HERE BE DRAGONS

By Carol Hart

Amanda woke in darkness and for an electrified instant lay perfectly still, roused unexpectedly from a profound sleep by such piercing terror that it left her completely disorientated. It took her a few extra seconds to realise she was in her own bed on Vulkhanir and that the fear did not originate from within but came from outside herself. By the time she had fully awakened, the first tentative murmur whispered through the quiet room, no louder than Sarek’s quiet breathing beside her.

“M’aih…”

Pushing aside the thick quilt that snugly enfolded her, Amanda rose from the sleeping dais, careful not to wake her husband, and stole like a ghost to the door. The corridor lights brightened softly around her as she tiptoed over to the threshold of Spock’s room listening attentively at the entrance. From within came the softest of sighs, the slightest susurration, but it was all Amanda needed. Crossing to the low platform where her son huddled amongst his tumbled covers, she knelt alongside the bed and continued to watch him in silence, noticing his too rapid breathing, the tightly closed eyes. Even at three years old, he had learned that Vulkhanir did not show emotion and would, Amanda realised, continue to pretend that nothing was amiss despite the frightening dream that had awakened him so precipitously. 

“Spock?” She queried gently, smoothing his tousled hair, the soft strands as sleek as satin beneath her stroking fingertips; a small child for his age, with mushroom-coloured skin, darkly winged brows, and elegantly pointed ears, she sometimes found it difficult to believe that he carried any of her Human genes. At her touch, he sighed deeply, gratefully, opening his eyes to stare at her. In the dim light of the corridor, they were black, eclipsed with anxiety. 

“M’aih…”

He allowed her to draw him into the circle of her arms, his stiff little body melting into warmth and softness against her breast, relaxing for a time his touch-me-not reserve that for half a year had grown steadily between them. He put his arms around her neck, his hot cheek against her own, and Amanda felt the springs of her being rise in sudden flood, pain spilling over in a torrent of instinctive distress, reacting to his need. “What is it, baby?”

She received no answer at first. Spock lay trembling beneath her hands as she held him close, crooning and soothing, while a shaft of mingled joy and agony zigzagged through her blood. However, as she continued to hold him, the stranglehold around her neck loosened and he babbled something that she only half understood. 

“What did thee say, child?”

“D’rachanya, M’aih…” Spock said, whispering against her ear. “Many d’rachanya.”

“Dragons,” Amanda repeated. “Thee dreamed about dragons, Spock-neha.”

He looked fearfully around the room, clutching at her fingers, recollecting confused memories of pursuit and terror that had hunted him through the palpitating realms of his nightmare. “Lots of dragons, M’aih. They wanted to eat me.”

“Silly boy,” Amanda chided tenderly.“ As if thy A’nirih or I would allow anything to hurt thee. Go to sleep. I will be nearby if thee needs me.”

She slipped her fingers out of his grasp, starting to rise from the floor, but Spock seized at her hand once more and hung on.

“No, M’aih.” He whimpered huskily, sitting upright, his small body tense with fright. “Do not leave me. They will come back.” 

Amanda sank back down onto her knees, drawing him nearer to her heart. “Nothing can get to thee here, Spock-neha. Thee is quite safe. Go to sleep now. I will stay for a short while if thee wishes it so.”

However, it was another half an hour before his eyes finally closed and he subsided into nervous slumber, and even later still before his grip on her fingers relaxed enough for her to slip away to her own bed.

Sarek, her Vulkhanir husband, remained deeply asleep. She looked earnestly down at him where he lay precisely on his own side of the wide dais, the thick duvets pulled up around his chin against the icy night air. The dark, hawk-face had relaxed in slumber, stripped free of the aloof mask that he usually displayed in public. He appeared peaceful, undisturbed, and Amanda felt her heart turn in her breast at the sight of his easy tranquillity. Men were such fools, she thought forlornly, even the best and most logical of them. After Sarek’s sudden pronouncement just a week ago, Amanda knew that he had not even considered Spock’s reaction. Certainly, her response had caused her husband some surprise.

He had joined her in the grounds surrounding the big old house, the unstructured wild garden that Amanda loved most of all and proceeded to drop his bombshell.

“You mean to send our son away.” She had questioned with a calmness that she did not feel. “Send him away where, my husband?”

Sarek had looked at her steadily, unperturbed by her disquiet. “Spock is Vulkhanir, Amanda. Thee knew that this time would eventually arrive. Our son must learn independence.”

“He is three years old, husband. Must independence come so soon?”

He answered with exasperating composure. “This is a harsh world, my wife. It is only logical that our children learn early the tenets of their civilization. Thee has been a wise mother, an able teacher, but now Spock has other lessons he must learn.”

