by Robin Hobb
“But—” he said, and then suddenly he hugged her tight. He whispered hoarsely into her ear. “Go on then, Thymara. Go on, and measure yourself. It won’t prove anything to me because I already know your measure, and I’ve never doubted you. But go find out what you have to find out. And then come back to me. Please. Don’t let this be the last time I see you.”
“Papa, don’t be silly. Of course I’ll come back,” she said, but at his words a prickle of dread had run up her spine. No, I won’t. The thought was so strong that she couldn’t voice it. So she hugged him tightly, and then, as he released her, she pushed her small pouch of money into his hand. “You keep this safe for me, until I come back,” she told him. Then, before he could react to that, she turned and darted from his embrace. She wouldn’t need the money on their expedition. And perhaps, if she never came back, it would be helpful to him. Let him hold it now and think it meant a promise to return.
“Good luck!” he called after her, and “Thanks!” she called back. She saw Tats look at her father in surprise. He turned as if he, too, would go back to say his farewells, but at that moment, the man with the scroll demanded of him, “Do you want your chit or not? You won’t get your supply pack without it!”
“Of course I want it,” Tats declared, all but snatching it out of his hand.
The man shook his head at him. “You’re a fool,” he said quietly. “Look around you, boy. You don’t belong with these others.”
“You don’t know where I belong,” Tats told him fiercely. Then he looked past Thymara and asked, “Where did your father go?”
“Home,” she said. And she avoided his eyes as she stepped up to the man, showed her contract, and said, “I’ll need my supply pack chit now.”
THE SUPPLY PACKS were barely worthy of the name. The canvas bags were roughly sewn and treated with some sort of wax to weatherproof them. Inside were an adequate blanket, a water skin, a cheap metal plate and a spoon, a sheath knife, and packets of cracker-bread, dried meat, and dried fruit. “It makes me glad I brought my own supplies from home,” Thymara commented thoughtlessly, and then winced at the look on Tats’s face.
“Better than nothing,” he commented gruffly, and Rapskal, who had attached himself to them like a tick on a monkey, added enthusiastically, “My blanket’s blue. My favorite color. How lucky is that?”
“They’re all blue,” Tats replied, and Rapskal nodded again.
“Like I said. I’m lucky my favorite color is blue.”
Thymara tried not to roll her eyes. It was well known that some who were heavily marked by the Rain Wilds had mental problems as well. Rapskal might be a bit simple, or simply have an aggressively optimistic outlook. Right now, his cheerfulness bolstered her courage even as his chattiness grated on her nerves. She was baffled by how easily he had attached himself to her and Tats. She was accustomed to people approaching her with caution and maintaining a distance. Even the customers who regularly sought out her family at the market kept her at arm’s length. But here was Rapskal, right at her elbow. Every time she turned to glance at him, he grinned like a twig monkey. His dancing blue eyes seemed to say that they shared a secret.
They squatted in a circle on a patch of bare earth, twelve marked Rain Wilders, most in their teens, and Tats. They’d come all the way down to the ground to receive their supply packs. The contents, they’d been told, should sustain them for the first few days of their journey. They’d be accompanied upriver by a barge that would carry several professional hunters with experience in scouting unfamiliar territory and more supplies both for humans and dragons, but each dragon keeper should attempt to learn to subsist on his own resources as well as maintain his dragon’s health as quickly as possible. Thymara was skeptical. As she studied those who would become her companions, she speculated that few of them had ever had to find their own food, let alone consider feeding a dragon. Uneasiness churned in her belly.
“They told us we were to help our dragons find food. But there’s nothing in here that’s useful for hunting,” Tats observed worriedly.
A girl of about twelve edged a bit closer to their group. “I’ve heard they’ll give us fishing tackle and a pole spear before we depart,” she said shyly.
Thymara smiled at her. The girl was skinny, with thin hanks of blond hair dangling from a pink-scaled scalp. Her eyes were a coppery brown, probably on the turn to pure copper, and her mouth was nearly lipless. Thymara glanced at her hands. Perfectly ordinary nails. Her heart went out to the girl abruptly; she’d probably seemed almost normal when she was born and had only started to change as she edged into puberty. That happened sometimes. Thymara was grateful that she had always known what she was; she’d never had real dreams of growing up to marry and have children. This child probably had. “I’m Thymara, and this is Tats. He’s Rapskal. What’s your name?”
