The Lesser Kindred (ttolk-2) (17 page)

"Life is never simple, Kantri or Gedri," he replied. Now that I was past the first joy of hearing his voice again, I caught undertones of concern in his voice. "Much has happened of late, Varien. Have you time for speech?"

"As well now as later," I replied. "Come, Shikrar, how fare you? Since you reply so swiftly, I must assume the Weh has released you."

"I am recovered, I thank you. How keep you and your lady?"

"We are as well as may be, though trouble has sought us out of late. I am learning hard truths about my new people, Shikrar."

"Truth hath ever sharp edges, as you know of old. Keep you in good heart despite what you learn?"

"Good heart enough. Lanen is ever the delight of my eyes and the wings of my soul—ah, forgive me, Shikrar! We are but new mated and I am wont to speak of my delight."

I could feel his joy, tinged as it was with regret. "Akhor-ishaan, long years have I waited to hear you speak thus. I rejoice for you, my friend, though in all truth my heart would be lighter had thy brave-souled dearling become one of the Kantri instead. Still, the Winds blow over all, and we must trust they will blow us to safety in the end."

"Great heart, I so believe as well, though now I pray to the Lady of the Gedrishakrim as well as to the Winds. Surely the Winds and the Lady between them can well look after us all! But enough of that. Shikrar, speak to me. How fare the Kantrishakrim? What of my people?"

"All is well with us, Varien. It is not thy people that should concern thee, but the land upon which we live. Terash Vor swells with fire again and the earthshakes wakened me from my Weh sleep."

"Shikrar!"

"I am healed enough. It is our home I fear for, Akhor-ishaan. It is not Terash Vor alone that breathes fire. There are others—even Lashti and Kil-lashti are alight."

"Name of the Winds," I swore softly. "Shikrar, have you called a Council?"

"It will take place less than two moons hence—if we are given so long. I fear we will not be. There is something in the air, Akhor, a high sound on the edge of hearing that grows louder and softer but does not stop. I do not know what it means, but it is—unsettling, to say the least."

"Would that I were with you!" I cried in frustration.

"You are better where you are, my friend," said Shikrar dryly. "If we must leave here, we have only one place to go. We will need all the friends we can find to speak for us."

A thought occurred to me, belatedly. "Have you spoken with the Ancestors? Surely the Kin-Summoning—"

"Kedra helps me prepare. It must take place at the dark of the moon, as you know, but that is upon us now and I require time to prepare. I will have to wait until the moon is dark again, but I do not hold out much hope. If ever this island had been so violent before, we surely would have heard of it"

My head was beginning to pound with pain. "My friend, forgive me, but I must go. Truespeech is painful for me now, alas! Know that I am with you in spirit, and I pray you, bespeak me again when the Council begins. I will listen as long as I can."

"I shall do so. Be well, Akhor, and send my true regard to thy lady Lanen," said Shikrar, sending me as he left a beni-son that washed over my weary mind. I returned the same and removed the circlet. Almost at the same moment I heard Lanen bespeak me, asking where I was. I turned and walked slowly back to the camp, reassuring her as best I could while I told her Shikrar's news, and deeply relieved that true-speech with her did not require me to wear my soulgem crown.

We were to make for Verfaren.

I've always drought mere should be more to that—a whole song maybe—but I'm no bard. Still, mat much appeared without being called and no more came to mend it, so perhaps mat's all it is meant to be.

I came across her nine years ago. I was on my way home from gathering the tiny blue salerian blossoms. Salerian grows only in the hills, I've tried cuttings and seeds and all sorts but it just won't take and grow in a garden. Still, as it's the best remedy known for maladies that make the head ache, it's worth the trip. The plant is a large one, more a bush than anything else, but the flowers are small and at their best and strongest in the early spring. It was no more than three weeks after the Spring Balance-day, all those years ago. I'd gone gathering early in the day, before the rain came. I was on my way back home with my bag full, racing a big black cloud, when I smelled smoke.

It was cold enough for a fire, true, but I lived deeper in the wooded hills above Verfaren than any other and my cottage was a good two miles away. I knew of no charcoal burners thereabouts and, well, yes, I was curious and followed my nose.

I hadn't far to go, but even in that little time I knew fine I would find no ordinary fire. The smell was not of wood smoke. There was a wildness to it, a tinge of something I didn't know at all, but under and over all as I drew nearer was the scent of burning flesh. I slowed as I drew near, for it was well off the path and I did not care to lose myself in the trackless wood. Even so, I gasped when I peered round a great oak and saw her.

She was walking in the midst of a raging fire, nosing about in the very flames like a dog seeking a scent, making the most pitiful noises. As I watched, spellbound, she threw back her head and screamed.

The sound hit me like a blow. This was not the voice of a beast, a lost dog abandoned by an owner, nor was it her death-agony. It was not physical pain at all. There was not the slightest doubt in my mind that this was grief, and that the creature before me suffered terribly in the full knowledge of what it had lost.

