A Fledgling for Summer's Rising (Santaclaws Book 3) Read online

  A Fledgling for Summer’s Rising

  Santaclaws Book 3

  By Marc Secchia

  Copyright © 2021 Marc Secchia

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.marcsecchia.com

  Cover designed by:

  www.miblart.com

  Dedication

  To true believers one and all:

  Wishes are different when it comes to dragons.

  Wishes take wing, and come true.

  Table of Contents

  A Fledgling for Springtide

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: A Jungle Walk

  Chapter 2: Butterfly Barrage

  Chapter 3: The Western Escarpment

  Chapter 4: Recovery

  Chapter 5: Slave

  Chapter 6: Snuggles in Flight

  Chapter 7: Flight, Alright

  Chapter 8: The Ferny Brakes

  Chapter 9: Double Cross

  Chapter 10: Azuzithyalé

  Chapter 11: Plots and Plans

  Chapter 12: Flying and Falling

  Chapter 13: Breakaway

  Chapter 14: Wide, Deep and Far

  Chapter 15: Floating Trees

  Chapter 16: Wyldefey

  Chapter 17: Jungle-Born

  Chapter 18: Clan Home

  Chapter 19: O Starry Night

  About the Author

  Chapter 1: A Jungle Walk

  28th of Marus Month

  AS THE ARYSSILLATI ELVES marched from branch to branch or swung up the jungle trail to Faifarathi Elvenholme, they struck up a familiar journeying song, which recounted the legend of how Santazathiar had planted the jungles for his favoured people, the Elves. It reminded Keir that Humans were relatively new arrivals on the continent of Tyanbran, and how some of the other races regarded them as interlopers, or at the very least, somewhat young and naïve.

  Not so much the Certanshi – fond of genocide, and similar pursuits.

  A nine-anna war had created such pressure upon the Kingdom of Amarinthe that some of his Councillors – and perhaps the Queen herself – had begun to plot against King Daryan. These circumstances, and the birth of the first Dragoness to be seen in all the realms of Tyanbran in over eighty anna, had combined to force Keir’s family, pursued by Certanshi assassins and subject to growing anti-Elven sentiment, to flee for their lives.

  Could Certanshi agents sent by Sankurabi Bloodfang have penetrated even the jungles? He knew his father’s mission was twofold: to see his family and the Elvish refugees of Amarinthe to safety, and to petition the Elves once more to send substantial aid into the mountains in support of Good King Daryan – before it was too late.

  Keir eyed his injured foot glumly. The journey down from Amarinthe to the Arabaxa Jungles had been brutal, but ultimately mostly successful, with only a few lives lost. What a time to have metal clamps and a rod holding his lower left leg together. A blacksmith’s pet project had nothing on this.

  Keee-irr, trr-d, trilled from his left side.

  He smiled at Auroral Storm Diamond, his literal treasure found amidst an eerie, terrifying storm. To be precise, her diamond egg had shot toward his chest in a blur against the backdrop of the death of only the most sacred tree in all Elfdom, the Lailan-Sarémia-tay-Vænar, or Mother Tree.

  The Mother Tree. Holier than holy.

  Ugh. Only an entire continent’s worth of guilt about that event – eh, Keir?

  Tired? he asked, receiving a nod. “Ye lads alright to carry another?”

  You’re talking that barbaric Human tongue in the jungles, cousin-long-awaited? one of his older cousins, Aralan, teased – but his tone was not entirely playful.

  Sorry, cousin-long-unseen, he returned equably. Habit. I shall break it immediately.

  He snapped his fingers to illustrate, making them chuckle. At their say-so, he drew the dragonet to him and settled her upon the rough litter, his new home, travelling conveyance and number one annoyance rolled into one. Storm was an infant in Dragon terms. Having been born on Dragonmas Day, she was but three months old, rising four. She still needed her midmorning nap, especially if her day had already been full of meeting so many members of the extensive Aryssillati Clan, his Elven family.

  Then, she would wake fully fuelled for mischief.

