Broken Wings, Scattered Dust

Paling Storm, Rising Tides

My cloud meandered lazily over Draconia, drifting this way and that with the wind’s tides.  I lay atop in a half-daze, soaking in the sun, but I kept the relaxing warmth out of my head.  Retirement wasn’t safety.  Not in my profession, and not by a long shot.  But then again, not much in my profession—if I could even call it that—was all that safe.

As the cloud wandered on, I shifted the winds ever so slightly, feeling them roam free, ushering the cloud eastward, and a peaceful while later a faux-obsidian spire slid into view.  I double-checked to make sure I was not being tailed, then slid off the cloud and coasted downwards, curling around the rising thermals.  I angled myself towards the ledge that eventually crept into view, two specks milling about on its mirror-black surface.

I alighted right on the ledge’s lip a few minutes later and was promptly accosted by two dragons.  The smaller of the two, a snowy-white female, examined me with suppressed amusement, but the verdigris male looked coldly and expectantly down at me, stiff with formality.  I made to speak first—to show my respect—but he, apparently, had other plans.

“Forbearer.”  He lifted his snout and paused, letting that single word shake the ledge and fade into the distance before continuing.  “You have my gratitude.”

I was a little taken aback.  Not that he already knew the job was done, but that he spoke first.  It wasn’t like him to show respect to ponykind.  I saw my surprise reflected in the female’s blood-red eyes, but I swiftly quelled my shock and bowed, no words emerging from my open mouth.  I rose slowly and offered the dragon two matching necklaces, which he gingerly took with a pair of gleaming talons.

“And you, Cavantina.” He turned towards the female, apparently oblivious to my troubles as he turned towards the spire.  “You have earned my trust.”

She bowed wordlessly too; I could feel mirth radiating from her, barely contained.  Fortunately for us, Descant chose that moment to thud back into the spire, presumably to retrieve my bounty, and the female burst out laughing as soon as he limped out of earshot.  I managed only a quiet chuckle.

“Ahahaha, what a sucker,” she said, clutching her chest; I donned my goggles and the illusory dragon melted away, replaced by my little sister, who was laughing heartily.  The faint outline of the white dragon was visible around her, racked with the same frivolity.

“He honestly can’t see through that?” It seemed strange that dragons—magical creatures by nature—would be fooled by Whimsy’s disguise, so either Descant was an excellent performer, or he genuinely didn’t know that his Cavantina liason was all make-believe.  He’d never even think of hiring me unless there was someone—some dragon—who believed I was the right pony for the job.

“Nope!” she said cheerfully, still prancing about.  “None of them can.  Isn’t it great?”

“It is not.”  I frowned at her.  “And stop that.  If they see you...”

Whimsy stopped abruptly and stared in my direction with such ire I almost flinched.  “They won’t,” she said coldly, and the ghost of Cavantina growled in irritation, blowing smoke at me.  We stared at each other for a split-second, then I heard the thud-thud that prefaced Descant’s return.

In an instant, I flipped my goggles up and Whimsy reassumed her draconic guise just as Descant appeared in the archway, bearing a cloth sack.  Apart from the thud of his footfalls, he approached us in complete silence, and I returned it in kind, but Cavantina started humming a quietly upbeat melody, her draconic tones lending it a soft crystalline ring.

If I could’ve managed it without Descant seeing, I would’ve smacked her across the face for breaching protocol, but once again, the lumbering dragon took me by surprise: he started humming too, and not—as I first thought—in unison, but his own, higher melody, resting lightly upon Cavantina’s wavering thread.

Yet as soon as it started, it stopped.  The white dragon cut her thread short, but Descant kept humming, either oblivious or indifferent to her indignance, thudding ponderously back to us.  It was a smart move either way.  If he’d so much as shot a nasty look at Whimsy, he’d have found his face in the floor and his feet in the air long before he could follow it up.  It was a gut reaction I had yet to master; the dragon would only consider violence after all his other options were exhausted.

Descant stopped before us and gingerly set the sack down, then wordlessly unfolded it.  Inside was a small stone box, about the size of his foot and engraved with what seemed to be their language.  I glanced at Cavantina, who’d narrowed her eyes and was frowning at the box, apparently reading it.  She was actually staring slightly to the left of the box, but if Descant noticed, he didn’t show any sign of it.

