Dragon Haven (12 page)

“It is a lake fed by several rivers, and the mother of what you call the Rain Wild River. It was a very large lake that swelled even larger during the rainy seasons. The fishing in it was excellent. These fish you have killed today would have been regarded as small in the days that I recall.” His voice went distant as he reminisced. “The Elderlings fished in boats with brightly colored sails. Seen from above, it was a very pretty sight, the wide blue lake and the sails of the fishing vessels scattered across it. There were few permanent Elderling settlements near the lake’s shores, because the flooding was chronic, but wealthy Elderlings built homes on piers or brought houseboats down to the Great Blue Lake for the summers.”

“How close was the Great Blue Lake to Kelsingra?” She waited breathlessly for the answer.

“As a dragon flies? Not far.” There was humor in his voice. “It was no difficulty for us to cross the wide lake, and then we flew straight rather than follow the winding of the river. But I do not think you can look at these fish and say that we are close
to the Great Blue Lake or Kelsingra. Fish do not stay in one place.” He lifted his head and looked around as if surveying the day. “And neither should dragons. Our day is escaping us. It is time we all ate, and then left this place.”

With no more ado, he strolled over to the red-bellied fish, bent his head, and matter-of-factly claimed it as his own. Several of the dragons moved in on the flatfish. Little red Heeby was the first to sink her teeth into it. The tenders moved back and allowed them room. None of them seemed inclined to want a share of the fish.

A
S THEY DISPERSED
back to their abandoned bedding and cook fires, Leftrin offered Alise his arm. She took it. He said, “You should get out of those wet clothes as soon as you can. The river water is mild today, but the longer it’s against your skin, the more likely you are to get a reaction to it.”

As if his words had prompted it, she became aware of how her collar itched against her neck and the waistband of her trousers rubbed her. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“It would. Whatever possessed you to get involved in Thymara’s fishing anyway?”

She bristled a bit at the amusement in his voice. “I wanted to learn to do something useful,” she said stiffly.

“More useful than learning about the dragons?” His tone was conciliatory, and that almost offended her more.

“I think what I’m learning is important, but I’m not certain it’s useful to the expedition. If I had a more solid skill, such as providing food or—”

“Don’t you think the knowledge you just got out of Mercor is useful? I’m not sure that any of us would have been able to provoke that information out of him.”

“I’m not sure it’s that useful to know,” Alise said. She tried to keep her edge, but Leftrin knew too well how to calm her. And his view of her conversation with the dragon intrigued her.

“Well, Mercor is right in that fish don’t have to stay in one spot. They move. But you’re right in that we haven’t seen any of
these kinds of fish before. So I’d guess that we’re closer to where they used to live than we were. If their ancestors came from a lake that used to be on the water system before one got to Kelsingra, then we’re still going in the right direction. There’s still hope of finding it. I’d begun to fear that we’d passed by where it used to be and there’d been no sign of it.”

She was flabbergasted. “I’d never even considered such a thing.”

“Well, it’s been on my mind quite a bit of late. With your friend Sedric so sick and you so downhearted, I’d begun to ask myself if there was any point to going any farther. Maybe it was a pointless expedition to nowhere. But I’m going to take those fish as a sign that we’re on the right track, and push on.”

“For how much longer?”

He paused before he answered that. “Until we give up, I suppose,” he said.

“And what would determine that?” The itching was starting to burn. She began to walk faster. He didn’t comment on it, but accommodated his stride to hers.

“When it was clearly hopeless,” he said in a low voice. “Until the river gets spread so shallow that not even Tarman can stay afloat. Or until the rains of winter come and make the water so deep and the current so strong that we can’t make any headway against it. That was what I told myself at first. To be honest with you, Alise, this has turned out very differently from what I expected. I thought we’d have dead and dying dragons by now, not to mention keepers that either got hurt or sick or ran off. We’ve had none of that. And I’ve come to like these youngsters more than I care to admit, and even to admire some of the dragons. That Mercor, for instance. He’s got courage and heart. He went right after Thymara, when I thought she was dead and gone for sure.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Now she’s a tough one. No tears or whining. Just got up and shook it off. They’re all growing up as each day passes, keepers and dragons alike.”

“In more ways than you might guess,” she confirmed. She tugged her collar loose. “Leftrin, I’m going to run for the boat. My skin is starting to burn.”

