Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
“There are dragon bones in this casket.”
Death Mile
Dragon Heights, Wyoming
Rather than appear in my hand as the sickle had done, Krikolios’s dagger somehow entered Howard’s grave goods below the dragon tooth. Gold and jewels, in a mixture of necklaces, bracelets, rings, and ancient coins, did an excellent job of masking its presence.
Several of the old dragon’s teeth and some other bones littered the grave goods hidden within the casket.
At least the law was on my side; I wouldn’t have to explain why the teeth needed to go home with me, and the dagger would find its way back into my possession after it endured processing with law enforcement.
I wondered if my whispers, or so Krikolios had called them, had somehow understood my reality and went with the path of least resistance, manipulating time and space so that the dagger’s transition from the past to the present did as little damage as possible.
While I’d only captured glimpses of the old dragon’s powers, I’d begun to understand a little of how my magic worked and how the girl’s sickle had likewise joined me.
“Kinsley? What did you see?”
Crap. Pascal had noticed. “There are dragon bones in this casket.”
The black dragon cursed. “Do you know whose?”
Well, there was no lying about it, not to him. As such, I took my time thinking about how best to approach the situation. “I do, and I’m concerned Madam Merorie knew precisely what she had.”
“Okay. You seem rather uncomfortable about this. Why?”
“Because I’m not supposed to be able to interact with the dying when I touch their bones!” I blurted.
Sigh. So much for taking the subtle approach.
“That’s a chrome dragon power, Kinsley. It’s not a common one, but it’s also not all that rare.
Considering the strength of your purple powers, I’m not surprised your chrome heritage is working with your purple heritage.
Calm down. It’s not nearly as bad as you’re surely thinking. Was the dragon also purple or chrome?”
I nodded.
“Then that explains it. You hitchhiked to the moment of the dragon’s death, and your chrome heritage—or the other dragon’s—froze that moment so you could have a chat.
There are at least six dragons in the city who have done the same thing.
However, they did it on purpose, communing with one of their ancestors.
It’s a rite of passage for chromes with the power.
You’ll want to have lessons, as it’s a dangerous power, but it’s nothing to worry yourself over.
You’re a strong purple dragon, and you seem to have your fair share of chrome magic, too.
” Pascal came over and patted my shoulder. “How old are the bones?”
“The ice claimed him during the end of the last ice age,” I replied, staring at where my fingers rested on Krikolios’s teeth. “He told me his name, he thanked me for keeping him company while the ice claimed him, and he tried to teach me some things about dragon magic.”
“I see. And since I’m certain your family has not taught you anything about dragon history, you are surely confused.”
I nodded. “He was ancient, Pascal.”
Jorge chuckled, came over, and stared at the grave goods. “Are we talking thousands or millions of years old?”
“Millions.”
The gold dragon nodded. “There were dragons of such age, and yes, they all passed during the ice age. They were born at the start of the age, and they died at the end of it. They returned to the ice that birthed them. I don’t even need to be a black to know you speak the truth; this is not something we discuss with the hatchlings.
It’s not something we discuss often at all.
There is no chance those tyrants taught her, Pascal. ”
With a nod of his own, Pascal reached over, took hold of my wrist, and pulled my hand away from the grave goods.
“Let’s prevent you from using more of your powers for now.
If you went all the way back to then, that’s going to exhaust you, and you’re going to go from fine to crying in a corner because you’re that tired and you can’t handle processing everything.
I’ll give Jorge gloves, he’ll handle the goods, you’ll photograph and register everything without touching it, and we’ll do the initial processing before sunset. Did this dragon make any requests?”
I nodded. “He said I should keep his bones, and that there is a dagger that should also be mine. A gift for keeping him company in his final moments.”
“When an old dragon returns to the ice, they do so alone. It was believed that the ice would take any who accompanied them, and they refused to risk others during their departure. You would have been a great relief to him,” Jorge replied.
“Golds don’t just create art. We preserve art in all its forms, and life is the greatest art we can ever make.
