by NS Dolkart
“Everyone say your kind is dead,” Bandu pointed out.
“Perhaps now that Criton has learned otherwise, he will take a second wife.”
Second wife? Bandu felt that like a kick to the stomach. Phaedra hadn’t said anything about second wives. She had said that marriage was when people promised not to have others. Or, hadn’t she? Maybe Phaedra hadn’t said exactly that, but it was what Bandu had understood. How much had Phaedra neglected to tell her?
If marrying was only a promise for her and not for him, then it was no good. Besides which, whatever marriage was supposed to be, Criton had promised not to have others. If he broke that promise, he could not have her. Not unless she could have others, anyway. But then, that didn’t work, because she didn’t want anybody else.
She had thought that she and Criton were the same: two wild things without any family except each other. But Criton wanted more. He had always wanted more. And now there were others of his kind who wanted to take him away from her.
Her fury stretched itself in all directions. Below the earth, something answered. Roots connected to roots – the Yarek was listening. It owed her a favor. Did she want it to eat this woman?
It took some strength to resist. Bandu would have liked to see Hessina dragged away beneath the ground to become food for plants, but she knew better. This woman did not deserve that, not for this crime, and besides, Bandu might need that favor someday.
She looked south into the distance, where even now the Yarek was visible. It was taller than the mountains of the Calardian range, so tall and wide that it might have been a pillar holding up the heavens. It amazed Bandu – the great tree seemed so much larger than Castle Goodweather, its parent in the fairies’ world. Parent and child, maybe – it was hard to tell with these ancient beings. God Most High had torn the Yarek into two pieces in ancient times. Those two halves, Castles Illweather and Goodweather, were the cornerstones of the fairies’ world, while their roots made up that world’s foundation. The tree before Bandu’s eyes had come from Goodweather’s seed, but she could see that the new Yarek was stronger, more whole. Less kind.
Maybe the new Yarek’s size should not have come as a surprise. This younger world was not built of gnarled old roots; it was made of soil, soil that was rich and yielding and had never known the Yarek. Of course the great tree would take advantage.
Hessina, following her gaze, went back to praying to her God. “You who struck down the Yarek of old, who conquered Your enemies before the first dawn, defeat Your detractors now so that they will not scoff at Your name. Arise, our God, and Your enemies tremble; lift Your hand, and they scatter like chaff in the wind.”
Bandu switched baby Goodweather from one breast to the other and smiled a bit to herself. She wondered what Hessina would think if she knew the story behind her daughter’s name.
There was a fire growing in the village nearby. Even from here, she could see people running. Whether or not Criton’s plan had worked, it had clearly led to some sort of fight.
Bandu considered staying and watching, but she was tired of Hessina’s company. Criton might need her help, for all that he wanted her to stay behind to protect Goodweather. Bandu thought she could protect both.
Figures were running out of the smoke, but none of them were Criton. The fire was spreading, too, jumping from house to house. Was Criton trapped in one of those awful wooden houses, with a roof of burning thatch above his head?
She broke into a run. The wind whistled in her ears, warning her to stay away. It was fighting against her now, trying to keep her back. “Stop,” she said through gritted teeth. “Stop blowing. You make the fire worse. Stop.”
The wind calmed at her words, and she ran on. At least the clouds of smoke were rising straight up to the sky now. Without the wind blowing it in all directions, she could see that the source of the smoke was somewhere in the middle of the village. That was bad. Even with a calm wind, the fire would spread unless it could be put out. Bandu clutched Goodweather to her chest and kept on running, past frightened livestock and fleeing villagers, past barns and sheds and houses, until she turned a corner and almost ran headlong into Criton’s cousin.
There was a ragged line of Dragon Touched men facing the blaze, with weapons in their hands and rags over their mouths to keep out the smoke. Belkos had clearly only just recovered from a coughing fit – he was still in the process of standing up straight after having been doubled over, and his breath came in gasps.
“They’re still there!” he wheezed. “Who the hell set fire to Magor’s temple?”
Nobody answered, and Belkos began to stumble forward. There was a shout of, “Where are you going?” and Criton came running to his cousin’s side, carrying a shield and spear. He hadn’t noticed Bandu yet.
“My family!” Belkos cried. “My Iona! Our house is on that side of town!”
Bandu stepped forward. “Take us there.”
Criton saw her, and his expression turned to horror. “Bandu! What are you – you brought Goodweather here?”
“So take her!” Bandu yelled at him. “She’s yours too. You have your fighting things now – go watch Goodweather while I help your cousin and his family.”
Criton did not take the child; his hands were full. Instead he made a frustrated sound and said, “Never mind. We can go together.”
They followed Belkos as he made an arc around the burning buildings, hurrying toward his house. “They might still be all right,” he said. “I’ll kill whoever set that fire! The rout’s no good if our village burns down because of it, and the townspeople are fleeing us instead of helping! At least the wind has calmed down now. Thank God for that!”
Yes, Bandu thought, thank your God for calming the wind. What do you know?
Goodweather had woken up during the run, and was wriggling with discomfort. She did not like this heat. Bandu raised her to her shoulder, where her grip was better. “Be quiet,” she pleaded, and for once her daughter obeyed.
