“Likh’tik!” called a quadrana to his colleague. “Can we refer to a second mate-match as that human’s ‘inevitable’?”
“Was the first pairing without issue? If so, then yes. Otherwise, use the phrase ‘consolation spouse.’”
Sur spoke up, her rich voice filling the chamber. “CONSOLATIONS OF RIVER AND TREE/THE BIRD THAT RETURNS/THE FERTILE DECAY.”
Everyone in the room had paused to listen to her poem. After a momentary silence, they all gave a short round of applause before returning to their work. I don’t think anyone wrote down these words of wisdom.
I said, “So this is where all those entries for the DragonLaw go?”
It wasn’t Sur who answered, but one of the octonas. “Here we collate and cross-check, Dragon Groom. And when our work is done, the work goes up…up to Renrit, the Great Collator.” He gestured at the airshaft.
A quadrana to my left called out in a nail-scratch monotone, “Results and interpretations from Atmospherics on the rise.” He swept his clawed hand across a page of the grace book in front of him, and this time, I could clearly see the swarm of letters fly from the page, glowing as they spiralled into the darkness above.
Atmospherics? I wondered if I was watching Davix’s words in the air. I almost waved at them.
“CLIMB ON, DRAGON GROOM!” Sur cried, and I had barely scrambled onto her back before she lifted into the air. Taking off in such a cramped space was obviously a bad idea, but all the octonas and quadranas in the room seemed to be used to it. They grabbed books and cups of water off their desks and ducked. Of course, as Sur climbed up into the narrow airshaft, the problem was no longer theirs but mine. I hung on tight to the ribbons of leather on her neck and pressed myself close to her back as we sped upward with just a snot trail of space between my head and the jagged lava rock walls.
The stomach-turning journey lasted maybe thirty seconds before we burst into another dark chamber. Sur righted herself and came in for a landing so abrupt, I rolled off her back and landed face down on the floor. Luckily, it was carpeted, or maybe it was some kind of thick moss. It did taste vaguely organic.
A voice shook the air and the floor beneath me. “REFRAIN FROM BREAKING THE DRAGON GROOM, YOUNG SUR
“Renrit?” I ventured, sitting up. The only light in the room was a single torchstone in a standing lamp, but I got a good view of the dragon. He was huge, twice Sur’s size, both taller and considerably heavier in the bum. In fact, he looked so heavy I wondered if he ever left his chamber. His wings, puny in comparison, didn’t look like they could keep him airborne. Not only was he, um, generously proportioned, his skin was covered from basement to attic in coloured jewels like the ones Sur wore, only she had the good taste to know more is less.
“
Renrit sat behind a desk the size of a pool table with an enormous book open in front of him, its pages blank. The ghost letters I had seen rising from below were circling above his head. Sur was tracking their progress with glinting eyes, like a cat eyeing birds on a fence. Renrit gestured at one of the circling word swarms, and it dived at his open book, laying itself out into neat lines of text.
“Wow. And now it’s in the DragonLaw?” I asked Sur in a whisper, but she was still watching airborne words as they sailed past her nose. It was Renrit who answered.
“FIRST I WILL PERFORM THE FINAL BLESSING OF THE PASSAGE.
He ran a finger swiftly across the lines of text, stopping once or twice to change or rearrange a character. He then gave a deep, satisfied harumph and looked up from the page, fixing me with a cold, penetrating stare.
I cracked a nervous smile, “All good?”
“I SHALL RECITE: ‘Though I alone of the twenty who carry the blood was selected to travel the strands, the gracious hospitality of the Realm humbles me. My role, like any of yours, is service. I must be your apprentice, and you my masters, instructing me how I may better serve the will of the mighty dragons—gracious is the world they have built.’
I nodded vacantly. “Um, nice. Very…exciting.” A lead pipe of comprehension banged me upside the head. “Wait! Was that me? My speech after dinner last night?”
Before Renrit could answer, Sur flung herself across the room, pinning one of the swirling word clouds beneath a clawed hand.
