The Dubious Gift of Dragon Blood

by J. Marshall Freeman

  We found Kriz’mig there, dressed less flouncy today, in a kind of green silk pyjamas. She was talking with Stakrat, who stood one step above her in the narrow doorway of the tower, wearing her knife and uniform sash. When Stakrat saw me, she blushed.

  “Copper Guest…” she began.

  I hated her calling me that. It was Grav’nan’s name for me, and it told me which side she was on. “I want to talk to Davix, Stakrat.”

  “Not possible, I’m sorry. I really am. You’ll see D’gada-vixtet-thon when he’s brought out for his sentencing.”

  Kriz’mig touched my arm. “They won’t let anyone see him. I’ve been trying to get in since first bell. It’s crazy. All he did was miss a few days of work!”

  I took a step back and looked up at the tower. A small crowd was watching us now. I didn’t care. In fact, I was glad.

  “Is Korda up there?” I asked.

  Stakrat looked startled by my question. “Well, yes, but…”

  “Call her. Tell her the Dragon Groom is here.”

  Stakrat lowered her voice. “X’risp’hin, there’s nothing she can do. Nothing anyone can. If the Prime Magistrate says—”

  I did a slow circle, taking in the crowd, calling out in the most arrogant voice I could manage, “Tell Korda the Dragon Groom demands an audience!” I realized by using that name I was openly declaring my opposition to Grav’nan. The thought made me afraid, but I tried to keep the fear from showing.

  Stakrat looked at the growing crowd watching intently. She was gripping and releasing the handle of her knife while she made up her mind. “All right. Just…just wait a minute.” She went inside, closing the heavy door behind her with a low thud. The clunk that followed? That’s what a real lock sounded like.

  I turned to Kriz’mig and Grentz, expecting some kind of high fives for my little victory, but Grentz was looking at the ground, and Kriz’mig’s mouth was compressed into a distressed prune. Soon, the door unlocked and flew open. Korda, standing on the step, stared down at me with a look of irritation I’d seen from authority figures all too often in my short life.

  “There’s something you wish to say to me, Copper Guest?”

  “Yes! Why is Davix under arrest? He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “He is guilty of many serious breaches of the DragonLaw. The least of these is disobeying a direct order from the Prime Magistrate to cease contact with you and to leave the city.”

  “But those orders weren’t even about Davix. Grav’nan is just taking it out on him because he doesn’t like me.” Leaving off his “-dahé” definitely had a reaction. Everyone’s eyes widened except Korda’s, who closed hers and sighed.

  “Copper Guest…” she began, a note of sympathy in her voice.

  “Come on, you know it’s true! Just let Davix go.” It felt like negotiating with my parents. You know, if I had the more expensive laptop, I could also learn game development.

  Korda stood up tall, looking past me at the gathering crowd. “You don’t have all the facts, Copper Guest. I suggest you return to your room.”

  I also turned to our audience. “So Grav’nan can whisk me out of here tomorrow without ever seeing Davix again? Not going to happen.”

  “It is not our place to question the wisdom of the Prime Magistrate.”

  “Why don’t you try thinking for yourself for a change?”

  “I am a soldier! Ekdahi demands I obey my superiors and defend the DragonLaw.”

  “Even if the DragonLaw is wrong? Or in this case, Grav’nan is wrong?”

  Korda abruptly stepped down from the step and threw an arm around me, leading me away from the tower to a nearby bench.

  “On the Realm of Earth,” she said, “There must be laws you are compelled to obey.”

  I looked back toward the tower door, like this might be a trick to get me out of the way. But Korda was a straight shooter, so I decided to trust her. “Well, yeah. You can’t just go around stealing, or…or peeing in swimming pools.”

  “And there are those who enforce these laws, mete out the punishments for inappropriate urination?”

  “But,” I said, “now you’re talking about bad guys, criminals. Not kids like me and Davix.”

  “So, in your life, you answer to no one?”

  “Well, yeah, my parents—um, genetic forbearers—I guess. The school principal.”

  “So, if you were urinate in this public pool, there would be consequences.”

  “I guess I might get suspended from school. Or grounded or something.”

