Beyond the Rainbow Dragon: Book 6 of A Dragon's Guide to Destiny

By C. M. Barrett

Legends say that the emergence of the Rainbow Dragon will initiate a new age-but they fail to mention what this means.

The birth of Jade, a dragon with all the right bloodlines, has caused rising anxiety about this imminent and mystifying era. In an effort to stem hysteria, an ancient dragon names the coming era the Great Transformation, but this title does little to console those who already feel the tides of chaos disrupting their lives.

Conditions reach an explosive level when:

Gabbro Frost, son of Malvern, the now-deceased international criminal and would-be tyrant and assassin, comes back to Northern Oasis after years of exile. Since Malvern attempted more than once to murder Phileas, former Guardian of Oasis, and his wife, its Heroine, Gabbro's return alarms them and everyone who knew his father. The more he acts like the quiet schoolteacher he says he is, the more suspicious people become.

Sixteen-year-old Zinnia, Phileas and Serazina's daughter, finds the shockingly candid memoir of Zena, co-founder of Oasis, and learns that her ancestress was both a sexual rebel and the favorite harem slave of the Emperor of Tamaras. When the memoir goes public, many Oasans protest the tarnished image of their heroine.

The southern region of Oasis, whose citizens have for centuries resented what they feel is an inferior and far less prosperous status, calls for secession from the callous and degenerate North. After the release of the memoir, riots break out.

Is it any wonder some are beginning to fear that the Great Transformation will become the Greatest Disaster?

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. M. Barrett
• Release date: Apr 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463321904

C. M. Barrett

On my mother's side of the family, I come from a line of storytellers. My grandmother's stories ranged from my grandfather's arrest for draft resistance in England during World War I, the uncertainty of life during the Troubles in Ireland, to the day she decided to leave her marriage (but didn't). My mother's stories described a rural childhood that to a child of a suburb of little boxes seemed idyllic. Both of them encouraged me to read and provided me with books to feed a growing habit. When I was seven or eight, I discovered mythology, and the gods and goddesses in those tales were as real to me as the dragons and cats in my own stories are now. Thanks to my early training in fantasy, I like to hang out with dragons. Accepting the bizarre directions my imagination takes has allowed me to conjure up Zen cats, cougars, gossip-vending hawks, and other critters. Currently I live in upstate New York on a wooded piece of land not unlike some of the terrain in Big Dragons Don't Cry. Since 2000 I've belonged to the online writers' group, Artistic License, subtitled Shameless Blameless Hussies. They've read all my books, but don't blame them if you find errors, because they're shameless. I also paint, and the art on my book cover is one of my watercolors.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jade floated in the warm sea. Waves rocked her as gently as her mother had when she’d been a happy baby who’d never heard of the Rainbow Dragon.

Her parents were lying on the beach and talking, their voices low. They’d forgotten, as they often did, that her hearing abilities greatly exceeded those of the average dragon. She listened, glad that today the sea did not hiss or sculpt crashing waves.

She’s going into molt again. Did you hear her snap at me this morning? Druid’s voice wobbled. Tears would be falling soon.

The sizzle in Desert Rose’s voice suggested that she was holding back a fiery response. "She’s sixteen years old, she’s gone into molt thirty-two times, and each time you react the same way. You forget that all dragons get irritable before molting. I seem to recall recently seeing a big green dragon slouched on a bed of seaweed and sobbing into the kelp. Can we talk about what’s really bothering you?"

You know what. Now her father sounded like a palm tree must feel when high winds whipped through its fronds and tugged at its roots.

If it happens, we can only help her through it.

Her and the world.

Her first.

This dragon was ready to barbecue her mate, and Druid ducked the flames of wrath that leapt from her nostrils.

This time is different.

You always say ‘This time is different.’

This time it really is. I feel it. And I see it. Sometimes there’s a shimmer around her, like a—

Don’t say it.

You worry about it as much as I do. Druid’s voice turned soft and moist, dousing Desert Rose’s flame.

"I do. But if she does turn into the Rainbow Dragon this time, I’ll almost be relieved. We can stop dreading it and start dealing with it—whatever it is."

The dread that even a fiery air dragon mother could convey covered Jade like the skin she was about to molt. She worried about it as much as her parents. Whatever it is. Not knowing what it meant was the worst of it—she hoped.

