The Dragon Dreamer Read online

  It would be good to see home again, though he could only imagine the painful jokes about crashing. But he’d been teased as long as he could remember. Karoon made it his mission to point out Arak’s odd behavior. Sometimes, lost in thought or trance-mind, Arak completely missed a meal, unheard of for a dragon! How could you depend on a dragon so lost to the world?

  Arak stretched his wings, loosening the muscles, and tried to shake away these memories. If he’d found copper, all would be forgiven. Instead, he’d found Scree. He didn’t think the clan would be able to see her value.

  Arak reached into his pouch and handed the lustrous black pearl to Scree. “It’s a beautiful gem.”

  She signed her refusal. “It is a gift.”

  “It’s a great treasure.” Arak bowed his thanks and leapt into the sky.

  At last! He swooped low over the water, recklessly brushing the waves with the tips of his claws. Cool wind rushed by as he soared into the sky and playfully executed a loop before leveling off. He circled once in farewell before heading for home. His ice floe became a mere speck and then disappeared from sight.

  It would be a long flight over the sea, with no place to rest. But his torn wing had healed and Arak was sure he could reach the dragon shore.

  CHAPTER 3: THE BLACK PEARL

  Arak reached the dragon shore as evening colors drained from the sky. He collapsed onto the beach at the water’s edge. Winter waves crashed over him and rolled back, dragging his limp body into the sea.

  He struggled upright and staggered up the beach, digging his clawed feet into the cold, gritty sand. The wet sand gleamed like copper in the sunset. Solid land. He was home!

  Arak savored the lingering aroma of char-grilled fish. The clan gathered every evening at the long stone table, where each dragon brought something to share. It was a mark of honor to bring a large fish or a well-spiced dish. After Scree’s bland seafood, Arak could almost taste the potent dragon spices.

  Suddenly, his parents landed on either side. Had they been watching for him? He was buried in wings, enveloped in an endless hug. Arafine’s claws gripped his own hesitantly, as if he might melt away like sea mist.

  “I’m all right,” he reassured his dam once again.

  Then the clan surrounded him.

  Taron clipped his shoulder in a friendly, dragonly way, eyes glowing with relief. “Took your time, didn’t you?”

  Arak grinned. “Why hurry?”

  “Dreamer’s back,” a young dragon shouted.

  Arak automatically ignored this insult, focusing instead on Zarina. She watched quietly from the edge of the rowdy crowd. But they’d been friends forever! Why didn’t she just wing-buffet him, as usual? Her golden scales were edged in a particularly lovely shade of blue-green. Had they always been that color? He returned her smile, wondering what had changed.

  Arak grimaced as Driana, the clan healer, worked her way through the crowd toward him. A public examination of his injuries would be the spicing on the fish! Completely humiliated, Arak held out his wing for inspection. Driana carefully felt the mended edges of the tear and looked questioningly at Arak. He quietly answered, “My wing was torn by an ice-stone.”

  She tested the strength of his leg and gave a satisfied nod. “These have mended well. I’d like to meet your healer.”

  Karoon was listening, wearing the surly expression that he reserved for Arak. What new insults was he crafting? As Arak edged away from the group, Karoon almost knocked him down. He staggered off-balance from the shoulder charge, stumbling as he instinctively protected his newly-healed leg.

  “Clumsy, as always,” laughed Karoon, “and too slow. Couldn’t escape the deadly ice predator?”

  Arak smiled through gritted teeth, determined to remain calm. “Perhaps. But a faster dragon would have missed the adventure.”

  “Where were you?” a dragon shouted, following Arak as he tried to retreat.

  “What happened?” yelled another, bringing the noisy crowd with him.

  Why must everyone speak at once? Arak had forgotten the exuberance of dragons. He looked out to sea, remembering the solitude of his ice floe. Each evening, Arak and Scree shared a silent language of gestures and pictures. The sea was his quiet companion by day.

  He lived with the smell and taste of sea spray, the rhythmic sound of waves, and the remarkable colors. Sunrise waves were purple and rose. Afternoon waves shimmered like hammered gold in the slanting sunlight. Sometimes the sea sparkled like a field strewn with cut diamonds. Arak wanted to leap into the sky and return to his distant refuge.

