaps and the horizon was rough with icebergs and choppy waves which surged suddenly from the troughs and vanished as quickly as they came, to begin again cyclically.

Unnaturally frigid mist coiled from her jaws: breath colder than the ice it was breathed on, and she tipped her heavy crown back on her head. It was an ornament once too heavy for her, now the perfect size.

It also scared away every suitor who was more interested in her as a dragoness than in the power in the ornament.

"What next?" she asked. "They'll be asking to travel out of the realm without obtaining a mandate, approving projects without royal oversight."

Hailstorm gave her an affixed, blue-eyed glance that told her everything and nothing about what he was thinking.

"You are an odd dragon sometimes," she said, and Hailstorm swished his tail.

"How will you react?" he asked.

Ah, changing the subject.

"I reject it."

"You could stand down the army as a measure of good spirit. They've been asking for that."

"Olethavies," she said. "It is the Queen's will. Besides, if they were to achieve their agenda, they would be out of my control."

Hailstorm bit his lip, which was most unbecoming of a member of the royal family. Then he nodded.

"That they're allowed to ask questions is a sign of the times."

He did not indicate whether he believed this to be good or bad.

"The whole world, out of touch with the monarchy. My mother lost the trust of the lower-ranked and the peasantry." she said.

"It doesn't help that Glacier died off instead of you killing her. For what end do you need their trust, though?" asked Hailstorm. "You are the Queen, you already have plenty."

Snowfall flexed her talons.

"There was so much out of my control when I was a dragonet, out of Glacier's control, and look how it turned out for her. If they're not bound to my word, something bad will happen, I know it."

"It's not the feeling of power?" asked Hailstorm.

Snowfall paused.

Hailstorm pressed on.

"It's alright to let the people have some autonomy. They need it. It's not healthy to be power-hungry. I'm looking out for you."

"That's what a disingenuous dragon would say," said Snowfall.

"Don't be paranoid," said Hailstorm. "There was a Queen who was paranoid, power-hungry and self-centered, and she was Scarlet."

"We're not talking about Scarlet," said Snowfall. "Either you look over this petition with me, or you leave."

Hailstorm exhaled a heavy breath through his nostrils.

"I'll stay."

"Good."

The two cousins waded through a moment of tense silence, Snowfall unwinding the leaves of the scroll and Hailstorm looking at it, though his gaze skimmed the writing. He tapped his claws.

"There was another thing."

"Get on with it," said Snowfall, her eyes glued to the parchment.

"The Skywings are asking for military aid."

Snowfall bit her lip, then stopped when she realized she was doing it.

"They are?"

"Their messenger didn't put it that way, but yes."

"Oh, the high-and-mighty Skywings want our help," said Snowfall. "Humiliating."

A low chuckle grew in Hailstorm's throat.

"Will you make pomp over it?"

"No, I won't," said Snowfall. "I won't help them at all."

"And miss a chance to lord it over our ancient rivals?"

At long last Snowfall looked up from the scroll, into his eyes with her blue irises, with her crown halfway slipped down her horns.

"Tsk, tsk. Why render them aid? It might turn out to be bad, and we could be dragged into another war. On the other talon, it might be nothing, and we'd be giving another tribe our resources. I'm afraid we'll have to let them beg."

Hailstorm thought for a moment.

"It could be bad… the Skywings have never asked for help before."

"Their martial culture is too proud," said Snowfall. She rolled up the scroll and slid it onto the reading stand, done with it already. "But it's not my problem. I want you hunting with me tomorrow morning. I'm going for bear. Any talk of Skywings is strictly forbidden."

"Alright," said Hailstorm, still oscillating his head as he worked the problem back and forth in his mind. "I do say – I do say. It's funny of them to ask."

"I said -"

"Yes ma'am."

She turned away from him and studied the frosty windows and icy cliffs beyond. It was his cue to go, and his talons clicked as his tail swept the glittering floor behind him and he slipped between the walls of the ornate arch leading into the royal chamber. Built for Glacier, it was larger-than-life: two dragons his size could easily walk abreast inside.