“Sylve.” The girl eyed Rapskal, who grinned at her. She edged close to Thymara and asked even more quietly, “Are we the only girls in the group?”
“I thought I saw another girl earlier. About fifteen. Blond.”
“I think you might have seen my sister. She came with me, to give me courage.” She cleared her throat. “And to take the advance on my wages home. Money won’t be any good to me where we’re going, and my mother is very sick. It might get her the medicines she needs.” The girl spoke with unselfconscious pride. Thymara nodded. The thought that she and Sylve might be the only females unnerved her a bit. She covered it by grinning and saying, “Well, at least we’ll have each other for intelligent conversation!”
“Hey!” Tats protested, while Rapskal peered at her and said, “What? I don’t get it.”
“Nothing to get,” she reassured him. Then she turned to Sylve and rolled her eyes in Rapskal’s direction. The other girl grinned.
Sylve sprang suddenly to her feet. “Look! They’re coming for us, to take us to see the dragons.”
Thymara came to her feet more slowly. Her pack from home was already on her back. She slung the supply pack they’d issued her over one shoulder. “Well. I guess we should go,” she said quietly. Involuntarily, she glanced up the trunk toward the canopy top and home. She was surprised but not shocked to see that her father had lingered and was watching her from the wide staircase that wound up the tree’s immense trunk. She waved at him a final time and made a small shooing motion for him to go home.
Tats had followed the direction of her glance. He waved wildly at her father and then impetuously shouted up to him, “Don’t worry, Jerup! I’ll watch over her!”
“You’ll watch over me?” she scoffed, uttering the words loud enough that she hoped they’d reach her father’s ears. Then, with a final wave, she turned and trooped after the others. They were headed for the river dock, and the boats that would carry them upstream from Trehaug to Cassarick and the dragons’ hatching grounds.
“HE DOESN’T FEEL right to me.”
Leftrin scratched his cheek. He needed to shave, but lately his skin had begun to scale more on his cheekbones and the angle of his jaw. Scales he could live with, if they’d hurry up and grow in. Whiskers and a beard annoyed him. Unfortunately, trying to shave near scales usually resulted in lots of nasty little cuts.
“He’s just not his old self.”
The two comments in swift succession was as good as a speech coming from Swarge. Leftrin shrugged at the tillerman. “He’s bound to be changed. We knew that going in. He knew it and accepted it. It was what he wanted.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Of course I’m sure. Tarman’s my ship, the liveship of my family. The bond is there, Swarge. I know what he wants.”
“I been on his decks close to fifteen years. No stranger to him myself. He seems, well, anxious. Waiting.”
“I think I know what that’s about.” Leftrin stared out over the ship’s wake in the river. Overhead, the stars shone in a wide path of open sky. To either side of them, the tall trees of the Rain Wilds leaned in curiously. It was a peaceful time.
From the riverbanks came the usual night sounds of creatures and birds. Water purled past the Tarman’s hull as the barge made his way steadily upriver. From the deckhouse, yellow lanternlight shone. The crew was at its evening meal. The clack of crockery, the mutter of conversation, and the smell of fresh coffee drifted out to him. Bellin said something, and Skelly laughed, a warm and gentle sound in the night. Big Eider’s chuckle was a deep undercurrent to their merriment.
Leftrin ran his hands slowly over Tarman’s railing. He nodded to his tillerman. “He’s fine. He knew there would be changes.”
“I been having dreams.”
Leftrin nodded. “Me, too.”
A slow smile spread across the tillerman’s face. “Wish I could fly.”
“So does he,” Leftrin agreed. “So do we.”
“WHY DID YOU have to book passage on this ship?” Sedric demanded abruptly.
