Kulku: Beyond the Bloodline, #3

The Dragon

The vibrations began to splinter the ice field, and the excited shouting of a tumult of voices reached his ears and broke through his cold-induced slumber. Movement was impossible. He was held fast in a prison of ice, and even as his heartbeat began to rise, and as the flicker of fire started to splutter and grow in his chest, he remained locked in the position he’d been in when he’d entered the ice some six centuries before.

He’d been an adolescent when he’d been thrust deep below the surface of the quickly cooling water.  He’d been held there with electrified nets until the water had crystallised, and held him fast in its icy embrace.

The cold encroached every cell in his body and the pain was excruciating. Enduring it almost drove him insane.

It had been so long ago, and at that time, he’d only lived through two summers. He had been on the very cusp of adulthood, so had never known a mate, or experienced the joy of siring his own progeny. He’d had to watch as his mother and his father were cruelly slaughtered, and his sister tortured near to death. Then, he had to suffer the agony of the lash and the bite of the prongs tipped with atomfire before being mercilessly entombed in the ice.  

They thought that he would die, and they’d planned a slow death for him, but, Dragon didn’t perish. His heartbeat slowed, his mighty lungs collapsed, but he didn’t die. His body and his inner fire didn’t fail him, and he hoped they wouldn’t fail him now.

He looked exactly the same, but inside, he was vastly changed. How could he not be? Six hundred years of stasis had robbed him of much that had made him whole and, now that he was awake, all he could think about was escaping to wreak his vengeance.

Tiny cracks had splintered all the way from the surface and a trickle of air reached him. His wide nostrils flared and hungrily sucked in what little oxygen he was graced with. He still couldn’t move but when a powerful explosion shattered the ice surrounding him, creating a crater where oxygen pooled, he suddenly found that he could move and breathe a little.

His great barrel of a chest expanded as he dragged in air, and, as its sweet life-force was pushed deep into his lungs, his mighty heart began to pound, and sensation began to slowly return to his limbs.

Trapped beneath the frozen tundra - an ice desert created from the dying Ishart Sea that stretched from the southern aspect of the Forbidden Territories on the planet Icarrion, all the way north until it reached the Western shores of the Marrt Sea – the behemoth had suffered greatly.

At times, over the long years – when the tiny flicker of fire in his chest rose a few degrees and melted the ice immediately around, above and below him – he’d sank a little deeper and, for a few brief moments his brain had switched on and he’d remembered anew where he was.

Those moments had been torture. Full consciousness was not an enviable situation for the dragon to be in. Periods of full consciousness was apt to send him mad.

His heart had beat only once a day, but it had been enough to keep his frozen cells alive and to keep the tiniest sputter of heat in the essence that was his dragon-fire.

No other creature would have survived, and no other creature’s body would’ve had the almost magical ability to recuperate so quickly and so fully.

In the time it took for the faces to gather and to peer down at him wondrously, his hot breath had turned the ice around his enormous head to mush, and he was already moving up.

Once, hardy settlers had attempted to mine deep into the ice and to eke out an existence as best they could on the frozen landscape. The Icarrions of many centuries past had never known the tundra to be anything other than ice. They had never marvelled at the waters of the great Ishart Sea, and for the past three hundred years the whole area had been uninhabited.

Until now.

Three abandoned atomfire mines – frozen over and dilapidated – had grabbed the attention of the Xanetteian dictator, Sytor, and he had dispatched a small army of engineers, experienced miners, and slaves to open them up and extract their precious resources.

Of course, they had found the dragon, but what they hadn’t known was that this dragon was very different from today’s dragon. This dragon had never known the symbiotic relationship with the Icarrion queens. He had been born and had lived a full century before that first infant princess had been suckled on the teat of a lactating female dragon. He knew nothing of the bloodline, and he – and all of his kind - had only known torture, captivity and death at the hands of the Icarrion elite.

Escape was uppermost in his mind, but his memories of the Icarrion soldiers use of the electric whip, the cruel bite of the acid ropes, and the atomfire weapons, stayed him for a time. In his weakened state, he feared that they would be able to use the whip and the ropes to incapacitate him, and then kill him with atomfire. So, he allowed his huge body to relax and sink back, and he waited.