She knew only that legend said a dragon would be born who carried the heritage of water, fire, air, and earth dragons. As far as she knew, she was the only dragon who met that criterion.

Druid had tried to explain in more details a few months earlier. The rebel dragons tried to steal your egg because they feared you’d be the dragon whose birth would mean the disappearance of this world. But not really disappearance, more like a huge reorganization. Of course, we don’t know what that means. I wish Ember would come for a visit. He explained it so well. I’m afraid my confusion only paints a more muddled picture.

She was kind enough not to agree with him aloud.

Jade emerged from the water and shook herself, noticing that her skin was getting dull in color and that the tasty kelp in the ocean hadn’t even tempted her. Today or tomorrow, she’d go off by herself and molt in peace near a pond where she could submerge her body and loosen her skin.

And then what?

She shivered. Druid’s feelings often accurately forecast the future, but when anxiety distorted them, he was as often wrong. She desperately hoped he was wrong this time. There was no doubting his anxiety.

Morning came, and her itchy skin began to flake. It was time to retreat. Jade told her parents she’d see them in a little while. Trying to ignore their worried faces, she flew off to the cypress swamp. Much as she loved the endless expanse of sea and sky, the saw grass, cattails, and lush greenery of trees and plants opened her heart wide.

And today it needed opening.

Jade landed inside a cypress dome that she’d often chosen as a shelter in the past and perched on a log. An alligator stuck his head out of the water.

Is it molting time again?

She nodded.

Not to make you feel worse, but I wouldn’t want to go through that. I’m glad I lose my skin one scale at a time.

Perverse mood that she was in, Jade decided that she would hate that. It would mean leaving a trail of dead cells wherever she went. Since dragons, even very small ones, were off-limits to all predators, she didn’t have to worry about the scaly equivalent of covering scat, but it would make a mess.

The alligator, of course, had no predators except humans, so he could afford to advertise his presence through his discarded scales. Judging by the condition of his teeth, messes didn’t bother him.

I’ll leave you in peace, then. The bull gator slid away.

Once he was gone, a pair of river otters swam up to greet Jade.

Will you play with us, please? We found a wonderful slide.

Maybe tomorrow, she said. Today I have to molt.

These friendly visits would occur all morning. The snakes, deer, raccoons, and herons had yet to arrive. To discourage them, Jade would have to go into a state of meditation so blatant that even the highly sociable cougar, Elba, would leave her alone.

She closed her eyes and placed her forepaws together as the great and ancient fire dragon, Ember, had taught her.

Seek to harmonize your various elements, all the beautiful aspects that blend together to give rise to our earth. If you aren’t mindful, they’ll war with each other, but if you love them equally as parents love their children—or are supposed to—they will create a harmonious song that sings through you.

She sought that song now, but the only music she heard was the welcome sound of skin beginning to peel away.

Jade immersed herself in water thick with limestone. It was not quite the texture of mud, but here earth and water mated. She looked up at the sun and at the slanting beams it cast through the cypress leaves, stirred by a faint breeze.

All the elements dance here. If I must be the Rainbow Dragon, Great One, as You love me, let me dance with and within them.

But better yet, let someone else be the Rainbow Dragon.

She rose from the pond, and her skin began to peel off as easily as the human, Serazina, removed what she called clothing when she was about to swim in the sea. The fierce itching ceased, and her limbs gratefully freed themselves of their shrunken covering. She felt clean and renewed.

Jade threw the old skin into the pond, to become food for fish and small birds. She stretched out on the ground so that the filtered sunlight could warm every scale of the new skin she was afraid to see. Finally, anxiety forced her to learn the truth.

She blinked and looked again to be sure. She was green and only green—from her tail to her front and all of her back that she could see. She gazed into the water to see a smiling green face.

Safe again. She wept with relief until she realized this reprieve only meant that in six months they would all go through the ordeal again—and again and again until either she became the Rainbow Dragon or someone else did.

In the meantime, she knew her parents would be sick with anxiety. She shook her wings and rose through the cypress dome to fly back to the beach in all her emerald glory.

Druid collapsed on the beach, sobbing with relief, and the air around Desert Rose shimmered hotly.