No wonder the crown didn't fit Snowfall too well.

A pang of hurt ate at his heart, and he stopped. Winter; Winter was the one who always accompanied him when they passed the gate. The halls of the palace were empty without his brother, as difficult as the younger prince could be. Winter was off with that scavenger sanctuary somewhere, with all sorts of foolishness. The dragon had better be alright – but then, Winter was the one who'd come and saved his tail, so perhaps he didn't have much to worry about.

Hailstorm treaded the corridors and jumped a dozen yards off an ice ledge, slowing his fall with his wings before he hit the floor below, which his talons dug into with a thunk and a scratching from the ridges on his claws catching and preventing a painful spread-eagle. A few paintings lined the walls; twice their number in bulls', boars' and bears' heads were mounted on metal hooks, the trappings of Icewing conquest. From a girdle he removed a keyring and spun them in his talon, brittle metal clinking in the sub-zero temperatures, inserted one into a lock and turned.

It didn't budge.

He was always fooled by the silver key.

This time the door swung open with a rasp and he stepped inside. Technically there was another entrance to this chamber – but that was guarded by armed sentries and was rather inconspicuous anyway, being chiseled into the side of the cliff as it was. The Skywing inside didn't know there was a second way out, but she didn't know the door was locked, either.

"Hello hello Avalanche," said Hailstorm. The courier was big and red and could snap his neck if he let his guard down, but she wouldn't try, not while there was peace in Pyrrhia still. "You get to go home."

His nonchalant manner conflicted with the earnest way she bored her eyes into the wall, the stone one over the fireplace, one of the few in the palace, for guests. Few ever came. The blaze crackled and spit sparks; warm for Hailstorm, uncomfortably cold for her.

Avalanche rose to her talons, gave him the thousand-yard stare. Hailstorm knew that look.

Battle fatigue.

"I'll escort you through the Kingdom," he said. "Here's the bracelet for the Ice Cliff – there are sentries on top of it who'll remove it from you after you cross."

He tossed it and she caught the thing with the same sound grain made when it hit the bottom of a metal container; a rattle. She shrugged.

"All the same to - tome. And my message?"

His voice cracked and mist poured from her jaws when he uttered the words.

"Snowfall will not render aid."

She sighed.

"She is sure?"

"Yes. You coming?"

Hailstorm went out the door again and she followed, stopping every few seconds for the shivering spasms brought on by the cold. In this halting manner they gained one of the towers, and then took off south, wings plying the air currents at the lower altitudes where the air was slightly warmer and the rocky terrain offered some protection from the wind. He ought to be back at the palace by tomorrow morning.

This was too long of a trip to accomplish in one day, or even two.

But he was pushing the boundaries here, seeing what Snowfall would stand for. As the miles slid by he noticed things. Avalanche was an older dragon; old enough to be his mother… she was someone's mother, to one of those backup Talons of Peace dragonets.

Remarkable.

Night was looming on the eastern horizon; arctic night, the sort of thing Icewings relied on the glow globes for. Too much. His night vision (he knew from experience) was awful. He ought to be going back. And he would. He had not the urgency behind him which drove dragons ever onward, past the conventional limits of endurance.

"I've got to return to the palace," he said, when they reached a small alcove, perhaps a third of the way there. Perhaps it was a dumb idea to let a Skywing have the bracelet – but there was no possible way for her to skirt the Ice Cliff in her state, or make it over without the sentries noticing and taking it off her.

So he thought.

"You will not reconsider?" asked Avalanche.

"It's – it's too farfetched. A new tribe invading the Seawing kingdom and the Skywings barely holding on, and the Mudwings being beaten back – it sounds fantastic," he said. But his heart was leaning in a different direction.

"Maybe that's because it's true."

He spread his wings. "With all due respect… no."

"When they get here, you will understand. There will be more requests on your kingdom in the days to come."

