Chapter 10: Broken Council

Christine alighted on a patch of grass overlooking the sea, which rolled and turned like her thoughts. Nadir coiled up beside her (as opposed to slithering and rising no higher than a dog's height).

He examined her curiously. Have you flown with Erik?

Yes. He helped me fly with…with his mind, and with his body. I find it hard to explain. There was no explanation needed, however. He was teaching me, she justified, sensing the stigma behind her awkwardness.

Did you feel anything more than flight? Christine felt herself being probed as a healer probed a patient.

I was happy that he was happy, for once. I liked that he enjoyed the flight, but he stopped so suddenly… She trailed off.

Nadir decided the youngling had had a decade's worth of confusion already. There was no time to waste.

What passed between you was more than teaching, Christine. The connection you felt was the first step of a courtship, whether he intended it that way or not.

What? Oh no, he must be terribly upset. She looked out to the sea, head hanging low. I led him on, and I never knew…

It is not irreversible, Nadir assured her. All that must pass is an apology, and if you fly together, it must be without dances.

Christine shuffled a bit in her patch of grass. Dances?

Dances are rituals, borne of instinct and raw emotion. The first dragons, ancestors both yours and mine, though diverged, once had the same rituals and the same loves. There are dances for every occasion, and there are dances for joy and sorrow and love. Nadir did his best to keep his voice strictly instructional, but this talk of dances brought back memories of his mate. She had died in an accident in the eastern armies, several long centuries ago.

Did Erik want you to teach me these dances?

Teach you about them, and their implications, but not the dances themselves. To dance is to engage in a sacred act. More and more, the guilt of that instant of looping weighed on Christine's heart. She had given Erik hope for that second, then crushed it with her ignorance.

Then teach me what I need to know. I cannot risk hurting anyone.

…

The full moon council meeting came too fast for both Erik and Christine. Her main fear was mostly of forgetting what to do or say. One slip too human, and she could be taken away from Erik, forced to live with someone less kind, less understanding. Forced to mate with them, even.

Erik harboured the same fear, though he showed little of it. He could not bear it if she were taken away, the constant loneliness, and worse, loss. He could not lose her. She was light and life and the first person to enjoy his company without a hint of stark. She made him feel wanted.

Erik? She lay beside him, watching the sun set like the sinking of her heart. I… I owe you an apology. Her front talons idly split a sheep femur, delicately scraping out the marrow to lick away. The fatty, bloody mess coated her tongue like candy.

What would you apologise for? I would argue that between us, I am the ruder one. For a moment, she was quiet. It had been a mere two weeks since Erik had picked her out of the fields, protecting her from Darks. And he was indeed the ruder one of them by nature.

I know now what flight means. I'm sorry if I hurt you. He tensed, and she felt him draw away slightly.

You did not…hurt me, he began. His eyes did not meet hers. Christine's eyes brightened for a brief moment as she remembered their first days together.

You are a very bad liar, dragon. From his expression, she perceived that he remembered too. It had been when she cleaned him for the first time, when she learned to call him Erik. He rumbled favourably. Am I forgiven?

You are, said he, but regret tinged his voice. After all, it would not do if you were to choose a mate, and he found you had already taken part in a mating dance.

Well, I could hardly take a mate now. I am a hatchling by your standards, Nadir told me so.

He failed to tell you that you can indeed take a mate now. His tone grew steadily more dismal. In years, you are very young, it is true, a tot. But in body and mind, you are just old enough for some young male to find you attractive.

I am? This confused her. No male dragon of her own species had seen her besides Erik, so did this mean he found her attractive? Or were there certain standards of beauty that she matched, and he saw them in her without any special draw? The possibility of his like of her warmed her heart.

I would be unsurprised if said young male spotted you and tried to take you as his own tonight. He would be unsurprised if he lost her tonight, forever. He pushed his thoughts and wants aside and stood with a rustling of scale and a languid stretch.

Christine eyed him as he moved. He had kept his scars uncovered since she had first seen him, and now they made him all the more appealing. There was so much power in him, so much crushing beauty in the light of the setting sun, like the slow flow of melted stone. All at once, she looked away. What if he saw her and decided they should always be separate because of the strangeness she made between them?

Come, let us fly; I will show you where the meeting is to be held. He stepped out of their snug cave and leapt into the sky.

She followed him, feeling strangely humbled that he would choose to fly with her again, all accidents considered. He had forgiven her, and she swore to herself never to cross the line of his unpredictable temperament again.

As to how she could make an advance in their relationship, that was a different matter altogether.

