Мэри Кирчофф - The Black Wing

Khisanth was seriously contemplating reneging on her deal with Kadagan and Joad. The nyphids had already violated their agreement as far as she was concerned. The yellow sun had risen and set countless times, and still they'd taught her nothing, not one single incantation. They'd kept her so busy doing pointless things that she hadn't even had time to work toward recalling those few minor spells she'd known before the Sleep.

Counting the petals of a wild rose, she fumed, viciously plucking out the stamen of the fuchsia-colored one she held in her left claw. Inanity! A thorn found its way to the tender flesh between two scales, and she flung the denuded flower from her angrily.

Kadagan had left her the prickly pile of blooms with instructions to contemplate the essence of a rose.

“What in the Abyss does that mean?” she'd ground out.

“Thou must discover what makes a rose a rose.”

“That's obvious. It looks like one.”

Kadagan had smiled indulgently and said as he left, “That would be the conclusion of one who is not qhen .”

At first, Khisanth had swallowed her annoyance and risen to the challenge Kadagan had flung at her. Her immense claws were clumsy tools for plucking fragile, pale pink petals, as futile an exercise as using a broadsword to find the wishbone in a tiny sparrow. Yet Khisanth was determined to prove to Kadagan that she had as much patience as he, and so she'd concentrated on separating the velvet-soft petals with the pointed tips of her claws. She held handfuls of petals to her flared nostrils and inhaled until the spicy fragrance was as familiar to her as rats or moist earth. Her long crimson tongue sampled both petals and stems until they no longer tasted bitter. But as time passed, measured by the number of petals Khisanth had plucked, her forced patience waned, then died.

Khisanth slowly paced the confines of the small cave Joad had found for her. It was not what the black dragon would have chosen for a lair. Her horns scraped the arched ceiling when she stood up straight in the regal, threatening pose she liked best; thus, when not asleep, she was forced to either stand with her long neck hunkered over, or sit on her haunches like some eager giant hound. She wouldn't be able to stretch and flex her wings here when the nyphids removed the annoying splint on her right wing.

Bats and small birds had called the cave home before Khisanth had arrived, but she had already consumed those she had not frightened away. A large, stagnant puddle of water in the farthest corner of the cave was the only source of pleasure for Khisanth in the lair. After meals on hot summer days and nights, the dragon liked to splash the fetid water up to her neck with her tail, then lie on the cool, dark stone-and-dirt floor.

At least it was dim inside the cave. Khisanth pondered the nyphid's adoration of light. They needed sunshine; she sought the solitude of darkness. Why had she agreed to follow the training of creatures so opposite to her own nature and needs? Greed, of course. The answer didn't shame her. Instead, it supported her decision to force them to teach her as promised.

Just then Khisanth froze and cocked her head to the side. Someone or something was approaching her lair. The underside of her long tail made a soft scraping sound as she scuttled to within twenty feet of the opening, where the shadows would still conceal her. She pressed her bulk up against the left wall. The burning green acid that constantly roiled in her stomach stood waiting in the back of her throat.

Kadagan bounded through the opening to the lair. Shaking rain droplets from his luxurious hair, the nyphid took one look at the scattered remains of roses. “Thou hast been busy,” he said, oblivious to Khisanth's threatening posture.

The dragon stepped from the shadows in the foulest of moods, one eye half-closed in a furious squint. “Don't you know better than to approach a dragon's lair unannounced? I nearly boiled you in acid.”

The nyphid looked neither concerned nor surprised. “I was aware of thee. Besides, I do not fear my own death.”

“Not fearing it and walking foolishly into it are two different things,” growled the dragon.

“Come, Khisanth,” said Kadagan as if she'd not spoken. He stepped from the cave. “The rain has stopped.” Still grumbling under her breath, the dragon followed the nyphid to the ridge of trees downhill from the lair, where Joad waited cross-legged on the ground. “Let us see what thou hast learned.”

“I've learned that I'm sick and tired of your games.” Khisanth impulsively snatched Kadagan up by the front of his green tunic and raised him a dozen feet from the ground.

“Either you teach me to shapechange right this minute, as we agreed, or you can pull some other hapless creature from the bowels of the earth to smell flowers.”

“Does a rose look like a badger?” Kadagan rasped from the pressure on his chest. His expression was strangely serene. Joad had not moved.

“Of course not!” snorted Khisanth at the improbable question.

“So, it is not a badger. Does it have the flavor of a moose?”

“No, it tastes like a rose!”

“And how is that?”

Drawn into the line of questioning despite herself, Khisanth set the nyphid down on the still-damp pine needles. “The wooden stem is acrid, and the center is sweet, compared to the rest.”

“Wouldst that not describe an orange or an apple?”

“No—” The dragon paused and thought for a moment. “Yes, it would.” She grew frustrated at this realization. “What's the point of all this?”

Kadagan looked at her straight-faced and said, “I think thou knowest, even if thou dost not yet understand it completely.”

Khisanth's eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to say that there is a commonality between all things, and that the differences are but nuance?”

Kadagan looked impressed. “Thou hast learned more than expected. All I hoped for was recognition of the distinctions.” Adjusting his tunic back into place, the nyphid settled onto a rotted tree stump and wrapped his slender arms around his knees.

“Any magical creature can learn the rudiments of shape-changing,” he continued. “But a master of the skill brings all of his other…. 'essences' to his new shape, combines it with complete understanding of the creature whose shape he would take.” Kadagan paused. “The result is a magical creature superior to the natural one. Anything less is simply a magically animated shell, no better than a golem.” He nodded solemnly. “Thou art becoming qhen , Khisanth.”

Khisanth was moved to silence. She could feel an almost physical transformation overtaking her body as she began to understand. The dragon shivered in the oppressive heat of the rain-dampened forest.

“I believe thou art ready to try thy wings.”

Surprised, Khisanth looked back over her shoulder eagerly. Joad was unleashing the vines and slipping the splint from her damaged limb. “It's all right, Joad?” she asked, not waiting for an answer as she gingerly flexed her wing. “I've thought for several days that it was healed.” The joint felt stiff, but not sore. She stretched it farther, opening the wing to full extension. The pearl-white, razor-sharp claw at the tip pierced the treetops.

Khisanth tucked the wing back to her right side. Her heart pounded wildly with anticipation. Raising up on her hind legs she stretched both wings in unison toward the sky, furling and unfurling them with a rhythmic snapping.

Kadagan's soft, even voice said, “Canst thou launch thyself here?” His gaze traveled up to consider the tall canopy of trees that grew dense some distance before them and afforded protection for Khisanth's lair in the hillside.

“I'm … not sure,” muttered the dragon.