Dragon's Milk

by Susan Fletcher

  Ugh! Kaeldra shoved the green jar back onto the shelf.

  Beneath the blanket, a dracling stirred.

  〈Shhh! Be still!〉

  A twinge of fear. 〈Still?〉 It was Synge.

  〈Yes. You must not move.〉

  〈Still?〉 This was Embyr.

  〈Yes, Embyr. Still. Or we will be caught.〉

  She felt a low complaining rumble, then a relaxing into sleep. She must have decided to obey me, Kaeldra thought, relieved. For now.

  Kaeldra pondered what to do. The jars and bottles clanked.

  “Well! I see you’re up!”

  Beneath the blanket, the draclings started.

  〈Still! Be still!〉

  She turned to the front of the cart.

  The man was looking at her.

  His face was round and leathery. Black curls sprang out in all directions from his head.

  “Come on out. I saved you breakfast.”

  chapter 16

  For the breaking of a bladder stone: Tayke one gallipot of dragon’s blood and mingle therein the juice of seven pommefruits. Strayne through fine-woven cloth and let stand in a warm place. Quaff therefrom until the brew is wholly drunk, or until one moon-turn has passed.

  —Bok of Medik

  Did he see the draclings?

  Kaeldra clutched the shelf edges as she made her way to the front of the cart.

  Is he angry that I slept here? Does he know who I am?

  She moved slowly, trying to gather her thoughts, trying to plan what to say; but her mind would not focus.

  As she crawled onto the carter’s bench, the man thrust something into her hands. A bread roll, split, with a slab of meat inside.

  “Here,” he said. He was smiling. “Your breakfast.”

  “Thank you.” Kaeldra sat on the bench, still holding the roll. The day was bright and warm. Pulled by two ancient, swaybacked nags, the cart traveled along a rutted road through a meadow ringed with mountains and firs.

  “Go ahead!” the man said. “Don’t be shy! I already ate mine. They gave me more than I needed at the inn, so I brought some back with me. When I saw you, I said to myself, ‘Hokarth,’ I said, ‘there’s a fellow needs it more than you.’” He chuckled and patted his ample belly.

  “Thank you,” Kaeldra said again. She took a bite. The meat was spicy and still warm. The juices had soaked into the bread. It was wonderful.

  “Good?” the man asked.

  Kaeldra nodded.

  “I thought you’d like that. Nothing beats a slab of roast beef for breakfast, I always say. Unless it’s a hot kidney pie.”

  “Um hmm.” Kaeldra swallowed, turned to the man. He had big brown eyes that crinkled at the corners. His curly black hair was matted down in some places and stuck out in others. His clothes were tattered and patched.

  “I’m sorry I—ah—slept in your cart last night,” Kaeldra began. “I lost my blanket roll yesterday. I was going to stay only a few hours, but—”

  The man waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been down on my luck a few times myself. Besides, I’m a family man. You remind me of a son of mine.”

  “A son!” Kaeldra choked, remembering suddenly that she was supposed to be a boy. She reached up to check her hood. It was in place.

  “Yes, a son! Seven sons and five daughters I’ve got, officially, that is, and three or four whelps on the side.” He winked at Kaeldra. “Ah, the ladies. You know how it is. But one day a son of mine could be wearing your boots, if you know what I mean, and I’d be grateful if someone offered him breakfast.”

  “Well—I—um, thank you,” Kaeldra said, feeling stupid.

  “By the way, I’m Hokarth, apothecary extraordinaire, at your service.” He bowed with a flourish. “And you are . . .”

  “Uh, Styfan,” Kaeldra said. “I’m on my way to my uncle to be his apprentice.”

  “You’re welcome to come along with me as far as you’re going. Which is . . . ?”

  “Ah—Regalch.”

  “Regalch! I’m headed that way, too. Got to make a few stops on the way—business, you know—but you could come along, just be a few days, maybe lend a hand?”

  A few days! Kaeldra had had no idea Regalch was so far. A few days with the draclings inside the cart was impossible. But she could think of no polite way to refuse, so she nodded and took another bite of her meat.

  “Galloping gallstones, what’s that!” Kaeldra whirled back toward the cart, toward the draclings. But Hokarth was looking at her arm. In the daylight, the blood-soaked rag looked worse than she had realized.

