Chapter Eight: A Mother's Love
Aithusa raced through the sky, each beat of her wings another delay in saving her hatchling, but she dared not land anywhere humans might find her. Already weakened by her battle with the green invader, Aithusa knew she'd need all of her remaining strength to ensure her hatchling survived. If he would not release the human's soul to the Goddess's embrace, she would have to force him to.
Sweeping downwards towards the river of her home gorge, the dragon dove into her cave, flaring her wings at the last second to land on her favorite rocky perch. Reaching out her front paws, Aithusa let her hatchling and the human down on the small ledge her Mistress had built into the cave wall with magic. Well, to her it was small, but her Mistress had crafted a space large enough for her to live inside the dragon's cavern home. A scrying bowl stood on a stand in the deepest part of the cave, giving her Mistress access to the ley lines of the city, and there was a bedroom in an adjoining cave, but closer to the entrance a little dining area and an enchanted pantry stood ready. Right by Aithusa's rock, her Mistress had a soft rug and two comfortable chairs, all spelled to resist damage.
Her hatchling and the human both cried out as their burned flesh impacted the ground, so badly injured that not even the plush rug could offer comfort. Aithusa crooned to her hatchling, her Altiore, paying no mind to the human as his unconscious body struggled for each breath. His suffering would end as soon as her hatchling's magic released him; why her Altiore would choose to risk himself for a human was beyond her.
Opening her muzzle wide, Aithusa summoned up the power within her, imbuing it with her earnest desire, no, her need, to save her Altiore. Her firstborn egg, her eldest child – the only other Old Dragon in the entire world. Breathing out, she felt her healing mist settle on him, washing away the ugly black burns from her dear hatchling's supple hide. For a beat, the blackness clung, then the healing pulsed, sweeping outwards from Altiore's head and chest. The burns reddened, then faded into nothingness as her hatchling's native scale-hue shone through once more. Examining him, she resisted a surprised snort. Unlike herself and Kilgharrah, Altiore's scales were in two different colors. The rich yellow-gold of his belly scales, horns, and spines reminded her of the golden-scaled dragon that had been both mate and enemy, but whence had his purple hide come? Whence had the orange membranes of his wings come? And…whence had that collar come?
Fury stirred in her chest as she stared at the strip of human leather wrapped around her Altiore's neck, smelling of human magic, though the enchantment had been broken by the invader's flames. Lifting her head, the White Dragon cast the horribly burned human a baleful glare. Truly, if he were not already dying, she would hasten his demise herself – how dare anyone put a collar on her hatchling!
Altiore twitched and Aithusa's attention flew back to him. Leaning in, she rubbed her muzzle against him, crooning a lullaby. He settled for a few seconds, but with his power tied to the human, it wasn't long before he started moving again. Though Aithusa sought to soothe her hatchling back into a healing slumber, the dying human moaned and Altiore's eyes blinked open, revealing irises just as purple as his hide.
"Spike!" he cried, anguish ringing loud; Aithusa very nearly back-winged off her perch. Her hatchling could already speak? She hadn't learnt the humans' tongue until years after her Mistress's first death!
Her Altiore hardly noticed as he leapt to the human's side, keening. Though the human never woke, he cried out in pain when her hatchling tried to curl up against his blackened frame. The keening grew louder, Altiore's muzzle trembling as he stared at the human. "Spike? Spike, please wake up, please be okay."
Reaching out, he nudged the human's arm and let out a whimper right in time with the human's scream as terribly burned flesh was jostled. Tears flowed down her hatchling's snout as he begged, "Please, answer me!" Huddling as close as he dared, Aithusa heard him wail, "Don't leave me alone!"
To the dragon's utter shock, one reddened eye managed to open, the rasp of the human's breath painful to hear. An arm moved and both dragons coughed as the acrid scent of charred flesh filled the air. "Not alon'." The words were a bare whisper, forced out by sheer willpower amidst a sea of agony. "Guys'll tak' car'."
"I don't want them, I want you, Dragonlord Spike!"
Dragonlord. Dragonlord. Rage burned, surmounting the fury over the collar. How she despised the Dragonlords and the way their kind subjugated the proud race of dragons. Oh, how foolish she'd been to ever adore her Dragonlord, pining after him for days when he'd left her with Kilgharrah. But he'd only ever had eyes for his King, for the gods-cursed prophecy of the Once and Future King. Never for his kin, those of magic or those of dragonkind.
He should've been there. To nurture her; teach her how to speak and how to wield her magic. How to avoid human predators, those that cared nothing for the Old Ways. The ones who would imprison a young dragon for the crime of existing. Stunting her growth and leaving her scaleless; after shedding her infant scales, she hadn't grown a new set of scales until she'd reached her sixth century of life. Even now, Aithusa knew she was smaller than Kilgharrah had been – small and weak because her Dragonlord had abandoned her.
"Please, Mother." Aithusa jerked, bringing her head down to regard her Altiore. "Please, save him!"
