Rain Wilds Chronicles

by Robin Hobb

  “We’ve trafficked in other articles far stranger for less money!” There were words that died in his throat unspoken. What that money could mean to him, to both of them. The life it could buy, far from Bingtown. Hest either could not or refused to consider the possibility.

  Hest was unswayed by Sedric’s words. “Just now you spoke of respectability. I am respectable now! Will that be so if people see my wife traveling alone to the Rain Wilds? What will they think she is really seeking? Do you think I don’t know that people shake their heads and pity us, that she has not yet borne a child? And if she goes trotting off alone to the Rain Wilds, what will the gossip tongues wag then?”

  “Oh, for Sa’s sake, Hest! She isn’t the first Bingtown woman to have trouble conceiving! Why do you think they call this place the Cursed Shores? Hard enough for a family to keep its name alive here, let alone flourish. No one thinks anything about your still being childless, save to offer you sympathy! Look around the town. You’re not alone! And as to her traveling by herself, well, I’ve just shown you the solution: take her yourself. Or find her a companion then, if you will not take the time to escort her yourself. It’s easily enough done!”

  “Fine, then!” Hest all but spat the words. As quickly as that, he had gone from trying to win Sedric with his antics to giving off sparks of anger. “I shall let her go. I shall let her dash off to the Rain Wilds and content her poor little soul with dithering about dragons and Elderlings. I shall let her spill coins from my purse as if it has no bottom. And you are right, dear, dear Sedric. I shall have no trouble at all finding an appropriate companion for her. You’ve told me often enough this night what a wonderful friend she has been to you! So, you shall surely enjoy your trip to the Rain Wilds with her. Evidently you’ve become bored with being secretary to such a dishonorable, selfish man as myself. So serve Alise. Be her secretary. Scribble notes for her and carry her bags. Sniff about in the muck for a dropped dragon scale. It will spare me the bother of having to look at either of you for a month! I have a journey of my own to contemplate. And it seems that I must find some affable companions to share it with me.” As if that settled the matter completely, Hest crossed to the room and dropped back into the chair before his writing desk. He took up his pen and studied the pages before him as if Sedric did not exist.

  For a moment, Sedric could not speak. Then, “Hest, you cannot mean that!” he gasped.

  But the other man ignored him, and Sedric knew with sudden certainty that he did.

  Day the 17th of the Growing Moon

  Year the 6th of the Independent Alliance of Traders

  From Erek, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown

  To Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug

  From the Bingtown Traders’ Council to the Rain Wild Traders’ Councils at Trehaug and Cassarick. An inquiry into recent rumors and speculations about the health and well-being of the young dragons, and their marketability as stock or as trade items, with references to our original contract with the dragon Tintaglia.

  Detozi,

  It was delightful to meet your uncle Beydon. He speaks highly of you and is obviously very knowledgeable about pigeons. I have sent with him two sacks of an excellent dried yellow pea. I have found that a regular feeding of it greatly enhances the plumage of my birds. I do hope the rumors that the dragons must be slaughtered due to a disease are false!

  Erek

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  INTERVIEWS

  Thymara had never felt comfortable meeting new people. Inevitably, they ran their eyes over her and realized that she should not have survived. It was even more uncomfortable to stand alone before a committee of some of the most revered Rain Wild Traders and answer questions about herself. There were eight of them, mostly middle-aged and male, all dressed in their formal Trader robes. They sat in solid chairs made of dark wood in the opulent chamber at a long, heavy table. The floor under her feet was built from thick plank. Even the walls and the ceiling of the room were made of wood. Never before had she been in a structure so heavy and substantial. She and her father had journeyed far down the trunks to reach this place. He was waiting for her outside. It was the Rain Wild Traders’ Concourse, a structure so old and so close to the ground that it more resembled a Jamaillian mansion than a Rain Wild house. Only this far down the trunk did such large and imposing constructions exist. She was oddly aware at all times of how massive it was; but instead of making her feel safe, the solidity of the structure seemed to threaten at any moment to crash to the earth below. Even the air seemed trapped and still inside it.