Amanda understood Sarek’s concern for their child, realised that he feared their mixed parentage disadvantaged Spock, and that their son’s inherent emotional responsiveness on this most rational of worlds, where such sensibilities were frowned upon, might hinder his progress. For that reason alone, she had never before interfered in Sarek’s relentless training programme, which had started as soon as Spock could speak and understand. Yet, she knew her child, recognized Spock had yet to reach the stage where he could accept with equanimity, absolute separation from either his mother or father.

“Spock is still a baby, husband. To send him away now will distress him.” She murmured in a voice that remained serene yet seemed to shriek with untold pain inside her aching heart. In the same low and level tones that Sarek used, without emotion or reproach, matching his dignity with that of her own, she had begged him to reconsider. “If he were fully Vulkhanir thee would not insist on this action so soon. Thee takes our child too lightly. Thee must give him the time he needs to reveal his strengths and abilities.”

However, irrevocably set in the Ways of Tradition, she could not sway him from his chosen path.

“Sirak and T’neah will take him until he is old enough to attend S-choli’on, the Hall of Learning in Chin’ohr. Do not fear, Amanda. Spock will be treated like their own child.”

It was precisely for that reason she had so many reservations and had argued so forcefully against Sarek’s course of action. After four years within a typically Vulkhanir household, her son would be changed forever. She envisaged the Human part of his persona submerged beneath the stronger Vulkhanir element, transforming him into someone she could no longer recognise as her child. He had already started to erect defences in response to Sarek’s adamant regime, trying to disguise his humanity, allowing that side of him to show only when he was completely alone with her. Nevertheless, Amanda remained convinced that both sides of his diverse nature could amalgamate given the chance, ultimately making Spock resilient enough to withstand anything that life on Vulkhanir- or anywhere else – could throw at him. Yet, it had proved impossible to convince Sarek of her rationale. 

Now, the trouble with dragons surfaced a consequence that she had half expected once Sarek explained to Spock that he must go away. What she had not prepared for was that the disturbed nights would continue, yet they did on every second or third night, when Spock awakened, frightened and confused, babbling about d’rachanya trying to eat him.

Sarek took Spock’s fretfulness calmly in his stride. “It is natural that he should experience some anxiety. I believe it will pass.”

Another week elapsed and the now familiar murmur woke Amanda once more. 

“M’aih…”

With a tired groan she prepared to go to Spock but Sarek, apparently lying awake beside her, placed a firm hand on her arm.

“Do not disturb thyself, Amanda.” His face expressionless, he rose quietly from beside her, pulling on his padded night-robe to keep out the cold of the unheated room, and strode purposely for the door. “I will take care of this. Go back to sleep, my wife.” 

Amanda nestled into the space vacated by Sarek, soaking up the heat of his body retained by the thick mattress, lulled by the faint, piquant fragrance of his skin lingering upon the sheet beneath her. She contemplated the luxury of further sleep with pleasure but after a few minutes of idle contentment, curiosity finally overcame her. Drawing on a robe, she left the sleeping dais to follow her husband. 

Lapped in the shadows outside Spock’s door, she watched as Sarek approached their small son’s bedside. The small head lay on the pillow, so much she saw and, as on the many previous occasions when she had attended him, Spock lay stiff-limbed among his rumpled bedcovers, lips bloodless and eyes screwed shut with dread, the short lashes dark against his pale skin. For an instant as Sarek loomed over him, Spock’s breathing checked, became confused before rushing on hastily, fast and irregular.

“Spock,” Sarek said quietly, his light baritone soft and well modulated, “why did thee call for M’aih?”

The boy opened his eyes nervously, blinked at his father. “The d’rachanya were chasing me, A’nirih.” 

“So, and where are these bloodthirsty d’rachanya now?” 

“I…do not know, A’nirih. They went away when thee came.”

“Do thee not think that perhaps they were never here at all?” 

The question made no sense to Spock. In the daytime when M’aih or A’nirih were with him, or even when he remained by himself, he knew that such creatures did not exist on Vulkhanir, although once they had done so. Yet at night, when his parents were asleep, and he was all alone in his apartments, the dragons took on form and presence, slithering out from the dark places, shrieking and rampant, huge mouths agape, ready to tear him apart. “I saw them, A’nirih.”

“There are no d’rachanya, Spock-neha. Come, we will search the room together. I will prove this is correct.”

Amanda continued to watch as Sarek helped the child get up, wrapping him in a robe against the cold, before beginning a thorough examination of the room. As was typical in Vulkhanir dwellings, the furniture was sparse, but Sarek made the rounds dutifully, Spock in tow, scrutinizing every corner, inspecting the separate cleansing room, even pushing the large and heavy chasulh, the chest where Spock kept most of his clothing, away from the wall to look behind it.

