Apparently, so did everyone else, as they all burst out in laughter. Aeron shook his head at Anaya, but couldn’t stay annoyed at her for long. He started laughing as well.
The smiths, working on the scale just to the side of the water trough, were packing up their tools and other equipment. The one who had approached Master Doronal that morning walked over.
“Masters?” the smith asked.
“Ah, yes,” Master Doronal said, recognizing him. “The scale is complete?”
“It is, Master Doronal.”
“Excellent!” Master Canneth said, turning to Sharrah. “Would you like to be the first to weigh Anaya?”
“Yes!” She raced inside and returned with her notebook.
“If there won’t be anything else?” The smith looked form Master Canneth to Master Doronal.
“No. And thank you for your quick work.” Master Doronal smiled at the smith, who smiled back and bowed his head. He then returned to his his men who were finishing packing up their tools.
“If you would stand on there, Anaya?” Sharrah pointed to the large metal platform.
Anaya looked at Aeron.
“Go on, it’s okay.” Aeron said. “I think it is similar to the scales in the infirmary, which we use for us.”
“It is, but much larger,” Sharrah said, nodding.
Anaya padded up to the scale and sniffed it before gingerly stepping onto the large metal platform. It sank down perhaps a quarter of an inch. When she reached the center, she turned back to Aeron, blinked, and then sat on her haunches.
Sharrah began sliding metal cylinders along various bars on top of the weighing tower. The set of bars slowly rocked up and down moving a pointer on the right end. Sharrah eventually got it to balance in the middle. Watching her, Aeron vaguely remembered that there were cylinders for certain amounts of weight, single pounds, tens of pounds, hundreds of pounds and such. The cylinders were slid along, starting with the heaviest, trying to get the pointer to balance in the middle of its range. When it was balanced, where each cylinder sat along its bar determined how much of each weight to include. If the single pound cylinder sat on 6, that meant six pounds. You then added in the weight from the tens of pounds cylinder. If it sat on the 7, that meant to add seventy pounds. And on, and on.
“Hmm,” Sharrah said, adding up the cylinders. “It looks like she weighs three hundred and eighty-seven pounds.”
“She’s, what, about five feet from nose to rump?” Master Canneth asked.
Sharrah nodded as she jotted the weight down. “Yes. Though she’s almost ten feet if you include her tail. And let’s not forget her wings.”
“Even so,” Master Canneth said, “that weight seems about right for her size.” He looked Anaya over. “Dragon morphology doesn’t appear to have any major surprises, at least where weight is concerned.”
“Morph . . ology?” Aeron asked.
“Her structure,” the animal master replied. “If she weighed a lot more, or a lot less, it would imply that morphologically, structurally, something interesting would be going on. Something that would make her weigh more or less than we expect in a creature her size.”
“Oh, I see.” Aeron looked at Anaya and smiled.
I can get off of this now?
Yes, love. Thank you.
“Everything looks good.” Master Canneth watched Anaya as she stepped off the scale and padded over to Aeron.
Not long after, the masters took their leave, explaining that they had a meeting with Lord Baronel within the hour to update him on the progress of the dragon relocation and studies.
“I’ll see you at The Residence shortly,” Master Canneth said to Master Doronal as he left the stable.
Master Doronal nodded to the zoology master before turning to Aeron. “You haven’t been neglecting your sorcery studies, I hope?”
“No, sir. Tomorrow I will start on the third spell. I should be ready by week’s end.”
“Excellent. I hope that none of you neglect your other responsibilities. As exciting as studying Anaya is, we all have other duties as well. Good evening to you all.” And the magic master left, heading off to his hall.
Later, Doronal straightened his tunic and his shoulders as he walked up the road to The Residence. The information Aeron had put together from the trader was intriguing. Immediately upon returning to the Magic Craft Hall, he had spoken to Millinith about the animus theory. She was going over the reports and evidence from recent attacks again with the theory in mind.