Thank the Mother, Druid moaned. I was so sure this time—my heart was palpitating. I thought I would die!

I, too. Desert Rose fanned herself.

They had every reason to work themselves into death-inviting terror, but Jade’s capacity for forgiveness had slipped off with her old skin.

"We have to do something! I can’t take this anymore! Every six months the same anxiety, the same suffering, and if you think you have dread, imagine how I feel when that skin starts to peel away. Your fears only make mine worse. Are you going to hate me if I return with a rainbow skin? Will you drop dead in front of me? At this rate, I’ll be dead before I’m twenty. Then you won’t have to worry anymore."

The dead word brought Desert Rose to her feet. You’re right. It may be terrible for us, but for you, it’s hideous, a nightmare.

Druid rubbed his eyes. I feel so guilty. But what can we do?

Desert Rose raised her eyes to the sky. We’ll ask for guidance.

Jade lacked her mother’s devotion. She’d absorbed the belief shared by Druid and the elderly cat, Tara, who was his dear friend, that She (known to Tara as the Big-assed Bitch, She of the Twitching Rump, and other uncomplimentary titles) answered prayers when She happened to be in the mood.

Only because Desert Rose was a dragon of great faith did Jade join her parents in sitting silently by the water at sunset. She hoped they might catch the Great One in a good mood.

They repeated this ritual for a week, and nothing happened. Dragons of little faith, Desert Rose said when Jade mentioned this. We sit again tonight, and no kelp hunting until we’re through.

They sat, and Jade was at first very bored, but slowly lack of thought helped her notice her heart slowly unfolding, like the first time she’d opened her wings to fly and felt the wind beneath them. She believed, entirely without evidence, that all would be well.

Look! Druid rose to his feet. Dragons!

Chapter 2

I think I’m dying.

Cinnamon spoke in a voice of satisfaction, as if he’d always wanted to die. Tara supposed it was the final item on everyone’s to-do list, but did he have to sound so pleased?

And she didn’t believe him. The russet cat’s fur and his sage-green eyes shone as beautifully as ever—but when she looked into those eyes, she noticed the faintest dimming. The more deeply she looked, the more they resembled ever-darkening caves.

You see, he said.

I don’t want to see, and I don’t want you to die.

Death is as natural as life—

And I don’t want to hear that or that your time has come, and you’ll always be with me in spirit. I don’t want you in spirit, I want your body, your purrs, your tongue grooming me.

She had many times wished for the human and water dragon gift of tears but never so than now. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she hissed.

If he’d only raise his voice so that they could have a good fight—but he never did.

I don’t remember making a pact. Tara, I hang from the Tree of Life like a golden leaf spinning in the wind. I long to return to the dark beauty of the Earth beneath the Earth.

Words, words, words, like my father. I’m surprised he stopped talking long enough to die.

Tara’s mother joined them. So am I, Emerald said.

See? Your mother accepts Orion’s death. You’ll come to accept mine.

I didn’t accept it so much when he was dying, Emerald said, and I’ve had a lot more experience with death than Tara. By the time I was nine months old, when I first met that silver-tongued devil from Tamaras, I had lost my mother, litter mates, and stepped over plenty of stiff cat corpses. That was life in the alleys. There, each day you survived was a victory.

Tara regarded her mother with suspicion. But you said you’d be joining him soon. Seems to me you say that almost every day. Maybe it’s a way to get served the fattest mouse.

And the largest piece of fish, Emerald said. Serazina has been very gracious about that, considering that she doesn’t eat it. Nothing wrong with going out in style and no point in rushing. But let’s get back to you.

Don’t say I’m being stupid about this.

You are, a little, because you know that when the Long-tailed One calls, you have to answer. It’s the same in death as in life.

And She calls me now, Cinnamon said.

"Now?"

Cinnamon eased out of paw-batting range. Maybe not at this moment. She’s granted me a few requests. I have a great longing to say good-bye to the dragons who participated in the Etrenzian and Tamaran quests. And even though I hope you will bury me next to your grand-grandmother, Misha, and Orion, I’d like to die by the sea, hearing the waves hiss like the Golden-eyed One Herself, and Druid crying.

Any other requests? Tara hoped he had a long list.