Afterwards, Sarek returned the child to his bed, evidently satisfied that he had adequately demonstrated his point. “As thee has seen, Spock-neha, there are no d’rachanya in these apartments. Thee is quite safe. Now, thee must go to sleep.”

His logic was impeccable.

“Yes, A’nirih.” The little voice sounded uncertain as Sarek gently tucked him back beneath the quilt, settling it around the child’s thin shoulders. 

“May the All be with thee, Spock.” 

“And with thee, A’nirih.”

The door closed, the lights went down and Spock found himself alone again. He listened to M’aih and A’nirih’s footsteps as they returned to their own room. For an instant, he heard his parents’ voices united in subdued conversation until even those quiet sounds vanished with the shutting of their door. Spock’s heart thudded painfully and he stifled a desperate sob, his spine dampening with nervous perspiration as he stared into the darkest reaches of his apartment. 

The shadows shifted and reformed, his Vulkhanir night vision sensitive to every change in the air currents, longing to call out to Amanda. Deep within his three-year-old heart he harboured the conviction that despite the search he and A’nirih had completed, the d’rachanya waited only until he shut his straining eyes, powerless to hold them open any longer. Once he lost consciousness, they would emerge ready to pounce, chasing him through his dreams. However, he accepted with almost adult resignation, that Sarek would prohibit his mother from answering his frightened summons a second time and given the choice between man-eating d’rachanya or a displeased Sarek, Spock decided that he preferred d’rachanya every time. 

He shuddered, wide-eyed and dry-throated; the fertile imagination bestowed on him by his Human mother, working overtime. There was only one thing left that he could do. Heart in mouth, his eyes jerking worriedly back and forth from one wavering shape to the next, he bolted from his sleeping dais and dashed wildly for the door.

Amanda roused with a start, her conscious mind slowly registering what her unconscious mind had heard some while before. She listened, suddenly attentive to the usual small sounds that all old houses make, the creak of floor boards, the gurgle of water in cold pipes, the wind as it moaned in low and mournful complaint through the shrubbery outside. Yet, the noise she heard came from none of those causes. Instead, she pinpointed the sound to the distinctive rattle of the night shutters opening, or maybe closing again, on the ground floor. She continued to listen in tense concentration but the faint clatter did not repeat. 

Could Ee-chiya be on the prowl, perhaps? The big sehlat stayed in the wild garden at night where it was most at home, the animal’s thick mountain coat a protection against the sub zero temperatures that fell as soon as the light failed. However, Amanda scolded herself, intelligent as the beast was, it could not open shutters by itself. The thought of prowlers never entered her head for crime did not exist on Vulkhanir. On the other hand, the automatic sentry defences around ShiKahr’s perimeter did fail occasionally, allowing the odd marauding animal access to the city. If one had gained entry to the garden, Sarek’s old pet might well find itself outmatched, and the screens were hardly constructed to keep out a hungry lematya or an ecaroya, the lematya’s considerably smaller but vastly more inquisitive and ferocious cousin. 

Amanda’s heart skipped a beat, her imagination conjuring up an image of the scaled and supple, lizard-like animal, the size of a small Terran pony, with its flickering purple tongue probing at the flimsy screens with eager persistence as it sensed their presence, looking for a way to get into them. She pushed the thought hastily aside, knowing now where her son found the inspiration for his dragons, shivering a little as she crossed over to the window arch.

“My wife?” Sarek, disturbed by her sudden absence from his side, sat up, his winged brows drawing together in a frown as she pushed aside the shutters and peered out over the garden. A sudden draught whipped past Amanda’s slim figure surging around his naked shoulders and he shivered convulsively.

“I thought I heard something, a noise downstairs…”

“It is the breeze, nothing more, Amanda. There is a storm advancing. Please, close the shutters and return to bed.”

“I regret waking thee, husband, but I cannot rest while Spock is so frightened.”

Sarek sighed, somewhat exasperated that wife and son seemed intent on keeping him from sleep for the whole night. “I do not understand my wife. I have shown him that d’rachanya do not exist. No harm can come to him, here.”

“He is a child, Sarek. Sometimes logic is not enough.” She stood listening. “What was that?”

“I heard nothing.”

Amanda crossed swiftly to the door, opened it, and went onto the landing, pausing outside Spock’s room while she steeled herself. Suppose – suppose he was no longer there? What if, too terrified by the idea of d’rachanya eating him and abandoned by the two people who should have supported him in his need, he had run away? Where would he go? How would they find him again in the dark and the cold with a desert storm brewing? Again, her thoughts turned to the vision of the ecaroya questing at the night shutters, amethyst tongue scenting the air in search of blood. 

