Rain Wilds Chronicles

by Robin Hobb

  Life aboard the barge had become very strange for him. He kept to his compartment as much as he could. Yet there was no solitude for him. Even when the dragon was not intruding into his thoughts, he had too much company. Alise was racked with guilt and could not seem to leave him alone. Every morning, every afternoon, and every evening before she retired, she came to call on him. Her visits were brief and uncomfortable. He didn’t want to hear her chatter enthusiastically about her day, and there was nothing that he dared share with her, yet there was no graceful way to shut her up and send her out of his room.

  The boy was the second worst. Sedric could not understand Davvie’s fascination with him. Why couldn’t he just bring his meal tray and then leave? Instead, the boy watched him avidly, eager to perform the most menial service, even offering to wash his shirts and socks, an offer that made him cringe. Twice he’d been rude to the boy, not because he enjoyed it, but because it was the only way to get the lad to leave. Each time, Davvie had been so obviously crushed by Sedric’s rejection that Sedric had felt like a beast.

  He turned the vial of dragon blood that he held, watching again how it swirled and gleamed even in the dim cabin. Even when the vial was still in his hand, the red liquid inside it shifted in a slow dance. It held its own light, and red on red, the threads of crimson inside the glass twined and twirled about each other. Temptation or obsession? he asked himself, and had no answer. The blood drew him. He held a king’s ransom in his hand, if he could but get it to Chalced. Yet the possessing of it seemed very important to him now. Did he want to taste it again? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he wanted to experience that again. He feared that if he gave in to his reluctant compulsion, he would find himself even more tightly joined to the dragon. Or dragons.

  In late afternoon, when he’d ventured out on the deck for a short breath of cool air, he had heard Mercor calling to the other dragons. He called two of them by name. “Sestican. Ranculos. Stop your quarreling. Save your strength to battle the river. Tomorrow is another day’s journey.” He’d stood there, the dragon’s words shimmering through his mind. He’d heard the words, as clear as could be. He tried to remember if he’d heard the dragon’s trumpeting or whuffling that carried the thought, but he couldn’t. The dragons spoke to one another, reasoned with one another, just as men did. He’d felt a whirl of vertigo that combined with his guilt. Heartsick and dizzy, he’d staggered back to his cabin and shut the door tight. “I can’t go on like this. I can’t,” he’d said aloud to his tiny space. And almost immediately, he’d felt a worried query from the copper dragon. She sensed his agitation. And was concerned for him.

  No, I’m fine. Go away. Leave me alone! He’d pushed at her and she’d retreated, saddened by his harshness. “I can’t go on like this,” he’d repeated, and longed for a day when he had known that no one else shared his thoughts. He tipped the vial of blood again. If he drank it all, would it kill him?

  If he killed the dragon, would his mind be his own private territory again?

  There was a heavy knock at his door. “Wait!” he shouted, terror and anger making his voice louder than he’d intended. There was no time to hide the blood properly. He wrapped it in a sweaty shirt and stuffed it under his blanket. “Who is it?” he called belatedly.

  “It’s Carson. I’d like a word with you, please.”

  Carson. He was the other person who seemed unable to leave Sedric alone. The hunters were gone during the day, doing what they were paid to do. But if Sedric arose early or ventured into the galley in the evening, Carson always seemed to appear. Twice he’d come to Sedric’s room when Davvie was there, to remind the boy that he wasn’t to bother Sedric. Each time, the boy had left, but not graciously. And each time, Carson had lingered. He’d tried to engage Sedric in conversation, asking him what it was like to live in a civilized place like Bingtown and if he’d ever traveled to other cities. Sedric had answered each of his queries briefly, but Carson hadn’t seemed to realize he was being brusque. The hunter continued to treat him with gentle courtesy that was very at odds with the man’s rough clothing and harsh vocation.

  The last time he had come and shooed the boy away, Carson had taken the boy’s seat on the end of Sedric’s trunk and proceeded to tell him about himself. He lived a lonely life. No wife, no children, just a man on his own, taking care of himself and living as he pleased. He’d taken on Davvie, his nephew, because he foresaw the same sort of life for him, if Sedric took his drift. Sedric hadn’t. He’d finished eating and then made a great show of yawning.