Why would nahual need animus, though? The question had drifted through his thoughts all evening since the meeting with the trader. He was an organized man and liked things to make sense. And nahual using, needing, animus didn’t make sense. People used animus for spells, but they used their own. How would you even go about taking animus from someone? Sure, there were devices that allowed multiple people to share in the creation of powerful spells. He himself had assisted, along with every able-bodied sorcerer in the Caer, with the enchanting of the cavern rooms and walkways using just such a device. But he knew of no way to take animus from someone. Aeron’s dream aside, there were no indications so far that nahual used magic, so why would they need animus? And what need was so great that they would risk attacking people?
Doronal knew that Lord Baronel was not the only one with an interest in fighting nahual. Millinith heard as much in her investigation trips. Others were also looking for ways to destroy the vile creatures, or at the very least, ways to devise better defenses against them. If nahual had even a modicum of intelligence, they had to know that attacking people would eventually lead to reprisals. So why would nahual continue to risk attacking people? It had to be for something important, Doronal felt, but for what? It couldn’t be for sustenance. There had to be thousands if not tens of thousands of nahual scattered around the world. There were not nearly enough attacks if food was the reason. No, it had to be for something else, something he couldn’t think of at the moment. Or, he thought, perhaps they had very little intelligence. Maybe they were closer to animals and instinct drove them? He didn’t have enough information. He sighed in frustration and pushed that question aside. He’d think on it more later.
Another question on his mind was what to do with Anaya. The information they were getting from her was astonishing. They knew more about dragons now, after only two days, than had been known about dragons since the dawn of time. Incredible things. Information about dragon politics, social structures and more. And the Bond, Doronal thought in wonder. It could create a link between a dragon and a person. Who could have dreamed that something like that was even possible? Aeron’s words echoed in his memory. ‘We are one.’ If Doronal’s suspicions were correct, they were linked in such a way that they could almost be considered one entity of two minds and bodies. What had Trader Dellia called Aeron? Dragonlinked. It had a nice ring to it, he had to admit.
Doronal paused and smiled. Going off on a tangent again, he thought wryly to himself. What had he been thinking on? Ah, yes, what to do with Anaya. There would surely be more information to come in the weeks and months ahead. But then what? Eventually all the information Anaya knew would be exhausted, other than pure history. What then? He didn’t imagine she and Aeron would be content to just live in the Caer contributing nothing but daily metrics on dragon growth and development, nor did he imagine would Lord Baronel. Sure, Aeron would become a sorcerer, a powerful one too, Doronal suspected, but what about Anaya? He sighed. Another question he had no answer for. He pushed it aside as well.
Full night had fallen while he had been in the magic hall, and now a brisk chill breeze cut through the courtyard, whipping the fires up and about. Despite the street lamps and their large steady lightglobes, light from the fire pits caused shadows that danced crazily along the flagstones and surrounding buildings. Doronal shivered. He really would have to start wearing a coat in the evenings. He quickly made his way up the steps of The Residence and on to the private meeting room where Canneth was no
doubt already waiting for Lord Baronel.
You are not concentrating. Anaya raised her head and looked at him. She had been lightly dozing, not quite fully asleep yet.
The rebuke from his dragon made him frown, more so because she was right. His mind kept drifting back to the dream. He shook his head to clear those thoughts. I’m sorry. I’ll try it again. He concentrated on imagining the structure of the framework for the spell.
That is good. Now the spell.
Aeron smiled to himself. Anaya almost sounded like Master Doronal when she helped him study his spells. He thought of the spell again and the various focus types he would add, in their order, along with the transformations. He imagined them and how the structure would change as he added them, how the colored bands would slide and twist and shift the spell.
There, you have done it. That was very good!
Aeron smiled at the praise in her voice. She offered the best support! He could feel her happy rumble through his back as he lay against her. Thank you!
She rested her head on her forepaws and closed her eyes. Now, try it again.