  Most recently, said mischief had involved eating half of his shirt off of him as he slept. This little one’s appetite knew no stanching, from bushes and berries to diamonds. Affording to keep a Dragon was neither for the faint of heart, nor the light of purse. Meantime, the dragonet settled her sharp muzzle right in the crook of his neck, and fell asleep immediately. Handy skill. Minus the light snoring, but on the plus side, her breath was surprisingly fragrant. Like jungle apples today, rather than the stinking sulphur breath foretold in the legends.

  Keir grinned up at his four cousins. Hope you’re feeling muscly today. The girls in the family will be evaluating your performance.

  Oh, we’ll make them carry your fat half-Human person later, Aralan said, but tempered his comment with a wry smile. Sorry. After we heard something of what you’ve been through, Keir-most-respected, my blood has been boiling like jungle sap. Will you tell us your tale to ease this jungle walk?

  I’d be honoured.

  The trail to Faifarathi Elvenholme was four long days’ or six easy days’ travel, but it was well-marked and had long since been ‘smoothed’ to allow Humans – or in the old days, Dwarves – easy passage to the Elven capital city. That meant wooden or rope bridges connected one jungle giant to the next, safe boardwalks enabled easy passage around the huge trunks, and an environment which was regularly groomed and maintained to remove the worst dangers. One should never feel fully safe in the jungle, he reminded himself. Many of the Aryssillati chose to travel not along the broad, near-flat branches of the ubiquitous barigari trees, which often intermeshed to create a complex but Elf-navigable environment, but rather employed the lianas and vines cultivated alongside the path. They swung along with easy reach and momentum from one vine to the next, with that impressive, wiry upper-body strength developed from anna of doing just this – many Elves climbed before they could walk, and by Arami and Narini’s age, were competent aerial acrobats.

  In fact, four of his girl cousins broke into a somersaulting competition as he watched, peppering their traverses between vines with double and triple somersaults, including piked and twisting variations. Not one missed a handhold.

  He would have to train up his strength again to even begin to attempt something like that!

  Tarubythal, the back-left member of his carrying party, reached over with a cheeky chortle to pinch Keir’s left ear. Come on then, Mister Wyvernslayer – I hear there’s a fierce and wild rumour about my little cousin. You had best start nattering. Or do you require persuasion? Inserting two fingers into his mouth, he whistled piercingly. Story time! Who wants a story? Cousin Rhyl, over here! Tell us all about these Humans who live upon the frozen rooftop of the world. Did you return her with her ears fully intact?

  Of course, Keir protested.

  Oh, they don’t eat pickled Elf ears as a delicacy? Aralan pretended surprise.

  Everyone burst into laughter.

  And on that ridiculous note, the cavalcade proceeded through the jungle with Keir and Rhyl taking turns to tell their parts of the tale.

  * * * *

  Given the mighty height and extent of the largest jungle trees, sunlight could filter through the upper layers of canopy, one to two thousand feet above, depending on their elevation in the mid-upper canopy, as it was called. As Mauve’s light turned toward the golden-purple of evening, Keir judged by the quality of the light, the sun’s movement against the thick canopy and the increasingly impassioned efforts of the brilliant songbirds, minds began to turn to stomachs.

  They arrived as planned to a waystation which provided food and lodgings for peckish travellers, set a full mile above the jungle floor. This installation was a massive cluster of round shelters, colloquially called ‘nuts,’ spaced out among the branches over an area six or seven hundred feet in both vertical and horizontal dimensions, giving it the air of a mildly dislocated beehive. Each nut was a cosy oval space supplied with hammocks for sleeping and a small lounge and ablutions area. A green-clad attendant walked Keir and his family up to their assigned dwelling to show them around.

  Storm eyed the hammocks with a snootily upturned muzzle. Apparently these did not pass muster as suitable sleeping arrangements for Her Scaly Highness. She settled herself upon one of the round, bowl-shaped cushions with an air of finality. As in, storm and earthquake would not shift her.

  “Now’t a terrible idea, mind ye,” Keir commented to his mother. “I dinnae fancy clambering up into a hammock. Down here, I could keep my foot raised.”

