A Language of Dragons

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

THE CAR ROLLS TO A stop outside a small farm, its yard dotted with chickens and guarded by a barking dog. The driver steps out and lights a cigarette without a word, and I suddenly realise who I’m with. The Chancellor of the Academy for Draconic Linguistics.

The woman responsible for my parents’ arrest.

I lean back against the door, wiping my eyes, and stare at her. She’s wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a string of pearls. Her hair is like silver gossamer, a perfect cloud round her head.

‘What are we doing here?’

‘Waiting for that plane.’ She glances out of the window. ‘Chumana said it would be here.’

‘Chumana is a rebel,’ I spit. ‘Why would she tell you anything?’

I wonder if she’s still alive, if Muirgen and the other Bletchley dragons survived.

‘The Academy for Draconic Linguistics is full of rebels,’ Hollingsworth says calmly.

‘How do you know?’

Hollingsworth spins one of the rings on her fingers.

‘Because I am one of them.’

I laugh furiously, stunned that I’m about to be forced to sit through more lies.

‘You don’t expect me to believe you’re part of it?’

‘As Chancellor, I am uniquely placed,’ Hollingsworth says. ‘My position keeps me close to Wyvernmire—’

‘You got my parents arrested,’ I say. ‘You gave me my mother’s research because you wanted me to crack the code, wanted me to help Wyvernmire win the war!’

Hollingsworth is shaking her head. ‘Your parents would have been arrested with or without me. The government had been watching them for months. But Wyvernmire was growing suspicious of me, and her request that I investigate your parents – and recruit you – was a test of loyalty. Turning your parents in renewed her trust in me, therefore keeping me in her inner circle.’

Hot anger seeps across my skin, threatening more tears. Is she telling the truth? Or is this just a ploy to keep me distracted until Wyvernmire gets here?

‘So you’re saying the Coalition knew my parents were going to be arrested?’

‘Yes.’ Hollingsworth raises an eyebrow. ‘Though they didn’t count on you releasing a criminal dragon who broke the Peace Agreement in the aftermath.’

‘But then … the rebels betrayed their own.’

‘When your parents joined the Coalition, they agreed that, in the event that their position was compromised, the rebels would do what was best for the cause, even at the cost of their lives. On the condition that their children be protected. Helina and John didn’t know who I really am, Vivien. Most people don’t.’

I think of the Hollingsworth I saw at the ball, how she made people’s heads turn just by walking past. She rubs shoulders with the government’s highest-ranking members, and yet she’s telling me she’s an undercover rebel, too?

‘After your parents were arrested, I sent a dracovol to tell Wyvernmire that you weren’t interested in a job at the DDAD. I did intend to recruit you, but not for her or for the Academy. A rebel group was dispatched to your house to pick you up, but you were already gone. When you released that dragon, Wyvernmire knew she could strike a deal with you.’

‘So if I’d have just stayed at home …’

Hollingsworth nods and pats her hair. ‘I was going to negotiate Marquis’s release, but then we found out you’d convinced Wyvernmire to let him go to Bletchley, too. I’m afraid you made things easy for the Prime Minister.’

‘And my mother’s research?’ I ask. ‘Why would you give it to me if the rebels didn’t want me to decipher echolocation?’

‘I knew you had the potential to crack the dragon code,’ she says. ‘Forgive me for being so cryptic, Vivien, but giving you what you asked me for was my way of letting you know I was on your side.’

‘But – but how did you know?’ I stutter. ‘How did you know I wouldn’t give Wyvernmire the code? That I’d join the Coalition?’

‘Atlas,’ Hollingsworth says simply. ‘He told me it was quite impossible that you would choose Wyvernmire over the rebels, and that you simply needed time to understand that for yourself.’

I blink.

Atlas.

A low drone sounds outside and I peer out of the window. Marquis’s plane soars over us, looking for a place to land. I glance back at Hollingsworth. She wasn’t lying.