Alise looked at him in surprise. They stood together on the deck, leaning on the railing and watching the thick trunks of the immense Rain Wild trees slip past them in a never-ending parade. Some ancient giants were as big around as watchtowers. Strange, how they made the other behemoths look small. Draperies of vine and curtains of lacy moss hung from their outstretched branches, weaving the trees together in a seemingly impenetrable wall. Beneath the canopy of foliage and moss, the forest floor looked swampy and dismal, a land of endless shadow and secretive light.
She had come out on the deck to enjoy the short span of daylight hours. Although the river flowed through a wide swampy valley, the forest that lined the banks of the Rain Wild River was so tall that the tops of the trees formed a leafy horizon. Above them the stripe of blue sky that showed seemed a narrow ribbon even though Alise knew it as almost as wide as the wandering gray flow of the river.
She had been surprised when Sedric came to join her. She’d scarcely seen him since they left Bingtown. He’d even been taking his meals in his cabin. He had been quiet and withdrawn for most of their journey, more subdued and solemn than she’d ever seen him. Obviously, he was not relishing his duty. For her part, she had been astounded to discover the companion that her husband had arranged for her. It made no sense to her. If he wanted to protect her reputation, why send her off chaperoned by his male secretary? Like many things that Hest arbitrarily decided for her life, he hadn’t deigned to explain it to her.
“I’m putting Sedric at your disposal for your Rain Wild folly,” he’d announced abruptly on entering the breakfast room the morning after their confrontation. Standing, he had helped himself to food and tea. “Use him however you wish,” he’d continued. As Sedric entered, Hest hadn’t even glanced at him, and only added, “He’s to obey your every command. Protect you. Entertain you. Whatever you wish of him. I’m sure you’ll find him delightful.” Those last words were uttered with such disdain that she’d flinched.
And then Hest had left the room. As she’d turned toward Sedric in confusion she’d been shocked to see how dejected he appeared. Her efforts at conversation as he picked at his breakfast had faltered and died.
Hest hadn’t even waited for her departure date before embarking on another trading jaunt of his own. He’d filled the house with his busyness and invited two of his younger friends to accompany him. In the days before his departure, he’d kept Sedric dashing about on errands, securing papers for passage, picking up a new wardrobe that Hest had ordered, and procuring a stock of excellent wine and viands to accompany him on his journey. Sedric’s obvious unhappiness with the situation had made her feel sorry for him, and she had done her best to make her own arrangements for travel, to spare him a bit of time for himself. Yet she could not regret her decision finally to make this journey. And strange as it was that Hest had chosen Sedric to accompany her, she could not have been more delighted with the prospect. The idea of having her old friend to herself for a time while on an adventure to see dragons had filled her with cheery anticipation. She had hoped to find him equally enthused.
But in the weeks before they left, and especially after Hest had departed, Sedric had seemed gloomy, even uncharacteristically snappish with her. He’d obeyed Hest’s directive, arriving promptly at breakfast every day to report travel tasks completed and request his duties for the day. They’d spoken, but not had conversations. A few days before their departure, he’d begged some time to himself, to dine with one of Hest’s Chalcedean trading partners who had arrived unexpectedly in Bingtown. She’d been glad to let him have the evening to himself, in the hopes it would bolster his spirits. But the next morning, when she asked him if his meeting with Begasti Cored had gone well, he had quickly changed the subject to the details of her own journey, and he found a dozen tasks for himself to do that day.
Once they’d boarded the Paragon, she had hoped his spirits would lift. Instead, he’d spent the early days of their journey sequestered in his cabin, pleading seasickness. She’d doubted that excuse; he’d traveled so much with Hest that surely he must have the stomach for it by now. Nonetheless, she’d left him in peace and occupied herself with exploring the liveship and trying to get to know the crew. So she had been cheered when Sedric joined her on deck that day, and pleased that he now spoke to her, even if the question was rueful rather than engaged.
“It was the only ship with room for two passengers that was leaving at the right time,” she admitted.
“Ah.” He pondered that for a moment. “So when you told Hest you had already booked passage, that was a lie?”
