The Draykon Series (1-3)

Lokant: Chapter Eight

Pensould was a true draykon. He had never before taken human shape, and had little understanding of what it meant. Human customs were beyond him, and he had slept through most of human history. It had taken Llandry some days to effect her transformation back into human form, and considerably longer to teach the technique to Pensould. He wasn't particularly taking to it.

Sitting with her mother listening to Pensould speak, both his talents and his shortcomings were equally obvious. He spoke Glinnish haltingly, and he revealed his ignorance of her world with almost every sentence. But that he could speak her tongue at all was remarkable; he remembered every word that he heard and he seemed to have no difficulty understanding their meaning. His progress was slower outside of the Upper Realm, but still he was (she would have said) impossibly quick. It was as though he absorbed the sense of their utterances by some means other than a purely intellectual understanding of the words themselves.

'Soon, you will do that too,' Pensould informed her, interrupting himself.

She blinked. 'What?'

He tapped her head, hard. 'Your senses are dull. Flat. Too human. But I can feel you waking.'

'Waking?'

'Becoming more clever. More draykon.'

Llandry scowled. 'I am human.'

Pensould smiled, a rather frightening expression displaying too many teeth. 'No. Human-shaped outside, draykon inside.'

'I can assure you, Llandry is entirely human. I gave birth to her myself. I detected no sharp teeth, no claws, no unusual proportions.' Ynara kept her voice steady and her eyes on Pensould.

'Wings, though.' He grinned. 'I have seen humans before, long ago. No wings then. Why do you have wings now?'

'I...' Ynara faltered. 'Theories have been made, but no entirely satisfactory explanation has been found.'

Pensould leaned forward suddenly and grasped one of Ynara's wings. He tugged it, ignoring her discomfort, pulling it partially open.

'Not feathers like a bird. Not thin like a daefly. Webbed, strong. Draykon wings.'

Ynara opened her mouth, but nothing emerged.

'You, Sire-of-Minchu, are maybe half draykon. No, more. But you stay human; you wish it. Minchu-'

'Mother,' interrupted Ynara. 'And who is Minchu?'

Llandry's cheeks warmed. 'It appears to mean "mate", Ma.'

Ynara's grey eyes settled on her. Her brows lifted, ever so slightly. Llandry coughed.

'I'm not "minchu".'

'Minchu,' continued Pensould, unfazed, 'she is almost all draykon. I can feel it, not so much here but in Iskyr, she is strong. Draykon heart.'

'Iskyr?' queried Ynara.

'Upper Realms, Ma.'

Ynara was looking increasingly bewildered. 'Llan, please. Slow down. Who is Pensould? Where did he come from?'

'How much did Lady Glostrum tell you?'

'Everything she witnessed herself, I believe.'

'Well, Pensould is the draykon that the Ullarn sorcerers resurrected. His were the bones that I found. I know what he means, Ma.' Llandry shifted in her chair, sitting more upright. 'In Iskyr - the Uppers - I could sense his presence. I found his bones, and I felt him waking. It's like having several more senses than humans -'