Night came early on that bleak landscape, and with it a biting cold that numbed the mind and sapped the body of its precious heat. They’d been digging down to the dragon for most of the day without making significant headway and – thinking that it was trapped and of no threat to them – they retired to their make-shift shelters and bedded down.

As soon as the excited chatter died away, and as soon as the dragon was sure that he was alone, he made his move. He had to free his wings. They were folded, frozen to his body, and had jagged rips in places, but he could do nothing until they were loose, and until he could unfurl them and stretch them to their full length.

Vehemently, urgently, he forced the heat that had been slowly building deep into his blood vessels and, through sheer willpower, pushed it through his veins until he felt the glow spread and begin to thaw his thick hide and to melt the particles of ice embedded in the leathery gossamer that were his wings. 

Next, he kicked out with his hind legs and gouged at the ice until his great claws found enough purchase to enable him to flex his thigh muscles and push himself up. Simultaneously, he forced his wings away from his sides and began to slowly break a path for himself. In the end, after many hours, he quite literally swam out of that massive frozen sea.

His head, crowned with horns, emerged first, then with a final push of his hind legs, his massive shoulders appeared.

The earth trembled and the air shuddered as his massive wings tore through. Splinters of ice clattered off his scales and flew like missiles to bounce off the frozen ground. Huge claws dug in and, at last, he was wholly free.

He couldn’t do it quietly. Silence was impossible. The noise shattered the night and brought Xanetteians and Icarrions tearing out of their tents to investigate.

A delegation ventured forward. The two Xanetteians at the front marked as soldiers by Sytor’s crest on their jackets. Their steps were tentative and there was real fear in their eyes. Icarrion dragons weren’t known to be friends of the Xanetteian invaders.

His eyes were like burning coals and crusted with ice that was quickly melting to appear like tears. His tail, long and serpentine, whipped the ice and snow into a frenzied storm as he stood and surveyed the watching crowd. His gaze was a menacing glare that thinned to slits as his brain adjusted to the sight of creatures alien to his memory. What were those slug-like beings standing huddled against the biting wind? They were like nothing he’d ever seen before. Even the Icarrions looked different – taller and wider at the shoulders than those he remembered. Regardless of who and what they were, he knew that they were his enemy. Everything that walked on two legs was his enemy.

A low grumble made its way up from his belly. It was a warning that the crowd paid heed to. To a one, they stepped back, their eyes never straying from the colossal sight before them.

A heavy silence, broken only by the ragged breathing of the watching crowd and the continued rumbles from the dragon, dropped between them. Even the wind had ceased its wailing.

He made no immediate move to attack. He wanted to steady himself and take in the danger. He saw no weapons in their fists. Where were the whips and the ropes, the spears and the atomfire? Confusion dulled his senses for a moment. Did they not mean to kill him? What strange foolishness was this that they would face him unarmed?

He was not about to take any chances. He had only ever known pain at the hands of the Icarrion people. His memories were fresh, and he was spurred to act. He charged. Using his massive tail, he swept aside those erstwhile creatures who’d dared to get too close and, with head rearing forward, he let loose the flames that had lain dormant for so long.

They burned in their hundreds. Every living creature was a target for his rage and his fear. Nothing diverted him from his task of annihilating everything and everyone in his path.

He was a wild-born killer. He was a dragon of Icarrion’s history and, as such, he’d learned to survive on his wits and on his ferocious capacity to kill anything that threatened him.

There had been no electric whips and no acid ropes to go against him.

The smoke billowed until morning and, when it began to slowly clear, all that remained of the camp was smouldering tents, ashy remains and charred bodies. Except for the massive footprints in the slush, there was no sign of the dragon. He had taken to the air long before dawn and went in search of food.

Chapter One

The smell was as she remembered, but somewhat disorienting. She had been too long away and her senses were taking time to adjust to what was familiar. Childhood memories of running through the maze of passageways, of going to school in the huge auditorium, and of being schooled in the art of magic, almost made her smile, but there were other memories – colder, harsher recollections of humiliation, of pain, and of abandonment – that kept her expression grim.

Her daughter had no memories of the planet. She had been born off-world, but it had been drilled into her that Malass was home. She made a low growl in the back of her throat when she thought of her daughter. She was not best pleased with Kattrraa. She was too impulsive – even for a Kulku witch – and would have to be taken in hand.