  “Arak.”

  He looked up. Arafine, his dam, handed him a large ceramic bowl. It was filled with tempting food left over from the evening communal meal. Dragon food! Arak reached in for a piece of charred fish and stopped in his tracks. The beautiful bowl was spun from blue clay with silver threads. Moonstones and aquamarines decorated the sides in a swirly pattern, like waves of the sea.

  This was Arak’s nest-bowl.

  But it should only be used for special occasions. What was special? He looked into Arafine’s eyes and saw that they were bright with unshed tears. She must have been really worried that he would not return. “Thank you,” he said, unable to put his deeper thoughts into words.

  Arak flicked his tail in dismay when he noticed a cloud of steam. Soon, the rich smell of tea steeped with cinnamon bark filled the air. Each dragon brought a large ceramic mug to the fire. It was a tea ceremony to welcome him home.

  When a dragon first entered trance-mind, the clan held a tea ceremony and the youngster received a special mug inlaid with his or her trance stone. Arak’s mug was a swirly blue-green set with an aquamarine gem. He bowed politely as his mug was filled first. Then he stood by the fire.

  A cluster of young dragons stared at him, laughing.

  This was really a tea trial, not a ceremony. Why did there have to be a celebration? Now everyone would remember his crash! At least he had something truly unexpected to share. Maybe that would distract them. After the tea, Arak stood within rings of dragons to share his journey tale.

  “How’d you manage to crash on your first solo?” Karoon sneered. “Were you lost in dreams, or just lost?”

  Laughter sparked around the circles.

  Arak cringed inside, but he’d expected this insult. “Well, I did find my way home. And I found a new world, which is like finding a dream.”

  He talked about Scree and the undersea village. “She makes pictures on her skin that look real, just by thinking. And Orm grows undersea crops of food.”

  The dragons shrugged their wings; this was difficult to imagine.

  Zarina raised her wings. “How do you sign ‘thank you’ to an octopus?”

  Arak smiled gratefully and demonstrated the simple bow. “To bid farewell, the octopus wraps the end of an arm around your claws.”

  “Could you show us what it looks like?” Taron asked.

  Arak melt-carved an octopus from a clear block of ice; the curling arms gleamed like crystal. This captured her essence but not the complex colors.

  Kragor, his sire, nodded approvingly. “Well done. You said they make art?”

  “Orm covered the walls inside his cave with glowing patterns. He uses tiny animals that don’t move and glow in colors.”

  Arak reached into his pouch and drew out the black pearl. It shimmered in the firelight with a captivating, iridescent luster. It was unlike any dragon gem. Dragons crowded around, golden tails snapping up and down like whips.

  Zarina gasped. “It looks like the shadow of a new moon! This would be perfect for our festival. Where did they mine it?”

  “Orm grows pearls in a special crop, but few are black.”

  Karana, the clan leader, asked: “Would they trade?”

  Arak thumped his tail with excitement. He had not considered this possibility! Trade would redeem his failed solo journey. He straightened his wings into crisp folds.

  “Scree’s very interested in other beings. We plan to meet again at the ice floe.” His tail slumped to the ground. “But Scree is the only octopus I met, and she’s not the pod leader.” Had she mentioned some disagreements with her leader? Well, it would still be good to see Scree again.

  C HAPTER 4: THE SHARK

  Scree playfully flicked water drops onto Orm. “Isn’t the sky beautiful?” she asked. They were perched on the log that was stuck in Arak’s ice floe, waiting for him to arrive.

  Orm shivered as the drops ran down his skin. “It’s interesting. But our reef has more color, and you don’t need to travel to the surface through open water. I felt completely exposed, like shark bait,” he declared.

  Scree gazed into the distance, scanning the sky. Three specks appeared and slowly grew into golden shapes. She scooted up the branch at the edge of Arak’s ice floe. “Wait ‘til you see dragon scales. That’s worth the trip!”

  Orm followed her gaze. “Three? You said there’d be one.” He curled his arms nervously.

