The Dragon Writers Collection

by DragonWritersCollective

  Jarrod set off again, torch in hand taken from a cave wall, but Gráinne waited for the others. Almost immediately after Caera made it down the ladder, Lan hopped down, not bothering to climb down the last twenty rungs. Caera brushed at her skirt, straightening it, and Jarrod called out impatiently, “Come on. This way.”

  Gráinne wondered if he always moved at such an unrelenting pace. Even with her long legs, she found it difficult to keep up with him. She couldn’t imagine how petite Caera managed without running or becoming short out of breath. And Lan . . . well, Lan was a cat.

  The party passed through a narrow tunnel at one end of the cave, barely tall enough for Jarrod to stand upright and wide enough for only one being at a time. It reminded Gráinne of the pathway to the castle. They exited into a dimly lit, large cave that smelled of food and fresh water. Ladders leading to small holes lined the cave’s walls. Filling the cave were concentric rings of huts made of sticks and tents made of stretched animal skins and furs. Outside the structures, cooking pots hung from metal tripods over open fires. In the center of the innermost ring was an open space with a pile of burned wood in the middle of it. Around the open space was a ring of boulders. Gráinne assumed it was a meeting place. At the rear of the cave was a waterfall cascading from a rock that jutted out of the cave wall. Below it was the bluest pond Gráinne had ever seen. Near the pond was a cluster of boulders and large rocks.

  Jarrod led the group into the open space in the center of the cave. As they passed the huts and tents, eyes peered out at them. “Wait here,” Jarrod said before disappearing behind one of the huts.

  Gráinne turned to Caleb. “Does he ever say anything except ‘wait here’ and ‘this way’?”

  Laughter rolled out of the Dwarf. “Not often. He’s gone to get the leader.”

  Minutes ticked away, and the eyes continued to watch Gráinne and her companions. The scouts put down their bows and clustered into a squatted group. A young male who looked a little like Jarrod, tall and lanky with pointed ears, pulled something from his pocket and threw it on the ground. The others began to yell numbers and draw silver pieces from their pockets and belts.

  “What are they doing?” Gráinne asked.

  Caleb shook his head. “Wastin’ their lives and coins.”

  Gráinne looked confused.

  “They’re betting silver pieces on which number will appear when the next one throws the die. After that, two will throw their die at once, and then three, and on and on.” Caleb shook his head again and made a disgusted face.

  “Why do they do this?”

  Caleb shrugged. “They’re young and bored. They had to stay behind when the last trading party left. Someone has to protect the cave, and the traders won’t return for at least a moon. It’s a long walk to the next town. They’ll each get two silver pieces for staying here. It’s not very profitable, but we all take our turns.”

  Gráinne remembered what John had said about the nomad tradesmen being run out of town.

  Her nose sniffing the air, Caera wandered over to a little hut and leaned to look inside the cooking pot hanging over the fire in front of it. A female with dark hair tied up like the tail of a horse stepped out of the lean-to. She was barefoot and wearing a fur that wrapped around her, covering her from breastbone to knee. “That’s ours,” she snapped at Caera, who looked up in surprise.

  “Oh. I was not going to touch it. I just wanted to smell it.” Caera replied.

  The woman glared at Caera. “You from Port Firth?”

  Caera shook her head. “No. We come from an island across the sea. I do not even like Port Firth,” she replied. “Except for the marketplace, of course. Some of the food there is divine. Have you seen it?”

  A little girl with mud smudges on one cheek peeked out from behind the woman’s muscular legs. “I have,” she said. The woman swatted at the little girl, who ducked and darted back into the hut, but continued to stand in the doorway.

  Caera leaned over the pot and drew in a long breath through her nose. She sniffed a couple of more times and then asked, “Is that rabbit?”

  The woman nodded.

  Caera smiled. “It smells delicious. I saw some mushrooms in the forest that would add a nutty flavor to your stew.”

  The woman cocked her head and rubbed her chin as if thinking about what the resulting flavor would be.

  “They are only twenty paces from the cave entrance. Twenty paces toward the big rock with ferns at its base, that is.”

