Chapter 9: Freedom

Raoul read and reread over the few sections there were about Gustave Daae, the young and brilliant military strategist for the Persian armies. He had led them to victory in battles where he was outnumbered three to one, even fought in a few major wars. But he had disappeared to the West, said the text, and no trace of him or his family was left behind.

But I know why he left. He had a child to care for. There was one major piece of information in the book that left him breathless, wondering whether or not to believe it: Gustave Daae was a dragon. Not a child, then, but a hatchling.

It would make perfect sense. Daae had never married and never had a mistress. Christine's birth was shrouded in mystery. No one knew who her mother was. But Christine is- was- human! His mind protested something that went against everything he knew to be true.

He turned back to the page in the journals with the dragon illustrations, with a beautiful green creature expressing all manner of emotions. I have seen these emotions on Christine's face. Dragons are magical, yes…but it seems not in the same manner were-beasts are. They think, and feel, and know. His revelations caused him to lean back on the stool, forgetting there was no backing, as with a chair.

He tumbled to the hard floor with a crash. An assortment of thick jars and boxes went with him, some opening, and one shattering. He cursed and sat up, replacing the containers in what he though were their proper places. The one broken jar seemed out of place to him. All the others were sturdy, some wrapped in cloth. This one had thinner, clearer glass to it, the remains of which now littered the place where he sat. He sighed and began to clean up the debris.

A flash of white caught his eye. There, in the midst of a tangle of hemp cord, was a small, reflective white thing about the size of his thumbnail, bored through to be looped onto the string. It shimmered unlike any other material he had seen in the shop. What…?

The base of it was rough, not unlike a shark's tooth, but the rest was opaque and shiny. It has the feel of a pearl, but it is not pearl. The shape was familiar somehow.

He scrambled for another jar, one containing lizard scales, a supplement for stronger bones. A shard of broken glass jabbed him in the arm, and he winced, but picked up the container anyway.

The little plates inside were exactly the same shape as the white thing on the string. Raoul sat back, unable to deny the evidence luck provided him. Christine is a dragon. This is her scale. On a whim, he lifted the cord around his neck and wore the scale like a charm under his tunic. There are changing spells to make something appear as it is not.

He sat there for a few minutes, absorbing the truth. But…if Christine is a dragon, she might still be alive! His heart soared. Surely, she cannot be content as a dragon, eating food raw and sleeping in the cold! She has only known life as a human, she must wish to go back.

If she was not happy, why had she not returned? Was she ashamed of her new form, or afraid the people would attack her? No, the people had never attacked dragons. Dragons were sacred. Then why has she not returned? Wait; the Protector. He must be holding her captive. That is why we have never seen her flying above us.

I must bring her back.

…

Mara was nearly frantic when Philippe walked in the door. It had been only a day without his instruction, but the household was disorderly and raucous. Mara was the youngest one in the staff, and yet she was acting the most responsibly. Most of the maids and menservants had taken to drunken feasting.

A flask flew by and Philippe caught it midair just before it his Ciara's face. Servants sat on the stairs, furniture and floor according to their level of drunkenness, laughing and making lewd comments now and then. He could tell by a few bloodied teeth and bruised faces that a fistfight had broken out, but now was smoothed over with more alcohol.

The smell was cloying, and stung his nasal passages.

"You are all fired. Leave this place immediately. All your things must be gone by tomorrow." His voice carried and stopped the party.

"But sir-" one small voice protested.

"You have hands and functional legs, don't you?" Philippe pointed out. "It's high time I stopped sheltering all you layabouts. Go and find yourselves real, dignified jobs to do, instead of pandering to me. I can take care of myself."

The servants began shuffling out. They knew better than to complain. Ciara squeezed his hand and shot him a questioning look. "Ah…ammm…Ai…?"

"No, you are not fired unless you want to be." He smiled. The house was slowly emptying. A lifetime of hearing others talk was good preparation for learning to speak. It was shady in the house, so Philippe removed the handkerchief from her eyes. "Do you want to live here, with me?"

She nodded. As an afterthought of 'practice makes perfect,' she added, "Ee…ess."

Mara went over to Philippe and curtsied. "Master Philippe, am I to leave as well?"

He placed a hand on her shoulder. She was one who had lived with them, taken in from the streets. "No, you will not leave. You are like family to us. Beside that, you were the only one not drinking and wrecking the house in my absence."

She bobbed again, eyes shining. "Oh, thank you! And I will be Ciara's lady's maid?"

Philippe glanced at his love, then looked back at Mara. "Well, someone has to do it."