I had never seen a dragon so close, and never imagined that they were more than beasts. I had also thought they were larger. This was no more than the size of a big dog.

Oh, Lady keep the poor soul, I thought, as I realised I could see now the vague outline of where the fire was—or had been, for it was dying rapidly. A much larger shape, indeed, lay traced on the rough ground in ashes. I had heard any number of reasons why no dragon carcases were ever found, and before me was the explanation that made the most sense. Seems that when they died they burned, fire to fire, leaving nor tails nor scales nor wing-tips, only ash and a few small hunks of charred bone.

The little dragon cried out again, its eyes tight closed, all its teeth bared and its nose pointing to heaven, for all the world like any human soul in pain. The world's fool I was and am, for I couldn't help myself, I moved to comfort it as I would do for any man or beast. I'm no Healer, but even a herbalist has a need to lessen pain if it can be done, and my sister Lyra always said my heart was as soft as my head. Still, it was not as foolish as it might seem, for I'm a good size and strong enough in myself to deal with most things.

The creature was suddenly aware of me and hissed a warning, like a great snake. It bared its teeth, watched me through eyes now become mere slits, head low to the ground.

For some reason best known to the Lady, I spoke to it.

"Now then, now then, no need to worry, I'll not harm you," I said calmly and quietly, as I'd speak to a child or a hurt dog. And let us keep it that way on both sides, shall we? I thought to myself. "What's brought you to this pass, eh, little one? For you are that, aren't you? Just a killing who's lost yer mam and got nowhere to run and hide. Don't you worry, Willem's here, I'll help you if I can."

My voice seemed to be soothing it—at least it relaxed enough to open its eyes some bit wider, and I got another surprise. Its eyes were brilliant blue, the very blue of the sa-lerian flowers I'd been gathering. "Salera," I said aloud. "That'll do you for a name, unless you've one already. Salera. Don't know if you're lad or lass, but it don't matter much." I had been very slowly drawing nigh it, moving smoothly as one does with unknown animals. I stopped just before it shied away and kept talking as I knelt down with one hand outstretched. "Nah, then, Salera, what are we to do, eh? I'll wager your mam's been ill some while, hasn't she? I can count your ribs, ye poor thing. And now she's left you without wanting to or meaning to, but you're left all the same."

It was warily coming a tiny bit closer, stretching out its neck, sniffing at my hand. At any rate it's got something else to think about now, I thought, and that's all to the good. I didn't know if I could bear to hear that scream again.

It moved its attention in a moment from my hand to my pouch and started sniffing at my salerian flowers, and before I could move or think, I give you my word, that creature tore open my bag and ate up in a few quick mouthfuls what I'd spent hours collecting. I just sat back and watched. Maybe it knew the flowers by the scent for their healing powers, maybe it was just attracted by them, maybe it was just so weary with grief and pain it didn't care—but it had been in need and had taken food with my scent on it. It grew braver then, or had lost any fear of what could be worse than had already happened to it. I kept still on my knees while it came and carefully sniffed me all over. It smelled warm and somehow spicy, like cinnamon, but with a sharp tang under all of fire and danger.

Then, it looked me in the eye and tried to say something.

I know, I know, it sounds mad, but I'd swear it was trying to talk. It moved its mouth and made sounds, its eyes were bright and full of intelligence, I just couldn't understand it

Like an idiot I said, "What? What was that?"

I would swear it said the same thing again. Near enough, anyhow. But I was no nearer to understanding. And I had forgotten my hurry, but the reason for it arrived and reminded me. A few big drops splashed on my arms and face, and the kitling looked up just like I did to see the clouds upon us and the rain smelled only moments away. I looked around, but the kitling was already moving. The big rocks away on the far side of the clearing weren't solid like I had thought; one moment the dragon was there and the next it wasn't. Well, I'd about made up my mind to go home and come back later, despite the rain, when I heard the creature cry out. It was nearly a mew, nearly a bleat, but more than either. If it wasn't calling for its mother then it was the next best thing.

Well, it was join the beast in the rocks and stay dry or keep out in that rain and get drenched, so I went to join it.

I'd never heard tell of anyone going in the lair of a dragon of their own free will—I reckoned I was the first in many long years at least, if not the first ever. Sure enough, folk saw the little dragons from time to time, though there didn't seem to be many of them—but they were shy, skittish creatures for the most part and stayed away from people. I didn't have time to think about that or about what to expect, I just ran in to keep dry.

There was some light from an opening overhead, in fact, the whole wall at the back was lit from above, though just at the moment it was right dim and there was more rain coming in than light. There was a smell in there of decay and illness, but it wasn't overpowering. Just one small heap of half-digested something in a corner that had come back up, and one or two piles of not-quite-covered droppings away to one side. Otherwise it was dry and bare, almost you'd call it clean. No skulls, no bones, but no gold either. I was almost disappointed, when I had the time to think about it. I'd heard dragons slept on a pile of treasure and human bones.