…

Raoul sat and stared at the hearth as Healer Giry stirred the drink in the pot. It was a warm, fragrant substance, made of expensive spices, honey, and herbs, a luxury drink. The chair beneath him was neatly cushioned, a testament to the craftsperson who'd sewn the pads together and made the wooden monstrosity comfortable.

Giry ladled them out two cups full and handed one mug to him. She sat slowly, as if her bones were older than her skin. His eyes flicked to the shelves, but there was no sign of the carved tooth the shaman had told him of.

"Now, young Master Raoul, tell me what is it you want; you cannot possibly have come for the tea alone." He took a sip of the herbaceous concoction.

"I could have, but you're right. I want you to sell me something."

"What might I help you with?" She set her cup on the wide armrest of her own chair.

"I saw something here long ago that might help me regain someone dear." The old woman gave a terse laugh, momentarily wrinkling the weathered smoothness of her mouth and eyes.

"If it's love potion you're looking for, go to the matchmaker."

"I'm looking for a tooth; an old, carved thing, and big." She stood.

"A moment, please." She left the room and came back with a tooth in her hand, dangling from a leather thong. "This will cost you a pretty penny, you realise." The bit of bone was roughly the size of her palm, and lines with stained into it with a knife and dark walnut dye.

"I am willing to give you my entire healer's workshop, if you will take it. I will have no home, I realise, but I would do anything to bring her back." Giry hummed and smiled.

"Such is the way of desperate young men. Just give me something precious to your heart. Your brother came to me much the same way about a week ago."

"Did he?" Raoul had not paid much mind to his brother's house, he never had. Philippe's love affairs were of even less interest to him than Philippe's money and power. His hand drifted to his pocket, towards the key to his shop, Christine's home. He was unsure of the rules of property of someone returned from the dead, but he was certain Giry would be unable to keep the shop of Christine came back to claim it.

"Give me something precious, something valuable only to you, and I will give you the tooth."

His heart leapt in his chest, almost stirring the fabric of his coarse shirt. The breast pocket over his left pectoral suddenly felt stifling. Part of him insisted this was madness. She might be playing you. She might be giving you a fake. A dragon's tooth would be priceless, worth protecting with one's life.

"You have something, I know so," said the woman. She held out her dry left hand, leaving the tooth dangling from the right. Play along.

He took a piece of parchment from his breast pocket and handed it to Giry. Inside was a vivid, delicate painting of a brilliant green dragon sheltering a large, pearly egg: the earliest of Gustave's depictions of an unhatched Christine. His hand shook as he held out the sheet. She took it, looked at it briefly, made a rather unsurprised grunt, and gave him the ivory necklace.

Immediately, he hurled the thing into the hearth. His eyes narrowed as the leather thong twisted and shrivelled.

"What in heaven's name are you doing?" the woman screeched. She mumbled something quickly and reached into the coals. Raoul flinched, expecting her to recoil with horrible burns, but she just sifted through the ashes and twigs to pick up the tooth.

The enamel had cracked, deep and long, down the middle.

Giry glared like an old mother eagle. "This is an ancient artefact, you careless bumpkin!"

Raoul's mouth twisted into a sneer. "Don't you 'careless bumpkin' me, old witch! You've been into dangerous magic, from what I've seen. And you tried to cheat me! A genuine dragon tooth would never have cracked, it would have withstood the fire."

The healer straightened. Her shoulders were no longer stooped and crooked, and now she was taller than he. Her wintry gaze held him in place. "That's 'Magister Giry' to you, boy. I know what you want, and you shan't have it!"

He snarled and pushed her aside to knock things from the many shelves. Some little baubles shattered. "I gave you something valuable, that was the deal, the deal you set!" In his anger, he rounded on her. "Where is it?"

She, unfazed by his violent temper, shot him an imperious, cold smile. "Why, it is where you shall never find it, of course; and if anyone knows how to hide treasures, it is the Protector."

…

The Protector's cave was within sight from the village. It was large and dark, rising out of the ground and the sea's cliffs like a bad omen. Raoul hoisted his lantern higher and kept walking. Around him, Darks hissed and withdrew, slinking away in the slim shadows behind blades of grass. The moon was out, and bright, but the moon was the light of night, harmless to the creatures born of its beams. The circle of warm firelight protected him, but if were-beasts would come on this night, when they were most powerful and their curse most potent, he was as good as dead.

'Protector' indeed, he sniffed to himself. He hasn't offered real protection to the people at all. The only thing he did was tell them candles were shields. Candles won't help anyone against a were-beast, or even an ordinary wolf.

He trudged on, trying valiantly to hold his nerve against cold breezes and sneaking shadows. Once, he crossed a footprint, half mountain lion and half human. It took a moment of panic for him to realise the track was at least a week old, brushed over with sand and a few blades of grass.