  The woman nodded and went back inside her hut. Caera returned to the group and stood near Lan, rocking on her heels. A few minutes later, the woman and little girl, basket in hand, exited the hut. The mother lit a torch using the fire from under her cooking pot, took the little girl by the hand, and set off in the direction from which Gráinne’s party had come.

  Gráinne thought Caera looked pleased with herself.

  “You’ve come to speak with me?”

  She whirled around, startled by the unexpected deep bass voice, and found herself looking up. Far up. The leader was a Bovan with horns that curled not once but twice. Her throat felt restricted as she spoke, “Y . . . yes. I . . . we . . . have.”

  He grinned at her, exposing his flat teeth.

  Remembering she hadn’t noticed what the Bovan in Vandovir had eaten at the feast, Gráinne wondered if this one could eat meat with such flat teeth.

  “Shall we sit then?” He turned and led her to an area scattered with boulders.

  Unlike the crude beast who had slapped Caera’s behind, this one displayed courteousness and a refined sense of formality. Nonetheless, Gráinne looked behind her to make sure that Lan and Caera and Caleb were following. She couldn’t get her husband’s words about Bovan endowment out of her head.

  “Are you seeking asylum?” he asked.

  Gráinne shook her head. “No. We have come in search of those who wish to practice their trades.” Sitting, he was less intimidating than when he stood.

  The Bovan eyed Gráinne, which made her want to shift uncomfortably on the rock. “I am called Brodar. Jarrod tells me Caleb knows you.”

  “Yes. He was the blacksmith in the village near the home of my family. He shoed the horse my father gave me.”

  “Jarrod said he couldn’t remember your name.”

  Gráinne blushed. “I apologize. I am called Gráinne.”

  “Gráinne,” Brodar repeated. “Welcome to our humble home.”

  Looking around, she replied, “It is really quite magnificent. I have never seen a cave this size.”

  Brodar laughed. “This is but one of many caves and tunnels. One easily could get lost in the land beneath the forest.”

  “That is what you call this place? The land beneath the forest?”

  Brodar laughed again. “No. Some call it home. Others call it the encampment. Still others call it the netherworld. I suppose its name depends on the namer’s view of being here.”

  “I understand,” she replied, thinking of how Vandovir, for all its beauty, never felt like home.

  “Your search for the trades. It has brought you a long way if you are from the land of Caleb.”

  Gráinne nodded and took a deep breath. “It has, indeed. We hope to find those with skills in the trades and farmers and merchants and families who will want to journey back with us.” She swallowed. “And remain.”

  “I don’t wish to discourage you, Gráinne, but why should those who are here come with you? I can’t speak for others, but one might be wise to be wary of such offers, given what has happened to your realm.”

  “That is a fair question,” Lan said, moving near Gráinne. He gave a short bow from the waist. “I am Lan Noire, administrator of Vandovir Estate and assistant to the Marquessa.”

  Brodar sniffed the air and looked from the tips of Lan’s ears to the tips of his toes before saying, “You don’t look like an administrator.”

  Lan’s tail fluffed.

  Gráinne frowned.

  The Bovan continue
d, “Marquessa?”

  “Yes. Gráinne Roisin Ferrane MacKenna Seetan, Marquessa of Vandovir,” Lan replied.

  Gráinne was impressed Lan could remember the whole name. She could barely remember it herself.

  Brodar looked from Lan to Gráinne, who gave him a withering smile. The Bovan let out a laugh that echoed throughout the cave. “That’s a mouthful.”

  Caera’s laughter tinkled from behind Gráinne, and the Bovan flashed his flat teeth at the cook. “Go on,” he said to Lan.

  “Why should you come with us? I believe that was your question. The answer is that the Marquessa is in possession of an island currently without inhabitants. The villages and farms have been burned. She is willing to allow settlers to build their homes on the land.”

  “What will this land cost?”

  “The sweat from settlers’ brows. A promise of peaceful co-existence. Tolerance,” Gráinne said. “Honour.”