  A flurry of huge wings filled the air as the fearsome trio landed. Each was easily five times their size. Scree and Orm suctioned to the branch while wind buffeted their bodies. The dragons slipped on the melting ice, comically ruining their fierce façade.

  Arak spun about, his claws scrabbling for traction. He plowed into a pile of slushy snow. He shook his body, wriggling like a dancing sea slug, and sprays of cold white frosting flew off.

  Orm shook with silent laughter. His eyes grew wide when the dragons stopped sliding, giving him his first clear view. One had golden scales edged in emerald green, while the other two were gold with ruby. “What exquisite artwork! Your descriptions didn’t do them justice.”

  “I knew you’d appreciate their scales,” Scree said smugly.

  Introductions wer
e made, with Scree and Arak interpreting. Their sign language used dragon and octopus gestures, snow drawings and skin pictures.

  Arafine bowed her head to Scree. “Thank you for saving our son.”

  Scree nodded in return. “I’m a healer. It was my pleasure to help.”

  Arafine opened her sack and displayed their gifts: various nuts, tea leaves and gemstones.

  Scree made a show of handling each item. She nibbled the nuts, smiling at the subtle flavors. She felt the tea, which looked like dried seaweed but had an oddly sweet flavor. She slid an arm through the small pile of cold stones, recognizing garnet and turquoise. “What’s this?” she asked, lifting a small, cloudy-clear, blue-green sphere.

  “Aquamarine, the sea-gem,” Arafine replied. “It’s Arak’s trance-stone, which seems rather fitting now.”

  Arak handed Scree a clear, lumpy glass rod. “I chose this because you love the sky.”

  Scree’s eyes glowed. She ran her arms along the surface and peered through the solid, magically transparent shaft. “This would be perfect in the entrance to my cave! What is it? Where’s it found? Are there more?”

  Arak laughed with pleasure. “I knew you’d like it! This is a lightning cast. Lightning from the sky melted a path of glass through the sand. We can make more. It’s a bit risky, but fun. We fly a storm and channel lightning onto beach sand, then harvest the crystal copy of its path.”

  Scree offered her gifts of seaweed, oysters and pearls.

  Arafine and Kragor stood stock-still, mesmerized by the ocean gems. There were creamy pearls, colorful abalone pearls, and another rare black pearl. Arafine lifted a handful of pearls, eyes aglow as they slipped silkily through her claws. The lustrous gemstones were made of fine crystals that broke the light into subtle, watery rainbows.

  As they shared a meal, Scree asked, “How are your healers trained?”

  Arafine told of long apprenticeships and skills in manipulating crystal growth, or bone re-growth. She glanced quizzically at the small, barren ice, then at Scree. “What brought you to this ice floe?”

  “I was seeking quithra eggs to make a salve when Arak landed here.” Scree flashed a picture of the brightly-colored creature. “My mentor was old when she chose me, and her arms often ache. I rub in the salve to ease her pain.”

  Orm watched expectantly as Arak translated his question, “Do dragons face any dangers like sharks?”

  Kragor nodded. “Dweer are smaller than us, but vicious. A pack of dweer can kill a dragon. But our real danger is running out of copper. We must find more, or all dragons will become deathly sick.”

  Orm frowned, as if seeing this future. “I grow undersea crops and I’ve studied metals. Seaweed can concentrate metals. I’ll look for one with extra copper.”

  Arak translated and expressed Kragor’s gratitude.

  “How do dragons make fire?” Orm asked.

  Kragor ignited a stream of brilliant fire, melting a swath of ice.

  Orm’s entire body flashed bright yellow-orange, mirroring the flames, as he was shocked into losing control of his color cells. He shuddered as a wave of heat washed over him. Orm struggled to regain his composure. Orange sparks dissolved back into his skin and he reverted to a mottled red-brown, his normal, inconspicuous coloring.

  “I’ve never seen liquid sun. And you produce electricity like an eel!” Orm stretched out an arm, reaching through the pool of warm water that Kragor had melted. The tip of his arm slid on the slick ice below.

  “I’ve never seen an octopus sun,” Kragor replied, laughing. “And you make colors like nothing I’ve ever seen!”