  “What an un-Elven idea,” she snorted mildly.

  “Come on, who’s got the hungries?” Kalar called, using twin-speak.

  Arami and Narini perked up as if they had not just jungle-walked fifteen miles in a day. “Food!”

  Santazathiar’s oath! Between them and his dragonet, who now mewled with hunger, having just snacked upon four eight-inch caterpillars an hour before – truly astonishing how journeys always made
children hungry, by some mysterious magic. The twins had been pestering their mother for fruit and berries all day long. Gleaning had not been very good along this well-travelled route, but here at the waystation, they saw extensive, well-stocked branch gardens and towering fruit trellises fit to supply royalty.

  The greatest jungle trees supported a plethora of secondary-growth flora in the deep crenulations along the tops of their branches and bark, which over time gathered nutritious loam that in turn rooted many berry bushes, tree-vegetables, and even entire fruit trees right up in the canopy. The Elves crafted additional hanging gardens and cunning trellises for both utility and beauty, which around the waystations formed edible three-dimensional mazes of fragrant herbs, flowers, berries and vegetables.

  Following their noses toward the gorgeous aromas of food cooking, they passed beside a waterfall of tomato plants at least three hundred feet tall.

  How he loved the vibrant jungle colours! Everywhere one looked, gaudy flotillas of butterflies, iridescent insects and birds vied with one another for the wildest, most spectacular plumage and colouration. From his previous visits to the Arabaxa Jungles, he knew much of this had to do with being toxic or at least pretending to be, camouflage or attracting a mate.

  Along this branch that led from the family nut they had hired for the night to the main waystation building, a natural knotted bulge created a pond twenty feet wide, fifty long and perhaps two of him deep, Keir estimated. Above it hung hundreds of yellow weaver nests. The busy birds were making such a tuneful racket he could barely hear his father talking to the twins not three steps ahead. Bright canary-yellow males built nests with frantic energy and endeavour. The greener females, visibly and audibly unimpressed by the potential homes on offer, promptly destroyed all that hard work.

  Keir wobbled a little on his canes; Rhyl immediately linked her arm through his by way of support. Easy, cousin.

  Thanks, he smiled.

  She said, Despite the white hair, I don’t believe you were prepared for decrepitude just yet. Hop along here.

  Very funny.

  Oh, your hair’s jungle-chic, she grinned. I like it. There’s a local barber, you know –

  You are as subtle as you are hilarious, cousin-my-song. He swallowed hard. Rhyl, you appear pensive. Is everything alright?

  Not so much.

  Dipping her head, she allowed her long helical silver curls to slide forward, hiding her face. Keir swung gamely along, trying to avoid jolting the injured leg. Auroral Storm Diamond meantime helped herself to an inch-long green stag beetle foolish enough to step across her path. Up at this jungle level, the beetles were still small. Lower down, in the mid-lower and lower canopy layers a quarter-mile to half a mile below, some grew bigger than him, and a horned beetle could be a formidable opponent. Despite that the lower layers were dangerous and thickly entangled, they also offered the best hunting. Elves who dared to hunt the giant creatures of the deeps gained a certain acclaim and reputation.

  He said, Anything I can do to help, cousin-most-treasured?

  She sighed sharply. I suppose I should tell you before someone else does, right?

  That’s not what I meant.

  Keir-my-song … Another sigh? This was so unlike his cousin, his scalp prickled as if a few dozen beetles had made their homes atop his head. She said, Here’s the short version. After many anna of ill-treating my mother and me, my father has left home to become Wyldefey – I just heard this morning. My mother was already mentally unstable, but his leaving has pushed her over the edge, it seems. She is now completely mad. As in, unable to speak and dangerously aggressive. They’ve had to lock her up for her safety as much as anyone else’s. Satisfied?

  He clasped her hand with his elbow to convey sympathy. No, of course –

  At least you have your mother back! And I’m so … jealous!

  Bursting into tears, she turned and fled. In a second, she had leaped into the vines fringing the branch and vanished from sight.