His words were flat, not really an accusation, but they still stung. She retreated but did not surrender. “Not a lie, exactly. I’d made my plans, even if I hadn’t yet purchased my tickets.” She looked out over the roiled gray water. “If I hadn’t said I was going, he’d have ignored me again. Or put me off. I had to do it, Sedric.” She turned to face him. Despite his glum expression, he looked rather jaunty in a white shirt and blue coat. The sea wind made his uncovered hair dance on his brow. She smiled at him and offered sincerely, “I’m sorry that you got caught up in my quarrel with Hest. I know this isn’t a journey you’d choose.”
“No. Nor would I choose a jinxed ship to make it on.”
“Jinxed ship? This one?”
“The Paragon? Don’t look at me like that, Alise. Everyone in Bingtown knows this liveship and his reputation. He rolled and killed his entire crew, what, five times?” Sedric shook his head at her. “And you book us as passengers aboard him for a trip up the Rain Wild River.”
Alise turned away from him. She was suddenly very aware of the railing under her hands. It was made of wizardwood, as they used to call it, as was a great deal of the ship’s hull, and his entire figurehead. The Paragon was a wakened liveship, that is, he was self-aware and his figurehead interacted with his crew, supercargo, and dock crews just as if he were human. She had heard that liveships were conscious of every word spoken aboard them, and certainly the very light thrumming of the wood beneath her hands made him seem alive. So she spoke her words firmly. “It happened, but I am certain it was not five times. That was long ago, Sedric. From all I have heard, he is a changed ship now, and a much happier one.” She shot her companion a look that begged him to either be silent or change the subject. He leaned back from her, raising one well-shaped eyebrow in confusion. She continued quickly, “Knowing what we know now about the so-called wizardwood, I cannot blame him for anything he did. Indeed, to me it is a wonder that the liveships recovered so well from finally grasping exactly what they were and how they had been created. What we Traders did was unforgivable. In their place, I doubt if I would be so gracious.”
“I don’t understand. Why should they resent us?”
Alise was feeling more uncomfortable by the instant. She felt as if she were lecturing Sedric for the Paragon’s benefit. “Sedric! The Rain Wilders who found the dormant dragons in their cases, sometimes incorrectly called cocoons, had no idea what they were. They thought they had found immense logs of very well-seasoned wood, the only sort of wood that seemed imperv
ious to the acid waters of the Rain Wild River. So they sawed that wood up into planks and built ships from it. And if, in the center of those ‘logs’ they found something that obviously was not part of a tree, they simply discarded it. The half-formed dragons were dumped from their cases, to perish.”
“But surely they were dead already, having been so long in the chill and the dark.”
“Tintaglia wasn’t. All it required for her to hatch was some sunlight and a bit of warmth.” She paused, and, unbidden, a lump rose in her throat. Her words were heartfelt as she said, “If only we had understood earlier, dragons would have been restored to the world so much sooner! As it was, we denied them their true shapes. Instead, we fastened planks made from their flesh into ships. Exposed to enough sunlight and interacting intimately with familiar minds, there was a sort of metamorphosis. And they awoke, not as dragons, but as sailing ships.” She fell silent, overcome at what humans, in their ignorance, had done.
“Alise, my old friend, I think you torment yourself needlessly.” Sedric’s tone was gentle rather than condescending, but she still sensed that he was more puzzled by her reaction than stirred to sympathy for the aborted dragons. She felt surprise at that. He was usually so sensitive that his lack of empathy for either the liveships or the dragons puzzled her.
“Ma’am?”
The man had come up behind her so quietly that she jumped at his voice. She turned to look at the young deckhand. “Hello, Clef. Did you need something?”
Clef nodded, and then tossed his head to flip sandy, weather-baked hair from his eyes. “Yes, ma’am. But not me, not exactly. It’s the ship, Paragon. He’d like a word with you, he says.”
There was a faint accent to his words that she couldn’t quite place. And in her time aboard the ship, she hadn’t quite decided what Clef’s status was. He’d been introduced to her as a deckhand, but the rest of the crew treated him more like the son of the captain. Captain Trell’s wife, Althea, mercilessly and affectionately ordered him about, and the captain’s small son who randomly and dangerously roved the ship’s deck and rigging regarded Clef as a large, moving toy. As a result, she smiled at him more warmly than she would have toward an ordinary servant as she clarified, “You said the ship wishes to speak to me? Do you mean the ship’s figurehead?”