Caught in the savage force of it, Anlut was flung upward into that crystal air. It seemed to him he felt his back slam against the flickering arch of the Northland lights. Breath was knocked from him. He fell earthward again, and landed at the dragon’s feet. The vast head, dwarfing his body, leant near.
Anlut could not move. He lay and stared, wondering if now, against all former evidence, he too would die. But he had not been frozen, only winded. As his vision cleared, he beheld every delicate graven scale on Ulkioket’s forehead. The dragon smelled only of ice and open land. A golden thought seemed to move in his right eye. Without doubt merely a reflection of the lights.
Then Ulkioket moved back several of his own paces, which took him a great distance away.
Anlut pushed himself to his feet, shook himself. He was not hurt, not even bruised. But his cold blood boiled with frustration and fury, a terror and despair that never before had he felt in all his life.
He cursed the dragon, using half-remembered maledictions of the tribes. He shouted now a kind of lament, almost wordless. Yes, it said, I have failed. I’ve found no means to kill you. But once more, this time in front of me, you have slain my fellow-men.
Never in the past had he felt such connection to or sorrow for humankind. He, who was, at his roots, mortal. Yet in the human eyes of the dragon, surely Anlut had glimpsed pity.
The hero turned from Ulkioket and the unachievable task of ending him. The hero glared towards the murdered village by the ice-armoured sea.
Anlut’s heart stopped for the second time.
Through low mist, under the flutter of lights, was that smoke which rose still on the shore? The ice-towers—still visible? And something ran there—what—what? A little sled with perhaps a tiny figure on it, drawn by six tiny pale things—living wolves …?
Looking behind him, Anlut found that the dragon had vanish ed. Silent as mist, Ulkioket had slid away from him, left him. He could see the marks of the reptilian feet, and where these disappeared at a place of harder ice.
Anlut searched a time, up and down. Of the dragon he could discover nothing else, and it came to Anlut that the dragon-like iridescence overhead had helped disguise Ulkioket’s going away.
In a sort of bleak madness finally, defeated, the hero went towards the village. The sled had vanished too by then—he had imagined it obviously. But—smokes still lifted, unless it was the mist. The ice-towers stood—unlessthey were only ice.
Could Anlut have deflected or absorbed the blast of death? He did not think so, although he had done all he could. And even in his turmoil, he could feel the joyous warmth of the blast tingling in him. Like a promise, or a birthright.
WHEN he was near, the head wolves began to yap a warning. But all about the signs lay that the ice-breath had reached this far. Indeed blast-ice had partly formed, standing up in a jagged unfinished palisade, thin as damaged glass. Over a low wall, made only of ordinary ice-brick, Anlut saw five of the guard wolves padding up.
They were white. No, it was more than that. Though heavily furred, there was a sort of shift and shimmer on them, a waver of the colours now streaming along the sky and off into the west. The eyes of the wolves were cold blue, like the hearts of bergs in miniature.
Then the girl came walking up to the wall. In her hand, she carried a small stone fire-pot, which, as a shaman’s some times did, also flamed aquamarine. She was clothed—but for modesty, he thought, not need—in light summer sealskin garments. Her skin and hair were white, smooth, reflecting, mirroring pink and ochre from the sky. Her eyes were a brighter icier green even than Anlut’s own. She astonished him. Anlut had never really seen a hint of himself before in any human.
“Welcome, brother,” she said to him, in the language of humankind. “Never fear. I was afraid, when first I came here. Afraid to find others like myself. Then I was glad. You’ll come to this also.”
Maybe foolishly he said to her, “I am Anlut, of the Lut.”
She answered. “I am Setmaraq, of the Telu.” She nodded, and showed him the way through the wall. Half-hypnotized, he went by, and so entered the village.
They walked along the packed snow between the ice-towers of one or two storeys. It seemed that some hundred or so people lived here. Except that they were not people. He saw many of them about. And they saw him. None acted as if startled or afraid. They greeted him briefly, as if he were known to them. He and they were almost doubles. Each and every one.