  “I suppose you’re still tired from being ill. I’d hoped you were feeling better by now,” Carson had commented. “I’ll leave you to rest.” Then, with the precision of a man accustomed to caring for himself, Carson had tidied Sedric’s supper things back onto the tray and whisked them away. As he folded up the square of cotton that passed for a napkin on the barge, he’d looked at Sedric and given him an odd smile. “Sit still,” he’d warned him and then, with the corner of the napkin, he’d dabbed something off the edge of Sedric’s mouth. “It’s plain you’re not used to having a bit of a beard. They take caring for. I think you should go back to shaving, myself.” He’d paused and glanced meaningfully around the untidy room. “And bathing. And caring for your things. I know you’re not happy to be here. I don’t blame you. But that doesn’t mean you should stop being who you are.”

  Then he’d departed, leaving Sedric feeling both shocked and affronted. He’d found his small mirror and leaned closer to his candle to inspect his face. Yes. There had been soup at the corner of his mouth, caught in the short whiskers that had sprouted there. It had been some days since he’d shaved, or washed thoroughly. He studied himself in the mirror, noting that he looked haggard. There were dark circles under his eyes above his unshaven cheeks. His hair was lank and uncombed. The mere thought of going to the galley to heat some water and shave and wash wearied him. How shocked Hest would be to see him in such a state!

  But somehow that thought had not spurred him to clean himself up, but to sit back on his bed and stare up into the darkness. It didn’t matter what Hest would think if he saw him like this, sweaty and unshaven, in a room littered with laundry. It was becoming more and more unlikely that Hest would ever see him again at all. And that was something that Hest had caused, with his stupid vengeance in sending him off to nursemaid Alise. Did Hest even think of him? Wonder what had delayed their return? He doubted it.

  He had begun to doubt many things about Hest.

  He’d crawled onto his pallet, a bed more fit for a dog than a man, and slept the rest of the day away.

  Another bang on his door jerked his mind back to the present. “Sedric? Are you all right? Answer, or I’m coming in.”

  “I’m fine.” Sedric took the one step he needed to cross the room and flipped the hook on the door clear. “You may come in, if you must.”

  Either the man didn’t hear the lack of a welcome in his voice or he ignored it. Carson opened the door and looked about the dim cabin. “Seems to me that light and air might make you feel better than lying about in the close dark,” he observed.

  “Neither light nor air will cure what ails me,” Sedric muttered. He glanced at the tall, bearded hunter and then away. Carson seemed to fill the small cabin with his presence. He had a broad forehead that sheltered wide dark eyes beneath heavy brows. His close-cropped beard was the same ginger as his rough hair. His cheeks were wind reddened, and his lips were ruddy and well-defined. He seemed to feel Sedric appraising him, for he smoothed his hair self-consciously.

  “Did you need something?” Sedric asked. The words came out more abrupt than he intended. The friendliness in Carson’s eyes suddenly became more guarded.

  “Actually, yes, yes I do.” He shut the door behind him, dimming the room again, cast about for something to sit down on, and perched, uninvited, on the end of the trunk. “Look, I’ll say this bluntly and then be out of your way. I think you’ll understand; well, I’ll make you understand,
one way or another. Davvie is just a boy. I won’t have him hurt, and I won’t have him used. His dad and I were like brothers, and I could see the way Davvie was going a long time before his mother did. If she does even now, which I doubt.” The man gave a short bark of laughter and glanced over at Sedric as if expecting a response. When he said nothing, Carson looked back down at his big hands. He rubbed them together as if his knuckles pained him. “So, you take my drift?” he asked Sedric.

  “You’re like a father to Davvie?” Sedric hazarded.

  Carson barked another laugh at that. “As much as I’m ever likely to be a father to anyone!” he declared, and again, he looked at Sedric as if expecting some sort of response. Sedric just looked back at him.

  “I see,” the hunter said, and his voice went softer and more serious. “I understand. It goes no further, I promise you that. I’ll speak my piece plain and then be gone. Davvie’s just a youngster. You’re probably the handsomest man he’s ever seen, and the boy is infatuated. I’ve tried to make him see that he’s much too young and that you’re way above his social class. But puppy love can blind a boy. I’ll be doing my best to keep him clear of you, and I’d appreciate it if you kept him at a distance. Once he realizes that there’s nothing here for him, he’ll get over it quick enough. Might even hate you a bit, but you know how that is. But if you mock him, or belittle him to the other men aboard, I’ll take issue with you.”