It was not so bad dealing with dragons like Avalanche as it was tiptoeing around Snowfall's annoyance when they came. He bowed and took off, leaving the Skywing a lonely dot on the darkening landscape of the tundra.

The tale could be right. There could be a war going on three or four thousand miles away, far beyond his reach. But it also wasn't going to affect him – probably. At any rate, he'd have to hurry if he wanted to make it back in time to catch five minutes of shuteye.


July 9th, 5,015: Somewhere in the Rainwing Kingdom.

'No sleep for the restless' the sign might've advertised. 'Bravery takes commitment', it might've said on the other side, in wartime, during the beginning of the war when enlisting was still a choice and not something forced onto dragons by the military. Instead, on the quiet and unobtrusive poster tied to the jungle tree was painted (in small letters) 'Learn Self Defense' and 'Protect Your Loved Ones from Thieves at Large'. But the reasons for its existence were far from innocent, and so was the battle over its right to remain.

"Moons," said Fatespeaker, between bites of a mango. She was looking up at the metal placard withtongue-in-cheek, next to a bright, colorful and grown-up Kinkajou. The Nightwing closed her eyes. "I prediiiiiict… another war."

"Just because we'll have an army doesn't mean there'll be a war," said Kinkajou. "Maybe it'll be like a reserve, where they talk about tactics and strategy like lounge generals and play nine-pins. That's what this seems like to me."

"You're too young to know stuff," said Fatespeaker. She took another bite, chewed, and spat out the pit. It whished into the dark forest below, till there was a crunch and a rustling. Then the Nightwing swallowed. "Nobody wants another army."

A pause.

"I know bad things happen, but I want to see the best in the world," said Kinkajou, her scales shifting away from the raspberry-lemon color they usually were and towards a somber purple.

"You never will, if Glory stays in power," said a voice from behind them. A sickly sweet scent filled the air, and wafting beneath it the earthy smell of decaying leaves. Kinkajou put a claw to her nose bridge, partially because of the odor, partially because this was one of the few dragons who made her genuinely annoyed.

Fruit Bat.

"How nice to see you," said Fatespeaker. Either her nose didn't work or she was the shining icon of self-control. "I propheesssy…"

"A prophecy about me? I'd love to hear it, but I'm too busy educating you two."

Kinkajou nodded along.

"A little birdie told me Glory has an inkling to get involved in another war."

"No, never," said Fatespeaker, at the same time Kinkajou said 'That would be like Glory' in an admiring voice.

"It would be positively horrid," said Fruit Bat. "Death and destruction and not enough sun time."

And Fatespeaker chuckled.

"Who is it she's going to fight?" asked Kinkajou. "And why didn't she tell me?"

"I don't know the answer to either of your questions," said Fruit Bat. "I didn't bother to know. But I'm going to bring it up before all the Rainwings and Nightwings in this forest – I'll be in the right and she'll be in the wrong, and once she's gone you'll all love me again."

"Ahuh," said Kinkajou.

"What, you think I'm lying?"

"And why shouldn't I?"

"Because I'm right this time. And that sign is evidence to prove it."

A nearby dragonet yawned and a fly went into his mouth. He ran off to find a stream and wash out the bug guts – but his parents stayed and watched.

Instituting an actual parenting system had been a good thing.

"Even if Glory does want a war, I'm sure she's in the right," said Kinkajou.

"We'll see who has the moral high ground, in the end," said Fruit Bat. She spun about and disappeared into the forest.

"That is a good question, didn't Glory tell you? I thought you were friends?" asked Fatespeaker.

"Hush," said Kinkajou. "I bet that old Queen is just trying to rile me up by inventing things."

But the seed of doubt had been planted in her mind.

"Do you think she's popular enough to pull it off?" asked Fatespeaker. "I mean, everybody here knows she lied during the queen contest."

"Yeah," said Kinkajou. "Who would believe her?"

"Somebody very forgetful indeed."

"Do you think it might be a good idea to ask Glory, just in case?"

"If you get around to it."

