Where the Sky Ends Page 2

can't defeat a dragon on its own turf.

  Actually, I'd never seen a Watcher--or any other human--up close or known of any dragon who had been captured. Occasionally Shining Ones disappeared, but it's normal to go off to die, or simply to get away. There was never any proof a Watcher had interfered. Besides, Groom-bug, ex-companion to an elder, told me that while there are bad among all creatures, the mission of the Watchers is to watch. They'd come from outer space for that purpose, and Groom-bug's dead elder had once traveled far enough to see the Watchers' spaceship.

  "The Watchers admire us," I told Clio. "Or rather, they admire me. They would admire you, too, if you flew. Too bad you don't know the joy of flying."

  "Quit picking on me."

  I sighed and circled. Steps ran up the mountain from the base to the top, far above the Watchers' dome.

  I circled lower.

  "What are you doing?" Clio tightened her grip around my neck, throttling me.

  "Don't hold on so tight."

  "I'm scared. We're not supposed to be here."

  "Learn how to fly, and we won't have to be."

  I lit on the top step and tilted her off my back. She suppressed a squawk as she slid off, yanking my head to the ground. Even her groombug uttered a squeak.

  She hugged herself and gaped about over the tip of her tail.

  I said, "Hold your wings out and leap down the steps."

  "I'll fall."

  "The next step will catch you." I gave her a shove and yelled, "Go!"

  She screeched and bounced from one step to the next, descending with increasing rapidity.

  "Beat those wings. Hold them out! Glide!"

  She continued to scream and bounce. Groom-bug counted each step she struck. "One, two, three . . . "

  Somehow she managed to grab a bush beside step twenty-one. She hugged it, sniveling.

  "Why didn't you beat your wings, just like we practiced in those calisthenics?"

  "Too much work."

  "Stand up. You've got to try."

  "No!"

  I tugged at her, and she tugged at the bush.

  "Let go."

  "No."

  From below came the sound of running. The Watchers were coming. What the Elders or Groom-bug said might or might not be true. I didn't care to wait around to find out.

  "Quick. Onto my back."

  Amazing how swift and strong Clio can be when she wants. She hopped onto my back, knocking a grunt from me. I leaped into the air and soared away.

  Clio ended my attempts to teach by whining to the elders about my endangering her on Forbidden Mountain. While it brought me a chastening, it didn't remove me from the roster. I was soaring when up flew the shadow of a Clio-laden peer, engulfing me with a chill. Okay, so it was my turn to take Clio. I knew it, and they knew I knew it. It was feeding time, and the best food is aloft, but did a fellow adolescent have to dump her on me?

  She fell like a boulder. I barely had time to croak when she landed on my back with crippling force. I swear I lost consciousness. Little dots twinkled before my eyes.

  I awoke to see the ground rushing at me. Clio was screaming, "Pull up! Pull up!"

  The weight of Clio and the speed of my plummet were too great. Wind whistled by my ears. My wings fluttered like a fibrillating heart. Groom-bug shrilled in concert with Clio's groombug.

  Abruptly I learned where the sky ends.

  My neck wrenched backwards, my keel bone rammed into my lungs, and my legs and wings formed new joints.

  Clio sustained a slight bruise.

  Today, I hobble, dirt-bound, my fore-talons stranded at the ends of wings permanently spread like a glider. It was that, or have my wings permanently folded. I agree they would have been less cumbersome, but I dare to feel everyone's scorn at my terminal stubbornness. Besides, Groom-bug sticks with me and has taken to telling me secrets of the elders.

  "It is forbidden among the Watchers to interfere. Nevertheless there are good interferers and bad interferers."

  "The Watchers on Forbidden Mountain don't interfere," I said.

  "We must travel far, to the spaceship. In that country we must seek until we find a good interferer. One who heals, providing one exists."

  "How likely is it that we'd find a healer?"

  "Not likely."

  I am not discouraged by Groom-bug's honesty, for I can trust Groom-bug.

  Clio smiles down from the back of a cousin. I told the elders that as long as fools exist who give her rides, she will never change. They turned their backs on me, as if I were the wind puffing the clouds.

  I could beg to ride, but I refuse. I will not be like Clio. I will stay on the ground, with wings that will not fold or flap and fore-talons that cannot reach to touch my head.

  Stiff and useless, the elders say. If I were Clio, I'd agree. However I am not Clio, content to remain the babe-in-wings forever. I have a secret plan.

  Most Shining Ones fear the mountain, but not I, thanks to Groom-bug. We venture there at night when the Watchers sleep, and I practice leaping. At first I launched myself from the lowest steps. Gradually I have worked to the top.

  Tonight, I will leap from the summit and mount the thermals. I will soar to a country where there are no Clios and eat and sleep on the wing with only Groom-bug for company. We will seek the spaceship and learn of healers. Perhaps we will find a Watcher who will heal a dragon. If not, then I may stay aloft, content never to descend until I grow old and die. Even then I may just dry up, a glittering scale on the breeze.

  Optional Epilogue

  We drifted for many turns of the planet. Had many philosophical discussions. And I grew increasingly appreciative of the knowledge Groom-bug contained, not only in the wisdom of the elders but in his knowledge of what lay ahead. His elder had traveled extensively and had gathered stories of places never visited.

  Except for a few minor mishaps, which I don't care to ponder, our travels were peaceful.

  It was through no fault of my own that I collided with an aircraft, which was cloaked by clouds in an echo canyon. I plummeted, aware the entire time of lance-shaped trees and iron boulders that spun larger in my vision, eagerly reaching for my remains. With Groom-bug's calm talking and my quick reflexes, he managed to direct me to a less damaging landing that merely broke my bones. I thought sure the end had come when the craft landed. But Groom-bug told me he'd speak for me. All I had to do was move my mouth, and the humans would not be the wiser. When they emerged from their craft, I trembled at the tone he took, accusing them not only of seeking my harm but of committing the worst of crimes toward all dragondom. Slavery, extermination, experimentation, and general embarrassment.

  Perhaps it was a different group he was accusing. These were very apologetic. They flew me to their station, repaired my injuries, gave me therapy, and when they released me with my entire physical prowess renewed, I was almost reluctant to fly away. They had become great friends. Nevertheless I was tired of Groom-bug pretending to be my voice. When my therapist spoke of a colony of magnificent dragons far to the east who welcomed strangers, Groom-bug and I bade farewell and resumed our journey with renewed hope.

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  About the Author:

  Gloria Piper lives with her husband in Northern California where they both enjoy nature.