Renrit raised himself up in protest, his jewelled chest flashing. “SUR! UNHAND THE HOLY TEXT
But Sur ignored him, busily picking through the little glowing wad of words, which squirmed like baby mice under her claws.
“POSSIBILITIES, RENRIT,” she said. “SO MANY PRETTY PHRASES/BETTER USES THAN IN YOUR PAGES.”
Renrit, apparently at the end of his patience, growled. The growl shook me right up to the eyeballs, and my vision vibrated. Sur stared back at him and hissed. But she relented, releasing the letters, which arced through the air, landing in the open book at a gesture from Renrit.
“What are those?” I asked.
Renrit smoothed his palm over the text, like he was comforting it after its ordeal. “SEED TALLIES FOR THE PLANTING. SARENSIKAR IS ALMOST UPON US.
Sur tossed her mane like a diva. “A THIN AND TASTELESS HARVEST/COMPARED TO ANY I MIGHT HAVE REAPED/WITH THE PRETTY WORDS.” Without warning, she lifted me onto her back, my hands windmilling as I found my balance. She said, “WE MUST EAT AND REST/COPPER GUEST./LET OUR MINDS PAUSE AND WANDER/BEFORE THE NEXT TEST.”
“I could eat,” I agreed, straightening my clothes and grabbing her mane.
Sur pulled aside a curtain that stretched across the whole wall, revealing a huge window with a view of the central core of Farad’hil. Light streamed into the Editorium, causing Renrit to howl in indignation. With the room lit up, I saw his big, unmade bed in the corner, surrounded by half-eaten plates of food and bottles of drink. I was right; Renrit was a shut-in, a total otaku nerd.
Sur unfastened a latch and gave the window a push. It swung outward on its enormous hinges, and she called, “HOLD FAST, KHARIS’PAR’IH’IN!”
As we swept out into the cavern, I could hear Renrit bellowing behind us, “CLOSE THE WINDOW! BANISH THE LIGHT!”
The noise Sur made beneath me might have been chuckling.
Chapter 19: Safe Space
Davix started awake in the armchair by the fire in Tix-etnep-thon-dahé’s study. A workbook was open in his lap, and piles of weather data surrounded him, stacked up on the floor. Embarrassed, he looked at his master, who was poring over Rinby’s secret data, cross-checking it column by column with the DragonLaw, open on its stand beside him. Master and apprentice had worked late into the night. Then, after too few hours of sleep in the cottage, Davix had been back here, striving not to fall behind with the new weather data, which never stopped coming in. He knew he needed to stay sharp, but Tix-etnep-thon-dahé’s study was too familiar. It was too easy to feel safe and drowsy in its warm confines.
He had practically grown up in this room. The other apprentices were content to learn their discipline by day and play by night. Stakrat and Grentz, even studious Rinby, loved to joke and wrestle and race each other up the cliffs. But Davix wanted nothing more than to spend his hours reading silently, hungrily beside an old man, surrounded by dusty bookshelves and ancient maps. What a strange child.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want friends, or that he was not as consumed with the growing needs of his body. His desire to touch another boy’s flesh was, in fact, so intense that sometimes he would jump from his chair as if on fir
e and race out of the tower. And if he had no fleshmate at the time, he would just run…run down into the valley and back up again until he was exhausted. But always he was driven to dig deeper into the mysteries of the world. Always he would return to this room.
Now he was back, drawn by mystery and ekdahi. And this time, the balance of the whole realm might be at stake.
“Hmm,” Tix-etnep-thon-dahé breathed. Davix knew well the meaning of the old man’s every sound.
“What have you found, Master-da?” He hurried over to stand in front the desk.
The Atmospherics Master was holding one of secret pages close to his face. “Rinby’s figures are, needless to say, far different from what she submitted to the DragonLaw. Unfortunately, these secret data are more consistent with the unusual weather patterns we have witnessed this season.”
“Unfortunately…?”
