Chapter Summary wrote:
Walk the Divide
Viper found something. Then, he delivered it to its rightful keepers. 1346 words.
Author Note
Lore regarding a hatchling bought from Etherium, with an accompanying (preceding?) illustration.
The sea’s roar wasn’t all that different from the ominous rumble of lava - the quality of it was harsher, speaking more to endless, restless motion, but as Viper picked his way along the cliff descent, he felt the same great rumble rising up against him, as though out of the throat of a vast living thing. At the edges of pits and crevasses, the heat was always there, rising and bearing the voice of the magma with it. Here, it was cold that accompanied the snarling, stinging flecks of sea spray biting at his hide.
He wrapped his wings around himself tighter, pressed his fins to his neck, found purchase in the next foothold to slink forward. Viper was a dragon of the land, and he didn’t trust this place where the sea lay in waiting, nor the vicious air currents that tumbled back and forth over the cliffs. That was the idea, he supposed. No dragon needed to guard the gate when you had the elements in raw form doing all the work. The first time he’d visited the Black Bellows, he’d had to follow at that skydancer’s wingtips, and he’d hardly passed the first tunnel before he felt himself lifted up and whisked along. The entrance had spat him out into the central chamber, and he’d nearly crashed when prompted to land, so dizzied was he by the journey. Mirrors weren’t built to fly like that.
And they weren’t built to fly a cliff like this, either. Lucky for him and what he carried that they
were built to
climb it.
The egg rested delicate between his jaws, a hair’s breadth from destruction. Right then and there, they were alike like that, see. And when he’d first found it, eyes drawn by its Arcane glow, wasn’t it the same? Moss and flowers in a ring in the stark black dust, creation and destruction on a knife’s edge. From there, it traveled this cliff, gliding along the line between fire and water. And he’d bring it to rest in a place on the brink, a sanctuary for dragons denied sanctuary. He could have taken it to Naia, but something about that struck him wrong. Viper had looked at this egg, and though he’d never say it - he wasn’t a superstitious dragon - he’d thought he’d felt it looking back. It had stared at him, unafraid.
He liked the Black Bellows. He liked its dragons. But he sensed that dragons there sank into…into a sort of quilted shape, haphazardness stitched up into harmony by Naia’s placid gaze. Too much safety. Too much surety. No place for a mystery of an egg that already knew danger and thought to look it in the eye.
This last stretch would be the most hazardous, with the tide high and the path into the Ashencove flooded. Viper paused. The motion of the waves surged back and forth - he crouched, tensed, leaped and hit the water. Salt rushed into his jaws around the shape of the egg, and he threw his head back, straining to hold it above water. He’d timed it wrong - the water pulled him back not unlike the winds of the Bellows, swallowing him, then seized his body and flung him forward again, towards rock - Viper opened his wings and flapped wildly, flailing, until his claws found sand and with a desperate jump and scrabble he dragged himself out of the deeps and onto the shore inside the cave, collapsing onto his belly and shuddering, spitting water around the egg and wheezing out of the sides of his beak.
How long he lay there, he couldn’t tell. Long enough for him to stop shaking and feel cold and numb instead, and for the light from the egg to burn itself into his eyes, such that when he finally let it roll onto the sandy ground and looked up, his greater eyes blinked uselessly into the darkness and his lesser eyes weren’t much better.
He heard them before he saw them, in fact. A vague warbling - vague to him, at least - hardly audible above the roll of waves outside. Viper shook himself and stood, limbs still quivering slightly, letting the egg rest against his foretalons.
“Evening,” he rasped into the darkness. “Don’t know about good.”
No response. As he blinked, the darkness began to resolve itself; heat signatures first, the warm shapes of Fire-born dragons appearing as firm pulses in a field of cool depth. The third one came into view along with the bauble he carried, red speck of light and dull speck of fae body heat guttering near the top of the cavern, perched like his namesake.
Mirrors were easy conversations. A greeting, a little walk around one another and a sniff, and you’d be off to share a kill. Coatls weren’t usually hard, either. These ones, though, the haunts of the Ashencove, Viper had suspected them to be prickly sorts. He couldn’t blame them.
He reached down and took up the egg between his jaws again, muzzling himself. He knew he struck an imposing figure, with broad, scarred shoulders and stout wings. But to be carrying an egg in your mouth was an unthreatening kind of way to be, so long as it wasn’t the egg of the poor dragon you faced.
And carefully, as though accepting the cue, the coatls slunk forward, ash-pale feathers pasted against their hides, eyes bright like coals and fixed unblinking on Viper.
“What is that?”
“What are you doing here?”
He couldn’t answer around the egg. Viper strode forward to meet them, letting them break around him like a wave rippling around a rock, slipping past his flanks and reappearing in front of him. He wasn’t superstitious, but the color of their plumage aside, he could see how the pair could be called eerie. They moved like…snakes, or like smoke, seeming to ripple even when he was sure they stood still. And the fear in their eyes - that was fear, he was certain of it - was nestled just beyond a spark-brightness, like a mirror’s hunger, the whittled-down savagery of a hunter compelled to be so by their own need.
They shuffled forward and tasted the air, tongues nearly flicking against the end of Viper’s snout, then shrank back. The paler one warbled again.
“Whose egg is that?”
That was as good a cue as any to set the thing down, he thought. So he did, and nudged it with his nose - it rolled a trail through the dark sand and came to rest before the pair, still glowing violet, arcane sparks detaching from it and flickering up through the air.
“Yours.”
They both stared at him.
Viper flicked his tail and started to turn. It should explain itself. The dragons here were eerie and peculiar, but they weren’t evil, and he wasn’t stupid. They would care for it, if he left it here.
“Wait.”
“I’ve got a hunt to get back to.” He turned his head and looked back over his wing, though, gave them a grin that was all teeth. He saw their eyes fixed on him, expressions blank but no doubt frozen in shock, and he saw the ghastly little fae drop from the ceiling to inspect the egg himself. “Don’t you worry, it’s a tough one.”
He was forced to pause to consider how to confront the way out, which broke the smoothness of his exit a little. But they didn’t speak up again, and they didn’t come after him, and when Viper gave one last glance over his shoulder he saw the three outcasts huddled around the egg and staring at it like it might disappear before their eyes. He saw little flowers winding out around them, too, frail little signs of life blooming in the night beneath specters of bone and ash.
He wasn’t superstitious, but that seemed a good sign. He carried it with him through the tide and up the cliff, from the silver-black night of the seaside to the stained-orange night of the volcanic inland, crossing the divides as he went.