“I apologize,” he said, laying two taloned claws on the box’s top.  “If your expectations are not met.  There is little left of value I can give.”  He opened the box with a single talon, then lifted something small out of it like one would lift a newborn.  Sunlight glinted off the little I could see, but the rest of it remained obscured by his claws.  I noted with some trepidation that Cavantina’s brow grew more furrowed by the second.  Descant approached me slowly, holding the something with a level of reverence that did not befit any pile of coin.

I tensed as he approached, hiding the motion with a nervous shuffle, but my fear went unrealized.  Descant unfurled his claws and set a pony-sized shortsword at my feet; it took quite a bit of willpower to contain my confusion—surely he’d heard that I hadn’t used a blade?  I couldn’t help but glance up at his golden eyes.  They were downcast, darting this way and that.  Every way but at me.

He seemed equally reluctant to speak, and kept sheepishly nudging the sword towards me with his good leg—handle first—until I picked it up, almost tossing it by accident; it looked a lot heavier than it was.  The scabbard bore the same curling runes as the box and was fitted with cloth straps, presumably to secure around a pony’s midriff.  It unsheathed without a whisper, its single-edge blade glittering menacingly with a stygian reflection of the clouds above.  More jagged runes ran up and down its length on both sides; it was clearly of draconian origin but unmistakably intended for equine use.

Descant was eyeing the sword with a strange look on his face, and I realized that it was the kind of look an artist dons when observing their own creation.  I didn’t know much about volcanic blacksmithing, but it undoubtedly took huge dedication over a long time to create something as elegant as the sword, even for an accomplished smith.  Which made it all the more puzzling that Descant would’ve poured all that time into crafting a sword for a pony.  Equestrian-Dracionian relations weren’t exactly terrible, but we kept our distance, and so did they.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.  I could think of nothing else, but Descant seemed to take it well enough.  He made eye contact with me for about a split second before returning to pawing at the ledge, leaving light scratches behind.  I took the opportunity to sneak a glance at Cavantina, who was staring in the sword’s direction with an intense concentration, the kind that I usually only saw on Whimsy when she was immersed in a story.

“Thank you, Forbearer.”  He tilted his head.  “I hope it is sufficient.”

I wanted nothing more than to smack him across the face and detail why exactly I eschewed bladed weaponry, but behind him, Cavantina was behaving rather oddly.  She pointed at the sword, nodded furiously, then held up two open claws, as if she were trying to stop someone.  More to cover her antics than actually accept his payment, I nodded.  “It is.”

The sword stayed silent as I resheathed it, a relieved Descant watching the whole while, and behind him, Cavantina had returned to swaying and humming quietly.  I secured it to my back and was about to politely bid him farewell when he tapped my shoulder; I instinctively wanted to smack the paw away, for its unforgivable breach of personal space, and for one brief, heady moment, I went deaf from blood thundering through my ears.

“...Oh,” Descant said, taken aback.  I turned around to find him holding one claw as though I’d electrocuted it.  “My apologies.”

I just looked at him expectantly.

“I was going to ask if...perhaps I could interest you in another job,” he continued.

“No thanks.”  I turned around abruptly.  “I’m retiring.”

“Wait!” he said desperately.  A light gust blew across my neck; he’d reached out to tap me again, but apparently thought better of it.  “This one’s...different.”

I scoffed, looking out towards the distant Equestria and unfurling my wings.  “I’m retiring.”

“It’s...just an offer. ”  He took a breath that seemed to last about three minutes.  “...But there is no payment.”

I was abruptly buffeted by a blast of cold wind, ruffling my mane and whistling as it played through Descant’s motionless scales.  I didn’t turn to face him, but neither could I still see the landscape; everything but the wind seemed to seize up, hanging on Descant’s next words.  It was all I could do to wait and hear him out.  What kind of job worth nothing is worth doing?  Charity?  But if it was that, why ask me?