  Brodar rose from the boulder. “Make your case tonight at the fires.” He lifted his hand in what Gráinne thought was a signal for an unseen watcher to approach.

  “We had not planned to remain the night,” Lan stated flatly.

  Brodar shrugged. “We had not planned to have guests.” He laughed. “Jarrod will lead the way to your quarters.”

  Shush! We stay the night. “Thank you,” Gráinne said.

  Jarrod’s voice sounded from behind the trio. “This way.” He led them back through the clearing and the populated area of the cave, weaving in and out of huts and tents, past fires and wash buckets and rope lines with wet clothes dangling on them.

  Some of the cave’s residents had ventured out of their homes to watch silently with their children closely held as the quartet passed them. They reminded Gráinne of the watchful mothers of Port Firth, whose eyes shifted from the strangers to their own children and back again when she and Caera strolled past them. She didn’t blame them for protecting their young and wished she could say she’d aided the parents of Incorrigible in doing the same.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Empathetic

  Their quarters turned out to be beyond a small hole in one of the cave’s walls. Gráinne had spotted the openings when they first entered the enormous chamber where the nomads lived. This time, however, she waited at the bottom of the ladder until Lan and Caera had climbed up and disappeared into the hole. As she neared the top of the ladder, she heard Caera’s voice filled with delight, “This is amazing. I have never seen anything like it!”

  Their quarters were the size of the courtyard at Vandovir Estate. From the walls grew pale ferns and yellow ivy. Dyed rugs and pillows of every size and shape in jewel tones of amber, sapphire, and amethyst cluttered the floor of the cave. In the center of the space was a large metal bowl with chunks of firewood piled in its middle. From the ceiling, glass lanterns with ochre candles swayed on the ends of shiny chains.

  Caera had spied them already. Pointing at one, she asked Jarrod, “Beeswax?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, marvelous! Then, you have honey!” She licked her lips and grabbed Lan by the hand. “There might be spiders. I am afraid of them. Are you?” she asked, the volume of her voice diminishing as the pair moved farther away from Jarrod and Gráinne.

  For the first time since he’d stepped out from behind the bushes in the forest, Jarrod was close enough that Gráinne could get a closer look at his refined features. His ears and the silkiness of his hair and skin reminded her of her uncle Syldhen. From what she’d seen so far, he was as quiet and reserved. In the sleeping chambers, though, his posture was more relaxed. “How do the plants grow here?” Gráinne asked him.

  Jarrod looked up, and Gráinne’s gaze followed to a crevice through which a think beam of light streamed into the dwelling. “Seeds float in through there. The walls of this chamber and some of the others are moist enough for the seedlings to sprout. The fire and light are enough to encourage growth.” He tilted his head as he looked at Gráinne. “Nature always survives.”

  Gráinne felt comforted by that thought. “Please forgive me for asking, Jarrod, but are you an Elf?”

  Jarrod smiled. “My father was an Elf from the Silver Order. My mother was Celestine.”

  Was? He is an orphan like me. “Celestine?”

  “Yes. A Celestine Cloud Nester from Arae.”

  Gráinne wrinkled her brow and shook her head. “I do not know what a Cloud Nester is.”

  “In my mother’s land, some Araens live among birds. They build their homes atop islands in the sky. From the ground, the islands look like clouds.”

  “Islands in the sky? How can that be? Where is this land?”

  “Arae is not like your land or this one or my father’s. It is far away. You cannot get there.”

  “Why not?”

  Jarrod looked up toward the crevice. “Arae is among the stars. It lies south of the Scorpion.”

  The pulsing in Gráinne’s temples became more intense. “In the stars? Arae is in the Spirit Realm?”

  Jarrod cracked a smile. “No. It is very much a physical world. I’ve never seen it, of course, but that is what my mother told me.”

  “I see.” Gráinne nodded politely and smiled warmly at Jarrod, having decided that the poor half-Elf was either touched or that the loss of his mother had caused so much grief he’d found no other way to cope than to retreat into a fantasy. “Perhaps one day you will see it for yourself.”