Even the wolves and he resembled each other. Even the other animals, which he spotted here and there as he walk ed along the path—two foxes with mirror coats and eyes of blue ember, three sky-shimmered deer that stared at him from mild eyes indigo as some deep glacier.
Setmaraq took him to a smaller tower, and through the entrance tunnel into the high-shelfed room. Here a lamp burn ed low, but, as they arrived, the flame leapt up three full feet. She must be a shaman. There was no other fire, no food. No weapons or skins or pelts hung or lay about, and just a single stone knife and some iron needles were on the shelf, necessary only perhaps for the cutting of hair or the shaping of clothes.
Anlut sat down when she suggested it. Setmaraq sat opposite.
They might have lived here together for many years, they were so at ease with each other. A pair of the wolves slunk in next to join them. Neither hustled nor complained, nor seemed anxious to be fed. No bones lay outside for any animal to forage after. There was no odour of cooking or meat, yet there was a faintly animal and human scent. It calmed Anlut nearly stupidly, for he did not know what had become of him.
They sat a long while, not speaking. Then Setmaraq drew up a pipe made of hardened driftwood. She began to play a solemn music, like the quieter winds.
As he listened, every question he might ask her rushed into his head—then left it. For every question was answered in the instant it occurred. These beings. Like him, they had been formed as mortal embryos inside the womb of a mortal woman, and possibly they would have died there, for whatever reason. But then the ice-blast of the dragon came, and froze everything—but some things it only changed. These people, exactly like Anlut, had been fathered by Ulkioket, or by some other one also an Ulkioket, of the tribe that was Ulkioket. They were the Children of the Dragon.
They could not harm the dragon, nor could the dragon harm them. And winter could not harm them either, as all other living things might be harmed by winter. The animals too that were to be seen here, in the same or some like manner, they had come to life instead of death when Ulkioket breathed on them. They were the Creatures of the Dragon. Nothing could or would harm them. No dragon, no man, no aspect of the warlike winter cold.
Did they then know, if only sometimes, what they had achieved, the ice dragons? Surely. Why else did they bring such successful hybrids here? Why else had Anlut’s dragon summoned him, and brought him here also?
They sat all night, the man and the woman, then the sun undid the low wall of the east, and climbed one-eighth part up the sky.
I am not a hero. I am born of a new-made race. I am not at war.
Just then a small child, white-haired, mirror-lit, eyes like green amber, trotted into the house and, for no reason, laughed at him, as sometimes fearless children did laugh at adults. Then it galloped out again and away.
“My sister’s baby,” said Setmaraq.
This too, then—they could make children. This too.
But “They are all your sisters,” Anlut simply said.
“And all my brothers,” she said.
“You called me brother.”
“Or husband. Shall I call you that instead?”
He nodded. There was no more to say. His heart beat well and gently. Sixteen years of wrongness were melting from him in the delirious warmth of Setmaraq’s foodless, fireless, sleepless, deathless, frozen house of snow.
The Dragon’s Tale
TAMORA PIERCE
Bestselling author Tamora Pierce is the creator of the Tortall universe, home to the Song of the Lioness
quartet, which consists of Alanna: The First Adventure, In the Hand of the Goddess, The Woman Who Rides Like a Man, and Lioness Rampant, as well as the Immortals quartet, Wild Magic, Wolf-Speaker, Emperor Mage, and The Realms of the Gods, and sequels or related books such as Terrier, Trickster’s Choice, and Trickster’s Queen. Her other major series is the Circle of Magic sequence, made up of Sandry’s Book, Tris’s Book, Daja’s Book, and Briar’s Book, as well as several sequels or related books such as Magic Steps, Street Magic, Cold Fire, Shatterglass, The Will of the Empress, and Melting Stones. She is also the author of the four-volume Protector of the Small series, consisting of First Test, Page, Squire, and Lady Knight. With Josepha Sherman, she coedited the anthology Young Warriors: Stories of Strength. Her latest book is a new Tortall novel, Bloodhound. She lives in Syracuse, New York.