A part of life is death, so it is the domain of gold dragons to preserve things like ancient burial customs. If you want to know the history of life and death, you come to us. ”
I appreciated the pride in Jorge’s voice. “That’s wonderful.”
“You can steal her away for the teaching of gold things later. Let’s get the bones and the dagger out and separated; I’ll have your statement triple-verified with three different clans of black dragons so they don’t get sent to the station.
There’s too great a risk of the bones and dagger being stolen for my comfort.
” Pascal released me, moved aside some of the gold coins, located the dagger, and held it up by the hilt, whistling at the shining obsidian. “Do you know what this is, Kinsley?”
“It’s a dagger of some sort, made by early humans who lived in North America during the ice age. Krikolios gave them a large animal, I’m guessing a woolly mammoth, to help them survive. They gave him that blade in exchange.”
Both dragons stiffened at the mention of the iridescent dragon’s name.
“What is that reaction about?” When Jorge and Pascal exchanged long looks, I crossed my arms and tapped my foot. “I’m guessing he was a notorious dragon. This tracks, as he claimed he was millions of years old. Also, I had no idea that prehistory dragons had a refined concept of time like that.”
“Not precisely, but chrome dragons, among other colors, have limited abilities to translate intent when with another dragon of the same ability,” Pascal said.
“You weren’t really using words when you spoke with him.
Your magic would have been talking with his magic, and he would have understood the intent of your words. ”
“He didn’t know some specific words,” I countered.
“Some concepts didn’t exist to dragons back then,” he admitted. “Which word did he struggle with?”
“Art.”
Jorge sighed but nodded. “That’s accurate.
Art is something that rose later in the progression of history for dragons and humans alike.
They had art, but it served a purpose as a teaching tool.
When you used the word, you likely intended for it to be something viewed solely for enjoyment.
That was not done back then. But that’s further evidence of what’s in this casket, Pascal. ”
“And he has bequeathed his bones to her, which rings so loudly of the truth no black dragon will be able to deny it even if wished. You have no idea how large of a problem you have spared us from, Kinsley.”
“I’m going to be a problem for both of you if you don’t explain what the big deal is,” I growled.
Rather than be intimidated, the black dragon laughed at my posturing.
“Sorry. It’s just a shock. Krikolios is the father of all dragons.
Every single surviving dragon clan is descended from him and Marmariatta.
You know the story of Adam and Eve? Think that, except there’s no tree, no snake, and no holy entity breathing life into the first woman.
Krikolios was birthed from the ice and earth and Marmariatta was born of the sea and fire.
He is the sky in all its colors and glory.
She was fire and dark waters. Both had all the powers of all the dragons because they’re primitives.
Then, over time, more dragons emerged from the primordial essences of the world, and the children of those dragons united with the children of Krikolios and Marmariatta.
Then the endless ice claimed most of the other primitives, and eventually, the other lines perished, leaving behind only the dragons carrying the blood of Krikolios and Marmariatta.
As the eons progressed, the colors separated, as like attracts like, and dragons developed genetic diversity.
These bones are the equivalent of the Holy Grail for dragons. ”
I needed weeks, possibly months, to fully digest what he said. “But Krikolios seemed distant from the other dragons.”
“Kinsley, he was born in the first ice age, and he endured until the rise of humanity. He had survived numerous warm periods. He just went up to the poles where the world could sustain him and Marmariatta.”
The realization the old dragon had perished from the deepest of griefs silenced me, and I remembered his words.
His mate had already moved on, claimed by the ice, after millions of years together. The thought of his grief and loneliness soured my stomach.
“Marmariatta had already returned to the ice,” I whispered.
“Yes, she had, not long prior. He had been most of her soul, she had been most of his. We believed he had returned to the ice that had birthed him alone and in grief.”
I hoped to never discover how burdensome the weight of ages surely had to be. “Dragons aren’t nearly as long lived now, are they?”
Jorge winced, as did Pascal.
I narrowed my eyes. “And what was that about?”