They hurried on, townspeople scattering as they passed, until they came to Belkos’ house. A Dragon Touched woman, her scales hiding under a layer of magic, was trying to load her family’s possessions onto a wheelbarrow, shouting orders at her daughter while her mother looked on. She saw Belkos and cried out, tears in her eyes.
“Thank God you’re here!” she said, then recoiled as she took in his spear and realized he was undisguised. “What’s happening, Belkos?”
Bandu did not listen to his answer, because the woman’s mother was staring at her. “She-wolf,” the old woman spat. “Black Dragon. They have come.”
Bandu locked eyes with her. The old woman did not flinch as others did, but stared right back, unblinking and unashamed. In fact, it was Bandu who became disquieted and had to turn away. There was something less than sanity in the old woman’s eyes, and Bandu got the impression that whatever was missing had been replaced with magic.
“Come,” Bandu said to Criton. “Kill the fire with me.”
“You don’t kill a fire,” Criton muttered, but he came with her.
The lack of any breeze may have helped to slow the flames’ progress, but the blaze had nonetheless expanded – there was only one house now between it and Belkos’ home.
“So what’s the plan?” Criton asked. “I’ve made fires before, but I’ve never fought them.”
Bandu patted Goodweather on the back and thought about it. “Without wind, the fire doesn’t jump far. If this house doesn’t burn, it is good.”
Criton looked at her incredulously. “Yes, but how can we keep it from burning?”
Bandu was about to answer, but just then Goodweather made a sudden attempt to fall out of her mother’s arms, flopping backwards with a motion that no spine should have allowed. Bandu did not let her fall, but the baby began to scream anyway, a cry of pure infantile anguish.
“Take her,” Bandu snapped. “I can’t think.”
Criton obeyed, dropping his new shield and spear to take the baby from Bandu’s
arms. Bandu touched the walls of the house, trying to quiet her mind. Between the heat and Goodweather’s near-constant nursing, she was beginning to feel light-headed. She wished she could abandon the fire for a moment and go find a well – there must be one around here somewhere, and she badly needed a drink of water. Her mouth was as dry as the wall she was leaning against.
A strange thought came to her, the beginnings of a plan. This house was made of trees – dead trees, yes, but if they could only be made to remember…
She pressed both her palms against the wall and closed her eyes. She felt her dry mouth, licked her lips, and tried to make the walls feel her thirst. You must be thirstier than I am, she told the wall. Long ago you have roots that reach down to where wells are born, and you drink and drink and grow and grow. Do you remember? Your roots then are not so short like now.
Remember how you are alive then? You should let your roots grow again, so you can drink. The water is waiting for you!
The boards in this wall did not have roots anymore, but when she told them otherwise, she found them open to persuasion. She commanded them to let their roots grow deep again, and she could feel the wood groaning as it tried to obey. One of the boards beneath her hands splintered with the effort, and dug into Bandu’s right hand.
Yes, she told the wall encouragingly, like that. But don’t dig into me to find your water, dig into the ground! There is water there, so much more water than in me. Take it! Let your roots grow down to it!
They were trying, she could feel it in her hand. The splinter was actually sucking at her as the rest of the boards tried to grow roots. It was small enough that she decided she should let it, if that meant that it would remind the others how it was done. And when at last the roots burst out of the boards and into the ground, she felt their triumph echoed in her pain.
Down and down the roots grew, searching for the water that had been promised them. At last they found it, and Bandu leapt back from the wall with a yelp. How greedily they had begun to drink, both from the ground and from her!
Criton ran to her side, asking if she was all right. Bandu nodded. “I’ll take her,” she said, reaching for Goodweather with her left hand. “Pluck that out from me!”
Criton did as she said, passing their daughter over and then inspecting her right palm closely. “That’s kind of a thick splinter,” he said, pinching the end between clawed fingers. “This is going to hurt.”
He was right about that much. It definitely hurt. When he had pulled the splinter out, he muttered an oath and held it up for her to see. The wood had divided into three tiny squiggly roots partway into her hand. Bandu licked her wound and handed Goodweather back to Criton. The baby was miserable in this heat.
Criton threw the root away and looked up, finally noticing what she’d done to the house. “How did you do that?” he marveled.
She looked back and smiled. Water was running down the outside wall as the boards drank and drank from the underground well, lifting more water out of the ground than they could possibly absorb.
“Take Goodweather back to Belkos,” she said. “Tell him they are safe.”
She touched her good hand to the wet wall and reminded it to share with the roof. Then she picked up Criton’s spear and shield and followed him back to his cousin’s house.
Belkos and his wife were still loading the wheelbarrow, keeping one eye on the fire’s progress, when Bandu and Criton arrived. Their daughter stood motionless, a long dress draped over her arms, staring at the rising smoke.
“Don’t worry,” Criton said, “the fire won’t come here. Bandu’s seen to that.”
Belkos’ wife looked incredulous. “What? How?”
“The She-wolf makes houses weep,” the old woman said darkly.