“Such a conclusion is heresy, Davix.” Tix-etnep-thon-dahé watched him register the shocking words before continuing. “They are at odds with the data that appears in the DragonLaw…”
“And the DragonLaw is the true and eternal word of our Dragon Lords.”
His master nodded. “Only not in this case. Here is an entry, for instance, from a quarter cycle back. Rinby notes a massive heat spike, coordinates high in the spinward Chend’th’nif.”
Davix felt a knot tighten in his chest. The theological problem should have been his main concern, for as Grav’nan-dahé had taught him, All houses are built on the foundation of the DragonLaw. But he couldn’t stop his atmospherics mind from engaging.
“A volcanic breach perhaps?” he asked. “The molten substrate of the Realm could have broken through a crack.”
“It was definitely not a spontaneous geological breach. We would have noted a change in air composition. Krar’s Claws!” the old man said. “Everyone in Cliffside would smell the sulphur from an eruption that size.”
Davix dropped into the low chair beside the desk in frustration. “Why would Rinby have hidden such important data? Why didn’t she tell you? How could she keep it from its rightful place in the DragonLaw?”
Tix-etnep-thon-dahé pushed the pile of scrawled notes to the side. He reached for the heavy earthenware teapot and refilled his small cup. He poured another cup of the strong brew for his apprentice, but Davix raised his hand in refusal.
“Drink,” he ordered, so Davix did. The rich, bitter tea warmed his throat and then his stomach, strengthening him. “You are right, apprentice, Rinby would never have done such a thing on her own. No, she must have been following orders.”
Davix couldn’t believe his ears. “Yours?”
“Of course not. Someone who spoke for the dragons. Or so she believed.”
“One of the bidahénas?” The idea was preposterous.
“I have a different thought. You will not like it, D’gada-vixtet-thon.”
“Master…?”
Tix-etnep-thon-dahé’s ancient fingers were pressed against his cup, the story of a long life of learning told in their tracery of wrinkles.
“There is someone in Cliffside who seeks to disrupt the balance of our realm, who would risk everything for his misguided beliefs.”
Quiet, Davix wanted to say. Stop talking, please.
The old man’s voice dropped to an urgent whisper. “Many, many cycles ago, when he was still seeking his spiritual path, Grav’nan-dahé—”
“Master, no!” Davix called out, like a dam was about to burst and only by squeezing himself into the widening crack could the world be saved. He would not hear words spoken against the Prime Magistrate. He lowered his head and closed his eyes tight.
Tix-etnep-thon-dahé continued without mercy. “Grav’nan-renrit-dez, as he was then known, was an apprentice in Stonework, my friend and sometime fleshmate. Browsing in the old libraries one day, he found an ancient book by the heretical scribe Brontlo. This book predated the DragonLaw by a hundred cycles. Not surprisingly, it was not included when the Law was collated.”
Despite himself, Davix was listening intently.
“Brontlo’s short book was written in a time of famine and imbalance, when the People’s very survival was in doubt. Brontlo blamed the dragons, claiming their narcissism and decadence had brought these calamities upon the Realm. He dared suggest a purge. All but the Queen should be killed and a new Five raised who would fulfill the promises made to the People when they were brought from the Realm of Earth. Grav’nan was an angry boy, Davix, idealistic and given to extremes. For a time, far from any ears but mine, he would wonder if such action as Brontlo suggested might someday be called for again.”
Davix was shaking. “He would never…Grav’nan-dahé loves the great dragons!”
Tix-etnep-thon-dahé flipped quickly through the pages of notes, pulling one out and laying it before Davix.
“In addition to her alternate data, Rinby provided a one-page summary of her theories. It was written, I believe, on the day she died. In it, she suggests some deliberate earth work was happening in the Chend’th’nif, likely near the Red Hammer, though she didn’t have the background to guess what it might be.”
“But you have a guess,” Davix said. It sounded like an accusation.
Tix-etnep-thon-dahé sounded weary. “Brontlo’s book included a proposal for a dragon trap.” He let these unthinkable words hang foully in the air before continuing. “It would require the release of tremendous energy, but in a controlled manner. A hidden pool of destructive power.”