Maybe it’s unrealistic, but I’d like to see the Rainbow Dragon.

She could have hoped for no better sign that he’d prematurely announced his death. That might be a long time coming. We’ve been waiting sixteen years.

But the tides of change run through me.

Tides of verbiage, more likely.

Oh, Tara, what we had can never be lost. Come lie beside me. You can’t imagine that I seriously want to leave you, that lovely fur, those beautiful eyes.

Words were his own way of going out in style, and he seemed to have a large stockpile yet to speak.

"Cinnamon, do you really believe you’re going to die?"

Ask him more about tides of change.

It was so unusual for the Golden-eyed One to offer unasked-for advice that Tara seized it. "She wants me to ask you something."

Her mate shivered slightly when Tara asked details about tides of change. If She asks, I must consider. Could I be mistaken? I haven’t died before—at least, not in this life. Might I, as a highly attuned and sensitive cat, be sensing the tumult of a new age being born? Am I mistaking birth for death?

Tara turned her head and smiled. Already, he looked more substantial, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. He’d continue his monologue for a long time. She didn’t care. As long as he was talking, he was still alive.

* * *

Serazina Clare, Heroine of Oasis (which, she reflected, was one of the more meaningless titles ever devised), was bored out of her mind. She needed a job.

During the first four years of her twins’ lives, she’d worked in their nursery/preschool, studying how toddlers learned naturally and developing a curriculum for introducing interspecies communication to those who barely spoke. Her program had achieved great success, and she’d gone on to teach nursery school teachers and assistants how to implement it.

That had kept her busy for several years. Then Romala, Chief Healer, had asked her to teach healers the protocol for mental/emotional detoxification that she and Phileas had devised. Again, she’d developed a curriculum, written up a course that could be taught both live and online, and ended up writing a reference book on the subject. She’d finished that project last year.

Since then, she’d had nothing to do, except the occasional emergency healing or consulting on the rare international crisis. Serazina served on the National Council, but that didn’t constitute a full-time job. No one needed her, not the country and certainly not the sixteen-year-old monsters who now tramped down the stairs looking for breakfast—which they could fix for themselves. She was going to drink her hibiscus tea and sulk.

Two more weeks of school, Zinnia announced in a voice that was probably a normal tone but sounded ear-splitting to Serazina. And why couldn’t she comb her hair? It was beautiful and blonde but hung in knotted locks.

Serazina was tempted to seize her and cut it all off, but then her daughter, who bore a great resemblance to her grandfather, Johar, would look like a boy. As it was, she had hardly any breasts (and never would if she turned out like her mother). Only her finely carved features paid any tribute to Phileas.

She was a beautiful young woman who insisted on making herself as unattractive as possible by wearing clothes that looked as if they’d come from a rubbish bin. Serazina, who’d had much less to work with at her age, wanted to scream at her to be grateful for what she’d been given.

Aspen, on the other hand, couldn’t look unattractive if he tried. His hair, sleek and black as that of a seal, always fell perfectly, and he, too, had Phileas’s spectacular cheekbones and a dignified Etrenzian nose. He would have looked at home as a tribesman in that country’s desert. However, like his sister, he ignored all standards of neatness. Today, he was wearing ragged jeans and a shirt several sizes too large, whose tails slapped at the backs of his knees.

You will both go upstairs and change your clothes, Serazina said.

Noooo!

All the kids—

Do not look like derelicts from the inner city, of which we have only a blessed few. I have actually lurked near the high school and seen decently dressed students in the vicinity. And you are going to be among them unless you want to be grounded all summer.

They grumbled and probably quietly cursed, but they went upstairs and quickly returned in clothes which, though unimpressive, lacked either holes or stains.

Thank you, she said.

They didn’t say she was welcome. They ate their cereal with great speed and exited the house without saying good-bye.

She adored them; she would kill for them unless she killed them first.

A few minutes later Phileas came downstairs. Have the juvenile delinquents departed?

You know they have. Don’t you always manage to miss them?

I try.

I wish I could, but someone has to make sure they don’t look as if they slept on the street last night.

Bad?

I never thought I’d long for the days when everyone had to wear tunics and trousers. Exposure to the fashions of other countries ruined us.