‘You’re really part of the rebellion?’ I say softly.

‘Part of it?’ Hollingsworth smiles. ‘Vivien, I am the rebellion.’

The plane begins its descent above a field behind the farm.

‘Where are we going, after this?’ I ask.

‘Me – back to London,’ Hollingsworth says. ‘If I am to continue my undercover work, then there must be no trace of my presence here at all. You – to Eigg.’

‘Eigg?’

She nods. ‘The Coalition Headquarters.’

So that’s where Dr Seymour was sending the dracovol.

‘There’s something else,’ I say. ‘You took a piece of paper from my father’s desk back in Fitzrovia. What was it?’

‘A letter to the Coalition,’ she replies. ‘Warning us of the potential for a Bulgarian invasion. Thanks to him, we’ve had the opportunity to study Bolgorith battle tactics, which will serve us well in the coming months.’

The plane lands and I see someone dart out of a barn in the yard.

Karim.

I reach for the door handle.

‘Vivien,’ Hollingsworth says, ‘I am sorry, about Atlas.’

I swallow. ‘He taught me that it’s our choices – who we choose to become once we can see our mistakes clearly – that make us who we are. So I’m sorry it took me so long to listen when he told me not to give Wyvernmire the code. I was figuring out who I am … but I know now.’

I step out of the car. Karim runs and flings his arms round me, but he doesn’t ask why I’m here or who is behind the tinted car window. There will be time for that later. We wade through the wheat-filled field and climb the embroidered plane steps, and suddenly Marquis is holding us both and Ursa is clinging to my leg. As the plane propellers whir again and we reach the sky, I tell them all how Atlas died. The words coming out of my mouth barely make sense and I struggle to keep myself upright as silence fills the plane.

Dr Seymour guides me to a seat with the same gentle touch that built the loquisonus machine, and Sophie, her eyes bright with tears, reaches for my hand. I feel myself go red, shocked at this simple gesture, when she has every right to hate me. I will myself to tell her one last thing before I succumb to the overwhelming pull of sleep.

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For trying to get me out of there.’

‘You thought I’d forgotten the signal we used to use in those bunkers, didn’t you?’ she says.

I nod, watching Dr Seymour fasten Ursa’s seatbelt.

‘You’ve been the most loyal friend to me,’ I say. ‘And in return I’ve given you nothing but hell.’

Sophie opens her mouth to reply, but I keep speaking, tripping over my words before I lose the courage to say them.

‘I’ll never ask you to forgive me, Soph. I would never expect that of you. But … I’m going to start trying to forgive myself. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to, but I’m going to try. And I promise you I’ll return the friendship you’ve given me. I’ll spend the rest of my life making yours happier, and the lives of all the other people who have suffered because of the Class System and the Peace Agreement—’

Sophie holds up her hand to silence me, our childhood friendship bracelet still dangling from her wrist.

‘I know you will, Viv,’ she says. ‘I know.’

*

In the seconds before I wake, I’m floating in a soft nothingness permeated by a deep, steady voice so familiar to me that it could be my own. And then I remember. I open my eyes to the harsh light of day streaming through the plane windows. Atlas’s voice disappears and I’m swallowed by a darkness worse than any I’ve ever felt. Sophie is asleep beside me and Karim and Gideon are dozing upright in their seats, the three dragonlings curled up between them. I hear the low voices of Marquis and Serena from the cockpit. Dr Seymour smiles at me, Ursa stretched out across her lap, and points out of the window.

‘Welcome to the Small Isles,’ she says.

I peer outside. Below, snaking through the stretch of grey-blue sea, is an archipelago of green, mountainous islands dotted with rocks and sheep. And flying beside us, bloody and battle-worn, are—

‘Dragons,’ Ursa whispers.