  Only two of the committee seemed able to meet her gaze. The others looked aside, or past her, or down at the papers on the long table before them. Of the two who could look at her, one was Trader Mojoin, the head of the committee. He looked her up and down in a way that plainly said what he thought of her before he asked her bluntly, “How is it that you were not exposed at birth?”

  She had not expected such a bald question. For a moment, she stood dumbly before him. If she spoke the truth, how much trouble would she bring down on her family? Her father had broken all the rules when he secretly followed the midwife and brought his infant back home instead of leaving her exposed for the animals and weather to finish. She took a breath and hedged. “My defects manifested as I grew. They were not completely obvious at my birth.”

  Trader Mojoin gave a brief snort of disbelief. One of the other Traders shifted in embarrassment for her. “Do you understand the terms of your employment?” Mojoin asked her bluntly. “Does your family accept that after you leave with the dragons, we will not guarantee your safety or even your return?”

  She was surprised at how calm her voice was when she replied. “My parents both signed the papers before you. They understand, and more important, I understand. I am of age to make this commitment.” As Mojoin gave a curt nod and leaned back in his seat, she added, “But I would like to know more clearly exactly what my tasks are, and what our final mission is.”

  He scowled. “Didn’t you read the contract you were given, girl? The offer states it plainly. The dragons have requested that humans accompany them up the river to their new home. You’ll be assigned a dragon or dragons. You’ll assist in moving the dragons upriver to a location more suitable for them, in ways the dragons may request or as you are assigned. You will help provide for your dragon or dragons by hunting or fishing. And you will remain at the dragons’ new location until they have established themselves there and are self-sufficient or otherwise no longer need you.”

  She spoke her next words coolly. “So if my dragon or dragons die, I’m free to return home.”

  Mojoin sat up straight. “That isn’t the sort of attitude we’re looking for! We expect you to do all in your power to uphold the contract the Traders signed with the dragon Tintaglia. Your task is to help your dragon or dragons find a better area in which to live, and to become more self-sufficient.” He shifted slightly in his seat and added, almost reluctantly, “It’s no secret that we are hoping the dragons can lead you to this Elderling city they claim to recall. Kelsingra.”

  She bit back other words and questions to ask, “Is there a specific location that we are journeying toward? Has anyone scouted it out, so that we might know how long we should expect to travel?”

  Mojoin’s mouth worked as if he’d tasted something foul and wished he could spit it out. When he spoke, his words were evasive. “The dragons themselves seem to have some inherited memories of where it might be. They will be your best guides in finding an appropriate place where they can establish themselves. While the ancient city may be your eventual destination, it’s entirely possible that you will discover a different area better suited to the dragons.”

  “I see,” she responded curtly. And she did. Her father had been right. This was not an emigration, but an exile. A banishment of both the annoying dragons and an assortment of misfits from the population.

  “You see? Excellent!” Trader Mojoin’s response was instant and reliev
ed. “Then we are in accord.” He picked up a seal from the table beside him and stamped the papers. “Once you sign, you are officially hired. When you leave this chamber, you will be given your supply pack and taken down to meet the dragons. You will receive half your wages in advance. You should make your farewells to your family quickly, for you depart as soon as is possible.” He pushed a paper across the table to her. “Can you write? Can you sign this?”

  She didn’t dignify that with an answer. She took up the waiting pen and wrote her name carefully. Then she stood up straight.

  “That’s all, then? You’re finished with me?”

  “That we are,” one of the other men said in a soft voice. Someone else made a noise that might have been an uncomfortable chuckle. She pretended not to notice but inclined her head and stepped forward to receive her stamped copy of the agreement. She was surprised to find that her hands were shaking. It took her a moment to master turning the heavy knob on the large wooden door of the chamber, and then she pushed it too hard and nearly fell out into the antechamber. She caught her balance and then completed her humiliation by shutting the door so firmly that it slammed. The other applicants awaiting their turns looked at her with mild surprise and some disapproval.

