The Lost History of Sathyriel, Part Five

A short part, but one I feel the need to separate from the next. More lost italics: all of the dialogue is italicized to indicate that they're speaking Rannak. Rannak, incidentally, is NOT the dragons' native tongue; it's the language humans and dragons use to speak to each other. The word "Rannak" comes from a very old dragon word meaning "compromise". Most human speech sounds very high and fast to dragons, while human usually find dragon speech very slow and tonally based. Rannak is an attempt to split the difference.

Comments as always


Peren never had trouble finding the dragon. Even though the creature was doing her best to follow Peren’s instructions and remain hidden, her trail of crushed plants and broken tree limbs was easy to pick up. Day or night, her brilliant white scales stood out in sharp contrast to the dark trees and thick undergrowth surrounding her. So it was only moments after leaving the farmhouse that Peren came upon the spot where the dragon laid waiting.

Even curled up with her head resting near the tip of her tail, the dragon was impressively large. She seemed impossibly big and out of place against the backdrop of trees. She would have towered over any animal that lived in the wood, had any of them dared to come that near.

The dragon was quite still, possibly in an attempt to keep from being noticed. Her pale blue wings lay folded against her sides, gently rising and falling as she breathed. Her eyelids, always kept low over her dark eyes, closed and opened in languid blinks. Only the deadly sharp claws of her front feet truly moved, scraping at the ground in a nervous, repetitive motion. She did not look up us Peren approached, not even when Peren was standing no more than a few feet away.

“Great Dragon, I am honored in your presence,” Peren recited. At least, she thought that was what it meant. The little Rannak Peren knew had been taught to her by her father who had learned it from his mother. She in, turn, had learned it from her mother, who had learned it from her father. Peren’s great-great-grandfather had been born to dragoncallers, but had left the village at a young age and settled in Ormel. Each generation since had shown a little less inclination to fully learn Rannak and ended up with a little less knowledge to pass on to new generations. Peren herself had only ever learned as much of the rough, throaty language as her father had insisted on teaching her. It was only when she had joined the resistance and dragons had gone from rare creatures that you be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of soaring away in the distance to comrades in arms fighting by her side that Rannak had gained any real significance for her. Other soldiers were impressed by Peren’s ability to roughly figure out what Cyra and the dragons were talking about. It had helped Peren to stand out, but it had never been necessary before now and Peren was starting to realize how painfully inadequate her Rannak really was.

“My daughter?” the dragon asked, as far as Peren understood it. She raised her head a little, but did not look directly at Peren. They had talked several times now, yet the dragon had never looked straight at Peren or fully opened her eyes. Peren wasn’t sure if this was how the dragon always behaved or just a sign of her worry.

“Forgive me, please,” Peren began, fumbling for the right words. “I have mistake. You mother. Cyra your daughter.”

“My daughter?” the dragon asked again. There was more to the question, but it was beyond Peren’s understanding. Her best guess was that the dragon wanted to know about Cyra’s condition.

“Cyra rest,” said Peren. “Cyra not awake. Healer works now.”

“Daughter lives? Peren was surprised by the seeming frankness of the dragon’s question, though she couldn’t be certain that she had the intent of the translation right. The dragon’s repetitive scraping at the earth gouged deeper and deeper lines into the soil.

“I not know,” Peren admitted. “Healer works hard. Healer works good. Good healer.”

“Last healer,” the dragon added, and Peren could not mistake the meaning this time. The dragon knew full well that they were out of time and options. Joren was their last hope.

“Yes. Forgive, please.” Peren didn’t know the Rannak for “sorry”, or even if it was any different than “forgive”.

The dragon’s claws stopped ripping at the ground. Slowly, she rose to her feet, lightly shaking out her wings. Peren swallowed nervously. She didn’t want to have to try and convince the dragon to stay hidden in the woods again. It had been hard enough the first time and now Peren could see why the dragon wouldn’t want to be separated from her daughter. But the dragon made no move to leave. She raised her head to the sky, her long neck arcing gracefully. Opening her mouth, the dragon let out a soft, high-pitched cry. She held the high tone for a minute, then let it drop slowly, lowering her head along with the pitch. She fell briefly silent, and then repeated the cry again.

Peren could feel her knees trembling involuntarily as she watched the dragon. She had heard a dragon call to other dragons before. Those had all been near-deafening roars you could hear over an almost unbelievable distance. This cry was far too soft to carry very far and it was much different. Though there was nothing to translate, Peren had very little doubt of what the dragon meant.

At first, Peren just stood where she was, watching awkwardly. It felt like she was intruding on a private moment, and yet something in her did not want to leave the dragon alone. She took a tentative step towards the dragon. The dragon took no notice and continued on with her keening cries. Peren took another step, then another, until she was right at the dragon’s side. She gingerly reached out her hand and touched just the fingertips to the dragon’s side. The smooth scaled trembled briefly at her touch, but the dragon did not move. Gaining confidence, Peren laid the whole of her hand on the dragon. The dragon lifted her head and let out another cry into the night. Peren could feel the sound rippling through her whole body. It was almost overwhelming and Peren nearly pulled her hand away. But even through the heavy reverberation, Peren could sense the dragon’s sadness more clearly than ever before. Without thinking, Peren raised her head and echoed the dragon’s cry. It was a poor imitation; Peren lacked the knowledge and the lungs to do the sound justice. But she cried out as accurately and sincerely as she could.

The dragon stopped. She turned her arrow shaped white head until the heavy-lidded eyes came as close as they ever had to looking right at Peren. Peren could only see a sliver of the dragon’s eyes, but they were darker, darker than the darkest night sky. A small prickle of fear ran up Peren’s spine and she wondered whether she had done the right thing.

In answer, the dragon raised her head and howled out her cry again. Peren did the same and so they continued. The dragon let out her long, mournful cry of grief and worry for her daughter and Peren joined in with her. At last, the dragon lowered her head and did not raise it again. She laid back down on the forest floor, resting her head near Peren.

“I thank you,” the dragon said softly.

Peren may not have fully understood, but she knew what the dragon meant.