Gentle, the dragon reached, sweeping her hatchling away from the human. "Hush, my own," she soothed. "All will be well. Release him and all will be well."
"No!" Altiore cried, claws scrabbling against the rug and the stone. "I can't let him die, Mother!"
Aithusa crooned, rubbing her head against Altiore's. "You are safe, my little one. The humans and the invader will not harm you again. That is all that matters."
But Altiore would not listen. He flared his small wings, jumping up enough to scramble over her head and back to the human's side. Gazing up at her with wide purple eyes, he pleaded, "Please, Mother. I can't save him, but you can. Please…please don't let him die."
"He only lives because you have bound him here."
Aithusa turned her head and Altiore whirled around, growling low in his chest as he regarded the woman who stood there. Her Mistress's green eyes were thoughtful, raven hair swept up around her face as long black curls cascaded down her back, styled, yet unbound. She wore a soft emerald cloak reminiscent of Camelot with a golden broach to clasp its neck. Beneath the cloak the High Priestess wore her usual black garments, though of a finer quality than she'd had in Camelot when Aithusa had first befriended her.
Inspecting the human, her Mistress flinched, a hand rising to her mouth and a soft gasp escaping as she took in the full sight – and smell – of the human's suffering. Kneeling, she stretched out her hand, murmuring, and Aithusa saw her eyes glow with their native power. A swirl of chill air danced around them, sinking into the blackened figure lying on the soft rug. Soothing the pain he was in, though not even her Mistress's great power could heal him.
Altiore whimpered and Aithusa drew her hatchling close again, crooning reassurance.
Emerald lifted from the human to Altiore. "You bind him here with your magic, little one, but you cannot change his Fate. He is beyond mortal healing; if you cling to him, you will perish with him."
"Mother can heal him!" Altiore burst out. Purple irises lifted to her blue, welling up with tears. "Please, Mother, please save him!"
Aithusa snorted smoke. "I will not heal one who has bound my hatchling with a collar."
"Collar?" her Mistress echoed, frowning. Quick as a wink, she was next to Altiore, her knife slipping between her hatchling's scales and the collar 'round his neck. The leather gave and her Mistress pulled it away, inspecting it. Dark brows rose and she glanced sideways at the burned, blackened human, something like approval in her gaze.
"Morgana?" Aithusa asked, wings flexing as her tail curled around her talons.
Her Mistress did not reply at first. Instead, her fingers traced something on the leather strip in her hands. Then she looked down at Altiore. "How often do they leave you alone?"
"Never!" Altiore snapped, indignant. The golden acorn on the tip of his tail arched upwards. "I'm always with someone, Witch!"
"Oh? Then what were you and Scarlatti doing out on the trails alone with a dragon on the prowl?"
"He didn't know! Not till Dragonlord Sarge called! But it was too late; she found us!" Altiore paused, sniffling. "I couldn't save him…"
Her Mistress was surprised, though Aithusa wasn't sure by what. There was a moment of silence and then her Mistress knelt down, tugging her hatchling close. With a sigh, she asked, "What were you two doing on the trails?"
Her hatchling looked down, tears slipping down his muzzle. "Dragonlord Spike took me out so I could have fun. He knew I wanted to run around after we saved the dragon eggs today."
"Saved the dragon eggs?" her Mistress coaxed.
Altiore nodded. "There was a mean dragon dealer who stole eggs from a dragon in Wales and he came here with them! Dragonlord Spike and Dragonlord Lou and I found them while Dragonlord Ed and the others arrested the bad guy!"
The High Priestess nodded, solemn and thoughtful. "Why the collar?"
Her hatchling shook out his wings, growling. "Dragonlord Spike doesn't like it, but they don't let, um… They don't let dogs on the trails without a leash and collar."
"You are not a dog, my own!" Aithusa objected.
"But he looked like one." Even as Aithusa reared back, shocked at her Mistress's words, the raven was glancing from Altiore to the human and back with a cunning gleam in emerald eyes. "Isn't that right, little one?"
Altiore fidgeted. "Yeah. 'Lanna made it, so Dragonlord Spike could take me places without anyone knowing I'm a dragon."
For a long, long moment, all was silent save the rasp of the human's breathing, each one a little slower than the last as his body began to shut down despite all her hatchling's power.
Then her Mistress sighed, a deep, echoing sound, and rose to her feet. "Heal him."
What? "But," Aithusa protested, halting at her Mistress's upraised hand.
"Merlin abandoned you right out of the egg, Aithusa. Left you to fend for yourself in a cruel, indifferent world. Much as I despise admitting it, these peasants truly care for your hatchling." Turning, she lifted the collar. "This is not a binding, old friend. It is a disguise, so that none but Scarlatti and his friends realize a dragon lives in Toronto." She shook the leather. "If this were active, they could walk past the Sarrum of Amata himself and the old tyrant would never realize anything was amiss."
Aithusa flinched at the mention of the man who'd imprisoned her and Morgana at the bottom of a well for two long, horrible years.