There was a very slight scraping sound from behind me—I tensed again—but nothing else came, no other signs of subterfuge.  After a short pause, Descant spoke again, sounding hesitant.   “How much do you know...about dragons?"

I’d’ve glowered at him if I’d been facing him, so the distant mountains were treated to my scornful gaze instead.  “Enough.”

Descant shuffled backwards, a brief flash of fear radiating from him; I’d let more irritation into my voice than I’d intended.  He was asking for something I’d put a lot of time into, and retired or not, bandying my knowledge about would invariably land me in places I’d much rather not be.  But...

“Sorry,” I said, finally turning to face him.  “But I can’t say.”

Descant carefully peered down at me, golden eyes glowing faintly, and after a moment, an expression of understanding flitted across his visage.  Or rather, that’s what it looked like—having a face made of scales didn’t really facilitate facial expressions.  I stared right back, keeping my face as level as I could, waiting for him to respond.

But he didn’t, for what seemed like half an hour, but was only a few seconds.  It’d just started to rain when he moved again; he motioned for Cavantina to leave, and she obliged, still humming and flexing her talons so they wouldn’t scratch the obsidian.  We both watched her go, the cool rain tinkling against Descant’s scales and soaking my feathers.

“I’m listening,” I prompted him when she’d vanished into the spire.  At the very least I would learn what would push him to ask me to help for free—I needed money, not another sword or something that I’d have to sell for money.  Precious few would buy without asking how I’d come by such curios; I was not a regular contact of any one of them.

Descant took his time answering.  He thudded this way and that, turned to the ledge’s tip and regarded the landscape with a solemn silence, tapped his claws against the ledge, paced some more, then repeated the routine for what seemed like several minutes.  He didn’t seem concerned that his antics might aggravate me; at one time they might’ve.  Patience was not always a virtue I could muster; for now, I was content to feel the rain on my back and the wind weaving itself into my mane.  I could outpace almost every pegasus I’d ever met, but no matter how fast I went, it never felt the same as standing in the wind.

It felt like I was soaked to the bone when he finally turned to face me.

“You must think I’m insane,” he said carefully.  I just looked at him, so he went on hesitantly, the words dribbling slowly at first.  “This job...is a pressing matter for many, but those whom it concerns cannot perform it, and those who can perform it, it does not concern.”

Descant took a moment to contemplate the rain clouds, so I filled in:  “Dragons and ponies.”  He was giving off distinct impression that he was steadily growing more and more uncomfortable, and watching him twist his insides into ever more intricate knots was starting to hurt me.

“Indeed.  You are aware of the rift between us, I presume?”

“A little.”  Whimsy knew more about them than I did, but I’d had my fill of encounters with his ilk.  “Only what I need to know,” I amended.  “Or needed, rather.”

His eyes gleamed with a hint of something strange, but he inquired no further.  “Then let the truth be known; we are dying.  In one year, or with luck, two, there will be no dragons.”

The last two words reverberated around my head like so many church bells, echoing inside my head, drowning out any coherent thought.  I’d never heard of dragons dying before; they were, by all accounts, immortal.  Yet here he was, asking me to combat extinction, but...assassins were the go-to for ending lives, not saving them, and especially not saving hundreds or thousands or however many dragons there were.

“I ask because there are few of your discipline and skill in...execution.”  The corners of his mouth curled, and I again had to resist the urge to smack him.  “Even fewer of your resolve, but most importantly, you are here and not imprisoned.  If I am to entrust this job to someone—excuse me, somepony—I want to be absolutely sure that it will be carried out with all due secrecy.”

I understood, even if I hadn’t agreed.  “There are others better suited to saving lives.”

Descant merely shook his head.  “You misunderstand me.  The task is not saving dying dragons.”  He took another long breath, his eyes drifting out of focus.  “We are...bound to the Earth.  Chained to the natural tides of magic.  The Earth gives us our power, our fire, but...sometime in the past year, that flow started weakening.  How soon it will vanish, I don’t know, but I can...feel it waning.  Our days are numbered.  I wish only to know why.”

And I went right back to confused.  “So...why me again?  I’m no unicorn.”

