Dragon Book, The

by Gardner Dozois

  But the flock of huge birds ignored them, their shrill cries making Tahlia wince. Thrashing and shrieks erupted behind them, and she risked a quick glance over her shoulder. The Crone had emerged again from her cloud, and her light seemed to focus on the nest. The flock shredded it, long necks dipping as they stabbed through the rags of foam. Dragonlets struggled in the long, sharp beaks. Tears stung Tahlia’s eyes as she turned back to her paddling. No hope for those babies. The sounds faded as the canoe leaped through the darkness. One of the huge islands of floating weed loomed in the darkness, and they paddled along the edge until they found a natural cavern in the tangle and drove the canoe into its shelter.

  “Maybe they won’t spot us,” Kir panted.

  “Pretty!” Tahlia rested her paddle as the blue surf-dragon erupted from the water, darting back and forth along the verge of the weed mat, squeaking and agitated. A moment later, the teal-colored male joined her. “Throw the tow rope out, Kir. Let’s go, you two. Fast, fast, fast!” She was never sure just now much language the surf-dragons understood, but this time, they seemed to share the urgency of the moment, slipping their heads through the collars she’d fashioned from braided weed fiber and fanning their water wings so that a fog of spray instantly drenched both her and Kir.

  “We’re going to have to bail,” Kir shouted, but the canoe shot ahead, white foam at the bow as it cut through the water. “Wow, what a ride.”

  “They’re afraid of the ketrels, too.” Tahlia looked back. The nest had vanished into the night. She shivered. The ketrel flew with the Kark, feasting on the exhausted spirit-slaves that the hardlanders tossed overboard. Rumor was that they led the raiders to the grove settlements. Her wrist tickled, and she looked down.

  The dragonlet was licking the bite, cleaning every last trace of blood from her skin. “Thanks, little one.” She held out her hand, and it crawled onto her palm, wrapping its tail around her wrist. It was long and slender, with webbed feet and silvery blue fins, although they were closed up right against her sides, and the muscular tail. Like the surf-dragons, she thought. Their fins unfurled and stiffened in the water to help them swim. “Maybe you’re a surf-dragon after all,” she murmured.

  The negative in her mind was as clear as a whisper in her ear. “You answered me?” She looked down at the small dragonlet, and it looked up to meet her gaze. Its silver eyes held a glint of intelligence that she had never seen in the eyes of surf-dragons or spider-dragons. “What are you?” she murmured. “Kir, look.” She held out her bitten hand. “Look what the dragon did.”

  “Bit you again?” He looked back, fear still shadowing his eyes. “Just throw it out for the ketrels. Serve it right.”

  “No, the bite is all healed. See?”

  “Weird.” He eyed her hand with the faint pale trace where the teeth had pierced her. “I never knew surf-dragons could do that.”

  “I don’t think they can. And I don’t think it’s a surf-dragon.”

  “I don’t know what else it could be. Well, who cares? Surf-dragons aren’t much good to anybody but you.” He glanced ahead, where Pretty and her mate thrashed through the swells. “I wish they’d pull a boat for me.”

  “You just have to ask them.” She shrugged.

  “They don’t listen to me.”

  “You don’t ask nicely, I bet.” She looked ahead. The sky was getting light to the east, and she could just make out the tops of the village grove clearly now, the dark green-furred limbs rising in a solid tangle on multiple trunks that went clear down to the ocean bed. The scaled fish skins that roofed the village domes caught the first sunbeams and winked gold in the morning light. “I hope you don’t get in trouble.”

  “Too late now.” Kir sighed. “Father gets up at dawn.”

  “Maybe he won’t look in your bed this morning,” Tahlia said hopefully.

  They caught a snoutfish as they neared the grove. The snoutfish were trash eaters and liked to hang around the inhabited groves, cleaning up scraps that the villagers tossed into the water. This was a small one, and, as Tahlia unhooked it, the dragonlet threw itself onto the quivering fish, tearing at the pale flesh with its needle teeth.

  “Hey.” Kir scowled. “That’s our fish.”

  “Your mother doesn’t want to eat snoutfish.” Tahlia shrugged. “It has to eat something, you know. Wow.” She watched, impressed, as the dragonlet cleaned the snoutfish to its pearly bones in minutes. Its stomach bulged comically, and it made a low, burbling sound as it crawled into her lap and wrapped its long tail around her waist. “It’s growing.” Tahlia stroked its smooth, satiny hide. “It already looks a lot bigger than when it hatched.”

