by Jane Yolen
However, he reasoned, if he went directly to the pits, he might be able to find out where his dragons were, even if he didn't find them there. Trainers were great gossips. Once he found the brood, he could use them as his eyes and ears. Together, they could find Akki.
He had to make a decision now; Akki's life could depend upon it. For a long moment he couldn't move, trying to decide. He thought about taking out one of the coins and flipping it. Heads, he'd go to the pits; tails, he'd head to the warehouses. Anything to keep from having to make the decision himself. He was so afraid of being wrong.
But he'd already decided. He'd go to the pits. If the owners and trainers couldn't tell him anything, surely the dragons could. And with a dragon or two by his side, he'd be ready to face down the kidnapper, gun or no gun.
So, he'd head toward the pits. That would give him two advantages—the dragons, and Dark-After. With those advantages, he could then tackle the warehouse district and the rest of The Rokk if needed.
***
JAKKIN ALTERNATELY trotted and fast-walked the rest of the way, always sending to Akki at each new block. Just in case, he reminded himself, just in case. He only stopped once, for a quick sip from the thermos of tea.
It was a straight shot to the first of the pits. He saw that it was smaller even than the Krakkow minor pit, though it looked like a miniature of the lost Rokk Major, being a round two-story building, with stalls underground, or so he supposed. There was a light illuminating the central bubble of the fighting pit, but even as he watched, that light went out. They were already shutting things down for Dark-After. Trainers and dragons alike would get a long sleep and rise early.
He began to hear a massive twittering in his head. All the dragons were sending back and forth, as oblivious to the humans' thoughts as the humans were to theirs. Most of the trainers would sleep next to their worms, for warmth as well as for safety, without knowing or caring that the worms could talk back and forth without making a sound.
For the first time, Jakkin wondered if giving everybody the ability to speak to dragons was actually a good idea, after all. Everyone on Austar could be a trainer, then. No one could earn his way to becoming a dragon master. And they'd never shut up!
Then he shook his head, laughing at himself. It still would take skill and care to teach a dragon to fight well in a pit, and the dragons could become true equal partners, even choosing their own trainers. Of course, there will always be dragons like Sssargon—self-involved, oblivious. And sweet nonfighters like Sssasha. And dragons like the triplets, who—well, who knows what they really think or feel.
He reminded himself that a Heart's Blood came along maybe once in a lifetime. Not everyone could have handled her. He'd been a good trainer, the right one for her, but without her spirit and love, he knew he would never have had such great success in the pit.
The twitterings grew louder. Fearing he would miss the brood's call when it came, he sent a huge black storm to the dragons, blanketing them with dark, driving rain for the moment. As the storm subsided and the dragons began to send again, he listened carefully for any voices he recognized. But these dragons were all strangers.
The second and third pits were the same: already darkened and shutting down for the night. He'd have to make a show of staying over at the fourth pit, then try to sneak away during Dark-After. He'd go out an unwatched door or window. That way he'd have the streets of The Rokk to himself and maybe—just maybe—he'd be able to rouse Akki.
***
HE REACHED the fourth and smallest pit just as the moons began their chase across the sky. He couldn't imagine the pit housing more than a dozen dragons. In fact, all four pits together were only half the size Rokk Major had been. Because of the embargo, and no more rocketship bettors visiting the planet, there was no need for a huge pit. At least, not right now.
Suddenly a familiar sending threaded into his brain, like a theme, a phrase. A rainbow of reds. Just as suddenly, he realized he couldn't be sure who it was. He'd need to check on each dragon in their stalls. But at least it was a lead, the first one he'd had so far.
Ducking through a small, unlocked door—obviously for trainers, not dragons—he found himself in the lower part of the pit, filled with a line of wooden stalls, the rest of the building rising high above him into a whitewashed dome.
With great and sudden force, the musky smell of dragons and the hundreds of bundles of wort hit him, wrapping around him like an old and comfortable blanket. He could hear the sound of at least a dozen dragons chewing mindlessly, and the casual talk of the trainers trading tips on how to back a winner or gossiping about dragons and trainers from other pits.