But, she had other things to consider before she took her daughter to task. The planet was theirs, but it had to be secured, and cleansed. That was the priority.

The wispy smoke from the last of the castings still clung to the air above her head and gave her another flash of memory. It brought her no joy to remember the last time she’d stood in that room beneath the veil of witch smoke, her mother standing stony-faced and unmoved by witnessing her daughter’s plight. It had been the day of the rejection. She’d been ten summers’ old, and her skill as a witch, and her strong-willed temperament, having been long-noticed as aberrations were being tested.

The Malass witches no longer tested their offspring in that same way. The Kulku amongst them were abandoned to their fate with much less stringency these times, but – back then, when a daughter showed signs that she was of demon blood – their minds and their bodies were sorely examined before they were cast out.

The witch smoke reminded her of that cruel examination, and reminded her of the pitiless look in her mother’s eyes as she watched her only child suffer.

She released a slow breath. The past would continue to shape her present and her future, and the future of her kind. Never again would any Kulku child be subjected to the brutal rejection of their mothers.

The air turned cold, and she shivered. Her old bones didn’t appreciate low temperatures, but a mere thought, and a flick of a finger, and her skin was suddenly kissed by a gentle heat, and her ancient blood warmed.

There was noise all around her – shrill cries and the screams of those already captured. Soon, there would be silence, and the occupation would be complete. Then, the cull could begin.

ASTRA WAS NOT HERSELF. Emotions surged and waned, her skin crawled, and her eyes burned. In the days since learning of her father’s death, she had tottered on the very edge of reason and her aura had turned an inky black - its wispy tendrils weaving around her and warning everyone to stay away, lest they be eviscerated.

Dazed, she stared out across the tundra. Waves of suppressed power tugged at her, and it took an almighty effort to prevent the unleashing of that power to lay waste and devastate everything in her eyeline.

She tried to force her mind to float. At that moment, her thoughts were too big for her brain, and she needed to drain her consciousness and metaphorically reboot. It was the only thing to do to prevent her from emblematically imploding.

Father, I’m so sorry. Those words had been playing like a mantra in her mind for days. They formed around the white noise and, like that incessant white noise, they couldn’t be drowned out by the other, more malevolent thoughts that – like a million pin-pricks – assaulted and tormented her.

The souls of so many of the dead haunted her. They were all dead because of her – her father, Bastross, Laylamunger, Cauldronia... so, so many. Jac’ had tried to convince her otherwise, but she knew, deep in the furthest recesses of her core, that she was the instrument of their destruction.

For a moment, her eyes lost focus and her eyelids fluttered against the sting of tears. She wished there was someone who understood – someone who could talk her down from the precipice – but, there was no one. Not even Macha or Zax could reach her or help her. Her grief was beyond the scope of their emotion chips.

She had never felt so alone.

She shivered. The crystal embedded in her abdomen sent out icy coils of embryonic vitriol that fed her fury. It’s power had intensified formidably and she had yet to adjust to its hold on her, or understand how much it had impacted on her own, latent magic. Until she did, she had to attempt to take a strong hold of her emotions. In her current state of mind, she had no idea of the damage she could do with just a look, or a flick of a finger.

Something uncurled deep in her chest and she immediately recognised it as dread.

Dread isn’t akin to normal fear. It’s not acute or easily overcome with brave thoughts or actions. It is insidious and debilitating, and Astra knew that, if she didn’t quash it, it would overwhelm her.

Its source was Jac’. What she was going to have to do would end their relationship. Whatever chance they’d had to become more than friends would be shattered by what he would consider a betrayal. He’d trusted her, supported her, and put his life in danger for her. Now, she was going to virtually spit in his eye. The promise she’d given him was about to be reneged upon. The trust they’d built over the past two years was now nothing more than a tattered illusion, and the dread of his reaction caused the ground to tremble beneath her feet.

She felt eyes on her, and turned to see Macha watching her from a distance.

The gynoid knew – or, at least, had guessed – and it was time to allow her to speak her mind. With a small movement of her head, she gestured her over.

They had come a long way since Macha had arrived on Earth to persuade Astra to travel to Icarrion. The queen was dying, and Astra was her chosen heir. At first, Macha had not been impressed by the human girl, but she had grown to love and respect her. Now, she was torn between loyalty to her, and her own innate sense of what was right. As yet, Macha wasn’t sure what side she would come down on.