You can’t blame our children’s indifference to minimal standards of dress on Tamaran silk or Etrenzian robes.

"I’d like to. I need to blame something on someone."

He winced. I know you’re bored. Let’s think of something.

Let’s not. Let’s not treat me like a fractious child who needs a new toy for entertainment.

"Have you thought about asking Her?"

That would be asking for trouble.

It would, Tara said.

Serazina stroked the cat. Humans called the Long-whiskered One the Green Lady. For both species, She was a mostly-invisible presence, possibly a representative of the world of Spirit and nature, who in the past had frequently harassed humans, cats, and dragons into doing the Right Thing.

This often involved getting kidnapped, caught in ice storms, and facing fears Serazina would have preferred to not know she had. For these and other reasons, she didn’t care to ask for Her guidance. And yet.

Tara’s eyes met hers. Yes. She’s hovering. That can never be good.

Serazina raised her fingers to her lips. Phileas didn’t need to know this yet. Tara blinked in understanding.

One of the most vexing aspects of Serazina’s state of discontent was that she knew Phileas shared it. On the surface, he appeared to have no need of occupation. The heads of state of Dolocairn, Etrenzia, and Tamaras, were always asking his advice on various subjects, and during his down time, he talked with Dal’Rish, Commander of Domestic and Border Security, and planned what to do in the nonexistent event of invasion. In his free time, he wrote—or said he was writing—his memoirs.

Council meeting today, he reminded her.

She pretended to groan but was delighted to have the afternoon filled. There would be hours of discussion, and tonight she and Phileas could go over what everyone had said.

Serazina only had the morning to worry about. She could visit her mother-in-law. Janzi had recently returned from six years spent in Dolocairn, Etrenzia, and Tamaras, learning more about the histories and healing practices of the countries from which all Oasans had their origins. No doubt she had also shared her own wisdom with throngs of eager listeners.

Why am I so bitter about that? Serazina asked herself. She loved Janzi, who had always supported her. But if she told her about feeling useless, Janzi would almost certainly look at her with disbelief.

At the age of seventy-six, she showed no signs that she ever intended to retire. While she’d been away, she’d continued to attend National Council meetings via telecast. Once back home, she stepped back into full real-time participation. She’d re-initiated her healing practice. And Serazina was fairly sure that she was having an affair with a frisky Dolocairner of around her age.

Janzi exhausted her. On second thought, she wouldn’t visit her.

And she certainly wouldn’t visit her own mother, who was fifty-eight and worked full-time in the Public Affairs office. Fiola would suggest in her usual subtle way that maybe her daughter thought she was too good for the average job.

And maybe Serazina did. Maybe she was addicted to the thrills of foreign intrigue. Maybe she had to be a heroine all the time—just as Phileas, in his deepest, unacknowledged dreams, had never gotten over no longer being the Guardian of Oasis.

He’d sworn that he wanted to be free of the burden of leadership and that he didn’t want to pass it on to a son. This was true, but it was equally true that he was lost without the role he’d trained for during the first part of his life and practiced until fifteen years ago.

For both of them, raising two bright and rambunctious children had provided a purpose. Phileas had found a joy and purpose in fatherhood as great as discovering romantic love. In the fall, though, Zinnia and Aspen would be going to Oasis University and living in the city. The house would be empty, like their lives.

That had to be faced, and no one liked facing things less than Phileas.

I’m not the only one who’s bored, she said.

He looked uneasy. I’m very busy.

* * *

Once Serazina started, it was impossible to stop her, and Phileas, who’d spent a night full of dreams in which he crawled through a filthy sewer in Tamaras with only a rat and a dwarf to guide him, didn’t care to have his weaknesses dissected by his beloved wife.

I know you’re busy, she said. But are you fulfilled? It’s more than boredom. I love this country. I dedicated my life—and several times nearly lost it—to make it the country it is today. I want to continue to be of service to it, and I don’t know how to do that.

Her words reminded him painfully that it never paid to pretend that she didn’t know him down to his cellular structure. I know, he whispered.

Because Serazina was also the kindest person he’d ever known, she took his hands. They sat that way in silence for several minutes.

Tara ended this interval. The problem is that you’re both impatient. If you could only hear the caterwauling in your minds—‘Give me an answer; give it to me now’—you’d know exactly why you aren’t getting answers. You’re too busy asking to listen.