  “Correct, because how would society function if everyone made water wherever they pleased? The smell alone would be distracting and dispiriting.”

  “Can we change examples, please?”

  “The point is, we must bow to some authority if the world is to have order. The DragonLaw is true, and Grav’nan-dahé its arbiter.”

  I was filled with that kind of mad frustration where you can’t find the words, can’t even squeeze your thoughts through all the dried toothpaste at the top of your mind.

  “But what if the authority can’t be trusted?” I sputtered. “What if Grav’nan’s the criminal?”

  Her eyebrows came together. “What are you saying, Copper Guest?”

  I couldn’t tell if she was angry or alarmed, but then Grentz yelled, “X’risp’hin!” and I swung around to see a line of people emerge from the tower door. Between two pair of guards, one in front and one behind, stood a barefoot Davix, his hands bound together in front of him with thick rope.

  “Davix!” I shouted, running to him. The four guards turned their spears sideways in a slick, coordinated move, forming a wall around their prisoner.

  “X’risp’hin,” he said, and his voice sounded rough, like he’d been crying, like he hadn’t slept since his arrest. “Go away. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” I told him, reaching out a hand, but the guards blocked it with their spear handles. “I’m with you. If they throw you in jail, I’m coming, too!”

  Davix actually smiled, but then his eyes filled with tears and he looked away.

  “Move on,” he told the guards. The group got back in formation and walked across the courtyard, the crowd parting as they advanced.

  “Davix!” I shouted again, but Korda had her hand on my shoulder. I snapped at her, “Isn’t this kind of over the top? He’s not a murderer. He’s just a kid who skipped study hall.”

  “Copper Guest, I’ll leave the choice up to you. Do as D’gada-vixtet-thon asks and return to your quarters, or—”

  “I’m staying,” I said with a good dose of F-you in the intonation.

  At one end of the courtyard was a wooden stage with a small dais in front, like where a preacher would make a sermon, and beside the stage, a wooden pole was sunk into the paving stones. Davix was marched up the eight steps to stand at the centre of the stage, while the guards took places at the four corners. The crowd had grown, maybe to a couple hundred people. Some of them were dressed formally, like they had an official role, but most were just ordinary folks. They looked grim. I doubted Sarensikar usually ended like this.

  Growing murmurs announced Grav’nan’s arrival. He was marching briskly across the courtyard from the same tower where Davix had been held. The Prime Asshole stepped up onto the dais with his back to Davix. He was frowning into a grace book, opening and closing it and turning it over.

  “Someone take this,” he said. “It’s not working.”

  Behind me, Korda murmured, “That’s odd…”

  Some little minion took the busted book, and Grav’nan smoothed out his black silk robe, like there was going to be a photo shoot. Was he enjoying this? My anger was as black as his robes.

  Grav’nan’s voice carried, cold and crisp, across the courtyard. “We gather here in the name of the DragonLaw, in the sight of the Holy Five who watch us ever and guard our lives. Today, we address blasphemies against the DragonLaw committed by one of the People.”

&n
bsp; I recognized other apprentices from Atmospherics in the crowd, the kids who worked on the top floor of the tower. And off to the side was their master, Tix-etnep-thon-dahé. He leaned heavily on his stick, looking extra old and broken, squinting and blinking as if he couldn’t quite bring the scene into focus. On his shoulder, Flak took it all in with cold spite.

  “The prisoner has been found guilty of seven separate counts of wilful transgression against the DragonLaw,” droned Grav’nan, who never seemed to get sick of his own voice. “He entered areas of Etnep House forbidden to him to meet with the Copper Guest. He neglected his duties to his discipline, showing disrespect to his master and to the holy balance of the realm. He disobeyed orders to undertake a pilgrimage of self-reflection. He disobeyed orders to abjure the company of the Copper Guest.”

  Grav’nan said all this like they were major crimes, but they were bullshit. Just the kind of stuff any kid does during a bad week. I was furious, but also, I felt kind of guilty. Davix was mostly in trouble for doing stuff with me.

