Skytouch?

There was no answer to the dragon's whisper. The crystalline dracona lay broken at his feet, but a tingle in the dragon's mind told him she was not gone, not yet.

"Skytouch," he hissed again, venting smoke from his massive nostrils. Those who had knocked her from the sky lay torn in pieces, just beyond the ridge. He had answered her cry in time to avenge her, but not in time to save her.

"Highwing," whispered a voice to his left. "Stay your grief! You must listen!"

He swung his massive head in anger. "Iffling! Are you here to view the dead? Leave us in peace!"

"Highwing," answered the shimmering being, "your quarrel is not with me. Will you not accept my help?"

Highwing blew fire over the iffling's head. The creature floated out of the way, unperturbed. "If you want to help, then show me who encouraged those ... ungarkkondoh ... to do this."

"They were followers of one whom we do not name," whispered the iffling. "They meant to instill fear. You must not let them succeed. You must listen."

Highwing ignored the meddlesome being. What did its words matter? His mate lay dying, victim of a senseless, savage attack. She had come from the Dream Mountain to sing the memories of the realm; but some, it seemed, no longer approved of such stories, though the telling of them was an almost sacred function of the draconae. Those un-garkkondoh had deserved far worse than the death he had given them in punishment. But it was he who would suffer now. Skytouch, why did I not stay with you?

"Listen to her!" urged the iffling. "Listen while you can!"

Highwing did not answer. As he gazed down at her broken crystal wings, beautiful even in the fading twilight, his eyes filled with memories of Skytouch under a noonday sun: wings of gossamer crystal riding the wind, eyes ablaze, her flight-song gladdening the air. Now her eyes were nearly extinguished. Listen to her? He reached out in thought. Skytouch?

Her left eye glimmered faintly. He tilted his head, narrowed his gaze to peer into the interior or her eye. Deep within its facets a fire still burned, though faintly. Skytouch, he whispered with his mind. Can you hear me?

There was a golden flash in the center of his vision, and an image danced in his eye: the two of them on wing, riding midday thermals. He sensed laughter, through the pain. But he could not return her laughter, not now. I wish I could take you back there, he thought. Or to the Dream Mountain. To the draconae, to the other females.

L-i-s-t-e-n ...

He was astonished to hear her voice in his mind. Skytouch --

L-i-s-t-e-n ... t-o ... t-h-e ... W-o-r-d-s.

His gaze penetrated deeper into the dying coals of her eyes, into the pain, sharing it. Listen to the Words? Now?

Her mind-voice strained to be heard. Y-o-u ... Y-O-U ... m-u-s-t ... r-e-m-e-m-b-e-r ... And before he could do more than quiver in surprise, another memory grew bright in his thoughts.

The young female rose, tinkling. Gazing into the sky, she sang in a crystalline voice:

From beyond life will come one From beyond hope will come one Without friend will come one And the realm shall tremble.

Innocent of our ways will come one Challenging darkness will come one Speaking her name will come one And the realm shall tremble.

From that one comes a beginning From that one comes an ending From that one all paths diverge And surely the realm shall tremble.

The vision darkened, Skytouch's strength ebbing.

Highwing rumbled in wonder. He remembered the time. It was his first sight, as a youngling, of Skytouch. There had been more words than that, words of warning, of admonition. Prophecies of demons entering the realm, of innocence challenging darkness. Of deeds that might come to pass. Of the need for wisdom, the need to discern what is or is not garkkondoh. Words of little meaning to him then, or now.

He blinked slowly, so as not to break the weakening bond with his mate. There was little light left in her now. Why had Skytouch wanted him to see that memory? He was no dracona.

She seemed, even in the growing darkness of her thoughts, to be aware of his question. Y-o-u ...

Skytouch?

... m-u-s-t ... r-e-m-e-m-b-e-r ...

He breathed smoke. Yes. For you. But why?

Her fires were failing rapidly. But a spark flickered in her eye and one more image appeared in his thoughts. He recognized himself, flying high in a night sky. There was danger in the image: someone there, someone not of the realm. He imagined that he felt the mountains trembling. Speak not of this, but hold it close to your heart, he seemed to hear her say.

What is it? he whispered. But the image was fading. Skytouch? Wait!

Be wise, son of Strongwing. Be wise ...

He seemed to hear her last words chiming on the air. The connection was cold. Her eyes were dark now, the last spark gone. She had fled to the Final Dream Mountain. The glass shards of the vessel that had held her in life were now empty. Skytouch, he whispered, call to me and I shall hear you wherever I may be, though all of the mountains lie between us.

There was no answer.

He raised his head. Even the iffling was gone.

Highwing tipped back his head and roared into the night sky. He lit the sky with a thundering flame. What had she been trying to convey? What duty? He would not learn it here, not now.

Wings unfurled, he leaped into the air in fury and grief. Her death would be repaid -- not now, perhaps, but one day. He would keep her thoughts in his heart, though he didn't understand them. He would ponder them and learn. One day he would understand.

For now, bewildered and alone, he could only beat his way into the cold stinging wind, high into the deepening night sky.

Copyright © 1992 by Jeffery A. Carter