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There were eighteen people, arranged in two rows of nine, at the bottom of the steps. There were more people—thirty? forty? more, perhaps?—on the ground around the complex. They all seemed to be holding sprigs of the jasmine tree in their hands.
Processing that there werepeopletook time. Then the realization came they were dragons, and nothing like the trash-beasts who had taken Akoni. But they also weren’t like the dragons on Earth. Proto-feather hair, frills and finlets that ran down arms and spines, thin or even lips rolled inward in obviously reptilian faces, sharp teeth, missing digits, thick finger and toenails, textured skin, extra vertebrae, joints, incorrect proportions and the other tells of the low-magic and low-human blood dragon.
Their clothing was shades of gray and brown that melted perfectly into the twilight desert landscape. They also looked terrified and nervous.
Why were then in human form at all? Dragons on Homeworld had only learned to take on human form after encountering humans, and had only done it to be with humans, who had never been able to shift forms.
Humanoid form had become sort of a thing back on Homeworld since the form had, well, opposable thumbs and certain benefits, but the default on Homeworld had always been dragon form.
Part of my brain screamed from sheeroh for fuck’s sake, cosmos!frustration.
Auryn, in a soft voice, told Keon, “These aren’t the same as the monsters. But they may be able to help us.”
Chirp.
Keon shifted his wings. His scales made a slight rattling noise with nervousness. He stepped out of line, over the offering, and onto the first step. Everyone leaned back at the same time they leaned forward. He stood on the stairs and, in the dialect of Homeworld at the time of the cataclysm, said, "Well met. My name is Keon. Does anyone speak for you?"
He paused to cough several times before he managed to get his lungs to settle. His breath wheezed and his sides shuddered.
Blank looks.
Language drift. The looks we got were totally, completely blank.
Keon tried again in an even older dialect, then an even older one, then theoldestone he and I both knew. This actually got some recognition, but about as much as you would have expected at a Catholic mass where you might have picked up a couple of the Latin words.
Keon swished his tail. Then he tried the Earth dialect of draconic that had been use at the time of the cataclysm.
The crowd around the temple cheered and trilled, while the eighteen in the temple maintained some composure, but were relieved and overjoyed. The crowd outside the temple all raised their jasmine branches above their heads and jumped up and down while cheering and trilling. Petals drifted around the complex. Some of the petals landed on Keon's mossy fringe and crowned him between the horns.
Communication established, two dragons from the rows of nine approached. They came from the second to the last spot, one male, one female, both with gray-tinged skin sporting a thick scale pattern and texture. She had thick, spiky proto-feather hair that was more feather than hair, and was a gray shade that matched her skin while being cut very short. The male was bald except for a line of proto-feathers that ran down the center of his skull along his spine to the small of his back. Their fingers had sharp claws instead of nails, only the thinnest bit of lips, and elongated faces that maintained a distinctly dragon appearance more than human. The eyes, though, were the same: hers a clear disco of peach-orange, and his a mysterious granite.
At the bottom of the steps, they dropped to one knee each.
Not the usual protocol, but we'd gone back to formal. Fair enough. Keon dipped his head so his neck became a stone arch, and flicked his wings with a gesture of polite inquiry.
"Thank you for returning to us," they said in unison in Earth dialect with a Homeworld accent.
Returning? Had we heard that right? Auryn twisted his head in confusion.
Keon rolled with it. "We are so very glad to have found our way back, and found that you are still here."
“We know they have taken the other one,” the male said.
Chirp!I shut up before I said more nonsensical things. I was too exhausted and messed up to risk land-form. I’d have to shut up and look mysterious.
“So you know where he’s been taken. Didyoutake him?”
“Of course not.” They both seemedextremelyinsulted. “We know the Trickster let himself be taken, so he can be found again,errsiinii.”
Whatever I had been expecting to confront on Homeworld, this wasnoton my list.
Maybe I could have written off the old draconic “Trickster” as getting lost in translation and now being used as some kind of euphemism, because it couldn’t possibly have meant literally the god who had given dragons scale-forging. Buterrsiinii? That was the ultra-ancient draconic honorific fordivine one. It had originally been used to address the Nine Gods in prayer. Then, after the gods had died,errsiiniihad become a pronoun reserved, exclusively, for the Nine (Dead) Gods. If you sawerrsiinii, you knew exactly who was being talked about. It hadn’t changed in thousands andthousandsof years.
"Why do you call meerrsiinii?" Keon asked gently, despite the shock showing in the lattice of his wings and the quiver along his mossy fringe.
Auryn and I realized at the same time why there were nine bowls, and one of them was turned over.
I clicked ais what’s happening actually happeningto Auryn, who clenched his scales with an audible chime and slicked his finlets down.