  “Oh great.” Kir rolled his eyes as he rebaited the line and tossed it overboard. “Just what we need. A big bad-luck dragon hanging around the grove. Tahl, you already get in trouble; this isn’t going to help.

  “It’ll probably take off as soon as it can fly or swim or whatever it does.”

  Why would I leave?

  Tahlia blinked with the intensity of that communication. Were you speaking to me? She stroked the gossamer folds of wing membranes with a fingertip. “Looks like she’s a swimmer to me.”

  Of course I was. And my name is Xin.

  “She?” Kir gave her a suspicious look. “How do you know it’s a she?”

  “She told me.”

  “How can she speak our language?” Kir gave her a look. “You’re fooling me.”

  If the small-friend is talking to me—Xin turned one large, silvery eye in Kir’s direction—tell him you are speaking my language. Not many of your kind can do that.

  “How do you know anything about our kind?” Tahlia lifted the dragon to look her in the eyes. “You just hatched.”

  “What is going on?” Kir gave her a narrow look. “You’re not really having a conversation with that thing?”

  “I think I am, actually.” Tahlia blinked. “She says her name is Xin.”

  He gave her a moment of silence. “Sometimes I don’t know whether to believe you or not.”

  Tahlia made a face at him. Kir was right, though. She tilted her head to look up at the soaring tops of the grove trees as they approached the grove. Her eyes already made her bad luck, never mind that the surf-dragons fished for her. Bring a strange new dragon into the picture, and she’d be lucky if the villagers didn’t drive her out of the grove altogether.

  “Got something,” Kir yelped as the fish line tightened. “This time, don’t let that dragon of yours get it.”

  I will not “get it.” Xin opened her jaws in a gaping yawn that revealed a double row of gleaming teeth and a long, crimson tongue. I am full.

  They landed a fat redfish, and Tahlia told Kir to take it home to his mother. That would make her happy, and she might stand up for Kir against his father. A prosperous seagold-smith, Kir’s father believed very strongly in luck. Good and bad. She sent the surf-dragons skimming away with her thanks as they got close to the village grove. Night still lingered among the grove’s many thick trunks. Tahlia lifted the canoe’s outrigger into vertical so that she could maneuver the narrow spaces between the huge trunks, and skillfully guided it through the maze of tethered boats and small docks, stopping at the dock skirting the trunk near which Kir’s family had their home.

  He scrambled up the netted ladder with a wave, the redfish, slung over his shoulder in a carry-net, dripping down his back. As he went, Tahlia thought that she heard a hoarse squawk high above. Like the cry of a ketrel. But the interlaced branches hid the sky, and it couldn’t see a baby dragon down here. The tide was low, and she quickly filled a small net bag with purple sweet-shell snails that had emerged into the air in the dark to feed on the fur of tree-moss that quickly invaded the tide-exposed trunk.

  Tahlia tucked Xin out of sight against her belly beneath her tunic. She tied off the canoe and climbed quickly up to the first level, where the thick branches radiated out from the trunk, interlacing with the branches of the other trunks to create a tough, flexible flo
or. Each grove supported several levels, and this grove of trees, centuries old, carried four levels. Down here, sheltered from the storm winds but vulnerable to storm swells, the marketplace thrived. The wealthy crafters like Kir’s family and the most successful fisher families lived on the second level, the safest one.

  She and her mother had lived on the uppermost level. Before the hardland raiders came that fall. Now, she lived in her canoe or in the trunk ferns with the spider-dragons. Or in the healer’s dome, when he stayed in this grove on his travels.

  Xin stirred sleepily against her skin, her claws pricking Tahlia, and she stroked her until she quieted as she stepped from the ladder onto the branch floor. Strips of dried sea-ribbon woven between the interlaced twigs created paths, and she followed them to the main market, clustered between two of the grove’s huge trunks. This was prime market time, and the stalls were busy, selling everything from fresh sea-harvest through the crafters’ wares like dishes, spear and arrow points, and the fish-gold jewelry that Kir’s father made.

  Her stomach growled at the scents drifting through the cool morning air, and she halted at her favorite stall. “Trade you sweet-snails for a fish and a bowl of tea.” She waved the bag at the old woman tending the burner.