It didn’t take a genius to work out that Astra was deeply troubled. She wore her simmering grief and rage like a cloak of armour, and yet her emotions seeped through to lay waste to everything around her. The very air was thick with a malignant aura that permeated everyone’s spirit and spread fear.

Macha knew that they were all frightened of Astra. She knew that they all believed her deranged. In particular, the Malass witches were terrified. Only another witch could fully recognise the blackness of her magic, and only another witch could see how powerful she had become, but – terrified, or not – the Malass witches knew that they needed her. Their kith and kin had been murdered by the Kulku, and those that had survived were in mortal peril. They needed Astra’s black heart and her black magic to save them.

Macha pitied them, because she knew that Astra had other plans for her magic.

‘You can’t let him down again,’ Macha said, approaching to stand at her side. ‘You promised him.’

Astra was unmoved. Macha seemed like a friend from another lifetime, and she felt only a faint memory of once loving her.

‘I know,’ she returned, quietly.

‘Well?’

‘Well, what?’

‘What are you going to do about your promise?’

Astra shrugged and turned away from the gynoid’s question.  She stared out once more over the tundra. From their camp at the foot of the Central Mountains, she could see clearly all the way to the Great Lakes, and that was the direction her battered and confused mind was urging her to go – not back to the Forbidden Territories in search of the many slaves, Jac’s family included, who’d been force-marched to open the abandoned mines in that inhospitable land.

‘Jac’ has been more than patient,’ Macha went on. ‘He won’t forgive any further excuses, or delay.’

Her eyes flashed with anger, but she didn’t turn them back on her. That would’ve been a dangerous thing to do. She had no way of controlling their deadly power.

‘You think that I’m using the death of my father and Bastross as an excuse?’  She felt the tell-tale sign of the crystal in her abdomen reacting to her mood. If she wasn’t careful, it would fill with light and fire and smote the gynoid for her impertinence.

She was well aware of her promise to Jac’, and she was well aware of what his reaction would be should she deny him. She didn’t need Macha reminding her, and she certainly didn’t need her criticism.

‘Look to the living, Astra – not the dead,’ Mach continued, ignoring the danger in the air. ‘Jac’s mother and sister are in grave peril. Being slaves, and working in the mines, will surely kill them. You owe it to him to find and save them.’

Astra shook her head slowly. ‘Not before I kill Sytor. He has to pay for what he did to Bastross and my father.’

‘That can wait. Jac’s family can’t,’ Macha put in. ‘And, what about the other slaves – all the Icarrions living torturous lives under the whip of the Xanetteian beasts? They are your people, Astra. You came from Earth to be their queen – to love and protect them. Will you abandon them? Will you put revenge above saving them?’

‘Save them for what... to live under the malevolent rule of Sytor?’ She shook her head. ‘What would be the point of that? I have to remove him from my throne, and then I have to kill him.’

‘Do that after you’ve saved Jac’s’ mother and sister... and everyone else you come across on the way to wherever they’re being worked to death.’

It had grown bitterly cold, and the ice in the air, and the ice of the crystal made Astra believe that she would never be warm again.

‘I’ll think on it,’ she reluctantly promised. ‘But, I doubt that I will change my mind.’

She knew that the gynoid words were true – she did owe Jac’ a great debt. He’d saved her when her powers threatened to consume her – when she’d seen in her mind’s eye how her father had died, and how his body had been abused.  Her dear friend had braved her wrath and suffered great pain to reach her and hold her. She’d been uncontrollable. She’d put everyone’s life at risk, and, if it hadn’t been for Jac’, she – and everyone else - might not have survived.

‘My mother and grandmother don’t know,’ she said on a sigh. ‘I have to find a way to tell them.’

‘I can get a message to them, Astra. You don’t need to worry about that.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s my job to tell them. I just don’t know how.’ A wave of fresh grief made her heart shudder. ‘They were estranged, but I knew that my mother loved him.’

Macha reached out a hand and stroked her arm. The sensors in her fingers told her just how cold Astra was. She felt as cold as death.

‘Come over to the fire,’ she said. ‘Warm yourself.’

She shook her head. ‘I’ll stay here awhile. I’ve much to think about.’

