Chapter Fifty-Two #3
She drew in a shaky, awful breath. She remembered what Lucky had said to her, clear as day now.
It was right before the other awful little stinks came and took him.
And then they took me. As if Lucky’s father would hold on as long as he was able, but she imagined she could see the holes in his scales, the bright silver fire of his life bleeding onto the rock, unable to protect himself or his son.
He rasped, ever so quietly, ‘I did not do it for you, Frida Rose.’ He stared at her for a long time, and Frida couldn’t look away from the searing, scouring flames.
But if they held answers, she couldn’t decipher them.
Eventually, he just lifted himself up, his bones creaking, and said simply, ‘I am old, and it is a gift to see my son grown.’
She gave a desperate sob.
‘It is time,’ he said.
It all happened so fast after that.
She still didn’t understand, but she reclaimed her boots and her uniform from the cave.
She thought about leaving the latter behind, but in the end, she put it back on, feeling the weight of the dirt and the grease and the layers of mud settle back over her skin.
Her dirtied history, written in unflattering cargo trousers.
She left the beautiful clothes Lucky’s father had loaned her in a neat pile on the bed, and then they were standing back on the edge of the cliff face.
Lucky was bawling huge globular tears. ‘BUT I WANT TO STAY WITH YOU!’ His tail jerked back and forth so sharply, he almost took out half the line of red-barked primordial trees. ‘I don’t want to miss you again! It’s too hard! I don’t want to lose you.’
His father looked up at him tenderly, unspent tears trembling on his own argent eyelashes. ‘The earth is calling you back home, fire-spoken-and-soaring-on-exalted-sky-and-deep-notched-trees-with-great-hope-in-many-veined-hearts.’
‘THIS IS MY HOME!’ Lucky howled.
‘Yes, it always will be, little one.’ The silver dragon’s belly shone with such terrible brightness. ‘But you have another home now. And I am so proud of you. My gigantic son, remember all is as it needs to be, and no more, no less.’
Frida was weeping uncontrollably as clouds of moonlit insects hovered around her.
Flocks of parrots flew through the hushed darkness.
Night monkeys leapt through the lianas, and she thought she saw an Amazonian anaconda plant flicking their tongues through the shadows, hissing gently.
Even through the fog of tears, she heard their words, their shapes, and reminded herself that all of this was precious.
Lucky pressed himself against his father. ‘Dada please!’ He tried tucking his face beneath his dada’s chest. ‘My heart hurts too much. I do not want to leave you.’
Frida watched, wordless, as tears began to fall down the silver dragon’s cheeks.
The only thing that stopped her from begging him to let them stay was the knowledge that this, too, would go on.
Down in the earth. The silver dragon would be there, just as surely as her mum would.
‘We – we have to go, Lucky,’ she said, her voice breaking.
Somewhere just on the other side of that cliff, an egg was about to hatch.
But Lucky was sobbing. ‘I don’t want to go!’
‘I do not want you to go either, little one,’ his father said.
‘But sometimes there are things we must do.’ His voice was a hammer, and it was high wings and swollen skies, it was molten silver and fire-dusted clouds.
It was love. It washed over Frida, washed through the jungle, soothing the tumultuous thunder that rumbled above their heads, and eventually, it soothed Lucky too.
He dipped his massive boxy head, acceptance settling over him.
At the silver dragon’s nod, Frida started to crawl up Lucky’s back.
‘I know I don’t need to tell you this,’ she called with a shaky voice once she’d reached the peak of Lucky’s quivering spine, watching her friend’s scales shimmer beneath her, ‘but your son is magnificent! And I will look after him, I swear. We will look after each other.’
The silver dragon inclined his chin, and said softly, ‘I know, Frida Rose.’
His eyes flared with golden fire, the scent of furnaces rising.
An electric hum filled the air. But she wasn’t afraid, not this time.
‘Are you ready?’ she asked, wrapping her arms around Lucky’s scales.
He shook his massive head. ‘No, I’m not.’
She pressed her damp cheek into his neck. ‘Then we’ll do it together, fire-spoken-and-soaring-on-exalted-sky-and-deep-notched-trees-with-great-hope-in-many-veined-hearts.’
His dada raised his wings in parting.
The earth creaked.
The black rock split open.
Darkness and starlight beckoned.
The silver dragon roared.
The last thing she saw was the promise in his fire-bright gaze, which went something along the lines of, If you don’t keep him safe, I’ll come back from the fiery pits of molten eternity and roast you where you stand, until you have no brains left, no bones, no eyes, no skin, no feet, no little stink hands.
You’ll just be a pile of dust, which will blow away in the wind, destined to be tormented for the rest of times.
Frida’s mouth quirked in a grin, and then they were gone.