  The Prime Hoo-ha paused dramatically, and then shocked everyone including me, saying, “But these actions, while demanding punishment, pale in comparison to the final crimes. D’gada-vixtet-thon is guilty of speaking in support of the heretical belief in prophecy.”

  The crowd starting whispering to each other, and I felt myself growing cold.

  “And most serious of all, D’gada-vixtet-thon did deliberately seek to taint the purity of the DragonLaw by accessing his master’s grace book and transmitting false information directly to the great dragons.”

  This made people gasp, and even I got confused. What the hell had Davix done? I tried to catch his eye, but his head was hanging on his chest, his hair covering his face.

  Tix-etnep-thon-dahé stepped forward. “Prime Magistrate! The fault is mine. I exposed the youth to my own wild theorizing and inadvertently drove him to rash action!”

  Grav’nan looked utterly satisfied. “Silence, honoured master. The Apprentice’s actions were his and his alone. Perhaps you must answer for your actions within your own soul, but he must answer to the law.” Grav’nan raised a hand in the air, and the crowd shut right up. “The prisoner’s crimes are even now being transcribed in the great DragonLaw as a lesson for future generations. That leaves only the sentence. D’gada-vixtet-thon!”

  Davix raised his head, and I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone braver. He held Grav’nan’s gaze without faltering as the old crow cawed in triumph.

  “You are hereby stripped of your recent rank as Lead Apprentice of Atmospherics. You will leave this guild permanently. Your future and diminished role will be determined on your return from exile.”

  I saw someone else crossing from the tower, but I ignored him. Korda’s hand tightened on my shoulder, like she was restraining me.

  “With but the most humble possessions, you will leave Cliffside today to embark on a solitary pilgrimage to the most distant of the Silence Farms, at the anti-spinward extreme of Chend’th’nif. There, you will spend three full cycles in solitary prayer and contemplation. It is hoped this time of reflection will cleanse your spirit of the rebellion that makes our holy Dragon Lords weep.”

  Davix finally broke eye contact, turning to look at me. And I don’t know if it was really some psychic thing or just my dumb, romantic imagination, but I swear we could each other’s hearts talking: I will not forget you. Your voice, your laughter, your kisses, your touch, the oh-my-god orgasms. The way we fought and the way we made up—if this is the last time we see each other, still, we will always be together. Tangled.

  But Grav’nan wasn’t finished. Grav’nan was never finished. “D’gada-vixtet, whose name will not be spoken during the entirety of his exile, must also be made an example today.” Something in Grav’nan’s voice, a kind of shaking excitement.

  I was suddenly aware of the guy I had spotted before, crossing from the tower. He was dressed in a long purple robe so dark it was almost black. On his head was a tall, flat-topped hat, and a veil covered most of his face. He was carrying some kind of high, narrow container with a couple of sticks poking out the top. When he came to a halt beside the stage, water slopped out the top of the container, splashing on the cobblestones.

  “The seriousness of the prisoner’s crimes must be answered publicly,” Grav’nan said.

  What the hell does that mean? I wondered with mounting fear.

  “The prisoner will undergo the offering of the flesh. Ten strokes.” The crowd gasped, and I remembered Davix telling me about the bad old days when they used to beat people in the public square.

  “What?” I said out loud, but my voice was lost in the rolling sea of chatter. “What?” I said louder, as the guards in red took rough hold of Davix and hustled him off the stage toward the pole that stood beside it.

  He was staggering as if his legs couldn’t support him, and before they turned him around to face the pole, I caught one glimpse of his frantic, terrified eyes. They stripped his shirt off, raised his tied wrists, and hung him on a hook high up the pole, leaving him straining for balance on his tiptoes.

  When the veiled guy lifted one of the dripping sticks from the container and shook the water from it with a sickening whish, whish, I truly freaked out.

  “What the fuck? You can’t do that!”

  Some people in the crowd turned and hurried out of the square, but most of them were glued in place, shock or disgust or fascination on their faces.

  “Hey! What’s wrong with you people? You can’t let this happen.” No one would look me in the eye. “Korda! Master Tix, help!”

  “There is nothing anyone can do,” Korda said in a tight voice as the guy in purple approached Davix “That is the sentence of the Prime Magistrate.”