“Would such a structure be enough to account for the heat spikes and the sheep fog?”
“Perhaps. Yes, if it were large enough. Davix, believe me, I do not wish to trouble your heart like this. But remember, Grav’nan-dahé was the one who ordered you to stop asking questions about Rinby’s death.”
“No, you’re wrong! Kror and Throd investigated and—”
“Or so claims the Prime Magistrate. He also told me the bidahénas had rejected my request for a routine data-gathering expedition into the Chend’th’nif. I believe now Grav’nan-dahé did not want us to find his dragon trap.”
Davix had no idea what to do. He could run to Grav’nan-dahé and report Tix-etnep-thon-dahé’s heresy; the Atmospherics Master must have realized that. Or he could accept this new version of reality and harden his heart against the Prime Magistrate, the man who had filled that same heart with light in its darkest hour. He could even choose to ally himself with Grav’nan-dahé and join him in toppling the dragons. What did he love more: the man or the principles he had learned from him?
The fog had grown thick in the late afternoon sky, and the room was full of shadow. Davix rose and walked to the window. He scanned the redward sky in hopeless hope. He wanted to see the magnificent form of Sur breaking through the fog, and riding on her back, the boy from the Realm of Earth. Impetuous, fearless, with his roving eyes and expressive hands that were always in motion, his body lithe as a fox. X’risp’hin had only been gone two days, but already Davix ached for his presence.
“If that’s what you believe, then report it to the bidahénas. Or directly to Great Renrit.”
“That course carries perils of its own.”
“What? Are you afraid?” He couldn’t hide his contempt.
“Yes, and so should you be. If treason is afoot, the treacherous will defend themselves.”
That gave Davix pause. He had no experience facing such momentous decisions. “What if I don’t want to believe you?”
“I can tell you many things, Davix,” the old man said. “But I can’t tell you what to believe.”
The cozy, familiar room suddenly felt like a prison to Davix. “I have to leave.” Then pausing at the door, he asked, “What will you do, Master?”
“I will watch and listen. I will take this gift Rinby has handed us from beyond the grave, and I will honour her sacrifice. And you, D’gada-vixtet-thon, what will you do?”
“I-I will prepare for Sarensikar, the time of renewal. I will join my friends and all the People in
welcoming the season of sunshine. And we will await the coming of the gracious Dragon Lords.”
“And gracious is the world they have built for us,” the old man replied. Davix hurried from the room, leaving all his workbooks and maps behind.
Chapter 20: The Poet’s Garret, the Biologist’s Workshop
On my third day in Farad’hil, I woke up in my luxurious corner of Sur’s rooms, or the Abode of Great Sur, as it was known locally, feeling rested but restless. Day one had been amazing with meeting Renrit and hearing my own words recited from the DragonLaw. So naturally, I had expected more and better on day two. But when I’d woken up, I was told Sur had left Farad’hil early that morning.
“Where did she go?” I asked X’raftik, the Chief Valet.
“No one knows. Of late, she often makes solitary excursions. Usually she returns within a day.”
Usually. “Great. What am I supposed to do?” The best she’d been able to come up with was a tour of the vegetable gardens and the kitchens. If it had been a school field trip, it would have been fine, but I had come to expect a lot more of the Realm of Fire. And because they didn’t want me wandering Farad’hil alone, I was shut back up in Sur’s quarters for the rest of the day, without even internet access.
“Why did Sur bring me to Farad’hil in the first place?” I’d asked X’raftik as a fox walked up to me with a ball in his mouth, hoping for some fetch.
“It is not my place to speak for the great Dragon Lords and their motives.”
Now it was morning again, and I was bracing myself for another day of twiddling my thumbs and other bits of anatomy. The light from the stained glass window above the bed bathed me in rainbows. I pushed several foxes aside so I could get up, and they barked sleepily in protest.
The Dubious Gift of Dragon Blood Page 14