It was all so familiar, he almost forgot why he was there. Almost.
"Sssargon?" he sent, with a tentative landscape, the oasis in blues and tans. "Sssasha?"
"Hmmmmm." It was only a contented thrum, but definitely one of them. The return sending added the wort patch to the side of the pool.
"Akki is in danger." The sending was an outline of Akki, bright red, laced with blood.
The word danger must have leaked, because all at once, dragons throughout the area stood, their heads suddenly rising above the open stalling. They began to stomp and hough through their noses, some even trailing smoke and alarming their trainers, who obviously thought they'd gotten the worms all settled for the night.
Jakkin could sense something else, not sendings exactly, but as if a couple of bright lights that had been illuminated were now sputtering, dimming. It took him a moment to realize that he was hearing a few of the trainers. Possibly they'd gotten the gift from old blood scores or their close association with dragons. Or maybe, like Likkarn, they'd had their hands in a hen's egg chamber, helping in a difficult birth. And then he remembered the stewmen as they executed the culled dragons and old fighters past their prime, and how the men had linked with the dying dragons. Maybe, he thought, maybe only some Austarians will ever be able to link with the dragons, whatever we do. Like some people have red hair or long bones or the ability to sing or ... But here his imagination failed him.
He thought, agonizingly, Akki would know.
A quick lightning strike of a sending burst into his brain, then was gone, back to a low hum again. This time he knew who it was.
"Where are you, Sssargon?" As Jakkin walked by the stalls, he kept sending, trying to pierce Sssargon's food-daze. He'd gotten past the first half dozen stalls and still hadn't found the big worm. Soon it would be too dark to see anything in the underground area.
"Sssargon here," the dragon sent. "Sssargon eatsss. Sssargon getsss Akki." That wonderfully familiar self-satisfied voice.
"Keep sending," Jakkin whispered, honing in on Sssargon's babble despite the competition from the other dragons for room in his head.
"Sssargon standsss. Sssargon..."
The corridor took a turn downward and Jakkin followed it around to a new tier of stalls, down in a subbasement. One dragon's head was above the wooden wall, not quite standing yet. Sssargon never did things precipitously. He was just lumbering to his feet, like a growing mountain, and commenting on everything he did.
"Sssargon risesss. Sssargon liftsss head. Sssargon..."
"Got you!" Jakkin said aloud.
A trainer was standing alongside Sssargon's stall, trying to convince him to settle down. He was a dark man, with as much hair on his arms as on his head, and a dark mustache, as well. His face was scarred with blood scores. Flexing his arms—which made the muscles look as big and menacing as a trog's—the man jutted out his jaw at Jakkin. "Got who?" he asked.
Jakkin probed his mind but it was empty. Not a stray thought in it. So, not everyone who has blood scores or works with dragons can hear them.
"Got who?" repeated the hairy trainer. He took a step toward Jakkin, his manner menacing.
Jakkin refused to back away. After all, hadn't he just killed four trogs with a stick, a stinger, a hammer, and a knife?
The trainer took another step forwar
d.
"You've got my dragon," Jakkin said, pointing to Sssargon, who looked at them both lazily.
"Are you calling me a thief, a dragon whacker? Are you? Are you?" The trainer strode over to the stall door, effectively blocking Jakkin from coming in.
"I don't know where you found him," Jakkin said, "but I can prove he's mine."
A crowd started to gather, just a black mass in the darkened corridor. But they were muttering about a fight and clearly hoping for one.
"Simmer down. Simmer down." That was the master of the pit, who'd been alerted by the noise that there was trouble brewing. He carried a light. Unlike the trainer, he was a small man and his nose twitched constantly. Shoving through the crowd, he said brightly, "Now what is this?"
The trainer at the stall door pulled his shoulders back, which made him look even bigger and fiercer. He thrust his thumb at Jakkin. "This outrider's calling me a thief."
"Nah, nah," a trainer cried from the safety of the crowd. "He said you found that worm, not stole 'im."
Someone else added, "It's the only way Garrekk can afford a dragon. Of course he stole it."