She appears beside me, suddenly wide awake, and I lift her so she can press her nose against the glass. The sky is full of them, Western Drakes and Sand Dragons and Ddraig Gochs, flying alongside Marquis’s plane on both sides. I scan the clouds for any sign of a pink Bolgorith, but I don’t see one.

Dr Seymour puts a hand on Gideon’s shoulder as he stares out across the islands.

‘Dr Seymour,’ I say, ‘Lord Rushby said Eigg was government-owned up until a few weeks ago. Where was headquarters before then?’

‘The Coalition was decentralised until now. We have factions all over the United Kingdom. That’s why there are offshoot groups – rebels who agree with parts of our cause, but not others.’

‘Like what?’ Gideon asks.

‘Some think the Peace Agreement should be abolished and not replaced. There’s a faction in Birmingham campaigning for the right to hunt dragons again, and another who think we should strip each human and dragon of their property and divide it up among everyone. I’m afraid they’ve succeeded in delegitimising us in the eyes of the public.’

I’ve been living in a bubble, both at Bletchley and in Fitzrovia.

The dragons begin their descent and the plane follows.

‘Fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen!’ Marquis shouts. ‘My co-pilot, Serena Serpentine, is about to land this plane!’

I strap Ursa in and fasten my own seatbelt with trembling hands, glad that Serena’s plane-landing experience is more extensive than my cousin’s. I sit back as the plane picks up speed, hurtling through the air, then nose-dives, hitting the sandy beach with an almighty bang that makes Ursa scream. The propellers stop whirring as we slow and the plane falls silent.

‘Let go of me!’ Ursa whines.

I realise I’m grasping her so tightly that my knuckles are turning white. Marquis stands at the end of the plane, grinning from ear to ear.

‘Reckon I did a good job of that,’ he jokes as Serena appears behind him, rolling her eyes.

I unbuckle myself and Ursa and she runs to Marquis.

‘Ready?’ he says.

He opens the door and kicks the steps down. Wind whips through the inside of the plane. I stare out into the bright sunlight. Waves crash against the shore, and across the water is another island, with dragons hovering above it. The air is cold and full of salt, and I breathe in deeply as my shoes sink into the sand. Dragons are landing beside us, hundreds of them alighting on the beach and making the ground shake, and people are sliding off their backs. Many of them are injured, and the dragons are all sporting deep wounds in their flanks or spots of missing scales. I turn to look inland and see more people rushing down to us from the clifftop.

So this is Eigg, the new Coalition Headquarters. Home to the cause my parents were willing to give their lives for, that Atlas did give his life for. Will I ever be as devoted to it as they were? Marquis appears beside me, hoisting Ursa on to his shoulders, and one glance at him tells me he’s thinking the same thing. Our argument on the train to Bletchley feels like it happened centuries ago.

People are greeting each other, families being reunited with loved ones returned from Bletchley, and several nurses are already leading the injured away. They’re all dressed differently, but I couldn’t guess the class of any of them if I tried. Beyond the beach, up on the clifftop, are small stone houses.

‘Dr Seymour, how many people live here?’

‘Barely a hundred,’ she replies. ‘Only the rebels most wanted by Wyvernmire’s government came to Eigg.’

‘And Wyvernmire didn’t try to take it back?’ I ask.

Dr Seymour shakes her head, scanning the crowds. ‘There’s a clause in the Peace Agreement that forbids planes from flying anywhere near Rùm, so as not to disturb the eggs. It’s a sacred space, a—’

She lets out a sigh as a man runs towards her, catching her up in his arms and spinning her round. I watch as the wind stirs sand round them and the man kneels to kiss Dr Seymour’s stomach. How long have they been apart? What else have these people sacrificed for their rebellion? Behind them, two Sand Dragons are standing close together. I recognise their faces.

‘Soresten!’ I call. ‘Addax!’

The patrol dragon who guarded the glasshouse gives me an acknowledging blink as I walk towards him.

‘Are you an undercover rebel, too?’ I say.