“You’re no stranger to magic, either,” he said, giving me a sideways glance paired with an unsettingly knowing grin that sent tremors running along my back.  Did he know?  And if he did...how?

“...No, I guess not,” I said quietly, after a moment.  His shrewd grin disappeared as swiftly as it’d come, replaced by his usual peculiar mixture of fluid timidity and soft-edged severity.  The rain thickened, its beats on the obsidian ledge escalating from a soft drizzle to a heavyset drumming, and several pure-white flashes pierced the sky off in the distance.  We turned involuntarily as one to watch the bolts weave their jagged threads between earth and sky, a mute, shared reverence in the face of nature’s impetuosity.  A long while passed before he spoke again.

“I ask you...because the magic that has touched you...” He drew another extraordinarily long breath, punctuated by the faint roar of thunder, miles away.  “It is the same magic that touches us.”

One of my eyebrows rose up in cold skepticism, but it fell as a stinging memory danced across my vision.

The Earth bellowing its anger in fiery pillars of lava and ash, blotting out sun and sky.

Two shadows, circling each other, locked in a spiral, falling down...down...down...

Burning heat, sweltering fumes, smoke and ash, too hot, too hot...

I pushed it away, and the ghostly plumes of fire dissipated.  Descant’s eyes were fixed on me, an odd sort of concern twisting his face into the cruel facsimile of a smile.  Neither one of us flinched as I met his gaze.  “Is that so?”

Descant’s levity disappeared.  “There is no reason to lie,” he said flatly, with such startling conviction that the rain itself seemed to hang in the air.  “But I can explain no further unless you accept.”

I hemmed and hawed, keeping my face impassive, but inside my mind was racing.  I had no obligations or commitments to anyone besides Whimsy and myself.  I didn’t owe anypony anything.  The ‘law’ would’ve liked to take me in, but it had done me no service.

I had more than enough to retire and sustain myself, but the real issue was if it’d be enough to sustain me and Whimsy until she could find her own calling.  At this point, I’d be fine with sacrificing creature comforts if it meant I never had to take another life, but it was perfectly possible that I could sacrifice everything and it still wouldn’t be enough.  There was no planning for how expensive being blind could be, even if she had her coping mechanisms.

I’d’ve had no problems taking that risk if it were just me, but I had a sister to take care of.  Nothing was worth leaving her to chance.  That, and I’d never hear the end of it if she found out I’d turned down a chance to help the dragons.

It’d be a damn nice change of pace, I had to admit.  From the little Descant had told me, it would certainly be a more as-we-go sort of job, instead of the usual rigidly scheduled and tightly planned rigamarole.

It might even be like...retirement.

Hah.

I opened my mouth to speak just as another bolt, dangerously this close this time, blasted down from the clouds, bathing the spire’s tip in a blinding glow.  “I’ll try,” I said, after its reverberations subsided.  “On one condition.”

I took a breath.

“You must be prepared at any time to take care of...somepony for me.  If I lack the funds, or if something happens to me...they will find you.  You are to care for them as you would your own.”

He almost objected, but after an apparently lengthy internal debate, thought better of it.  “I understand,” he said, returning to his normal, soft-thunder tone.  “And I accept.”  He scritched at the ledge for several moments, then pulled a yellow gemstone out.  I’d never thought I’d see a dragon eating a gem quietly, but if anyone I knew was mild-mannered enough to pull it off, it was Descant.  It sounded like he was eating a saltine.

“The first thing,” he said between bites, “is that yes, the same magic touches us both, but its alterations differ.  Whereas you have your...gift,” he nodded graciously, "we are bound to the elements.  At birth, a shard of elemental magic binds to us, whatever element is most prominent in our vicinity.  Dragons born in or near volcanos, naturally, inherit the gift of fire.  Others inherit more...unusual gifts.”

Descant finished off the gem, drew another long breath, raised his head until his neck was completely vertical, and with the unmistakable booming roar of thunder, he bellowed a white-hot bolt of lightning, arcing skyward until it breached the clouds and vanished as soon as it’d come.  Keeping my jaw attached was no small effort; I could evade dragon fire, sure, but not dragon lightning.  It was good Descant didn’t hate me, but he couldn’t be the only one with that particular element, and running into a less amiable lightning-breathing dragon was far from impossible.