13
Dessa
Grandma didn’t like that witch Bandu; that was part of what made Dessa love her. She didn’t trust Grandma. Mother always said that she should be grateful because Grandma and Grandpa had protected Mother when she was Dessa’s age, and without that, there would have been no Dessa. But at least Grandpa had been nice. Grandma was mean.
Mother said it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t always been this way. Mother was probably right – Dessa could almost remember a time when she had loved Grandma more than anyone. But now she never knew what to expect, whether Grandma would smile at her or hit her, and when she did hit, she never said sorry. Dessa always had to say sorry. It wasn’t fair.
So when she saw Grandma looking at Bandu with such hatred in her eyes, Dessa decided that Bandu must be wonderful. And she was – look what she had done with that house! Even the nasty name Grandma gave her sounded impressive. The She-wolf. It was like something out of a story.
Bandu was short and skinny compared to the other women Dessa knew, but that didn’t make her any less impressive. She looked like no one Dessa had ever seen before – her skin so dark it was almost black, her clothes dirty, her hair a tangled mass. She didn’t look like someone who could be punished for climbing trees. She looked like someone Dessa wanted to be.
Mother made Dessa help with the packing, since Grandma wouldn’t leave off staring at Bandu and her husband. That was so unfair, Dessa wanted to scream. Grandma wasn’t even talking; she was just standing out there glaring while Father talked. If Dessa had been allowed to stay outside, she could actually meet Bandu!
Dessa wasn’t even sure why they were still packing, if their house was safe from the fire. She must have missed something Father had said while she was watching a building cry. Were they going somewhere? What was going on?
She hurried to finish, but by that time Bandu and her husband were gone. “Where’s Chalkstone?” Father asked when he came indoors.
“She ran off during the fire,” Mother told him. “She was too wild for me to control, and when I turned my back on her for a minute, she was gone.”
“I thought I’d tied her up well,” Father said. “Partha? Did you see her go?”
“What’s that?” Grandma asked. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“The horse,” Mother answered.
Grandma just stared at her blankly, for so long that Dessa was almost sure she couldn’t remember the question. Then she said, “I didn’t know you had a horse, dear Iona.”
Mother made a frustrated sound and turned away.
Dessa hoped she’d have the chance to meet Bandu properly soon, and she couldn’t wait to talk to Vella about her. Vella was six years older than Dessa, and she was the person Dessa admired most in the world. She was generous and kind, and even though she was married, she still found the time to talk with Dessa about whatever might be troubling her. These days, it was her impending marriage that bothered Dessa most, and the fact that she would have to leave her home and her family so soon.
Vella helped with that too: Dessa was betrothed to her little brother, Malkon. The fact that the two of them would soon be sisters-in-law was the one nice thing about the whole situation. Even so, Dessa was afraid. Vella and Malkon’s parents lived a whole town away. Dessa would be seeing much less of Vella after the wedding, even though they’d be sisters-in-law. She’d be completely alone in a town full of strangers.
Vella tried to make it better for her. She told Dessa stories about her family, reassured her that her grandma Hessina wasn’t as scary as she seemed, and did her best to make the move to another town seem normal. After all, if Vella could live through it, so could Dessa.
Now Dessa wondered if she might not have to live through it at all. Everybody she knew seemed to be packing, preparing for some big trip somewhere. From what she heard, it sounded like all the Dragon Touched everywhere would be going together. So she wouldn’t be separated from her parents, at least for now. Might her wedding also be postponed, or even better, cancelled?
Dessa’s father said that everyone would be gathering that night in front of the weeping house. Where would they be going after that? He didn’t know. “Wherever Criton leads us,” he said. “Go
d Most High has placed our people in his hands.”
It was a strange thing to say, and the way he said it was even stranger. He sounded almost giddy about it.
Mother was not giddy. She was worried. Dessa didn’t know who to trust about how to feel – Father always said that Mother worried too much, but he was acting too weird right now for her to trust him. Should she be afraid of what was coming?
She and Mother spent the next few hours making bread and wrapping it up for the journey while Father went to find Chalkstone and Grandma watched them bake, muttering angrily to herself. Wherever they were going, Dessa wished they could leave Grandma behind.
They all gathered that evening just as Father had said, bringing their things and their animals with them. Every Dragon Touched person Dessa knew and some she didn’t stood before the weeping house while Vella’s grandma purified Criton the old way, sprinkling him with bull’s blood and counting aloud so that everyone could hear she was doing it right. Dessa had never seen this ritual before, having grown up long after the Dragon Touched went into hiding. She’d only heard of such things, and now watched in fascination. Neither Criton nor Hessina were wearing a disguise – their scales shone in the firelight for all the world to see. Did this mean Dessa’s people would be leaving the shadows for good?
And did that mean she wouldn’t have to marry yet?
Bandu was standing not too far away, and Mother waved her over. “Would you like me to hold the baby?” she asked.
Bandu nodded and handed her infant over, stretching her back. “Thank you,” she said.
Dessa felt paralyzed. Here Bandu was, standing right next to her, and she didn’t know what to say. “I want to be your friend” was too blunt, and “Thank you for saving our house” would sound stupid, especially since it sounded like they would be leaving it soon. Besides which, Bandu would just answer “You’re welcome,” and then they’d be right where they started.