Aeron grimaced, but she was right. He needed to practice the spell many more times to be sure he had it properly memorized. He cleared the spell from his mind and started again, only checking the primer after each practice weaving to be sure he hadn’t left anything out.
After an hour, Aeron closed the slim leather book, leaned back against Anaya and sighed. He had run the spell in his mind many times now and was sure he had it memorized.
He checked the link. Anaya was now deeply asleep. Just as well. He had been working on the spell now for a few hours since everyone had left, but a thought was still hovering on the very edges of his mind. The dream. And now, with her asleep, he could think more fully on the terrible nightmare without her listening in.
The teeth were the scary part for him. They were so big. Its mouth was so big. How could a mouth be that big? It was creepy. The teeth were wide, wider even than horse teeth. They were like cloudy glass, or milk poorly mixed in water, hazy swirls of white and clear. And they were sharp.
It came for him with its ugly teeth, emitting the weird buzzing, insect-like noise. That was when he felt the heart attack. Or whatever it was. Twisting tighter and tighter, wringing his heart. It scared him. The pain, the pressure, the constant wrenching and twisting. Is that what his mom had felt when she had her heart attack? Had she gone through that, or worse? He hoped not. It was horrible, terrible. Sudden tears were in his eyes. Please, don’t let her have felt that. Automatically reaching for his pocket and the adept pin within, he removed it, a tear running down the side of his nose and onto his lips.
He gazed at the pin, his vision wet and blurry, and brushed it with his thumb. So much was changing in his life. His fondest desire was coming true, with magic. And another he didn’t even know he had as well, Anaya. But so much was going on, he didn’t know what to do anymore. Master Doronal and Master Canneth seemed to think that they could just ask questions of Anaya and measure her. Would they do that every day? Forever? It was still a little exciting now, but he was not sure it would remain so for long. And then there was Trader Dellia’s vision. Why would he risk his and Anaya’s lives chasing nahual? Why? He gritted his teeth in frustration. What was he supposed to do? He wished his mom were here so he could ask her.
“You can handle any challenge, my beautiful boy. You must remember that.”
He gasped. Her voice was so clear, he could have sworn that she was, impossibly, in here with him. He looked around, wiping his eyes. But he was alone in the stable, the large doors closed, Anaya behind him. Of course his mother was not there. It was only a memory.
Aeron? Are you okay? Anaya raised her head and looked at him, sleepy eyes pale yellow with worry.
He turned and put his arm over her shoulders, his damp cheek against her neck. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
You miss your mother.
He felt the tears very close to breaking loose again and couldn’t speak out loud. I do. So much sometimes.
I can sense her in the memories you have of her. She was very good to you. She loved you deeply.
Aeron nodded. She had a way of looking at me. When she looked at me, she saw me, and I knew love. In her eyes, I had a home, a place.
We have a place here.
Oh, I know, dear-heart, I know. He stroked her neck. It’s just so new, so sudden. So much has changed in the last few days. People expect so many different things from me, from you.
You should not worry so. Everyone is glad that were are together here. Are you not glad?
I am glad, very glad. But I don’t know what to do now.
We will do what we will do. We have a purpose.
I wish I was as confident as you.
We have each other.
They did have each other, Aeron thought, somewhat comforted. He sat there then, arm over her back, cheek on her neck, breathing her scent, just being with her. I’m so happy we are together.
As am I.
Chapter 19
Hemday, Nony 3, 1873
Late Afternoon
“Jessip is going, you are not,” Proctor Josephine said, evenly. The look in her eyes showed she was nearly at the end of her patience. The belligerent man didn’t notice, however.
“I’ve seniority over him! How is it he gits to go and I don’t?” Bergit had his fists on his hips, and if looks were magic, Jessip would have two holes burned through his skull with the stare Bergit was giving him.