  I screamed a lot of things—a bunch of swearing, and then Davix, his face against the wood, shouted, “X’risp’hin, leave. Go! I don’t want you to see this.” And his voice was scary, hoarse, in a place beyond anger or regret—heartbroken, allbroken.

  And that’s when Grav’nan spoke directly to me in a voice cold with triumph. “You heard his words, Copper Guest. The last strand tying you to this world is broken. The Transgressor himself has no use for you.” To the guy in purple, he shouted, “Carry out the sentence!”

  “Stop,” said my voice. “Stop! The Dragon Groom commands you.”

  And it worked. The guy with the stick actually turned and looked at me. But now that I had everyone’s attention, I had to do something. I shrugged off Korda’s hand and walked across the cobblestones until I was standing in front of the dais. I turned my back to Grav’nan and spoke to the crowd.

  “So, I’ve got stuff to say,” I began, my heart pounding. “You all know there’s been a prophecy. I was brought from the Realm of Earth because of it, and it’s really terrible, since a dragon is supposed to die. Grav’nan says there’s no prophecy, but I was in the mountains with the old prophet couple. I was there with Sur!” Mentioning Sur was a good move. No cred like dragon cred.

  “Grav’nan wants to send me back to Earth. But how can he take that chance? If a dragon dies, I have to be here to mate with Queen Etnep or the Five will be, you know, four.” I looked around the square, trying in vain to spot Tiqokh. Things usually went better when he was around. In fact, there were no mixed beings to be seen. Weird. I jumped when Grav’nan spoke behind me in a low, seething voice.

  “Leave this place, blasphemer,” he said. “Koras-inby-kir-dahé, remove him.”

  More of Korda’s guards had come to stand beside her, and I glared back at them all, my heart beating hard. “Don’t touch me. I am the Holy Dragon Groom!” The guards looked to her for guidance, but she just stood there with her hand on her knife. And that’s when I turned and pointed at Grav’nan, my enemy and the enemy of love. “Why do you think he denies the prophecy? Why do you think he refuses to call me by my proper title? Maybe Davix isn’t the bad guy here. Maybe there’s someone who is actually planning to kill dragons…the Prime Magistrate!”<
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  The crowd’s reaction to my accusation even impressed me. Wails, not only of anger and indignation, but of pain, like someone watching their dog get nailed by a car in the supermarket parking lot. Some people even fell to their knees. Maybe I’d gone too far, but now it couldn’t be unsaid. I was desperately trying to remember the details Davix had told me up in the little clubhouse before he was arrested. It was pretty fuzzy in my head, since I’d mostly been focussed on holding his hand and thinking how he looked cute as a puppy when he was sad.

  I pushed on. “Back when Grav’nan was young—yeah, I can hardly imagine it either—he found a book by a guy who wanted to kill dragons. A guy named…” Brain freeze. Improv. “Toe-Bro.”

  “What?” Grav’nan said.

  “Bro-lo!”

  “Are you referring to the heretic, Brontlo?” His voice was coldly amused, which didn’t bode well.

  “Right, yeah, Brontlo. You done interrupting?” I turned my back on him again, like I was actually confident. “Brontlo wanted to kill the dragons and so does Grav’nan.”

  A man in the crowd called out in rage. “Our Prime Magistrate teaches us only love for the great dragons and their holy law. He would never do anything to harm them.”

  “Yeah, but Brontlo loved the DragonLaw, too. He thought the Dragons in his time were corrupting it. Maybe that’s what the Prime Magistrate thinks.”

  Grav’nan’s voice was low and hard and seemed to be made of contempt. “You are a fool, Earth boy. The great DragonLaw had yet to be written in the days of Brontlo. Carry out the sentence.”

  Shit. I spun around to see purple man approaching Davix, his whip stick raised. My chances were drying up. I had to hurry.

  “Up in the Chend’th’nif there’s a dragon trap like the one Brontlo planned. That’s why we have all this sheep fog. It’s the last day of Sarensikar and it’s supposed to disappear at sunset, but you wait and see. It won’t, because of Grav’nan and his trap.”