  Jarrod laughed. “Perhaps.” He turned his head toward Lan and Caera, who were approaching, having finished their exploration of the chamber. “I will return when the fires are kindled.”

  Gráinne watched as Jarrod disappeared out of the hole and onto the ladder. “I am going to rest for a while. My head hurts.”

  Lan and Caera left the chambers to explore the encampment, and Gráinne watched them as they left. It dawned on her that life outside the confines of Vandovir brought out something different in each of them, and they treated each other differently. Vandovir was oppressive in more ways than she’d considered, and she wondered if it was the place or its owner that made it so. As she lay down on one of the pillow-covered rugs near the center of the chamber, she looked up at the crevice. “A realm in the stars with islands in the sky,” she whispered. She wondered what such a place would be like, and she felt sad to think it was the product of Jarrod’s pain.

  As promised, Jarrod returned to escort Gráinne to the fires once they had been lit. Lan and Caera had not returned by the time she had awakened, and now she was concerned about them. She descended the ladder and before Jarrod could set off and leave her behind, she touched his arm and asked, “Have you seen my companions?”

  “Yes. They are at the fires. The cat is talking with Brodar. The woman is cooking.” Jarrod set off without warning. Gráinne’s stomach rumbled nervousness as she did her best to stay close to Jarrod. She hoped Lan wouldn’t say anything to taunt the Bovan. The image of a raging bull flashed through her mind and made her want to race toward the meeting place.

  The encampment had come alive while she’d slept, and it was as racially diverse and busy as the marketplace in Port Firth. Deep in the bowels of the earth lived a community like many others. The inhabitants went about the business of daily living—cooking, eating, drinking, laughing, and sharpening tools. Their children played chase and hide-and-seek. Only the occasional set of eyes seemed to notice Gráinne. The vast majority paid little attention to either the half-Elf they probably knew or the tall female stranger who almost ran to keep up with him.

  Lan and Brodar came into view across the clearing, and Brodar stood when he saw Gráinne. The fires, as Jarrod and Brodar had called them, were like the Sacred Day fires in Incorrigible—a bonfire around which beings danced, some dressed in elaborate costumes and others nude. Gráinne stopped to watch the dance. As the dancers circled, she noticed emerald markings on the body of one of the naked ones, a well-toned male with skin like that of a yellowish albino. The marks on his body resembled Lan’s tattoos,
and she made a mental note to ask him what they meant if she saw him again. He would have looked like a bald human without the long, hairless tail that whipped around as he danced. Evenly spaced along its length were lumps that reminded her of knots in a climbing rope. She realized she was staring at him when his eyes met hers, and he coiled the tail around his waist, tip first in a motion that reminded her of a slithering snake.

  “Quite exotic, isn’t he? He finds you attractive,” Brodar said.

  Gráinne looked up at the Bovan, who now stood beside her. “How do you know that?”

  “His tail. He’s trying to seduce you with it. Glendoque is quite the catch and a highly selective hunter. I doubt his wife would object. She seems indifferent to him, at best. But then, Lan has told me you have a husband already. I don’t suppose he would allow you to take lovers.” The pitch of his voice rose at the end of his sentence.

  Gráinne looked back at the male dancer, whose tail now slithered around his thigh. He arched his spine and threw back his head. She forced herself to look at Brodar, realizing she felt mesmerized by the movement of the tail and the flexibility of the dancer. Her voice cracked as she spoke, “Lan. I saw the two of you talking.”

  “Yes. He was telling me about your ship.”

  Damn you, Lan! “Oh?” she replied, straining to keep agitation out of her voice. It annoyed her that Lan hadn’t consulted her before telling Brodar about the ship, and the urge to look at Glendoque amplified her annoyance.

  “Yes. You should mention it when you speak to the clan leaders. Once the dancers have finished their tribute, the clan leaders will meet with us.”

  “I should find Lan now, so he will be there to assist in answering questions.”

  “You’ll find him just over there,” he said, pointing toward the boulders on which Brodar had sat the first time she met him.

  “Thank you, Brodar.” She gave a polite nod of her head and started toward the direction the Bovan had indicated.