The man’s hair was dark with dirt and sweat and his coveralls were even worse. He hadn’t bothered to clean up after the work team came back in from the fields. Jessip glanced at the grubby man’s nose. At some time in the past, his nose had apparently been broken and not set properly. Jessip twitched his own nose, which was decidedly not crooked and only throbbed a little now, grateful for the nurse’s professional care.
“Bergit, if I have said it once, I have said it a hundred times. Seniority counts for nothing, as it doesn’t exist. You have seven demerits this week. Ash has one demerit, Terpin has two and Jessip has four. They are the three with the least, so they get to go.”
Bergit pointed a grimy finger at Jessip and said, “But he ain’t even been here a week!”
Proctor Josephine glanced at Jessip, who, like the other two that were going, was standing at the side of the first of the three delivery wagons. She then turned to look at Bergit, her expression showing a hint of annoyance. “Everyone usually has a short week when they first arrive. We get new workers all during the week, not just on the first day. If you pay more attention to your duties next week, maybe you’ll have fewer demerits and get to go on the delivery runs.”
Bergit made to say something more, but the proctor raised her hand to forestall him. “End of discussion.” She turned back to supervising the loading of the wagon. Over her shoulder she said, “And don’t you have more chores you should be doing before dinner?”
Eyes full of fire, Bergit glared at Jessip before stomping off.
It was certainly different, Jessip thought, being on the other end. Ever since arriving at Baronel Farm, Bergit had been on him. Jessip pretty much ignored the generally grimy man, but for some reason, the guy had it in for him. It was more than a little frustrating having the man bugging him all the time and not knowing why. He supposed he deserved it for all the things he’d done in the past.
“You three can help load the last items,” Proctor Josephine said. “Step to it, we’re running late enough as it is.”
Jessip and the others trotted to the end of the wagon and lent a hand to those loading the last barrels and crates. With their help, it wouldn’t take long for the last wagon to be ready. The work warmed him up, which was good; a chill afternoon breeze had picked up.
Every week, two deliveries were made to the Caer of various vegetables, herbs and fruits, and sometimes, even animals. The whole reason for the Farm, he had been told, was to provide food for itself, and more importa
ntly, for the Caer. Twice a week the delivery wagons were loaded up with what was ready, and the drivers, along with one helper each, made the trip to the Caer and back. Going was a little like a reward, because it gave an opportunity to visit the Caer and get away from the Farm, the fields, and the work. The three workers with the least weekly demerits were allowed to go on the two deliveries that week. For a tie, the person who had the longest time since a demerit was selected.
Proctor Josephine caught the eye of Assistant Proctor Marcus and motioned him over. “Make sure to get the trade caravan request list and the marks. You can ride on wagon three, and as soon as we get to the Caer, go place the orders for people at the trade caravan. If need be, you can return on the weekend to pick up anything that isn’t ready today.” She grimaced. “And as late as we are running, that will probably be more than a few items.”
“Yes, Madam Proctor.” Assistant Marcus headed into the building.
Jessip hadn’t even known about the deliveries until yesterday when he had been told he would be making the trip. Three of the four demerits he had were from not getting up in the morning quickly enough. He really wasn’t a morning person, so getting up early was difficult. But now he had reason to. He was looking forward to getting away from the Farm for a few hours. He had no illusions that he would have the lowest demerits every week, but he would enjoy the trips when he did.
After the loading was complete, Proctor Josephine assigned them to their wagons. Jessip was in the first wagon, Ash in the second and Terpin was assigned the last. Jessip climbed up onto the thinly padded wooden bench, which served as the seat in the first wagon, and sat next to the driver.
“In the back, if you would, Jessip.” To his surprise, Proctor Josephine was climbing up to the seat. Jessip quickly crawled over barrels and bundles into the back of the open wagon, eventually ending up sitting on top of one of the bushels of broccoli, facing the wagons behind. He must have brushed against some of the many herbs that were gathered in large bundles for the Caer, because a flood of sage and thyme fragrance washed over him. It smelled great, and brought back a memory of his mother making a fall dinner of roast goose.
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