‘I am not,’ Soresten replies. ‘But, when Rhydderch told me what Wyvernmire was planning, I decided to fight with you.’

My heart sinks at the reminder of Rhydderch’s brutal death.

‘Do you know what happened to the others? To Muirgen and … the pink dragon. The one who was fighting the General?’

‘Muirgen has gone to join Queen Ignacia,’ Addax growls. ‘She is still loyal to Her Majesty, despite her corruption.’

Soresten lifts his head to stare out over the sea. ‘We have heard rumours that the Queen’s court is feasting on the Isle of Canna. I have come to see if there is truth in it—’

‘And the Bolgorith?’ I say desperately. ‘Chumana?’

‘We saw her make a kill,’ Soresten says, ‘before we retreated. I believe she survived.’

I let out a shaky breath. Chumana is alive.

Soresten falls silent and I watch as the wound on Addax’s chest knits together. The other dragons around us are doing the same. They can heal others, but not themselves because the Koinamens is a language, and language is an exchange. I don’t know when I worked this out, but I hope Chumana isn’t flying alone. I realise with a pang of sadness that the air must be full of echolocation calls that, now the loquisonus is gone, I’ll never hear again. Addax’s eyes narrow curiously as she watches me.

‘The dragons are speaking of how you destroyed those machines. Some would probably like to kill you for using them in the first place.’ She pauses. ‘But know that your decision has not gone unappreciated.’

I bow my head as they both turn and walk across the sand, people jumping out of the way of their tails as they head to the rocky caves at the end of the beach.

‘You’re welcome,’ I say quietly. ‘It was the right thing to do.’

Dr Seymour takes us to an inn called the Dragon’s Den. We all have our own rooms, courtesy of the owner, a loud man called Jacob. I give Ursa a bath and tuck her into our big double bed in the middle of the afternoon. She’s asleep moments after her head hits the pillow.

I go to the little washbasin and stare at my face in the mirror. It’s black with soot, stained with grey tear tracks and blood from Ralph’s knife. There’s a burn on my chin and my hands are raw from the rope ladder. Sweat and smoke and the last trace of Atlas’s touch cling to my skin. I place his note, the only physical reminder of our last moments together, in a pot on the shelf and try not to think of his promise.

I’ll find you when the battle is over.

I wash the thought away in the hot, soapy water of the bathtub. My mind drifts to the last conversation I had with Chumana. All this time, my theory was wrong. The many versions of echolocation we heard through the loquisonus machine weren’t different branches of one universal language, weren’t dialects. They were simply the conversion of varying levels of emotion into sound. Dragons’ understanding of each other, the calls they use to communicate, depend entirely on their bond. Soresten communicating with Addax sounded different from him communicating with Muirgen, because their bonds are different. One is the bond of brother and sister, the other of two dragons who happened to work together at Bletchley Park.

I stare at the water droplets on my skin. Dragon tongues may well contain familial dialects, like Mama’s research suggests, but the Koinamens does not. That’s because it isn’t based on grammar or words. It’s a language of emotion, a telepathy our human brains cannot even begin to imagine. All this time, I was looking at it from a linguistic point of view, basing my theories on the languages I know, assuming that they were the benchmark from which to begin.

I’ve always done that, I realise now. Assumed that everyone thinks like me, that everyone experiences the world the same way I do, that I could never be wrong. Yet, despite my good grades and recommendation letters and university place, there are so many things I don’t know.

When I’m dressed in someone else’s clothes and pulling a brush through my wet hair, there’s a quiet knock on the door.

‘Come down for food,’ Marquis whispers, his eyes darting to Ursa’s sleeping form.

I set down the brush and follow him downstairs. People are crowded round the bar, most of them still in bloodied, burnt clothes. Someone I’ve never met hands me a beer with a smile. I sip the froth off the top, savouring the bitter freshness, and follow Marquis outside. There are several small fires burning across the grassy clifftop, and sitting round them are groups of dragons and people, talking in low voices. The sun is already setting and the sea and the sky beyond are a pale purple colour.