You’re right, Serazina said. I’ve never been good at patience.

Neither have I, Phileas said. I’ve always been best at knowing what needed to be done and doing it—or telling someone else to do it.

You’ll have to learn, Tara said. When in doubt, study the behavior of cats.

She padded over to a band of sunlight on the floor and fell asleep.

Phileas returned to his study to watch the world news, which was surprisingly cheerful. He was about to turn off the computer when Commander Renzel Dal’Rish called.

Go to News with a Southern Beat. They’re interviewing Snurf Noswan.

"Snurf? No one’s heard from him since he tried to call the elementals a demonic infestation."

We’re hearing from him now. Call me when the program is over.

Phileas found the site. Snurf hadn’t aged well during the sixteen years since Phileas had last seen him. He looked gaunt and disheveled, but his eyes still burned with prophecy.

As leader of the Godlies he’d developed the theory that all sins would lead to an afterlife of being chased by the fire-breathing dragon. The discovery that Druid put out fires had doused that idea.

A few years later Oasis had rejected his proclamation that the arrival of the elementals represented a demonic infestation. Snurf had relocated to the South, a more favorable region for his brand of lunacy. Phileas wondered what had resurrected him. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

"Fellow citizens of the South, as we all know to our sorrow, our beloved governor died last week. Although the vice-governor by law, can rule for another two years, I intend to build a movement that asks him to step down. With all respect for his many accomplishments, I’ve come to you to propose that we need a new style of leadership here.

"For too long we’ve labored beneath the yoke of the wealthy Northerners. Not only do they take our taxes and return little to us, for decades they’ve attempted to coerce us into following principles and practices that are untrue to the great origins and history of Oasis.

"Long ago, I warned against the practice of communicating with animals. Beasts have no souls, and humans who get too close to them run the risk of losing their own souls. Do we not see that soullessness has infested the North?

"It made citizens there easy prey for theories that emotions deserved an equal place with mind. Though all members of the Council, myself included, read a document allegedly written by our beloved co-founder Zena, I always doubted the authenticity of that document. I believed and do believe that Janzi Nor’azzi, a notorious Earther, fabricated the so-called Last Testament.

"Already weakened by the double blow of animal communication and mental weakening, the citizenry fell victim to hordes of demons, the invisible elementals. They now eat demon-grown foods, and my hope that they may ever restore themselves to mental health diminishes over the years. However, I urge anyone listening to this in the North who agrees with what I say to try to find others. Organize, and my people will help in any way possible.

I have made my stand here in the South, my family’s original home, where sanity remains, where people have rightly hesitated to adopt Northern practices. I have decided to run for Governor, with the intention of helping you resist this insidious tide. I will support you in keeping your families and communities strong and welcome any Northerners who wish to follow the traditions brought to us by Zena. Together we will ensure that the South holds to the values that once made this country great.

Chapter 3

We’re doubling surveillance on him. We’re going to identify his organization and supporters, Dal’Rish said when Phileas called him.

How much of a threat do you think he poses?

It depends on how much of a movement he can build and on how firm the new governor is. We don’t know much about him, but you may be assured that we will soon.

I rest assured.

Was Serazina watching?

No, I didn’t think of that.

Replay it. I’d welcome her opinion. We’ll speak soon.

Phileas called to Serazina, who came into the study. He pointed to the screen, and she gasped.

Really? I thought he’d be dead by now.

He’s only six years older than I am. Phileas realized he was gritting his teeth. He pushed the play button.

She watched in silence until the end.

You don’t really think anyone is going to pay attention to him.

Dal’Rish thinks he could pose a threat.

Dal’Rish lives for threats. Do you think Snurf is going to organize an army to invade us?

No, but his battle cry could inflame discontent here.

"Then we have to make more efforts to educate the people—which we should be doing anyway. We know things aren’t perfect here. I feel it."

Even after eighteen years, Phileas—usually when he was anxious—resisted her certainty about feelings. However, on more than one occasion, her intuition had saved her life. When he questioned her sureness, it was usually because he didn’t want her to be right.

Despair bowed his head. "It’s all falling apart. Everything we worked for will crumble. Did I