They chuckled and flew off, leaving behind a wooden placard and an invitation to join the Rainwing Self-Defense Corps.

Abruptly the old new order of the rainforest was being stamped out by the new one; the system, whether Fatespeaker saw this or not, was about to change. The young Nightwing often did have dreams, dreams which came true half the time. But she didn't spout off prophecies like Moonwatcher did, or read people's minds the way Moon was mystically able to, and so believed she didn't possess the the smidgeon of ability within which had been locked up like money in a deposit box; perfectly useless to anybody. Society went on, slowly reshaping into a new form, so subtly its inhabitants hardly noticed until the changes presented themselves at once, and left the elder generation feeling cut off from the younger.

The shadow of an invisible Rainwing playing tag darted between the dappled shade caused by the leaves. Fatespeaker noticed it go, and wondered who the dragon was who made it. That was the great secret – the thing Rainwings never mentioned to anybody, though it was discernible to the thinking Nightwing – a Rainwing could not become transparent.

Kinkajou dived off the platform suddenly, yellow scales and pink spots vanishing to the eye when she cut through a sunlit flower meadow. Fatespeaker followed more clumsily than the Rainwing, ducking trees and bulling a path through the rainforest such that a shower of twigs rattled the ground behind her. They were going away from the center of the village, away from the throne. If Kinkajou was trying to find Glory she was taking the long way about it.

But no – they burst through a canopy of vines and into a small, brown hut without a roof, with slugs crawling about on the woven fibers which made up the floor, and the ropes which hung the structure from the towering branches of a nearby tree. There was a scent in here, of Rainwing, not Kinkajou's, but fresh; of a dragon recently departed or lingering close by.

There was a shadow in the center of this place, sitting dragon-shaped seemingly without a body to cast it, with its neck-fans fluttering. That was why Fatespeaker had seen it. Kinkajou hopped nearer and poked the air, and suddenly her talon was batted away and Glory appeared mid-stroke.

"Glad to see you," she said, and Kinkajou sat thoughtfully while Fatespeaker and Glory shook talons. "I haven't seen you in a while, and I didn't expect you to be in the rainforest," she said of Fatespeaker.

"I came here just recently, and I thought you were gone, so I didn't come see you till now," said the Nightwing.

"I was in the Skywing kingdom a few days ago, went up without much fanfare and came back with considerably more, if I'm reading the look on Kinkajou's snout."

Kinkajou nodded. "Is it true you're going to start a war and there's going to be death and destruction and frightful things? I know you'd be in the right if you did but are you?"

"And where did you learn that?" asked Glory.

"Fruit Bat. She said a little birdie told her."

Glory snorted. "Of course he would, she has him wrapped around her hind-talon," she said. "Fruit Bat is right that I want an army – it's a preparedness thing at this point, against an enemy we don't much about yet, and the sooner we get one the better for the rest of Pyrrhia. But remember what Moon said?"

"Another one of her prophecies from a few years back? That one didn't come true."

Glory sighed. "Well, it will, and it is right now."

"Then why don't you run with that?"

"Because nobody wants another war, and nobody wants another prophecy. Prophecies bring ruin."

"Do you want another war?"

Glory stood up and paced, then quit pacing and was still, for she must not have wanted to seem nervous.

"I think," she said, "that it doesn't matter if want one or don't this time. It's like when the Nightwings came – we didn't start if dragons were dying and you could do something to save them?"

The answer was prompt.

"Save them," said Kinkajou. "It's the right thing to do."

"What if it would cost Rainwing lives?"

A pause.

"I'd still save them."

"What if you don't like them?"

"Does that matter?"

"No," said Glory. "Because saving them is in the right."

Fatespeaker broke in. "But from what?"

"The dragons in Moon's prophecy."

It was always 'Moon's prophecy'. Never hers. That was the way the world worked now, and had, and would. If there was latent future-casting skill within her, now would be a great time for it to come out.