In the clever tale that follows, set in her Tortall universe, you meet a dragon trying her level best to do The Right Thing, and who finds that you never regret not being able to speak more than when you have something really important to say.
BORED. I was bored, bored, bored. If I spoke as two-leggers did, I could have made “bored” into a chant. I hated it that I could not speak to humans or animals. I could not even speak mind to mind, as Mama Daine does with the beast-People. Many humans called me a thoughtless animal or even a monster. It made me want to claw them head to toe, though I am not that sort in general. If I could talk to them, they would know I was intelligent and friendly. I could walk among them and explain myself. Instead, I had to sit up on this overlook, waiting for my foster parents to introduce me to yet another village full of two-leggers who had never met a dragon before.
I could have stayed in the realms of the gods with Daine and Numair’s human children and their grandparents instead of taking this journey. I could have spent these long days playing with them and the god animals. I could have even visited my own relatives. Instead, I thought that it would be fun to visit Carthak with my foster parents. Thak City and the palaces, new and old, were interesting. Humans create pretty buildings. The Carthakis in particular make splendid mosaics. There were ships to see, statues, fireworks, human magic displays, and the emperor and his empress. I liked the onetime Princess Kalasin, who was now the Carthaki empress.
Then Emperor Kaddar decided it would be wonderful to travel some of his country with Numair and Daine. Kalasin had to stay in the new palace and govern while Kaddar took the road. I remained with Daine, Numair, and Kaddar as we journeyed east, where Kaddar stopped at every oasis and town to talk. The village of Imoun looked to be an ordinary stop on that trip. It was a small clump of humans who lived beside the river Louya and the Demai Mountains.
We had arrived halfway through the afternoon. The soldiers helped us set up Daine and Numair’s tent above the camp, on a spot where it overlooked the rest of our tents. When they were done, I walked up to a flat stone outcrop where I could watch the rest of the day unfold. I don’t know why I bothered. It was the same as it had been for the last twenty villages. The soldiers put up the platform, then covered it in carpets and decorated it with pillows and bolsters. The important humans would talk with Kaddar there later. More soldiers placed magical globe lights on posts around the platform, so everyone would be able to see when it got dark. Villagers built fires around the platform to warm the humans once the sun went down.
I never watched the setting-up from close by. Early on, I had learned that I was always getting in the way of those who set up the platform and everything around it, even when I tried not to. The guards would complain to Papa Numair about me. The villagers only screamed and ran. Finally, Kaddar asked me nicely to stay away. It’s not Kaddar’s fault that his people had never encountered anyone like me.
The soldiers learned. Some of them still treated me like Daine and Numair’s pet, though my humans had explained many times that I was as clever as any two-legger. A few of the soldiers learned for themselves that I did indeed understand what they said.
Although I was brooding, I had not forgotten to listen to the world around me. I heard the horse that was climbing to my position. I knew who it was without looking because I recognized the sound of his breathing. When Spots reached me, I pointed to the line where all of our other horses were tethered. They were happy to stay there, finished with their day’s work. Then I made a fist and shook it at him. I wasn’t angry. I was reminding him of how the horse guards would react when they found that Numair’s very own gelding was gone again. They were lucky that Daine’s pony, Cloud, had refused to come because it had meant a boat trip, and Cloud hates those. Cloud and Spots together got into all kinds of mischief.
I don’t care if they are angry, Spots told me. Though I am as mute as a stupid rock with animals, they can talk with me. Daine will defend me. She knows that I like to look around. And who else can keep Numair in the saddle?
He was right. Years ago, Spots had learned to counter Numair when he let go of the rein or moved off-balance. He was also good at pulling my foster father away from cliff edges and other hazards that Numair tended to find.
Once, Spots had been like any other horse, only more patient and sweet-tempered than most because Numair was his rider. I barely remember that Spots. Like any creature who lived near my foster mother, Daine, for a long enough time, he grew more clever as humans judge such things. Numair calls it “the Daine effect.” Spots began to help my foster parents in their work. He watched me when I was small. That was when we found ways to talk to each other, with sounds and gestures.