Someone hands us some food as we walk by one of the firepits – a sausage between two slices of bread – and we eat like we’ll never eat again. Karim and Sophie are standing on the cliff edge that overlooks the beach, and when they move apart I see Serena, Gideon and Dr Seymour sitting behind them, staring out at the sea. I feel a sharp pain in my chest. Three of us are missing.

‘How is Ursa?’ Karim says gently when we reach them, resting his head on Marquis’s shoulder.

‘Asleep,’ I say.

‘Dreaming of dragons,’ Marquis adds.

I drain the last of my beer and sit on the grass beside Sophie. Her blonde hair is clean and damp, her cheeks flushed, a dark bruise beneath her eye.

‘What are you looking at?’ I ask as the sun flings pink rays across the water.

‘Gideon was showing us where Canna is,’ Sophie says.

I glance at Gideon. He’s staring past the island directly in front of us to the one behind it.

‘How do you know where Canna is?’ I ask.

As far as I know, Gideon didn’t grow up in Scotland.

‘Cos that’s where I was recruited from,’ he mumbles, his eyes still on the island.

I look between Sophie and Dr Seymour to check I heard right. Canna is where criminal youths are sent, the place Queen Ignacia uses as her personal hunting grounds. It’s where most of the recruits would have ended up if they weren’t sent to Bletchley first.

‘I was nothing but a pretty plaything to my father and his friends,’ Gideon says, eyes unblinking.

My heart sinks.

‘But I had my revenge. That’s what got me sent there.’

‘Is it true? What they say happens on that island?’ I ask. ‘Do the dragons come to feed?’

Gideon gives one short nod, then gazes back out to sea. I set my glass down as we all fall silent. No wonder Gideon was so desperate to crack the code. He didn’t want to go back to Canna.

I’ve been around a lot of dragons.

‘The Coalition will put a stop to that,’ I say. I turn to Dr Seymour. ‘Won’t they? Can they get those kids off Canna?’

Dr Seymour hesitates. ‘It’s certainly one of our aims. But with the Bulgarian dragons’ invasion the country is about to crumble. The war is now on a much bigger scale than before. Wyvernmire has allied with the most hated dragons in Europe, making Britannia a threat to neighbouring countries. The Bulgarians will occupy Britannia, with or without Wyvernmire’s consent, and we may have to make some alliances of our own. That is where the Coalition’s priorities will lie.’

‘So we could be looking at a full-blown world war?’ Marquis says.

‘It’s possible,’ Dr Seymour replies.

I lay a tentative hand on the shoulder of the boy who tried to kill me.

‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘We’ll do something about it.’

Gideon doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t pull away.

I look back at Marquis and he gives me a conspiratorial look. We know where our priorities lie. With the fire-breathing plane and my knowledge of the Koinamens no longer needed, we can’t be of much value to the rebels on Eigg. But if we can get to London and find Dr Hollingsworth, maybe she’ll be able to help us get Mama and Dad and Uncle Thomas out of Highfall. And then I’ll offer her my services, using my languages to help the Coalition in any way I can. My mind is still reeling from what I’ve learned about dragons’ ability to communicate through language and emotion. And from the fact that I almost told Wyvernmire how to exploit it.

I lean into the warmth of Sophie’s shoulder and remember what the Chancellor of the Academy for Draconic Linguistics told me that terrible day I met her in Fitzrovia, before I knew who she really was.

I see a bright future for you, Vivien. But to reach it you may have to look in unexpected places.

I’m sitting on the edge of an island at war, in the company of the old friend I betrayed and new friends I have made, an ultrasonic dragon tongue permanently residing inside my head. I have made mistakes, terrible mistakes. But I’m forgiving myself for them, or at least trying to, and in the softness of the sunset I realise.

There is nothing more unexpected than that.