"Fruit Bat doesn't want us involved. And she speaks for the rest of them in that, doesn't she? Even after four years of growing a backbone, most of us don't have it," said Kinkajou, and then; "I don't want to fight, either."

"There's an old saying. You know how it goes. When they come for us, there'll be nobody left to stand up for us."

Kinkajou took a step back, and Fatespeaker breathed heavier at her side.

"But throwing untrained Rainwings at them… that would be wrong too," said Glory. "And so now I have to wait and deal with politics and turn our people into soldiers – something I never wanted – and by the time they get there the rest of Pyrrhia might be dead."

"We could go invisible, creep around and do whatever we can."

Glory sighed. "Not while we're sleeping. Not when we haven't had enough sleep. Chameleon couldn't. He had insomnia. No excuse for what he did to you, but he did."

Pale white crept into Kinkajou's scales.

"I have Deathbringer poking around the edge of the rainforest, learning what he can, seeing if they'll come for us or ignore us."

"Good idea, knowing more," said Fatespeaker. "Where is Moon, anyway?"

"In the Sandwing kingdom, the last I heard, with Qibli and Thorn."

"Do you think she'd know?"

"I don't know what she knows. I'd give a great deal to find out."

Fatespeaker took a breath. "You might be reacting to nothing."

"There's something out there," said Glory. "Whoever is invading Pyrrhia needs to go, and it needs to be us, because Thorn, Snowfall – they'll never react until it's too late."

"And the Skywings?"

"In too bad a spot to help anyone but themselves."

Glory had set herself on a track to war, and there was no derailing her. Fatespeaker could jump on the bandwagon and be dumped when it overturned – or stay behind and miss out on the most interesting foray of her life because she lacked conviction.

"I expect Fruit Bat will be telling everyone who cares to listen tall tales, and sowing dissent," said Fatespeaker. "Should you put a stop to it?"

"I could," said Glory, "But I won't. Let time be the judge, and Fruit Bat will lose in the court."

"And shutting her up would mean you were just like her," said Kinkajou. "So I'm glad you won't."

"No, if only for that reason I won't."

"Then how to convince them?"

Glory paused. A minute passed, and Fatespeaker rapped her talons on the soft structure of the open platform, but the queen was still, under control, wearing a mask which only Deathbringer could peel away. An image flashed before her, four Rainwings and a Nightwing slipping through the jungle in single-file – the semblance of an idea, if so fleeting it disappeared before she could chase it down the rabbit hole from which it had so suddenly come. But it stuck in her brain, and -

"Watch out!"

Kinkajou pulled her talon and she came away from the edge of the platform and the danger of falling seventy feet to the ground below.

"Are you alright?" asked Glory. "You nearly toppled."

"I'm fine," said Fatespeaker, brushing off nonexistent dirt with her front talon. The motion obscured the fact that her arm was shaking. "But I had an idea."

Kinkajou looked up at her; the younger dragon was two talon-widths shorter. "What?"

"Take a couple of Rainwings outside the rainforest – under Deathbringer's supervision, of course – and show them what's going on out there."

A pause.

"You're Glory. It's hard to imagine you not taking a chance."

"I can't think of anything better," said Glory. "And I trust them enough; these are the same dragons who incapacitated half of Fatespeaker's tribe in the volcano business."

"I was hoping you wouldn't bring that up," said Fatespeaker.

"To me it seems that if I hadn't nobody would have."

"For reasons," said Kinkajou. "Nobody knows what reasons." She half-smiled. The memories still bothered her at nights.

"They're not soldiers, though," said Glory. "That's my worry, that they'll all get slaughtered because they don't know what to do."

Fatespeaker didn't know if she'd know what to do, or what there was to do when fighting other dragons except hit them over the head, then fly away fast before they woke up, hopefully getting up far enough away by the time that happened she was untraceable. If it got more serious than that, she was out of her depth.

"I have a feeling I should've listened to Deathbringer more when he was talking about defense techniques," she said. "I thought it wasn't important at the time."

"He always comes prepared," said Glory.

"And Ruby told you about all these things?"