Well, I walked in and stood with my back against the wall near the entrance, and the kitling came up to me. I don't know if it didn't like rain or was just so desperate with need it would take any kind of comfort, but it came right up against me and stared into my eyes. I kneeled down again to get closer and it reached up its long neck so we were nose to nose. I couldn't resist, I reached out and let it smell my hand. It sniffed once, briefly, then slid its head under my hand.

That did it. I sat down with my back to the wall and patted it, my hand light on its scales. They were smooth, like nothing I'd ever felt before, and the colour of bright copper. If it were now, I'd say they felt like finest silk, but I'd never seen silk then. Its hide was warm to the touch. It worked its way closer, carefully at first, slowly, as if still not sure whether I'd up of a sudden and treat it ill—then all in a moment it gave in and just crawled into my lap.

I'd had enough dogs in my day to know that they mourn every bit as much as people do, but this was worse. It knew more, somehow, and its misery was the deeper for knowing what it had lost. I could do no more than hold it, speak to it, let it feel a fellow creature's touch and know it wasn't all alone in the world. That's about all anyone can do around death in any case.

Eventually it slept, right there in my lap. I hadn't the heart to move it even after the rain stopped. I was amazed as I sat there, my back against the wall, the weary little dragon curled warm in my lap like a great cat, its half-formed wings tucked neatly along its sides, the tip of the tail resting under its cheek. I felt light-headed, trying to understand the strangeness of it one moment, the next knowing full well that the creature would have gone to a cow for comfort as readily as it came to me, I just happened to be passing.

I thought hard as it slept, for I knew fine that kitling needed food, but I had no notion what the creatures ate aside from salerian flowers. What did I have in my house, what could I catch—come to that, how old was it, and was it going to die because I didn't know how to make up for its mother's milk?

That at least I dismissed, first because I didn't know if dragons made milk in any case, and second because I took a good look at the fangs sticking out from its lower jaw. Those were made to tear meat, sure as life. I wondered if it would be happy enough with rabbit, which was all I had in my larder, or if I would have to fight to keep it off my chickens.

Just then it woke and stretched, and it near broke my heart. I knew that moment, I'd done the same when I woke the morning after we laid our mother in the earth—the first time you wake after such a shock and it all seems no more than a bad dream just for that very first instant. That stretch was utterly natural for one heartbeat—then it stopped and contracted, just like a person thinking, My world has changed I'm alone I can't stretch or breathe or move as I did before, ever again. It was startled and scrambled away from me quick, sharp, scratching me with its claws as it went. That hurt, I can tell you for nothing. I yelled and it stopped running and looked back. I was angry and I scolded it. Damn stupid thing to do, but it's hard to fear a creature that has slept on you, and those claws had been sharp.

"Look now what you've done, Salera. What was that for? Here I sit with you for comfort, wasting away my morning, and I get ripped trews and a handful of scratches for my pains. What would yer mam have said, eh? Is that the way to treat a friend?"

Well, it was full awake now, and damned if it didn't come back to my hand, even tried to lick the scratches on my leg as if it was sorry.

Believe me or not, when I left that cave, the little creature came along behind. I had a brew heating at home, I had to get back before the fire died out entirely, and bless me if Salera didn't follow me all the way to my house. I stoked the fire, stirred the brew, then went to my little larder and brought out the rabbit I'd caught. I sighed just a little as I realised I'd have only roots for my own supper.

I took the carcase out to Salera. She had stopped to drink at the stream that runs by the edge of the clearing to the north, whence we'd come. I'd cleared only enough land for my house and a little vegetable patch. I've always thought that trees deserve life as much as we do.

She—well, yes, I was only guessing she was female, but I couldn't think of her as "it," and somehow she struck me more as a she than a he—anyroad, she came in a hurry when she smelled the meat. That was the real shock, though: she sat back on her haunches, took the carcase gently from my hand with her front claws—her hands—and ate that rabbit like any lady, save that she took only three bites to do it and crunched the bones as she went.

Poor thing. Game isn't very plentiful, that time of the year. She licked her claws, then licked my hand clean even of the scent, then walked very calmly to the stream and washed.

I couldn't think what to do with her, but in the end it wasn't really up to me. She stayed with me all that year, through summer and harvest and all through the winter, until spring was come again. She had grown quite a bit in that year, must have been nearly her full height, for towards the third moon of the year it was like living with a horse in the house. I was grateful for my own height and strength then, for I could just about make her shift herself when I needed her to move. Still, she had learned for the most part not to knock things over. She slept in front of the fire and I moved my chair well to one side, and we managed well enough.

By the end of that year I couldn't imagine life without her.

We had been constant companions. I had hunted for her, fed her up—and that took some doing, I'll tell you for nothing— but when she was old enough and strong enough, just after the Autumn Balance-day, she got the idea, and after that she provided for me. I ate better that winter than ever I had, enough that I could share with others in the nearby village who were in need of a bit of help and grateful indeed for meat in winter.

And she was someone to talk to. I spoke to her as to another soul, and though I don't think she understood my words, she seemed to try to reply. As time went on, I almost thought I heard a word every now and then. I must have been a little daft.