…

Christine took to the air for the twentieth time, and met the ground yet again, this time scraping her wingtips on the stony ground. It didn't hurt, but she felt herself growing tired. This is frustrating, she groaned. Erik only flicked a pebble, sending it hurling into the distance, out of sight.

I had to learn this on my own. You are fortunate to have a teacher.

I thought Nadir taught you, she said, pausing.

Nadir has no wings, he replied smoothly. He could not possibly have taught me. And fold your wings when you're not using them. Christine obeyed, easing her aching shoulders.

I hold that it would be much easier if you would do it with me. Erik did his best to ignore the possibility of what 'it' might mean. Of course she meant flight.

Mentally, perhaps. Physically, no. You will be buffeted by turbulence, and probably drop to the ground if I fly with you. His eyes narrowed at her.

She shuffled uncomfortably under his golden gaze. What is it? She flapped her wings nervously, stretching out the soreness, and gave Erik a very nice view of the graceful strength of her shoulders. He abruptly turned away.

Try again, he said.

I'm considering flight school from Nadir, she prodded. Erik hissed with distaste.

I told you, he has no wings! He cannot possibly teach you to use yours.

And you told me instinct would be my flight school! Her talons twitched with irritation. Perhaps if my instinct was to flee from danger, my flight school would be a bit more effectual.

Erik had reached the limits of his patience, and so rounded on her, snarling and snapping. She flinched, and her head lowered into submission to make her appear smaller than she already was. He found this greatly disturbing and immediately drew back.

I…apologise. I lost myself. But she was already curled in on herself, tail wrapped over her snout. Her beautiful eyes were shut tight. Christine… He nudged her, gently, and her eyes opened, one scaly lid at a time.

The rumble of a laugh escaped him. He had forgotten how terrifying he could be, true, but he had also forgotten Christine's indomitable spirit. She chided him for his moment of bad temper.

Erik! For all your fondness, you are still a great oaf when it comes to controlling your temper! And to think Nadir had to put up with you for centuries!

She uncurled, but kept her wings folded. Nadir is far more irritating than you will ever be, he retorted. My temper with him is justified.

Justified? In what way? She was chuckling too now, humming with delight.

He eats lemons!

Well, I suppose that can be a bit annoying. The humour faded, and she gazed longingly at the sky. I will try again. But you have to go with me.

He huffed, reluctant to abandon his sunning. Very well. He heaved himself up and assumed a takeoff position, weight poised to jump. Christine carefully copied his movements, a fair distance away.

He leaped up, and so did she, feeling for the first time his mind brush against hers. She would have shivered had she not been so concentrated on staying aloft. For a brief moment, she saw herself through his eyes, and felt how he was keeping her synchronised with his practiced, easy downstrokes. The ground fell away below them, but she barely noticed, entranced with the way he rose higher, and her with him.

Keep your limbs tucked tight.

She obeyed quickly, sensing the gradual severing of the connection. They were high enough now that if she fell, she would break a bone, or worse, a wing. She pushed all her questions about the mysterious bond aside and focused on keeping in time with the dance of flight.

Together, they glided out over the cliffs, eastward, towards and expanse of dry brush. Erik cut the connection completely, and she faltered.

Spread your wings, the hot air from below should keep you up. She did so, and resumed her path next to him. He was pleased to notice that she had enough instinct to keep her tail and neck straight.

The curve of her hipbones caught his eye next. They were as shapely as her shoulders. He shrugged off the distraction and focused his eyes forward.

We will go up further. Her joy was almost palpable, and he found himself wishing his own first flight had been as happy. Instead, he had been running from a pack of his own, a wingless, wolflike breed, and had been forced to cower in a tiny tunnel while they prowled about searching for him. Then, to make matters worse, he found that the reason they had not scented him was that the tunnel was the den of a very foul-smelling bear.

It had taken more than a bit of sparks and smoke to scare off the old beast.

Christine pushed against the air, up to touch the clouds. I have always wanted to touch the clouds. The atmosphere grew thinner and colder.

Now you can touch the clouds every day, if you wish, Christine. The sky is yours. He looked at him sideways. She had not realised that he heard her.

Since when do you wax poetic? I thought that was Nadir's role in your strange friendship. Erik sniffed haughtily.

I refuse to think that he has influenced me in any way.

They went on together for a few more minutes, silent. Erik could see the exhilaration in her eyes as the white wisps of vapour drew ever nearer.

They breached the layer of water easily, and for a moment Christine was blind, blinking away the clinging fluid. A third eyelid covered her eyes, and she saw white all around. She broke through the layer and hovered in place. Erik?