The quiet night left him to his thoughts as he walked. Was he following the path that Christine had followed when she was sacrificed? Had she been walking towards death, as he was now? Yes, she was a living dragon now, but as a human, as the girl he found himself falling for, had she been afraid?

He was afraid.

A long five miles later, and with the dark night lapping at his heels, he climbed rough ground to step into the dragon's domain.

It was empty, and huge, like a mouth of endless hunger. He shivered and rubbed his arms. The Darks did not dare enter this space, shadowy though it was. The lantern held high above him on a pole swayed and flickered.

Where is the tooth? There was no sign of it. A wave of apprehension swept over him as he beheld the devouring hold of blackness. For Christine.

His throat bobbed, suddenly dry, and he walked farther. The lantern swayed and creaked and echoed, as did his own footsteps. He did not count how far he went. Eventually, there was a fork. He took the left on a whim, and subconsciously on the scent of water.

His eyes flicked to the piles of bones scattered here and there, all of animals, though some were of were-beasts, half-human. Would he go so far as to eat a full human? Did he consider eating Christine? He shuddered with horror and anger.

Water splashed and wet his trousers before he realised what he had walked into. Ripples shone in his little light, spreading serenely over a vast lake that smelled clean and mineral, untouched by the grime of the outside world.

A chunk of something white just beneath the surface caught his eye. He waded in, finding the lake icy cold. His feet itched in his boots as the water seeped in. He could go no further than waist deep because of the bag of precious ingredients at his side, but thankfully he would not have to.

He stretched out his pale, freckled hand, and when he pulled it back, an ancient bone came away too. It was heavy and worn, and rough on one end, and Raoul knew instinctively that this was what he had been searching for.

Time to work. He wiped the great canine on his shirt and squelched his way back to the cave entrance to lay down the spell's forms.

A circle of quartz dust, for the full moon, to match the night sky. A woman's form around that, scratched into the stone with a rough diamond. Then he placed the scale pendant around the head and shoulders of this woman's form. His fingers trembled, and he prayed they would not move the ingredients out of place.

The form was complete, and the spell could begin.

He offered up a quick supplication to whatever deities existed and began to speak the words of power, gripping the old tooth as tightly as he could despite its size and roughness.

"Faciam voluntatem meam, qui tibi Christiformis," he murmured, over and over again. These were old words, sacred words. He had to focus.

Eventually, he felt his mind stretch a vast distance, and pull against something, someone foreign, yet with memories so familiar: Christine.

…

Erik landed at the edge of a great crater, a great scar upon the land where a chunk sky metal had landed with anger and fire upon the earth. He did not speak, but Christine could tell he was nervous. His shoulders were high and tense, as were hers. Far below, as she folded her wings, dragons of many colours and sizes paced slowly in the pit.

They are dancing. She looked at her companion curiously, then back at the circling dragons, with wings elegantly folded, claws held neatly out of anyone's way.

A dance of peace and tolerance, she said, citing her lessons with Nadir.

This council holds an act of tolerance, but towards you, an anomaly of nature… We can only wait and see just how forgiving they are.

Nadir rose out of the circle, a vivid exception in the sea of solid colours. Punctual as always, I see. He too gazed down at the council, at the dragons who had come from all over to meet and discuss. Most were of the western form, like Erik and Christine. She realised suddenly just how exceptional Erik's birth had been. His breed, by blood, was a dumb breed, kept by traders in far away deserts, kept like animals, without sentient and soul. He had been born with a soul, and amazing intelligence.

The subject of her thoughts nudged her with a swish of his tail. He was focusing on everything and nothing. The scars on his hide, the missing scales, melted into flawlessness. She found she missed the familiarity of his head and body.

Shapeshifting magic, he explained briefly. He forced his body to relax. Let us go. They will ask things of you, Christine, and you must answer them truthfully.

I will present you, Nadir said rather helpfully, though it's likely they will want to discuss you first.

They walked (Nadir slithered) down into the great pockmark, and Christine began to notice subtle differences. Females had a different number of horns on their heads, usually fewer and smaller. She herself had only two, with the standard spines. Males often had wattles and combs of loose skin and spiky scales, and sometimes full crowns of horns. Erik has four horns, two like mine, and two more on the sides. And he has a frill, not the stringy sort of extensions some of these seem to have.

Colour seemed to depend on species, and as they began to settle into their places on boulders or platforms of melted rock, she saw that colour depended on sex and age as well. Males were larger, of course, and had darker underbellies. Females had lighter underbellies. Subtle patterns in scales shifted as the muscle underneath shifted.