  “Oh, that. It’s all right. I was bitten by a dog.”

  “It’s all right! It’s all right, he says! No, it is not all right. All kinds of things can happen with a wound like that if it’s not properly treated.” Hokarth maneuvered the cart to the side of the road and stopped. He turned to go inside.

  “Wait!” Kaeldra said, terrified that the draclings might have crept out from beneath the blanket, or were floating in their sleep. But Hokarth was already in the cart.

  “It won’t hurt,” his voice came, “unless you wait. Come on!”

  Kaeldra stepped inside. The blankets seemed huge and lumpy, seemed to cry out that something was amiss. But the draclings were still, at least. She felt a questioning and knew that it was Embyr. 〈It’s all right,〉 she said, trying to calm the dracling’s mind.

  Hokarth did not seem to notice the blankets. He wiggled his fingers around the motley collection of jars and bottles, muttering, “Let me see now, I know it’s here, it’s, no, it’s over—aha!” He reached for a squat ceramic jar. “I knew it was there! Let me see that arm.”

  He unwrapped the cloth. Kaeldra flinched when he came to the last layer; it pulled painfully away from her skin. “Hmm,” the apothecary said, looking at the wound. “Not as bad as it could be. Good thing I’m getting to it now.”

  He uncorked the jar and shook a yellowish powder into a small stone bowl. Then he poured in a bright green liquid and mixed them together into a paste. The cart now reeked, a putrid, stomach-turning smell, like something gone to rot.

  Hokarth spread the concoction over Kaeldra’s arm. It instantly felt cooler, better.

  “What is it?” Kaeldra asked.

  “Powdered salamander jaws and swamp water. The best there is for dog bites.” He finished spreading the stuff on Kaeldra’s arm and wiped his hands on his tunic. “Though nothing’s perfect, if you want the truth. You promise them miracles, then you leave town and hope they’re cured by the time you get back.” Hokarth crammed the jars onto the shelves—but not where he had found them. “Unless, of course, you can lay your hands on some dragon fat, which is a steed of a different breed, I can tell you.”

  Kaeldra jumped. “What?”

  “Dragon fat.” Hokarth wagged a stumpy finger at her. “Oh, you don’t believe in dragons, I can see that. You’re a modern lad, believe only what you see.” He rummaged through the shelves, pulling out bottles, apparently looking for something. “Time was, a man could hardly poach a hart without sticking a dragon by mistake. But there still be dragons about, though a good deal rarer than before. You get yourself some dragon fat, you soak it in olive oil for seven days. Then you boil it in vinegar and strain it through a sieve—where is that thing? You cool it in the nocturnal air and then—wait a minute. I think it’s—” He turned and began fumbling around on the other side of the cart. “Rub it on morning and night, and—aha! I knew it was here!” Triumphant, he pulled out a roll of loose-woven cloth. “This wound would be healed in, say, a day and a half.”

  “Oh,” Kaeldra said. Suddenly she felt weak. She caught a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. The blanket was shifting, thrashing about.

  〈Still! Be still!〉

  “What would I not give for a dead dragon!” Hokarth was saying. He shook his head wistfully, then tore off a strip of cloth. He began to wrap it around Kaeldra’s arm. “Why, the bones alone, when ground to a fine powder, w
ill cure migraines, creeping ulcers, and the infirmities of pregnant women. The teeth are good for gallstones and the palsy. Turn your arm this way, please. The tongue, liver, and bladder wipe out night-visions and liver spots. For snake bites and fever, you take a pair of dragon eyes, beat them into a froth. You put them in a pot with milk and red wine, and—are you feeling all right?”

  Kaeldra nodded, but she was not. Her stomach lurched wildly; the draclings made a roaring and a hurting in her mind.

  From under the blanket, a head appeared. 〈Embyr! Get back!〉

  Quickly, Kaeldra moved to face the rear of the cart so that Hokarth was forced to turn his back to the draclings.

  “And the blood!” The apothecary rolled his eyes, continuing to wrap Kaeldra’s arm. “Talk to me not of dragon’s blood.” Behind him, Embyr snorted out a smoke-puff, turned around, and burrowed beneath the blanket. But not all the way. Poking out beyond one edge was the tip of a green-scaled tail.