"She didn't, but she believed Eagle when he told us," said Glory. "Considering what she is and where she came from, she did quite well."

There was an odd quality with Ruby to do with the Darkstalker affair, but Fatespeaker had never been let in on it. "What?"

"Chameleon screwed her up pretty bad."

Perhaps Glory thought that was meaningful, but to Fatespeaker it revealed nothing and raised more questions.

"Long story short, she's more than she looks. I'm surprised she's not insane."

Kinkajou blinked. "I'd forgotten that part of the adventure, the whole thing was so surreal."

"You weren't around for it much. Chameleon and being knocked out and all."

"What happened to Ruby seems like normal life these days," said Kinkajou. "Months away from you guys. I don't know you could stand it."

"Guys, what happened to Ruby?" asked Fatespeaker.

Glory wasimpassive as usual, yet Fatespeaker sensed a careful considering of words.

"She changed her persona, or it was changed, and that caused a lot of personality conflicts."

There was an itch at the back of Fatespeaker's mind, like an intuition she rarely used was trying to give her information, with little success. Vague frustration arrived on the scene, combined with the achy beginnings of a headache which would leave her unresponsive for hours.

'She changed her persona, or it was changed, and that caused a lot of personality conflicts.'

What did Chameleon have to do with all this? Scarlet was dead, but what she'd done during her lifetime surely caused massive changes in Ruby, but what Glory had said implied a reality darker than even she'd expected, and she'd grown up in hell. She shook her head. She'd already teetered at the edge of the platform once while thinking, and once more resisted the temptation to lose herself.

"I can arrange for Rainwings to go and check it out. More than five, fewer than fifteen," Glory said. "If you could interest any of your friends in the truth, Kinkajou, now would be the time. Has Fatespeaker come around?"

It was if she hadn't been mentally present for a while.

"I'm here, if that's what you mean," she said.

"It would be a good idea for you to go as well. The Nightwings trust you, don't they?"

Fatespeaker nodded. "Ever since I stopped talking seriously about visions."

"You don't feel like you have visions, do you?" asked Glory. There was a keen light in those eyes, one Fatespeaker wasn't sure she liked.

"No. Moonwatcher talked to me, and she doesn't either. I'm a perfect normal."

She laughed, and her sides vibrated. It was good to get that off her chest.

"Then quit falling off perfectly good decks, or we'll think you're hiding something," said Kinkajou. The Rainwing poked her in the black ribs. "I can't feel an animus artifact, but maybe I'm not looking hard enough."

They all chuckled.

"I'm certainly thankful you've managed to bring light to a gloomy conversation," said Glory. "I could rely on Deathbringer for all of these things, but I feel the people will trust their eyes and ears more than what they term a shady assassin."

"I imagine he's nice once you get to know him," said Kinkajou.

"Exactly," said Glory, and then her face subtly tightened and she pulled back her jaw in one of those 'wait-a-minute' looks she herself had provoked on so many other people. "Your sense of humor is getting more refined."

Kinkajou curtsied, the pink dots on her scales rippling as she moved and cast an elongated shadow in the golden light, considerably more evening-like than it'd been when she'd flown into the jungle hideaway. It was one of those evenings for laying back and enjoying life and casting an incipient glance at its layered lessons, not for strenuous talk of impinging wars and the troubled identities of queens.

Perhaps that last part would be good discussion during nine-pins, but nowhere else.

"It's getting late," said Kinkajou. "Rainwings aren't nocturnal, unlike a dragon I know about."

"What with the amount you sleep during the day I think you should be up with the moons," said Fatespeaker.

"Rainwings are active in the mornings," put in Glory. "More so than you would guess. But Kinkajou has a point. It would be a good idea for us to find dragons outside our social circles, dragons who wouldn't be accused of merely collaborating with us in a giant lie about what's going on outside the borders. Now, speaking of which, I'm wondering where Deathbringer is."