  Kragor explained that dragons have two stomachs. During the first two years, all food goes to the first stomach and is used for rapid growth. Dragons eat oil-rich plants and fish. When their growth slows, extra oil is stored in the second stomach, along with excess carbon. To breathe fire, a dragon spits the carbon-oil mix and ignites it with sparks from a copper claw.

  Then Kragor sketched a picture in the dusting of snow. “A giant with long arms washed up on the beach. It was huge, as big as five dragons. What do you know of its kind?”

  Orm made a detailed squid picture against black skin. “Giant squid live in the depths, in darkness. There’s a legend that they once attacked us.”

  Scree smiled, amused that her careful, conservative mate was lost in conversation with a large, dangerous alien. Kragor was another Orm in dragon-form. They were both full of questions, talking non-stop. Who knew they’d have so much in common?

  Their meal finished, Arafine raised her wings, commanding attention. “We would love to use that flavorful red seaweed for snow pudding, and your black pearls would be perfect for our New Moon Festival. The clan would like to trade.”

  Scree straightened her many arms, automatically assuming a more formal stance. “I think the pod would trade.” She stiffened with concern. “But your leader should meet with ours.”

  Now she really would have to speak with Spar and he would not be pleased. The pod leader was predictably conservative, and did not approve of her working with dangerous creatures. He still blamed her for that stingray incident. Granted, the sharp barb must have been painful when it slashed through his arm. But it was Spar’s fault for not trusting her, and he had completely recovered from the injury.

  Would Spar agree to meet with them? Scree looked up at the huge dragons, trying to see them as Spar would. They were monsters, and each sharp-tipped arm had more barbs than a stingray. Would Spar be able to see past their deadly claws and appreciate the golden opportunities?

  Scree ran an arm over the glass lightning cast, feeling a deep hunger. She wanted more of these sturdy, transparent rods that virtually disappeared in water. They could be installed across the entrance to an octopus cave, to protect the precious egg curtain. Octopi could squeeze their fluid, boneless bodies through the glass bars, but few predators could follow. This “glass window” would be the perfect cross between a picture window and a predator screen. It would give Scree a secure, yet perfectly clear, view of her realm.

  “Spar and our leader, Karana, should meet here before this ice melts,” Arafine said. “We’ll leave a lodestone to help us find you, and bring a wood platform when we return.”

  Scree exchanged farewells with the new tradition, twining octopus arm to dragon claw. Nervously, she prepared to ask the pod leader to meet the dragons.

  * * *

  One moon passed. Spar, the leader, flatly rejected Scree’s request to meet dragons. Then Orm convinced him to come.

  Scree bobbed at the surface near the ragged, melting remains of Arak’s ice floe. It had drifted right over their village. Orm, Stur, and Spar waited beside her. Spar scowled at Scree, flexing his once-injured arm. She winced and looked away.

  Four pairs of wings beat against the cool night sky, gleaming gold in the light of the full moon. The dragons flew in formation, towing a large raft that bounced on the waves. They reached the ice, released the ropes and landed.

  Scree helped anchor the raft to undersea boulders. Then she flowed onto one of the comfortable log seats that protruded beneath the raft.

  Spar and Karana greeted each other formally, as leaders. Then he met Arak, Kragor and Arafine.

  “The clan is grateful to Scree for helping Arak,” Karana said. “She’s a skilled healer.”

  “Scree is talented,” Spar replied grudgingly. His eyes moved from one hand to the next, and he seemed to be counting the sharp claws.

  Karana presented Spar with two lightning casts and a container of red-root tea. “We would like to trade with your pod.”

  Scree watched nervously as Spar felt the clear rods and then hefted them, as if weighing their obvious value against the hazards of trade. He ran an arm across the tea, tasting the earthy-delicate flavors. He frowned and smiled at the same time, a decidedly odd expression. Scree could almost read his thoughts. What did they really know of dragons? Was trade a wise decision? And where would it lead?

  * * *

  The pearly light of a nearly full moon washed through the water. Scree pulsed toward the dragon shore, skimming the bottom in a close-knit formation with Orm, Spar, and the other octopus envoys. Together they resembled a larger, more formidable creature.