  Keir received a parental glare in tandem. Great.

  Shanryssill said, I’ll go after her. Go eat, family-most-beloved. I’ll join you when I can.

  Feeling about as tall and clever as a slug squished beneath a hasty boot, he struggled after his family. Why, o why under good Mauve did he have to open his mouth and question her? It never ended well. The dragonet hopped into the pool for a swift clean and came out shaking like a dog and steaming rather less like a dog. As he had limped twenty paces on, she discovered his absence and came hurtling along behind, shrilling, Krrrr-krrrr! Krrrr!

  Bad Keir, evil Keir, nasty as a Certanshi dung-heap Keir, he muttered to himself.

  How depressing. He could not imagine what Rhyl must have gone through. It must have been hard for her to join their happy family – even knowing the tough times they had been through, it must have hurt. Deeply.

  “She sure dinnae leave ye alone for a second, lad,” Kalar said, ruffling his hair fondly. Oh, barber! Right now! “Cannae say ye are now’t popular with the girls, eh?”

  He waved back at two of his younger female third cousins, who turned pink and ran off giggling. “Och aye, Dad, but this lovely lot are all family. Still, if what it takes to find me a lass is having a scaly, sparkling lass of my own … dinnae ye ken?”

  “More than, say I.”

  “Dad –”

  “When yer planning to find yer special one, eh, son?”

  “Dad! Honestly! She’s right here.”

  Picking up the dragonet, he draped her over his shoulders. He was quite certain she had understood, and was putting on her insufferably smug expression.

  Kalar clapped him upon the shoulder. “Listen to yer father, ye rascal.”

  “Always do.”

  “Liar.”

  Chuckling together, they walked on.

  The eatery was a traditional Elven carvery. A great roaring fire stood in a central pit, where four sweating attendants worked at a spit-roast spiny tree-pig. This must have been a juvenile. The slab of meat splayed over the fire pit was fifteen feet long and ten wide, and had to weigh several tonnes of – oh, wow! Succulent spiced pork! His stomach voiced a wild growl in perfect concert with Storm’s whine of anticipation. The whole Clan could sup off this beast with plenty to spare.

  “Paid for this ourselves,” Kalar whispered, pride evident in every syllable. “Bless yer bounty, Santazathiar.”

  Keir clenched his right fist over his heart. “Blessings indeed.”

  He hoped His Crimson Majesty did not take unkindly to the small amounts the Elves had siphoned off of His incalculable riches. Humankind just needed a touch more saving, that was all. Minor issues clouded the horizon, such as an implacable and overwhelming enemy bent on total destruction, and a treasury full of mothballs.

  Around the wide pit, which sent its steam and smoke up and out of a wide chimney built into the solid wood roof, the traditional low tables stood waiting for the diners to recline about, and they too were groaning with produce, ranging from vegetarian pastries to nutty breads and platters of nibbles he could not even begin to identify. He was not sure he had seen so much food in his life. The thick, delicious atmosphere caused him to lick his lips in case he had inadvertently started drooling.

  Upon catching sight of his dragonet, the pit attendants and servitors broke into what was clearly a pre-planned rendition of Eat, Santazathiar, Eat! The ballad was part homage to the great Dragon and part a catchy, toe-tapping song to which to juggle knives, carve meat and toss dishes from one person to the next. The diners, mostly Aryssillati Clan, picked up the beat by thumping their foaming tankards of dark Elven beer upon the tabletops or tapping time with their wooden chopsticks, spoons and meat darts.

  Naturally, the dragonet strutted along as if this reception was nothing more than her due.

  She even produced extra radiance for the adoring Elves. Aye. A scoundrel from the sharp tip of her diamond muzzle to the pinprick talons, this one.

  Keir took Auroral Storm Diamond over to the fire pit to choose portions for his family. They had a bowl of choice cuts already prepared for her. Miss So-Starving lost not a millisecond in abandoning her favourite Dragon Guardian’s shoulder to bury her snout up to her ears in the offerings.