  “Blindness, kidney stones, madness, gout,” Hokarth went on, “it’s a panacea. Of course, you have to know what you’re doing. You cool the fat at the wrong time of day or mix things in the wrong proportions—” He shook his head, clucking his tongue. “Disaster.”

  “It—must be very difficult,” Kaeldra said faintly. The tail tip swished. Kaeldra swallowed.

  “Difficult! Talk to me not of difficult! This is art! I tell you in all modesty that no more than one person in a thousand has the talent to work these things. But who appreciates it? No one.”

  The apothecary sighed. He tied the ends of the cloth and looked absently at his handiwork. “But with a dragon—with a dragon I could do such things as even a king would sit up and take note of.” He sighed again, glanced up at Kaeldra. “You are peaked. I’ll get you something. Let me see, where is that potion, it’s—” He reached toward the back of the cart.

  “No!” Kaeldra grabbed his arm. “I’m fine, truly I am. I only need, ah, some fresh air.”

  Hokarth chuckled. “I forgot, you’re not used to the aroma. Well, come on, then. We’ll be on our way.”

  They rode through most of the day. The draclings’ agitation soon calmed; they slept for hours. Thrice Kaeldra caught sight of the kestrel flying ahead.

  The land gentled around them as they rode. Steep mountain ridges gave way to rolling fields, interspersed with brakes of oak and larin and elm. This was lowland terrain, a softer, warmer land than Elythia. They passed by many travelers, but no one seemed to be searching for Kaeldra.

  Toward supper time, they came to a village. Hokarth pulled up by a tavern. He asked if Kaeldra would go with him to sup, but she declined, saying she was tired. If he would just bring her something . . . He left, promising to return soon.

  It was yet light. Carts drew up and departed; men entered and left the tavern. Kaeldra slipped inside the cart; the draclings thronged about her, thrumming.

  〈Hungry,〉 Pyro said.

  “I know. We will wait until dark, until Hokarth sleeps, and then we will go. We will find something then.” Kaeldra didn’t know what they would find, or how. She was surprised that the draclings had stayed quiet for so long. Soon, she feared, they would become unmanageable.

  〈Hurt,〉 Synge whined.

  Kaeldra removed the bloody rag and examined the wound. It had stopped bleeding, but was swollen and oozed a yellowish fluid. She wished she could remember which jars Hokarth had used to mix the poultice for her own arm. Perhaps leaving the wound exposed to the air would help.

  She scratched Synge’s eye ridges; before long the draclings burrowed beneath the blankets. Kaeldra lay beside them, listened to the quiet whistle of their breath in sleep.

  She woke with a dizzy feeling, as though the ground had fallen away beneath her. Her head floated and spun. She had felt this way before, she knew, but, half-asleep, could not place it.

  Ill, she thought. I must truly be ill.

  Kaeldra sat up. The draclings were tense, alert.

  〈Be still.〉 Embyr’s voice. Talking to her.

  Kaeldra strained her ears in the darkness; then she heard it. A crunching noise outside the cart.

  A footstep?

  Just then the tavern noise swelled, receded. There was laughing, and footsteps, definitely footsteps. Someone was coming this way.

  Hokarth’s voice, talking to the nag. Then another voice, very near.

  Kaeldra’s scalp prickled. Now she remembered the dizzy feeling, the feeling of flight: the gyrfalcon. The voice brought it back.

  Jeorg Sigrad’s voice.

  “. . . traveling alone,” he said. “About yea high, with straw-colored hair. Have you seen her?”

  “No.” The apothecary sounded different, somehow. Abrupt. Agitated.

  “I, uh, heard someone was riding with you in your cart this afternoon.”

  “Then you heard wrong. I’ve been alone all day. Now I’ll be going.” The cart dipped and creaked as the apothecary climbed onto the bench. There was the crack of a whip, and the cart jerked forward.

  She was trembling. Kaeldra didn’t realize it until after they had left. He was here, and he knew, somehow, that she had been in the cart. The apothecary had lied; she had gotten away—for now—but for some reason that didn’t make Kaeldra feel any better. There was something about Hokarth—his voice. . . .

  I’ll pretend to be asleep, Kaeldra thought. He has to sleep sometime, and then we’ll slip away.