  “Are they fresh?” She peered into the bag, pulled out one of the purple snails, and sniffed it. Tasted it. “Not bad.” She grinned at Tahlia, her weathered face folding into a thousand wrinkles. “One fish.” She lifted the smallest of the skewered pink-fish from the fire.

  “I just picked them, you know you’ll sell them all.” Tahlia shook her head, pointed to a fatter fish. “That one. And the tea.”

  “No tea.” The woman shook her head.

  “I’ll just take them over to Dalid, then.” Tahlia snatched back the bag.

  “All right. Tea.” The stall owner snatched the bag back and tucked it quickly into the shadows behind her. “Tea.” She filled one of the smaller cup-shell bowls with golden tea, handed Tahlia the grilled fish.

  “Who told you you could be here stealing food, bad-luck eyes?”

  Tahlia froze at the taunting voice. Slowly, deliberately, she took a bite of the juicy fish. Swallowed. “Did you run out of little kids to push around, Andir?” She drank some tea.

  “I don’t want to see you here.” Andir stepped in front of her, the oldest son of the head of the council, his blue eyes hard. Two of his cousins flanked him. “You want to buy here, you do it when I’m not around.”

  “They elected you to replace your father?” Tahlia kept her posture relaxed, sipped more tea. “I guess I didn’t hear the news.”

  “Someone needs to teach you respect for your betters.” Andir sneered. “You’re nothing but a tramp like your mother. You going to sell yourself to the hardlanders, too? They’ll like your eyes, that’s for sure.”

  She threw her tea in his face and he howled, scrubbing at his eyes.

  “You little …” He flung himself forward, massive as a whale-fish. And about as slow.

  Tahlia slipped aside and his grab missed. His cousins were hanging back, grinning, expecting to see Andir give her a beating, she guessed. She dodged again, but one of his cousins shoved her from behind and Andir’s clawing fingers snagged her tunic. Xin was squirming now, struggling to free herself.

  Sudden wind shook the branches of the grove, whirling shreds of tree-moss and leaves through the market.

  Andir paused to look up, and Tahlia slapped him in the face with her grilled fish. Bits of greasy fish splattered his fine-woven tunic, and he snarled at her, lunging at her with the full weight of his body behind his charge. At the very edge of the woven path, Tahlia didn’t move as he loomed. Behind him, his cousins shouted warning, but he was too blind with rage, too sure of his catch to listen.

  At the last second, she leaped sideways, dropping feetfirst through a space in the interlaced branches, catching herself with both hands, and swinging up and onto the path again in one lithe movement. Behind her, Andir screamed as his foot slipped through the branches and he fell forward. She heard his ankle break with the sound of a snapping stick.

  “I’ll kill you for this, bad-luck,” he screamed. “Get her!”

  People were gathering now, but she didn’t wait to see if they were going to intervene or not. Leaping lightly from branch to branch, off the path now, she headed for the next trunk. The cousins stuck to the path, not wanting to risk a fall into the water below. She made it to the next trunk before they did and scrambled up into the thick trunk-ferns that sprouted from it. Two spider-dragons lurked there, and she felt their interest as she scrambled upward, to the broken end of a limb she’d turned into a private perch.

  “Go ahead and hide, bad-luck.” One of the cousins shouted up at her, his face a shadow in the dim light. “I hope the spiders eat you.”

  One of the spider-dragons appeared at her shoulder and snapped, jaws crunching one of the hand-sized tree spiders a moment later. The huge spider’s mate lurked nearby, its red eyes gleaming in shadows. Tahlia broke off a dead fern stem and flicked the huge, venomous spider off its perch. A shriek below and the sound of running feet told her she’d come close to her mark, anyway. The second spider-dragon snapped up another spider, then stuck its nose under the hem of her tunic.

  Xin stuck her head up through the neck of her tunic and hissed something. The spider-dragon flattened itself briefly, its silvery tongue flickering in and out, then stretched itself along Tahlia’s thigh as she settled herself on the mat of dead fern fronds she’d woven to create a sleeping platform.

  That one meant to hurt you. Xin’s grumble filled her head. I need to …

  What exactly she needed to do didn’t quite translate. “That’s all right.” Tahlia sighed. “He’s just a bully. We’ll stay out of his way. Maybe it’s time to go camp on the weed mats for a bit.” This time of year, it didn’t rain much, so it wouldn’t be too bad.