She shuddered. But of course he would be there, he must be. Making a supreme effort of will, she pressed the release, holding her breath until the door slid back.

Sarek, with what appeared to be a full-scale whirlwind shrieking through the half open shutters that Amanda, in her haste to leave the room, had failed to latch correctly, paid assiduous attention as his wife hurried into the upstairs corridor. His excellent Vulkhanir hearing, almost as good as sight in a Human, took note as she paused outside Spock’s suite, the link that joined them in kah relaying her anxiety to him.

Once Amanda had left so precipitously, he had lain down again with the quilts pulled up to his chin, knowing categorically that his wife’s fears were as insubstantial as Spock’s imagined d’rachanya, wanting only to slip back into the sleep that, so far that night had eluded him. Now he reluctantly sat up, aware that if he remained there in solitary and splendid isolation, his most honoured bondmate, without doubt, would accuse him not only of sloth but also of a callous indifference for the welfare of his son. With a deep sigh, he pulled his night robe about his shoulders once more and headed for Spock’s room. He found Amanda leaning against the doorjamb, gazing into the darkened chamber, her lips curved in a rueful smile.

“What is it, wife?”

She shushed him with a finger on her lips silently urging him to join her. His interest piqued, he did so.

“Our son seems to have found his own answer to the problem of dragons.” Amanda whispered. 

“Indeed.” Sarek permitted, one eyebrow elevating as he peered past her into the room. 

Spock sprawled on top of the sleeping dais; his slender arms wrapped as far as they could reach around the huge neck of Ee-chiya whose bulk took up most of the space. Both boy and animal were fast asleep, deeply contented in each other’s company their breath, loud and vigorous, intermingling. Spock looked tiny in proportion to the massive sehlat, his face alight with youth and innocence, confident in his protection against the marauding d’rachanya.

Sarek encircled Amanda’s slender waist, drawing her tenderly against him, wrapping the voluminous robe he wore about the both of them. Thankfully, she leaned into his hard body, feeling his natural heat quickly steal over her, taking renewed pleasure in the faint but distinct fragrance of his naked skin so close to her own as they shared the instant of peace and tranquillity together. 

For a moment, they continued to watch the sleeping companions before Sarek touched the door release. It closed silently and both of them withdrew. They descended the stairs in mutual agreement and entered the seiokan. Without a word passing between them, Amanda quickly filled the water kettle and set it to boil over the muted coals of the sunken fire pit while Sarek collected bowls and tsa’i pot. The aromatic steam of the herbal brew soon wafted through the quiet room and they sipped the hot liquid sitting on cushioned floor stools beside the now blazing fire, each wrapped in their own thoughts pondering on the events of the last few weeks. 

At last, Sarek met his wife’s frank gaze his eyes dark, shadowed by the winged brows. “I owe thee an apology, Amanda.” 

“How so, husband?” she asked innocently, realising a definite anomalous pleasure at his declaration. 

Nor was he oblivious to her enjoyment at his expense. Yet, he continued in the same dry, matter-of-fact way. “I was mistaken in my belief about Spock.” 

“Indeed, "she murmured, unwilling to let him off the hook so soon. “In what respect, husband?” 

He sipped at his tsa’i, the hot infusion burning a trail down his throat to his stomach where the warmth spread through his chilled flesh, a comfort to both mind and body. He took the time he needed to consider his words before answering.  “I may have been over hasty in my initial assessment of our son’s maturity.” 

Amanda inclined her head in agreement. “So, thee will not be sending him away.” 

“No, I will not be sending him away.” Sarek granted his face expressionless as he regarded her. “At least, not for some years. I suspect Sirak and T’neah might find Spock a sufficiently devastating responsibility. Spock and Ee-chiya together surpass even Sirak’s incontrovertible fortitude.” 

Amanda found it impossible not to grin. “On that point we both agree, my husband.” 

His hard mouth relaxed in what Amanda liked to imagine was a smile. Gently he reached out and took her empty bowl, putting it down on the rim of the fire pit with his own, before he stood in one fluid movement. He reached out and helped Amanda to her feet. 

“May I assume that our divergence over this issue is now satisfactorily concluded, my wife?” 

Amanda inclined her head. “To be sure, husband.” 

He looked at her eloquently and she laughed, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss him lightly on the nose. He surrounded her slight figure with his strong arms and they clung together for an instant before breaking apart. 

“Then I believe it is time that we hunted d’rachanya of our own….”