  Sedric stared at him, his face like stone. His mind raced, filling in the meaning behind his words.

  Carson met Sedric’s eyes flatly. “And if I’ve misjudged you, and you’re the kind who would take advantage of a boy, I’ll come after you. Do you understand me?”

  “Very well,” Sedric replied. Carson’s meaning finally penetrated to his mind, and he was torn between shock and embarrassment. His cheeks burned; he was glad of the dimness of the room. The hunter’s eyes were still fixed on his. He looked aside. “What you said about belittling the boy to the crew. I would never do that. I ask the same of you. As for Davvie’s…infatuation, well.” He swallowed. “I didn’t even see it. Even if I had, I wouldn’t take advantage of it. He’s so young. Almost a child still.”

  Carson was nodding. A sad smile edged his mouth. “I’m glad I didn’t read you wrong. You didn’t look the type to take advantage of a youngster, but you never know. Especially a boy like Davvie who seems to put himself in harm’s way. A few months ago, in Trehaug, he read a young man the wrong way and said the wrong thing. And just for the offer, the fellow hit him twice in the face before the boy could even stand up. And that left me no choice but to get involved, and I’ve a temper. I’m afraid that we won’t be welcome back in that tavern for a long time. It’s one reason I signed us up for this expedition. I thought to get him away from town and temptation for a few months. Let him grow a bit of discretion and self-control. Thought it might keep him out of trouble, but as soon as he set eyes on you, he was gone. And who could blame him? Well…” He stood up abruptly. “I’ll be going now. The boy won’t be bringing your meals anymore. I thought that was a bad idea from the start, but it was hard to give a reason why he shouldn’t. Now I’ll tell Leftrin that I need him up earlier and at my side if we’re to keep the dragons fed. I’ll be taking him out of here earlier than usual. You may have to fetch your own grub. Or maybe Alise will bring it to you.” He turned and put his hand on the door. “You work for her husband, right? That’s what she told us at dinner the first night I met her. That usually you go everywhere he does, and she can’t imagine why he sent you off with her, or how he’s managing without you. She feels real bad about that, you know? That you’re here and so unhappy about it.”

  “I know.”

  “But my guess is that there’s a lot she doesn’t know, and another reason that you’re unhappy. Am I right?”

  Sedric couldn’t quite get his breath. “I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”

  Carson risked a glance over his shoulder. “Maybe not. But I’ve known Leftrin a long, long time. Never seen him gone on a woman like he is on Alise. And she looks pretty gone to me, too. Seems to me that if her husband has been able to find a bit of joy in his life, maybe she deserves the same. And maybe Leftrin does, too. They might find that, if she felt free to look for it.”

  He lifted the catch and began to ease the door open. Sedric found his voice. “Are you going to tell her?”

  The big man didn’t reply at first. He remained with the door ajar, staring out. Evening was deepening toward night. Finally he shook his bushy head. “No,” he said with a sigh. “It’s not my place. But I think you should.” He moved like a large cat as he slipped out of the door and shut it firmly behind him, leaving Sedric alone with his thoughts.

  THEY HAD TRAVELED longer than usual that day, through a misty, dirty rain that made her skin gritty and itchy. For the latter half of the day, the banks of the river had been unwelcoming, thick with a prickly vine. The upper reaches of the dangling lianas, held up to the sunlight by the stretching tree branches, had been thick with scarlet fruit. The incessant rain jeweled the leaves and fruit and freckled the river’s face. Harrikin had pulled his boat in to shore to try to harvest some of the fruit but had got only scratches and mud for his efforts. Thymara hadn’t even attempted it. She knew from experience that the only way to win that fruit was to come at it from above, climbing down to it. Even then, it was a scratchy, precarious business. She decided that the time it would take her to find a pathway to the tops of the trees would put her and Rapskal far behind the other boats. “Perhaps tonight, when we stop,” she suggested to him in response to his longing glances at the dangling orbs.