“I never knew.”  My voice sounded pathetically weak in the thunder’s aftermath.  I had spent no small amount of time in the presence of dragons, but I had only ever seen fire-breathing.  Until now.

“You understand why we guard such a secret,” he said carefully, and I nodded wordlessly.  “We dragons are creatures of magic, just as ponies are, and it is from that connection that we inherit that gift.  But while we enjoy a connection to the elements, you enjoy a connection to the souls of yourself and of others.”  He smiled toothlessly.  “You can be friends with ponies and animals in a way that no dragon ever could, thanks to the Starweaver and the Progenitor.

“Our magic comes from the same beings as yours, and—”

“No,” I cut in sharply.  “My magic comes from a place, not from any creatures.  The place where—”

“—magic roams free and follows no path but its own?”  A smug little grin twisted the dragon’s mouth.  “Who do you think put it there?  Who do you think keeps it from leaving that place?”

I said nothing.

“Those dragons go by many names, but none, I think, that you know.  The place where they they stand guard, however, you know as the Eyrie.”

The name filtered into my mind like an ice-cold trickle of water; I shivered uncontrollably, and it had nothing to do with the rain.

“But even they get their magic from someone deeper, someone who created and shaped everything from the very beginning, when all was turmoil until her divine spark ignited it, and it exploded into the world, into the universe.  Her name is Lucifa, and it is to her that we owe our eternal gratitude, but...”  He bit his lip, the rain still battering down upon us both.  “Some time ago she vanished, and...”

The last words got caught on the way out, so I finished it for him.  “You’ve been declining ever since.”

Descant looked upwards again.  “Yes.”

“So I’m to go find this...goddess.”

“Yes,” he repeated, lowering his head.  “The Mother is fleeting even at the best of times.  She has not been seen by dragons for several months, but every now and again, we catch word of a pony who has.”  Shivers rattled his scales ever so slightly.  “That Lucifa may have abandoned us is an...unpleasant thought to consider.”

“And you want me to bring her back.”

“Some do, others don’t.  I?”  He downed the last of the gemstone—I could’ve sworn I heard it clanking down his throat—and breathed deeply.  “I merely want the truth.”

“The truth.” I echoed.  “The truth is not always pleasant.”

“‘Tis not, but if my time is soon, then I would be comforted knowing that the Mother watches over us, however far away.”  His eyes glazed over, so I cleared my throat, and they sharply returned to focus.

“Where do I start?”

“There is a shrine to the north, about two days’ flight from here, in an open field, in the center of a ring of six trees.  There was a dance, of sorts, and afterwards, Lucifa used to appear there, a few times a year, and we would celebrate her gift to all of us.”  His eyes drifted out of focus again.  “Mother refused all our gifts, she was so humble...”

Glassy-eyed nostalgia was my first bloodless victim on this new venture; I none-too-gently smacked Descant right across his foreleg, and he snapped out of it.

“Apologies.”  He withdrew a small compass from the sack and offered it to me.  “Please, take it.  You will find more use for it than I.”

I took it uncertainly, surreptitiously feeling the beveled wooden edges for any traces of subterfuge.  There were none.  I flipped it open, then closed, then open, then closed again.  Descant undoubtedly knew that, as a dragon, possessing a compass meant either he had close pony friends, or he had his claws in something besides assassinations.  Compasses were impossible to come by for the general populus.  Ponies and dragons.

“Thanks.”  I’d always oriented myself purely by landmarks and stars, so it was a welcome gift, if not entirely necessary.  It clipped comfortably onto the sword’s harness, and I turned around, the rain rolling off the sheathe.  “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Descant said nothing.  I waited for what seemed like hours, but he didn’t do so much as fidget; after a while, I spread my wings and waited some more.  If he hadn’t had the limp, I would’ve thought he’d just disappeared.

But when I dropped off the ledge and floated towards the treetops, the temptation to look back became overwhelming.  I chanced a glance backwards; the emerald head of a soft-spoken dragon was poking over the ledge’s lip, silently contemplating me with two shimmering, molten-gold eyes.