  She was sinking into a drowse, the dragonlet curled beneath her chin, when a voice calling her name softly woke her.

  “Slane?” She rose to her knees, poked her head through the fronds, soothing the dragonlet’s instant alarm. “Is that you?”

  “It’s me.” Below, the aged healer looked up at her. “Come down. I know you say the spider-dragons protect you, but I’d rather you slept safe in a bed tonight, eh, girl?”

  “When did you get back here?” She tucked Xin back into her tunic and scrambled down the trunk, the spider-dragons scrambling ahead of her, watchful of spiders. “I thought you were gone for a long time?”

  “I was gone, but I got back this morning. It seemed like a long time to me.” Slane smiled down at her, his face a wrinkled map of years and weather. “They brought Andir to me. He broke his ankle.”

  “I heard it break.” Tahlia lifted her chin. “Serves him right.”

  “I expect so.” Slane chuckled. “I didn’t believe the boys’ story for a moment.” His expression went grave. “But some will. And you have made a serious enemy, Tahlia. Andir is a boy in name only, and you made a fool of him in front of quite a few people. He will hurt you if he can. And his father will shield him. Andir knows this.”

  “I know.” She looked away.

  “Come sleep in my dome tonight.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “No need to risk spiders. I think it’s time you joined me in my travels.”

  Go with him? Excitement filled her as she scrambled down. But she’d have to leave Kir behind. Frowning, she followed the healer along the paths as he greeted the grove dwellers out doing morning errands. Tahlia ignored the dark looks she got from a few. News of the fight … Andir’s version, she guessed … was spreading fast.

  The healer lived in a small dome on the second level. They climbed the rope web up one of the big trunks and followed the woven pathway through the branches, past the closely built domes encircled by their railed porches. As they approached his dome, with its extrabroad waiting-porch out front, roofed against weather, the healer paused. Light seeped from the door-curtain, whi
ch hadn’t been completely drawn. “I didn’t leave a light. Maybe you should wait.” He put out a cautionary hand, but before he could take a step, the curtain was flung aside.

  “You found her! She’s safe.” Kir dashed out to throw his arms around her. “Tahlia, I was so worried.”

  “Of course I’m safe.” She hugged him back. “You’re going to get in trouble.”

  “Yeah.” He flashed her a grin. “I sure am.” He led them inside as if he was the host, as if this was his dome.

  Slane, shaking his head and smiling, lit his oil stove and set water on to heat for tea. The glow from the oil lamp lined his face with shadows and illuminated the bunches of dried seaweeds, fishes, and hardland plants hung from the ceiling. Jars of extracts and ointments lined shelves, and his small table and narrow bed were the only islands of clear space in the clutter.

  “Did you really break Andir’s leg?” Kir perched on the edge of the table, his pale eyes gleaming. “I wish I’d been there. He sure deserves it.”

  “He fell and broke his own ankle.” But Tahlia had to smile. The dragonlet was squirming under her tunic, and she finally undid her belt. Xin immediately scrambled free, leaped onto the tabletop, and perched on a corner, her gleaming silver eyes reflecting the oil lamp’s glow.

  “It’s bigger. Tahlia, it’s really growing fast.” Kir’s eyes opened wide.

  Slane put the water jug down and frowned at it. “Where did this come from?”

  The dragonlet tilted her head. And Tahlia smothered a grin. “She,” she said. “She’s a she. She calls herself Xin.”

  Slane’s grizzled eyebrows rose into his hairline. “She speaks with you?”

  “It bites.” Kir flinched as Xin hissed at him.

  “I know you have an unusual bond with the spider-and surf-dragons. Oh yes, I’ve seen them pulling your boat.” The healer seated himself on a stool, offered a cautious hand to the dragonlet, who hissed, then sniffed at his fingers. “But they don’t speak to you, do they?”

  “Not like this.” The tea water was boiling, but Slane seemed to have forgotten it. Tahlia got up to spoon dried grove blossoms into the pot and poured in the hot water. The dragonlet clung to her shoulder, sniffing at the rising steam. “Kir thought she was a surf-dragon.” She made a face at Xin’s outrage. “All right, I apologize.”