Some individuals she found beautiful, though she avoided looking directly at them. These were not like Erik, who she trusted. Eye contact could be misconstrued as challenge.

All of them stared at Erik, stared at her, at their strangeness.

She felt like a freak of nature. Perhaps this is how Erik feels all the time. Perhaps it comforts him to know that I am as strange as he. They took their places near the very centre of the crater.

All she wanted to do was hide. Erik's strange mask of ease unnerved her too, for he had always been so honest with her. She called him a bad liar, but really he was an expert.

None of the dragons were long and snaky, like Nadir, but each had variations. Some were shaped like the animals of the forest, like wolves, or rugged and huge, like bears, or lithe and catlike. Some were graceful and thin and bony or near-skeletal. Some were wingless, with great claws for digging. Among them, she felt so plain and…medium.

A great voice rumbled over the meeting place, forcing silence. We will commence. Christine felt eyes on her, and her own eyes were drawn to the source of the voice. This dragon was at least four times her size, with uncountable, long horns and scales that hooked up at the ends, armour as deadly as it was useful. He was a damp, muddy brown, though reflective in the bright moonlight, the natural leader.

Then to her horror, his eyes immediately fixed on her. She wished, for the first time, she were not white. She loved her colour for the poetry of it, the fitting way Erik was black. Now she was ashamed, for this leader's gaze was penetrating and fearsome.

We must discuss the changeling. A murmur of approval swept over the crowd. Nadir rose up, hovering in his mystical, wingless way.

Her name is Christine. She has lived as a human most of her life. You have heard my reports. I have taught her our ways.

The leader peered at her again. Beside her, Erik nudged her with a wing. The touch was comforting, and helped distract her from the smell of the great dragon's hot breath. It was like blood.

You are a changeling, albeit unwillingly. You have lived with an outsider, an exception of nature, and you have been taught by an outsider. You are an outsider. She lowered her head. He was right, in all truth; she was quite fond of Nadir and his quirks, and her bond with Erik grew by the day. She knew no other dragons besides them.

I am an outsider, honoured leader, it is true. She kept her head low, but her eyes up. Some of the audience hissed with surprise that she would dare speak so openly. But my state in your lands is not the question, is it? She steeled herself, raised her head, and made eye contact with the hard, gleaming eyes of the gigantic reptile. Beside her Erik hummed with pride. He gently nuzzled her neck, pulling another bout of surprise from their watchers. It was a gesture between loves, did she not know the intimacy?

Erik's heart leapt within him when she took a moment to press herself closer to his side, warm and sweet and lovely. How could she, when she knew his form was less than prime mate material? When she knew he was just a traumatised, grumpy old lizard in an oversized hole in the ground? How could she, when there were more suitable mates for her, ones that would give their all to her in an instant?

She turned back to the leader. The true question is whether or not I am good company for Erik. A warning growl was voiced by a few of the council, a few teeth showed. I know you watch him as if he were mad and murderous. I know none of you have befriended him because of his past and his scars.

Erik eyed her, growing steadily more unsettled. Nadir had probably told her everything during her lessons. The Persian dragon sensed his temper roiling beneath the surface, and carefully avoided eye contact.

Christine pushed the limits further. The only one who can tell if I am suitable company, a suitable mate, she enunciated clearly, lingering on the word. The black dragon trembled beside her, and she was afeared to look; did he shake with devotion or with indignation? The only one worthy to assess my worthiness is Erik himself. I am a dragon, am I not? Have I not the same rights as any of you?

Nadir, still hovering above his place, wriggled for joy. She was going to proclaim herself one flesh with his dear friend, give him happiness at last; at least, he hoped so.

At her statement, many grunted their approval. The leader examined her with shrewd eyes. Then he glared down at Erik the same way, who felt his spines stand straight in defence.

If they love, let them prove it so. Let them be joined here and now. At this a cry of outrage shook the crater. Erik was far too busy staring at Christine with a mixture of confusion and elation to notice. Her eyes glinted with emotion, as did his own. There was nothing but them.

The leader roared for silence, wresting away their attention. There is no precedent for this pairing, but who better? Who is willing to take either one of them but the other? There were no volunteers, and Christine was glad of it. She did not wish to spend her life with anyone but Erik who she trusted, Erik who she loved for his cleverness and his own tentative feelings, for his damage and his gentleness. The moment of dance they'd had was not in vain, she could see it in his golden eyes. He wanted her, he loved her, though for exactly what, she'd never understand.

Then a harsh, desperate mind forcefully invaded hers, and to her shame and horror, she began to shrink, and her scales began to melt away.