Llandry

10th day of the Seventh Moon (10 VII)

10th day of the Seventh Moon (10 VII)

And So, The Ancients.

Hitherto, the residents of Nuwelin have been composed almost entirely of hereditaries but recently come into our powers. Pensould is the sole exception.

… or he was until this morning, when we received a new arrival. That by itself is par for the course by now, and we have grown efficient at welcoming newcomers. He or she is handed off straight to Meriall, who usually serves as our welcome party. She in turn tours them around all the useful people to know — Loret and Damosel, for clothing and repairs; Liat, who keeps us fed; Sophronia, who acts as our healer; and, of course, me. I have been introduced to so many new people of late, I could almost say I am becoming used to it. Or desensitised, which is not the same thing.

At any rate, incoming residents are soon walked through how to set up their own dwelling here, and we usually have them settled within a few hours.

This time was different. When Nyden arrived, everyone knew about it right away. This is because he showed up in draykon form.

I was sitting with Damosel at the time. We were mending shirts and chatting without too much awkwardness, which is an achievement for me. Damosel’s more than thirty years older and treats me in a mildly motherly way which I don’t mind at all. We were setting stitches at a leisurely pace and talking about Ivi’s new crop projects, which was all peaceful and lovely, until a shattering roar threatened to blow away the shirt I was stitching up. Something properly vast shot overhead — so fast, it was gone in an instant and we couldn’t even tell what it had been.

It came back a couple of minutes later. A shadow passed across the suns as an enormous, sable-black draykon sailed over our village, banked and came at us again.

It roared a second time, a sound which shook me to my bones. If you were in Waeverleyne during the draykon war, you would understand full well what I mean when I say that. It is a war cry. It sounds terrifying enough to human ears, but to a draykon it resonates on several other levels too, filling all of our senses with the promise of ruin.

Nuwelin erupted. Most of us shifted by instinct, and within moments the sky was full of draykoni ready to defend our home. Pensould was foremost among us as we rounded up the newcomer and forced him to land, arranging ourselves thereafter in a containing ring around him.

It was only as I came to land myself, threat resolved, that it occurred to me to wonder why it had been so easy. The sable draykon sat quietly, surrounded, his tail swishing lazily back and forth over the grass.

I felt an odd shiver in my mind, emanating from the menacing newcomer. I tensed, wondering what new form of attack this was. Then I realised.

… the newcomer was laughing.

Not out loud. He was snickering in my mind, helpless with mirth. He waved the tip of his tail at us in a cheery greeting.

Then he said something in a language that sounded very much like Pense’s: I would translate it loosely as: ‘Howdy!’

Pense — handsome and majestic in his draykon-form, with those gorgeous blue-green scales — reared up and beat his wings back and forth. He roared, rattling my bones again.

The black draykon did that mental-smile type thing that Meriall had done, only with almost painful enthusiasm. He positively radiated open-hearted friendliness, which would have been lovely if he hadn’t started out with scaring us silly. Nyden! he said. Ny for short. Sorry, I could not help myself.

Pense settled down, his tail swishing with irritation. The other draykoni in the circle shifted and muttered and I sighed, fighting back a desire to smack him. A prankster… goodie.

Nobody spoke. It took me a while to realise that they, like me, were waiting for somebody else to take the lead in deciding how to greet Nyden. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realise that they were all waiting for me.

‘Hello, Nyden,’ I said with another sigh. ‘I suppose it was necessary to scare the living daylights out of us?’

Nyden grinned at me, a physical gesture this time, and I can tell you, it looks alarming when a draykon does it. There’s an awful lot of teeth involved. Come on! It was funny. You all jumped like rabbits.

‘Well.’ I considered how to answer that. ‘This is a small village, and there was a war not long ago. We haven’t yet seen anything of the draykoni who attacked Waeverleyne, but we expect to someday.’

Nyden flexed his wings, still grinning. His black scales rippled in the sunlight, and I began to understand something about him.

He is bigger than me. More than that: he is bigger than Pensould, and Pense is one of the largest drayks I have seen. Those scales are blacker than black, nightier than night. His eyes are dark, too, and narrow. If this was a storybook and I was in a fairy tale, Nyden would be the villain. He was the very image of typical wickedness, in his every feature.

Apparently he found that terribly amusing.

Whoops. I didn’t think of that, said Nyden, and belatedly added, Sorry.

‘What brings you to us?’ said Pensould.

Nyden beamed again. I just woke up. Actually, a little bit ago. It’s been a loooong time. He put a drawling emphasis on the last two words, and twitched his wings. So, the ones who woke me were the old kind. And they were so. Dull. They have some kind of purebreed-only colony down south a ways, and there’s a lot being said about humans and half-breeds and how wretchedly unfair it is that they are confined to Iskyr when they should rule the world. Or something. Nyden snorted softly through his teeth. ‘I got bored with that. I mean, who wouldn’t? So I came to find you lot. He snorted again, and added, ‘The upstarts. The half-breeds. He snickered, shaking his head. You’re a lot more fun than they are already. Can I stay?

Here was troubling news. We had heard nothing of this colony yet, but I could have little doubt that this was what had become of Eterna, the leader of the war on my home city, and her warlike supporters.

‘You can stay,’ I decided, when (again) nobody else spoke. ‘But, Nyden? Don’t scare us like that again, please.’

His head bobbed and he grinned at me. Absolutely not, yes. I mean, no. He made me a funny little bow, the tip of one fang protruding. Thank you, good Lady.

I mustered a smile for him in return, hoping my desire to flee wasn’t as obvious as I feared. ‘In that case, welcome to Nuwelin.’