The queen tapped her talon, and Fatespeaker knew why. He always appeared right after he'd been mentioned; he was mentally incapable of doing anything other than produce drama. When he failed to appear she sighed.

"Looks like he's busier than we thought," said Fatespeaker. "Not getting into any trouble I hope?"

"He survived a continental war, multiple assassinations on others and what he tells me was a scavenger attempt on the life of his claws -" here Kinkajou choked as she tried not to laugh, "the Nightwing kingdom, and Morrowseer," said Glory. "I wouldn't worry about him too much."

Invisible as it was on her face or scales, the worry must have remained in Glory, secreted away in her heart. What the queen felt was told to few dragons, and then seldom and in hints.

"You're right. He'll be fine," said Kinkajou. She scurried up a branch and hung on the bottom of it, then blinked when she was pecked between the eyes by a territorial macaw. Even Glory had a grin on her face.

At times Fatespeaker wished it would be easier to forget life's troubles, but then she wasn't wishing anymore, because she'd already forgotten. For a moment the world was simple, reduced to the laughing Kinkajou suspended from the tree branch, the amused Glory and the fluttering squawks of the macaw steadfastly refusing to budge from its territory. Kinkajou could have snapped it up in an instant, yet she tolerated the colorful bird running about her in rushes, charging her and stopping a hair's breadth away from her nostrils, or pecking her neck with its hooked beak. Finally it decided she had been tamed and perched on her upside-down nose, preening its red wings.

Glory shook her head, still smiling, waited a minute, then brought them back to grim reality. "Too bad Fruit Bat isn't as easy to satisfy," she said. Fatespeaker realized how blessed she was, having the time to relax like she did. Glory couldn't enjoy a minute of peace without worrying. That was a trait of Glory, worrying.

"Would you like me to join you on the limb?" asked Fatespeaker, sidling up to the split in the tree where the branch formed.

"No, no, I wouldn't like to go through this fuss all over again," said Kinkajou. "Fruit Bat is pushy and she'll lie to get what she wants."

"Which is a chance to be lazy like I've been instructing our tribe not to be for four years," said Glory. "But her argument intersects with another, more valid point. People with less conviction than I will say that an invasion is the other queens' problem. Again, Fatespeaker's idea is the best one I can think of right now."

"Tomorrow?" asked Fatespeaker.

Glory nodded. "Get started finding people tonight, or the trip will get postponed. Deadlines have a habit of running away from you."

"That they do," said Fatespeaker. "When I was in the library…"

Poor Starflight, relieved of his agency just as he'd come into his own. He would've been great. Now he was a shell she'd partially succeeded to fill. He would never be the same again.

The evening was rapidly turning to night, the lively waving leaves above them as still as if they'd been carved from stone. Glory opened a wicker cabinet and took out a small device, cupped in a talon and impossible to see fully, then held it up to a basket hanging from a tree branch Fatespeaker had assumed was for food. There was a snick and sparks burst into the air, dancing like fireflies before they went out. A moment of darkness followed, and then the smooth flame of a torch bloomed from above them.

"I'm going to think here," said Glory. "You'd best get home, or everyone will be asleep."

"Or listening to the rhetoric Fruit Bat's spewing out," said Fatespeaker. "I used to think you Rainwings let her be queen because you were tired of her asking for the job. My opinion's changed, now. If she's not smart she's at least cunning."

And she needed a half hour in a dark place to herself, to help with this growing headache.

"Too cunning for her own good. There's more than one way for a cat to skin itself," said Glory, and then turned away. Kinkajou shrugged, then took off into the dark blue light, Fatespeaker not far behind.


A/N: (Yeah I know it stands for Author's Note and there's no reason for the slash, but that's old Black and I wanted to keep it).

Well, good grief; I didn't expect to get so far so fast with this. Four chapters since I restarted this dead old thing? The surprises never end. A review of this story would be excellent, and those kind of things make my day. And, if you want to be part of the (small) community you can check out my discord at hittips colon slash slash discord dot gg slash nUDjBjB

A Writer's Harbor.