With a jet of flame, the black dragon burst through the clouds, pulling the mist with him. Christine almost fell out of the sky from surprise.

Come with me. His voice was mesmerising, even though she knew he had not actually vocalised. She had to follow as they dove down together, wings tucked, corkscrewing towards the ground.

The grass was rushing to meet them, the wind whistled against the corners of Christine's wings. The thrill was intoxicating. Without thinking, she curved up again into a shape instinct taught her, looping backwards. Erik trumpeted, a low bellow of sheer joy as he copied her. She shivered with pleasure to see he was enjoying this as much as she was.

Then he ended their flight suddenly, landing with a swoop that was shakier than his normal power and grace. He shuffled his wings and folded them quickly, and to her new dragon sight and intuition, he almost looked…ashamed.

Erik?

That is enough for today. You will harm yourself if you strain any further.

The rush had not quite faded from her system, and it gave her boldness. Erik, what did I do wrong?

Nothing, Christine. I simply should not have flown with you. He shattered a boulder in his grip, claws scraping over the hot, dry ground. Christine flinched at the sound. We will walk back home.

His tone left no room for argument.

…

Christine did the hunting that night. She had to drag the two goat carcasses, not having the strength to fly with a load yet. It was less than she had eaten on her first hunt, but she felt that neither her nor Erik would be eating very much that night. The tension in the air crowded out much of her appetite.

Erik stirred in his dark caves and lit a small fire in the corner from the stores of edible plants he had gathered for Christine just weeks earlier, when she had been human. It gave off much smoke, but he ignored the smell. The scrape of scales on scales reminded him of loneliness. He could not even hum to himself and cure the ache of shame.

He had let down the barriers and touched her mind, felt her body move with him. That in itself was a breach of etiquette. She had not given him permission to invade her mind and take control of her body, even if it was to help her.

How had he let himself be bewitched so easily? Christine was just a young thing, and in years, a hatchling, though she certainly did not look like one. She had begun an ancient dance in the sky, one that held him captive with chains of attraction. Had she even known what she was doing to him? For the sake of all murdering monsters, she had been human at one point! What could she possibly know about all the rituals involved with flight?

You could have told her, an insistent voice in his head said. You were going to teach her dragon culture, but you did not bother covering flight, even when you knew she would eventually grow wings.

He was a dragon, she was a dragon, they were fire and light and dark and blood, and why, oh, why, did everything have to be so confusing?

The smell of blood and dry grass reached him over the dampness of the stone around: goats, two of them, probably wild. Christine would not have stolen from her former home. She is so…thoughtful.

The shushing sound of bristly hair over worn stone made him raise his head. There was the graceful, impossibly beautiful creature, pulling the two dead goats with her. She did not look at him overly much, but just sat by him, and pushed one body towards him. It was still warm.

Christine celebrated inwardly when Erik reach out one surly claw to hook the animal. There was something important about sharing her catch, of that much she was sure. He has accepted it, at least.

They were silent together. When the last bones were picked clean and left to crack and fuel the dying fire, they slept together, mending the gap between them.

Erik spread one wing over her and closed his eyes. Why should I be afraid of something that feels so natural?

…

Raoul shuffled uncomfortably. It felt dangerous to be outside the town walls without a light, with only a few minutes more of sunlight. He shivered in the breeze, which was beginning to change direction as the sun went down, clearing the air of heat.

The whispers of Darks reached his ears. They were not close to him, but they were not far. He sternly reminded himself why he was here.

Philippe's dinner party seemed so long ago, but the troupe of traders had stayed around like adolescent wolves, hoping for scraps of a deal. Now he would give them what they wanted: money. They would give him what he needed to bring Christine back, as he once knew her.

A tall figure, dark and handsome, swayed with the wind. The colourful robes caught his eye, as did the sparse jewellery on his hands and face. This was one shaman, a holy man to his people, untainted by greed.

Still, it had only taken a persuasive note sent by messenger bird to bring him here. It took a few minutes longer before they could talk.

"I thought you would not come," Raoul supplied after a moment of silence.

"I came because I thought your cause worthy, even if you are mistaken in your endeavours."

"Will you take the money? I need your spells as soon as possible. I know your people have power over dragons when they wish; when you wish." He held out a pouch of gold coins, everything he had taken from his brother's household before moving out.

"I cannot take money for any services. Please, respect my people's tradition. They and only they provide for me." Raoul tucked the money back into his belt loop. The holy man, surprisingly young, continue his sonorous brief. "One may only have dominion over the northern dragons with northern magic. I have what you need in this bag, but there is one more ingredient needed."