  But as the light faded from the sky and the shores continued to be inhospitable, she resigned herself to a night aboard the Tarman, with hard bread and a bit of salt fish as her only guaranteed meal. The dragons with their scaled skin could push close to the base of the trees and spend a drier but uncomfortable night if they must. She and the other keepers did not have that option. Her latest experience had proven that to her. The scaling on her skin might be increasing, but it was not the mail the dragons wore. Mercor’s teeth had left their marks despite his efforts to be gentle. It had been embarrassing to have Sylve see how scaled she had become as the girl helped her dress the scratches his fangs had left on her and the large scrape on her left arm. Most of her injuries had been superficial, but one score at the top of her back was still sore and hot to the touch. It ached and she longed to pull her boat in to shore and rest for the night. But the dragons plainly hoped to find a better landing, for they continued their migration, and the keepers had no choice but to follow.

  The dragons were darker silhouettes against the gleaming water when she and Rapskal caught up with them that night. They were scattered on a long broad wash of silty mud that curved out into the river. The sandbar was a relatively young one, bereft of trees. A few bushes and scrolls of grass banks grew down its spine. It offered a plentiful supply of firewood in the form of an immense beached log and a tangle of lesser driftwood banked against it. It would do.

  A hard push with her paddle drove the nose of her boat onto the muddy shore. Rapskal shipped his paddle and jumped out to seize the painter and drag the boat farther ashore. With a groan, Thymara stored her own paddle and unfolded herself stiffly. The constant paddling had strengthened her and built her endurance, but she was still weary and aching at the end of each day.

  Rapskal seemed almost unscathed by the extralong exertion. “Time to get a fire going,” he announced cheerily. “And dry off. I hope the hunters got some meat. I’m awful sick of fish.”

  “Meat would be good,” she agreed. “And a good fire.” All around her, the other keepers were pulling their boats ashore and climbing wearily out.

  “Let’s hope,” he replied, and without a backward glance he scampered off into the darkness.

  She sighed as she watched him go. His unfailing optimism and energy wearied her almost as much as they cheered her. With a sigh of an
noyance, she busied herself with tidying Rapskal’s scattered gear from the bottom of the boat. She arranged her own pack so that her blanket and eating gear were on top and then followed him. A fire was being constructed in the lee of the big log. The log would provide fuel as well as trap and reflect the heat. Small flames were already starting to blossom. Rapskal excelled at setting fires and never seemed to tire of it. His fire-starting kit was always in a small pouch at his throat. The endless misting rain sizzled as it met the reaching flames.

  “Tired?” Tats’s voice came from the darkness to her left.

  “Beyond tired,” she replied. “Will this journey never be over? I’ve forgotten what it is like to be in one place for more than a night or two.”

  “It’s worse than that. Once we get wherever we’re going with the dragons, eventually we’ll have to make the trip back downriver.”

  She was still for a moment. “You’d leave your dragon?” she asked him quietly. She had still not made amends with Sintara, still ached when she thought of the dragon. She cared for the dragon as she always had, grooming her and finding extra food for her, but they spoke little now. It made the contrast sharper when she saw the fondness that some of the other keepers shared with their dragons. Tats and Fente were close. Or she had thought they were.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. “I don’t know. It depends, I suppose. Sometimes she seems to need me, to even be fond of me. Other times, well—”

  Even as she shrugged away from his hands, her body registered how good it felt to have his warm touch on her sore muscles. He stepped back from her, acknowledging her rebuke. Like a rising flood of warm water, the image of Greft’s and Jerd’s tangled bodies washed through her. For a blink of time, she thought of turning to face him, dared to imagine running her hands down his warm, bare back. But the next image that jolted her was the thought of his hands sliding over her scaled skin. Like petting a warm lizard, she mocked herself, and folded her lips tightly to keep from crying out at the unfairness of it. Greft and Jerd might be able to indulge in the forbidden, but perhaps it was only because each had found a fellow outcast as a partner. Neither would be repelled by how the Rain Wilds had touched the other. That would not be the case with someone like Tats. He came from the Tattooed folk; he had not been born here. His skin was as smooth as a Bingtown girl’s, unmarked by wattles or scaling. Unlike her own.