A laugh ran around the crowd, now bigger again by half as the trainers from the upper tier swelled their ranks.
Nose twitching, the master lifted a hand for silence and the trainers obliged. "Now, Garrekk, you tell me first. Buy it, steal it, or find it?"
"Found it. What do you think I am?"
"A dolt!"
Garrekk looked around the crowd, trying to find the speaker, and when he couldn't he raised his fist in the general direction of the voice.
"Where did you find this dragon, Garrekk?" the master asked, voice steady, as if they were having an ordinary conversation.
"Out in the wort fields, of course. Eating up a storm. Easy to take."
"That sounds like Sssargon." Jakkin smiled.
"See," the original trainer shouted. "No feral, then. Garrekk could never take a feral. Not him."
"He's still mine. Been feeding him up ever since," Garrekk said. "Possession being ninety percent of the law." He put his hands on either side of the doorway, blocking anyone from coming in.
The master turned to Jakkin. "Can you prove it's yours? That ten percent will outweigh Garrekk's possession. By the law. Everything by the law. Is the dragon registered? Have you papers? Is it tagged?"
"I didn't bring any proof with me," Jakkin admitted. "I thought he was still back at the nursery."
An outraged cry came from the crowd, and suddenly there was a shift toward Garrekk.
"But I can show you," Jakkin said, "that this worm only listens to me."
A laugh ran through the crowd.
"Go on," someone called.
The master of the pit raised his hand once more, and the crowd grew silent again.
Garrekk sneered. "This sack of waste? Listen to anybody? He doesn't do anything but eat." He laughed. "Oh, and sleep. Not even the prod gets him going. His looks made me think he might be a fighter. But I'm beginning to doubt it."
Jakkin ground his teeth. No one had ever put a prod to his dragons. He'd been willing to simply reason with the man. Before. Now he wanted blood. He'd take the dragon and take Garrekk's fewmetty prod as well.
"Time to find Akki, thou great worm. This man will give thee naught but another prod. But Akki will give thee love." This time the oasis sending included Akki, her hand out, smiling.
"And wort? Sssargon likesss wort."
What an impossible beast. Jakkin was careful not to send that to Sssargon. Instead he laughed. "And wort."
The master of the pit nodded. "Stand aside, Garrekk. Let the man try."
"Man?" Garrekk laughed. "That's nothing but a stall boy." But he moved aside. In the pit, the master's word was final.
Jakkin could feel his fists closing and unclosing. But keeping Akki in the forefront of his mind, he stepped into the stall. "When I raise my hand, Sssargon, thee must do a hind foot rise."
"Sssargon risesss..."
"No!" Jakkin said aloud. Then he sent, "Not till I raise my hand!"
Sssargon quivered. He'd never heard that tone from Jakkin before.
"Not a stall boy, then?" Garrekk sneered. "Works in the kitchen, does it? Out in the garden? Look at his ickle sling. Did mumsie pack you dinner? And the gold bracelet. Such a tootle." He turned to the master. "Why are we wasting time on this piece of fewmet?"
The master thrust out his chin defiantly. It brought him not an inch higher, but when he spoke, all the authority of the pit was in his voice. "Because I said so, Garrekk. There's been a challenge to ownership. I cannot let that go by without testing it legally." Then he turned to Jakkin. "And now, boy, we must have proof or I'm turning you out. You'll have to duff down in another pit for Dark-After, though, or Garrekk here will have your ears."
Jakkin nodded. He hoped Sssargon was alert enough, willing enough. "For Akki," he sent to the dragon, "when I raise my hand."
There was a sudden strange light in Sssargon's eyes that Jakkin had never seen before, except when a dragon was about to hackle.
"When I raise my hand," he said quickly to the master, to Garrekk, to the other trainers, "the worm will do a hind foot rise, as I have taught him."
"Hah!" said Garrekk. "That one's unteachable. God knows I've tried. Even the prod don't work."
"Then watch," Jakkin said, sending, "Now, Sssargon, now! Now, thou mighty worm." And he raised his hand.