  “Good luck,” she muttered to them, avoiding meeting their gazes, and hurried out of the room. The doors to the outside were even larger and heavier, but this time she was prepared for them. She managed to get through them and out into the air. Even so, it was not the relief she had hoped for. This far down the trunks, so close to the earth and the river, the air seemed thicker and more full of smells. The light was dimmer, too, and she felt as if she could not open her eyes wide enough to see clearly. She spotted her father waiting for her at the edge of the large wooden deck that surrounded the Concourse. She hurried toward him, grasping her contract. At more than arm’s length, waiting for her but obviously not with her father, stood Tats.

  She spoke in a voice intended to reach them both. “I got it. They stamped it. I’ll be part of the expedition to resettle the dragons.”

  Tats grinned at her, and as their eyes met, he waved his own rolled contract at her. Her father had been leaning with his back to the old-fashioned railing that surrounded the deck. He stood up as she approached and smiled. But her father’s voice was grave as he said quietly, “Congratulations. I know you wanted this. I hope it will be what you think it will be.”

  “I know it will!” Tats burst out, and her father gave him a look. He hadn’t been pleased to see Tats when they arrived, and although he had greeted him politely enough, it had been without the usual warmth he showed the boy. Thymara suspected that her mother had said something to her father about Tats’s earlier visit, and she had probably added significance to her report that simply didn’t exist. Thymara tried to mend the gulf by moving so that she leaned on the railing between them, linking all three of them into a group. She put her back to the Traders’ Concourse and looked out over the river and the swampy land that edged it. It felt odd to be so close to the ground. Behind her, she heard the Concourse door open and shut again. A boy’s voice proclaimed, “I’m signed up!” The members of the committee were not taking long to grant their approval stamps. She wondered if they would refuse anyone. She doubted it.

  “It’s hard to know what it will be, Father. But I know it will be me moving out and standing on my own, and beginning a life that belongs to me. That has to be good, no matter how difficult it is.”

  “As for me, I can’t wait to go see the dragons! They told me that as soon as they’ve signed up the rest of the group, we’ll be heading down there!”

  Startled by the stranger’s voice, Thymara jerked her head to look at him. He had come to lean on the railing by Tats. She had seen him earlier, when she had been waiting to go in for her interview. He was plainly Rain Wilds born, and marked almost as heavily as she was. Despite that, he was handsome in a strange and feral way. His eyes were the palest blue she had ever seen on a man, his hair thick and gleaming black. His black toe-claws clicked on the wood as he tapped a foot impatiently, jittering with nerves. “It’s going to be great!” he assured Tats, grinning widely. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Rapskal.”

  “They call me Tats,” Tats said, shaking his hand, and for the first time Thymara realized that probably wasn’t his given name, but something he’d been called since he was small. The stranger was grinning at her now and holding a hand out to her father, who took it, saying, “My name is Jerup. This is my daughter, Thymara.”

  Rapskal shook her father’s hand vigorously, and then asked gracelessly, “So are you going with the dragons, or only her? You look a bit old to be part of this group if you don’t mind my saying so. A bit old, and not near strange enough!” He laughed heartily at his own rough jest. Behind him, Tats scowled.

  Her father kept his aplomb. “I won’t be going. Only Thymara. But like you, I’ve noticed that most of those going are heavily marked by the Rain Wilds.”

  “Yes, that you could say!” Rapskal agreed cheerfully. “Either they think it makes us tougher, or they’re hoping the dragons and river will do what our parents didn’t do when we were born.” He swung his gaze to Tats. “Except for you, of course. You don’t even look Rain Wilds. Why are you going?” Rapskal seemed to excel at asking questions so directly that they seemed rude.

  Tats straightened up, standing half a head taller than the other boy. “Because it pays well. And I like dragons, and I’d like to have a bit of an adventure. And there’s nothing keeping me in Trehaug.”