  After a time the cart slowed and came to a stop. The driver’s bench creaked; Kaeldra heard Hokarth moving into the cart.

  “Psst! he said.

  Kaeldra pretended to sleep.

  “Psst! Hey! You! Wake up!” He shook her shoulders.

  “Um, what?” Kaeldra blinked. A blinding bright light shone into her eyes. Hokarth’s brew-and-onions breath filled her nose.

  The light moved away. A candle, Kaeldra saw.

  “They are,” Hokarth said.

  “What? What are?”

  “Green. Your eyes are green.”

  Kaeldra felt the fear rise inside her, fill her throat. Hokarth touched her hair, then suddenly yanked down her hood. “A girl,” he said. “You’re the girl. You’re the dragon girl they spoke of in the tavern. The one they’re searching for.”

  The apothecary’s bloodshot eyes stared at her with a strange intensity. Kaeldra moved away. She wanted to deny it, to cry out that he was wrong, but the words stuck fast.

  “Where are they?” he asked.

  “What? Where are what?” Kaeldra pushed the words up out of her throat.

  “Come on, girl! The dragons. Where are they?”

  “I don’t—I don’t know. What dragons? What—”

  The apothecary shook her again, saying, “Don’t you understand what this means to me? To us! Us! This is our chance, don’t you see?”

  Something bright and burning sliced through her mind. She winced and closed her eyes. 〈Be still,〉 she said. 〈Please. He doesn’t know you are here.〉

  When she opened her eyes, Hokarth was smiling. He was smiling at her with his mouth, but his eyes looked wild.

  “We could be rich,” he said. “You and I. With those dragons, we could be rich. I have the art. They would welcome us as honored guests. They would beg us to come. They would respect my art. And they would pay—oh, they would pay.”

  His voice took on a wheedling tone. “I’m just a family man,” he said. “I only want respect and a few simple pleasures.” The smile dropped off his face. He leaned in close to Kaeldra, gripping her shoulders so hard it hurt.

  “Please,” he whined. “I need those dragons.”

  She heard them in her head. Their fear clattered and rang against her skull, so loud she thought surely he must hear. And then the blanket was moving and the draclings were there, rearing up, necks arched. “No!” Kaeldra screamed. She threw herself at Hokarth; together they hit the floor. Flame poured above them, scorched her hair, drenched the cart in light.

  She scrambled to get out, the draclings fast behin
d. They tumbled to the ground and ran for the woods. Behind her she heard Hokarth shouting, “Wait! Don’t go! Hear me out!”

  The explosion knocked her flat. She tried to get up, but the ground shuddered and darkness rushed in.

  chapter 17

  Mayke you a slit in the serpent’s belly; tayke out its entrails and stuff with sour-fruit and scallions. Scoop out of the earth a pit and lay thereon a bed of coals. Pat the serpent with wet clay; set it in the pit. Cover with earth and mayke a fire on it. When four days have passed, unearth the serpent and crack open the clay.

  —Ancient Kragish recipe

  The draclings were gone.

  She felt their absence first, and then, opening her eyes, scanned the darkness. A wall of trees loomed before her; behind, across a clearing, a fire smoldered.

  No draclings.

  Kaeldra closed her eyes again and tried to think back, tried to remember how she came to be here, on the ground, in the dark, all alone. But her thoughts leaped about like the shadows of a bonfire; they would not be still.

  She sat up. There was a tinkling sound. A rill of glass shards shivered down her back. Glass littered the ground, glittered in the moonlight.

  Her hands hurt. Looking down, Kaeldra saw that they were riddled with tiny cuts. She picked out the largest slivers of glass then got to her feet, shaking out her clothes and hair. Glass cascaded about her in a glittering spume.

  What had happened?

  Memory flared: draclings flaming, an explosion.

  Explosion. Just like— The thought stopped her heart.

  Fiora. Fiora had exploded, too.

  She moved toward the cart, dread seeping into her chest, glass crunching beneath her boots. Smoke rose from the wreckage; charred wood spiked up from it. She could not tell what was there and what was not. She needed to look under things; she needed to move things.

  Kaeldra ran to a tree and broke off a low branch, then raked through the wood, through the potsherds, through the bright, brittle rivers of glass.