How long will we be here, do you suppose? Spots asked me. It doesn’t look like a very interesting place.
I shrugged. I didn’t know how many days we were going to stay. No one ever asked what I wanted. Spots nudged me with his nose and stuck his lower lip out.
I glared at him. I was not pouting.
“Kit, I can hear you scratching rock down at our tent.” Daine walked up the slope to us, tying her curling brown hair in a horse tail. “It’s a dreadful noise. I thought you were chewing stones. Oh, Spots, you undid your tether again. You know it makes folk nervous when you do that.” She cocked her head, listening as Spots replied, mind to mind. She slung his rein up over his back, so he wouldn’t trip on it. “I know Kitten digs at the stone because she’s unhappy.” Daine sat beside me and reached over to pat the rock. I looked. I had gotten so cross, watching the humans prepare for more talking, that I had gouged my claws deep into the rock at my side several times.
“It looks like you’re trying to slice it for bread,” Daine told me.
I gave her my sorry-chirp and leaned against her. I wished so much that I could talk to her in more than noises! Spots stretched around Daine and nuzzled the back of my head.
“You’re bored, aren’t you, poor thing?” asked Daine. “At least Spots can talk to the other horses. Which reminds me,” she said, turning to look at him. “Back to the ranks with you, magical escaping horse. The soldiers fear they’ll be punished if one of the mounts vanishes.”
Spots snorted, but he did walk, slowly, back down to the tethering lines.
I was still shocked by what Daine had said about me. How did she always know how I felt?
“At home, you usually have something to busy yourself with,” she said, running her cool fingers over my snout. “We might have left you in the capital, but the only person there who knows you well is Empress Kalasin. She can hardly take you about.”
I whistled my agreement. Kalasin had to rule the empire.
“We thought we’d see more of the sights, didn’t we?” Daine asked. “But this, Kit, it’s a wonderful thing, for Kaddar to meet with his people. Normally he’d travel with all manner of ceremony, and the local folk would be too frightened to say a word to him. With me and Numair to guard, and only a hundred soldiers instead of a thousand, he’s approachable. They will talk to him and tell him the truth.”
I made my rudest noise. Human truth-telling was a mixed quantity at best. There were always untruths and evasions of
some kind mixed in.
Daine looked sideways at me. “Oh, all right. As much truth as folk will tell their emperor. It’s a good thing Numair and I are the only ones who speak, Kitten. You are not suited to a life of diplomacy.”
I made a lesser rude noise. Dragons do not use diplomacy. We are not good at it.
I heard the new visitors before I saw them. Daine and I looked down. Twenty fluffy-tailed mice had come to meet her. This sort of thing always happened when Daine was about. I loved it.
“Well, look at you!” Daine said, opening the pouch at her belt. She always carries food for small animals with her. A few of the mice climbed up on Daine, holding on to her shirt or sitting on her shoulders, arms, and legs. She offered them dried raisins and sunflower seeds, inquiring mind to mind after their families and winter food supplies. A pair of the braver mice climbed up on me, which made me happy. Too often I remind small prey animals of snakes or cats.
At last, the mice said their farewells and ran into the rocks. Daine straightened with a grimace and looked at the sky. Dark was coming. Soldiers were lighting the fires below. The platform was finished. I smelled good things being prepared by the villagers and the emperor’s cooks.
“I’ll make sure a dish is brought to our tent for you,” Daine told me.
I cawed at her. I hated the tent, and Daine knew it!
“We got here too late to take you about and show you to the local folk; you know we did,” Daine said. “And two-leggers always startle more when they see you after dark. I’m sorry. Just stay in the tent for tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to the village.”
I knew she was right, but what was there to do in the tent? I gave her my saddest whistle and walked away. I had already gone through everything in Numair’s mage kit, and in Daine’s. I had even read all of the books they had brought along.
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