  The boy nodded cheerily, the light scaling on his cheeks flashing as his lips parted in a smile. His teeth were good, a little too large for his mouth. They showed white in his constant grin. He looked, Thymara thought, like a boy on the verge of a sudden growth spurt. “Yes, yes! That’s me, too. Exactly.” He leaned over the railing, spat noisily, and then straightened. “Nothing for me in Trehaug for a long time now,” he added, and for the first time he looked less than optimistic. But an instant later, the light came back into his pale blue eyes and he declared, “I just got to build something better for myself. That’s all. What’s past is past. So I’m going to get me a dragon and be best friends with him. We’re going to fly together and hunt together and always, always be friends and never angry at each other. That’s what I want.”

  He nodded vigorously at his own fantasy. Tats looked incredulous. Thymara kept her mouth shut, horrified not by his wild dreams but how closely they paralleled her own yearnings. Flying with a dragon, as the Elderlings of old did. How foolish those fancies seemed when he spoke them aloud!

  Rapskal didn’t notice the strained silence. His eyes sparked suddenly with a new interest. “Look over there! I’ll bet that they’re looking for us. Time to go get our supply packs. And then down to the dragons! Come on!”

  He didn’t pause to see if they were following, but darted off to join the group forming about an officious-looking Trader in a yellow robe with a fat scroll in his hand. He was reading off names and handing out chits.

  “That Rapskal makes me tired just watching him,” Tats said quietly.

  “Reminds me of a darter lizard; never still for more than a minute,” Thymara agreed. She stared after the stranger, wondering if he were more intriguing or annoying. A strange mixture, she decided. She took a deep breath and added, “But he’s right. I think we’d best go find out what we’re supposed to do now.” She didn’t glance at her father as she crossed the deck. She had the oddest feeling of division; she couldn’t decide if she wished he would say good-bye now and leave her to whatever came next, or if she wanted him by her side through this process. All of the others seemed to be alone. No parent watched over Tats or Rapskal, and she saw only one other adult lurking at the edge of the clustered youths. For youths they were, for the most part. One or two of the Rain Wilders showing a contract and picking up a chit looked to be in their twenties, but just as many looked to be only fourteen or fifteen.

  “Some of them are
just children,” her father complained. He had followed at her heels.

  “And Rapskal was right. All of us are heavily marked. Except for Tats.” She did glance at her father now. “And that explains why most of us are young,” she said simply. Neither she nor her father needed to be reminded that those who were heavily marked from a young age seldom lived long into their thirties.

  Her father caught her wrist. “Like lambs to the slaughter,” he said quietly, and she wondered at his strange words and how tightly he held on to her. Then he added, “Thymara, you don’t have to do this. Stay home. I know that your mother makes things difficult for you, but I—”

  She cut him off before he could say anything more. “Papa, I do have to do this! I signed a contract. What do we always say? A Trader is only as good as his word. And I’ve done more than just given my word, I’ve signed my name to it.” She thought of her dreams of a dragon bonding with her. She would not speak those. Rapskal’s extravagant fancy still echoed in her mind. She took a deeper breath and added pragmatically, “And we both know that I do need to do this. Just so I can say that I stepped up and did something with my life. I love being your daughter, but that can’t be all I ever am. I need to—” She groped for words. “I need to measure myself against the world. Prove that I can stand up to it and be something.”

  “You’re already something,” he insisted, but the strength had gone out of his argument. When she put her hand over his, he released his grip on her wrist. She stopped where she was. Tats, ahead of them, looked back curiously. She shook her head at him slightly and he moved on.

  “We should say good-bye here,” she said suddenly.

  “I can’t.” Her father seemed horrified at the idea.

  “Papa, I have to go. And this is a good time for us to part. I know you’ll worry about me. I know I’ll miss you. But let’s part now, at the beginning of my adventure. Tell me ‘good luck’ and let me go.”