Compassion shone in her Mistress's eyes, but she continued to speak, implacable. "If they did not care, they wouldn't spend the time and effort to take him places or teach him how to use his magic." Crouching down again, she poked at Altiore's ribs, ignoring his yelp of protest. "Aithusa, they feed him. Have you any idea how hard it is to keep a dragon, even a young one, well fed?"
On her perch, Aithusa shifted uncomfortably. Her Mistress had tried her best, but there had been many, many times they'd both gone hungry, huddling together for warmth in cold, desolate forests as their stomachs growled in unison. Even after escaping the Sarrum of Amata, her own hunting had never been enough to fill their bellies. Once her Mistress had gold to employ professional hunters, she tried, so very hard, but there had simply been a part of Aithusa that had never been satisfied, no matter how much she ate.
Lost in thought, it caught her off guard when Altiore rubbed against her front talons, a pleading keen rising from him. "Please, Mother?" he begged, gazing up at her. "Please save my Dragonlord?"
She lowered her head so that her blue orbs met his purple ones. "You do not know what you ask, dear one. He can control you, with but a word."
Altiore whined. "No, he can't, Mother. He's not like Emrys, he's not a real Dragonlord. His Wild Magic let him name me."
Her Mistress inhaled sharply, the sound overlapping with another moan from the dying man. Emerald narrowed. "Scarlatti doesn't have magic!"
Yellow-gold wings with orange membranes flared. "Long has Tash sought to destroy the Guardian and his own, but the Lion granted them His Gifts that they might stand firm against the Evil One." Her hatchling stood tall and proud. "You serve the Old Religion, but its time has gone, Daughter of Camelot. Let the Old Ways pass away, that the Grace of the Lion might shine through the World of Men at last."
"You would speak so, when I may crush your Dragonlord with a word?" Morgana challenged.
Altiore flinched, but lifted his muzzle to meet her head on. "My Dragonlord's times are not in your hands or even my Mother's paws, Daughter of Camelot." Another flinch. "I…" He sniffled hard, tears falling freely. "I want him to live, but…" Crumpling, her hatchling crept to the human's side once more, defiant bravery collapsing into frightened plea. "Please, don't let him die!" Tearful purple rose to her. "Please, Mama, don't let him die; he's my friend."
Aithusa gazed down at the pair. Her hatchling, her Altiore, so strong and bright and hopeful, and the dying human, unconscious and blackened by dragonfire. His life was but a wisp compared to a dragon's, a tender root that withered in the summer heat. She'd heard him scream as the invader blew the hottest flames it could at the human and her hatchling; by all rights, he should've been immolated on the spot, his life snuffed out and relieved of its suffering long before her victory over the green dragon.
Instead, he still lived. Still breathed, though not for much longer. And though her hatchling had certainly tethered the human to his broken, dying body, Aithusa knew her hatchling alone could not have worked such a miracle. Summoning up her power, Aithusa studied the pair even more closely, snorting astonishment at the web of magic that surrounded them. And yet…not even that web of magic could've saved the human from a dragon's wrath. No mortal power could overrule a dragon, not even a weak modern one.
The answer to the mystery seemed to dangle right before her, even as it remained hidden from her sight. Fate and Destiny, weaving their threads and yet… Who guided Fate and Destiny if not the Triple Goddess? Who ordained the whole of history and marked down the hour of each Man's final breath if not the Disir?
The White Dragon sighed heavily, her tail sagging down and wings unfurling as she sensed the Judgment of Magic. It was not the human's time to die. Even if she did not save him, he would not perish – but another life would be demanded in his place. Aithusa could not, would not, risk that her hatchling's life would be the one demanded. Not when it was within her power to act.
And so, at long last, she leaned forward, opening her muzzle and exhaling pure magic on the burned, blackened body. There was a breath as nothing happened. Then the human exhaled relief as the burns scabbed over before shedding away from his flesh entirely, revealing sensitive pink skin beneath. Even as the trio watched, the pink skin darkened, gaining tone as it built up to the normal calluses of mortal skin. All over the human's body, blackened, dead tissue sloughed away, leaving the flesh and muscle beneath untouched. Some of the burns on the man's hands, chest, and face remained, but they were much reduced – evidence that he had been in a fire, but minor enough that he would heal without scarring.
Her hatchling let out a joyful shriek, leaping forward and curling up against the human. Aithusa stared as the man unconsciously reached out, managing to drape one arm across Altiore's body, right behind his wings, without ever stirring. Altiore leaned in, crooning to the human for several seconds before he looked up again, expression shining as if she'd hung the sun, moon, and stars. "Thank you, Mama, thank you!"
She couldn't help it; her own muzzle tipped up in a draconic smile and she lowered her head, rubbing against her hatchling. "You are most welcome, my Altiore."
Altiore drew back, blinking at her and tilting his head to the side. "But… That's not my name, Mama."
"It's not?" her Mistress asked, amused.
Altiore shook his head. "My name's Spyro!"
Aithusa felt her lower mandible give way. What in the name of the Great Mother Goddess?