‘Is there anything I can do for you? ‘

‘No, nothing. I have to work through it alone.’

‘Work through what, Astra? What aren’t you telling me? You’re suffering from a lot more than grief.’

She stifled a sob. ‘Isn’t grief enough? They’re all dead, Macha. I was responsible for Laylamunger...’

‘No.’ She grabbed her arm. ‘That was an act of mercy. No one blames you.’

‘Yes, they do.’ She finally turned her eyes on the gynoid. ‘I see it in their every expression... the Malass witches will never forgive me.’

‘Then, save their sisters. Find Jac’s family, and then go after the Kulku. Leave Sytor for another time.’

May the Sun God forgive her – she knew that she couldn’t give Jac’ what he most wanted, and she couldn’t avenge the Malass witches’ deaths, not without destroying the Xanetteian first.

‘I’ll find Jac’ and talk to him,’ she said.

She looked down at her feet and then closed her eyes against the thought of what she needed to do. She had to tell him. She only hoped that he would understand.

‘What will you tell him?’

‘The truth.’

‘If you deny him your promise, you’ll break his heart.’

‘I know.’

Macha knew that she had lost the argument. May the Sun God help and protect her, she thought sadly. Because she can’t help herself.

She saw him sitting and staring at the Lord Cantor with an odd expression on his face. Before he turned and caught sight of her, she took a moment to study him as he studied Cantor.

She didn’t believe that Jac’ trusted the Icarrion lord. She didn’t trust him, but she had reason not to. The Lord Cantor had brought Serillia from the planet Draggoster to rule Icarrion in her stead – betraying the dying queen and setting in motion a series of events that they were all still in the midst of. His actions had been responsible for her cousin, Sytor – the cannibalistic Xanetteian monster – sitting on her throne, and wearing her crown. Without Cantor’s interference, and in defying the old queen’s wishes, Sytor would never have dared to invade and conquer the planet.

But, why did Jac’ not trust him?

Jac’ leath Tar was young – slightly older than she was – and he looked as if he’d been forged in steel. They’d had their differences, but he was as loyal to her as Macha, Zax and her three royal guards. She trusted him with her life and – even though it was difficult for her to admit, even to herself – she loved him.

He sat with her father’s little dog, Sam on his knees, absently stroking and petting him. Sam had taken to never leaving his side. It was as if he needed another male to replace her father, and had chosen Jac’ because Jac’ was human and Sam trusted humans.

Her eyes flicked across to where Cantor was regaling two Gobbleskypes with one exploit or another, and she then flicked her gaze back to Jac’. Something was going on between them – something that had Jac’ worried – and she made a mental note to find out what it was.

He seemed to suddenly sense her, and turned his head slightly to bring her into his line of sight.

‘Hello, Astra,’ he said. ‘Do you need me?’

She shook her head. ‘No. I was just taking a walk and stopped to look at you.’

‘Oh?’ He was nonplussed. ‘I’m not that interesting.’ He knew that – in her eyes – he was that interesting. She’d recently come close to declaring her love for him, and he’d rejected her – an episode they were both keen to forget.

‘Actually, I wanted to talk to you.’ She stepped closer and hunkered down beside him, reaching out to stroke Sam. ‘Can you spare me a few moments?’

He looked at her expectantly. ‘Of course.’

She weighed her words. ‘I made you a promise, Jac’. You’ve been very patient.’

He stared at her in silence, his eyes never leaving her face.

‘I know how worried you are about your mother and your sister, but...’

‘You want me to be patient a while longer?’

She nodded.

‘I see.’

‘I hope that you understand?’

He cleared his throat, and shook his head. ‘What is there to understand? I know that you have responsibilities. I know that you have things that you need to do, and that those things take precedence over my family.’ His eyes held a deep hurt. ‘I understand perfectly.’

‘It’s lot like that, Jac’.

He couldn’t look at her. He felt so let down and betrayed. ‘It’s exactly like that, Astra. You care more about the dead than you do about the living.’

Look to the living, Astra – not the dead, Zax had said, and now Jac’ was saying much the same.

‘If you would just wait a little longer,’ she said.

‘I have waited. I put you before them, Astra. I stayed with you when I should’ve gone looking for them. As soon as I knew... as soon as I’d been told about them