For a long moment nothing happened, except Garrekk chuckled. "Garden boy," he whispered.
"Up! Up!" Jakkin pleaded in a sending.
Sssargon looked at him, then sent back, "Sssargon risesss. Sssargon goesss up. Sssargon ..." And Sssargon went up slowly, majestically in a hind foot rise.
There was a smattering of applause from the crowd, which grew into a huge crescendo. Jakkin turned around, grinning at the astonished Garrekk.
Even the master of the pit was moved to applaud.
"Well done, well done. He's yours," said the master, then glanced around a bit nervously. "My word!"
In every stall the dragons were rising onto their hind legs.
"Down all," Jakkin sent quickly, in as sharp a tone as he could manage, catching them all before too much damage was done. Even Sssargon settled down.
Jakkin began to laugh. "Look at them all mimicking my worm," he said, hoping that would amuse everyone.
There were smiles, laughter, even a couple of elbows into ribs.
Only Garrekk was not amused. "That was a trick. You saw the dragon beginning to hackle. You guessed it signaled a hind foot rise. You can't possibly do it again."
Without stopping, Jakkin turned back to Sssargon with his hand up. "Rise now, my great dragon," he said, and at the same time sent, "Again, and after we will be out of here into the air where there is much wort. And Akki."
"Wort for Sssargon. Akki for thee," Sssargon sent back, with a great rosy rainbow, then stood up on his back feet for a second time.
"You can stay the night in my pit for free," said the master. "And fight that dragon here any time you wish."
"I won't stay tonight, Pit Master. I can't trust your Garrekk," Jakkin told him, "even if I take his prod."
The master smiled. "I think we'll leave him with something."
Jakkin nodded, then making up a lie on the spot, he said, "Besides, I have friends in the first pit."
"Master Ortran's pit?"
"Yes," he said. He was sure he'd heard that name before. But where?
"All right, but best hurry. Dark-After is about to start." The master gave him a handshake.
"We'll go immediately." He grabbed Sssargon by the ear and led him out of the stall.
A tall, painfully thin trainer showed him to the dragon's door, pointing in the right direction. He could hear the rest of the trainers back in the stalls poking fun at Garrekk, calling him a thief, and a bad one at that. One said, "Did you see how that garden boy ear-hooked the dragon? He knows his worms, he does."
Then the door
was shut behind them and Jakkin and the dragon were out in the growing cold.
37
JAKKIN LED Sssargon by the ear until they were well past the pits so no one could see them. He wanted to get the big worm up in the air, first to find the rest of the brood, and then to fly over the area and have him call for Akki. If Akki was anywhere in The Rokk—and aware—one of them would surely hear her.
They walked on the far side of the street, through wort plants that were high enough to hide them should someone be looking out of a window. Though normally everyone slept through Dark-After, Jakkin figured it was safer to be out where he and Sssargon wouldn't be seen from an unshuttered window.
It was slow going and Sssargon kept stopping to graze on the tenderest of the plants. While he ate, his mind became just a low buzz. His tail swung lazily back and forth, and Jakkin had to be careful to stay away from it. One blow of that mighty tail, even by accident, and he could be out for hours. He didn't know if Akki had hours left.
A huge silence surrounded them. That surprised Jakkin, who'd expected more sound from a city, even during Dark-After. But the field was on the backside of the small pits, where there were no windows, or at least none lit, and of course nothing was on the road. He could have been anywhere out in the country.
While they were on this side of The Rokk, Jakkin decided to recheck the warehouse area. A hunch, really. He couldn't get the hatchling's sending about the white-haired "bad man" out of his mind. Going to the warehouses might be a mistake, but he couldn't go into houses during Dark-After, anyway, so with the four hours of cold, the warehouses seemed the best area to explore.
Henkky had said it would be a half-hour brisk walk from the pits. But if he had to haul Sssargon the whole way, it was going to take twice that. The dragon was still eating wort, a dark mountain moving across a dark field. He wondered if Sssargon was ever going to be full. And if he became really full, would he be able to fly. Most dragons required hours to sleep off a big meal. But Sssargon had to fly.