"What? I thought you had everything."

"Everything but the tooth. The tooth is needed for control." Raoul did his best to dampen his temper.

"Where can I find this…tooth?"

"The tooth is a relic of the first northern dragon. Our southern dragons are a different stock, of different ancestors. The tooth is carved and old, and large."

A memory flashed in Raoul's mind. The smell of ground feverfew and boiling tea. Healer Giry stood over him with a ladle and a damp cloth. A chunk of ivory glowed in the dim light of a hearth. "Carved with runes, spiky, old things?"

"The same. You know where it is?"

"I believe I do." The shaman stamped his staff into the ground, for it was no longer light. A shield like a bubble encircled them.

"I must teach you the chant of transformation. Be forewarned that this is a spell of deception. Your love will not be in her true form."

"I am aware," the young man stated, unnerved by the sudden absence of wind and sound. A Dark rubbed up against the shield. Raoul shuddered. "This will be better for her."

The shaman spread the components of his bag on the ground and drew the outline of a human figure. He sprinkled silvery dust, ground quartz, into the shape of the full moon inside the figure. "You must place something of her original self in the centre. If you draw a figure other than a human, she will become that and not the form you desire."

Raoul nodded, becoming steadily edgier.

"When the design is complete, hold the tooth. The chant of compelling comes first, then the chant of transformation."

"What is the chant? If you tell me, will something happen?"

"Nothing will happen if you have not the tooth and an item of her original form."

"Tell me." The man sighed.

"You are too eager for just this one spell."

"I offered you gold. Please," he said, forcing the words out past his pride. "What must I do to bring her back to me?"

"I should not have come here. You are mad with infatuation."

"Tell me!" The holy man sighed again and shifted in his robes with resignation.

He opened his mouth and divulged the language of spells in a steady, flowing manner. Raoul felt the words burning themselves into his brain. This was different from the symbolism and rituals of the elders. This was genuine power.

Soon Christine, you will not have to sleep in the cold or eat what you kill. Soon, you will be back with me.

…

Erik rose early the next morning. He needed someone to discuss with, someone other than Christine. Her presence was too confusing, and overloaded his senses until all he could think of was her.

He was about to launch himself into the sunrise when his back foot slipped. Water splashed over his ankle. It was Christine's old bath he'd slipped into, though now it would be more like a water hole to them both.

He shook off the water and flew miles inland to Nadir's nest at the edge of a dry spot on the land. Nadir had always preferred hot weather.

When he arrived, Nadir was already awake, although still a bit groggy, curled in the soft bed of leaves, pelts, and branches. If there was one flaw the Persian had, it was that he had never gotten used to life without the creature comforts of his southern home.

Nadir. Get up.

Why would I do that?

Because this is the first time in more than a century I've come to visit. This roused Nadir's sarcastic wit, but not the rest of him.

Visit poor old me? Why Erik, I think you've grown a heart!

Shut up. It's about Christine.

Were you going to tell me she's a full dragon now? I knew that days ago. Now everything can be settled with the council.

Erik growled and shoved Nadir out of his customary sleep position: coiled like a turban. The heavy coils of orange and green toppled over with a satisfying hiss of annoyance. By the First Dragon, must you always push me about?

I need you to teach Christine about flight. Nadir's whiskery head lifted from behind the pile of tangled body.

You can teach her about that. You are one of the few dragons I have met with a natural gift in the air.

Not the mechanics, Nadir, the rites! Dances, courtesy, all of the things I have never done, and might never do. Nadir sighed. It would be entirely inappropriate for me to teach her, and you know this.

Will this lead to you having more than one healthy relationship in your lifetime?

It will lead to one healthy relationship. Our acquaintanceship cannot be healthy.

The Persian dragon gathered himself (literally) and rose into the air. Your bad temper aside, at least you admit you want a relationship with her.

You are not following my earlier request.

What might that have been? he asked, just to annoy Erik.

Shut up.

The flight back was silent, as usual between the two. Christine had woken and was sunning herself near the mouth of the cave.

You have been to Nadir's? I wondered where you had gone, and thought perhaps the prey I brought last night was not enough for you.

Nadir looked at his companion in surprise. You have shared kill?

Only twice, Erik justified quickly. She was unable to finish it by herself. The second time was of her own volition.

I am beginning to think your intentions are not…correct, Nadir said slyly, winking at the black dragon with one eye. Christine could not see his gesture from her angle.

She was entirely innocent of what would happen. What do you speak of? Erik has done nothing but show me kindness.

The Persian indicated that she should follow him to a more private location. Come, my dear. We have much to discuss about flight culture.