“What did you mean by what you just said?” he called after her, but she didn’t reply. She darted away from him, easily outdistancing his more ponderous stride. “I’ll haul some clean water for you,” he shouted after her, and she fled, skin burning, toward Tarman.

S
INTARA STALKED AWAY
down the beach, away from the fish that she had rightfully brought to shore when the others were in danger of losing it. She hadn’t even had a bite of it. And it was all Thymara’s fault, for not getting out of the way when the dragon entered the water.

Humans were stupid in a way that Sintara found intolerable. What did the girl expect of her? That she was to be her coddling, enamored pet? That she would endeavor to fill every gap in her gnat’s life? She should take a mate if she wished for that sort of companionship. She did not understand why humans longed for so much intense contact. Were their own thoughts never sufficient for them? Why did they look for others to fulfill their needs instead of simply taking care of themselves?

Thymara’s unhappiness was like a buzzing mosquito in her ear. Ever since her blood had spattered on Thymara’s face and lips, she’d been aware of the girl in a very uncomfortable way. It wasn’t her fault; she hadn’t intended to share her blood with her, or to create the awareness of each other that would always exist now. And it certainly had not been her decision to accelerate the changes that Thymara was undergoing. She had no desire to create an Elderling, let alone devote the thought and time that molding one required. Let the others contemplate such an old-fashioned pastime. Humans were ridiculously short-lived. Even when a dragon modified one to extend its lifetime several times over, they still lived only a fraction of a dragon’s life. Why bother to create one and become attached to it when it was only going to die soon anyway?

Now Thymara had gone off on her own, to sulk. Or to grieve. Sometimes the distinction between the two seemed very insignificant to Sintara. There, now, the girl was crying, as if crying
were a thing one did to fix something rather than a messy reaction that humans had to anything difficult. Sintara hated sharing Thymara’s sensation of painful tears and dribbling nose and sore throat. She wanted to snap at the girl, but she knew that would only make her wail more. So, with great restraint, she reached out to her gently.

Thymara. Please stop this nonsense. It only makes both of us uncomfortable
.

Rejection. That was all she sensed from the girl. Not even a coherent thought, only a futile effort to push the dragon out of her thoughts. How dare she be so rude! As if Sintara had wanted to be aware of her at all!

The dragon found a sunny spot on the mudbank and stretched out.
Stay out of my mind,
she warned the girl and resolutely turned her thoughts away from her. But she could not quite quench a small sense of desolation and sorrow.

Day the 14th of the Prayer Moon

A
lise sat stiffly at the galley table. Outside the windows, evening was venturing toward night. She was attired modestly, if exotically, in a long robe of soft fabric. She could not, by touch, tell what it had been made from. Bellin ghosted through the room in her quiet, private way. She raised her dark brows in surprised approval, gave her a conspiratorial smile that made Alise blush, and continued on her way. Alise dipped her head and smiled.

Bellin had become a friend, of a type she’d never had before. Their conversations were brief but cogent. Once, she had come upon Alise leaning on the railing, looking at the night sky. She’d paused by her and said, “We of the Rain Wilds do not have long lives. We have to seize our opportunities, or we have to recognize we cannot have them, and let them go by and seek out others. But a Rain Wild man cannot wait forever, unless he is willing to let his life go by him.”

She had not waited for a response from Alise. Bellin seemed to know when Alise needed time to think over what she had said. But tonight, her smile hinted that Alise was closer to a decision that she approved of. Alise took a breath and sighed it out. Was she?

Leftrin had produced the silky, clinging gown after her mishap in the river had left her skin so enflamed that she could scarcely bear the touch of cloth against it. Even two days after her dip in the river, she was still sore. The robe was of Elderling make; of that she was certain. It was a scintillant copper and reminded her more of a fine mesh than a woven garment. It whispered lightly against her skin when she moved, as if it would divulge the secrets of whatever Elderling princess had worn it in days long past remembering. It soothed the rash wherever it touched her skin. She had been astonished to discover that a simple river captain could possess such a treasure.

“Trade goods,” Leftrin had said dismissively. “I’d like you to keep it,” he added gruffly, as if he did not know how to offer a gift. He’d blushed darkly at her effusive thanks, his skin reddening so that the scaling on his upper cheeks and along his brow stood out like silver mail. At one time, such a sight might have repulsed her. Now she had felt an erotic thrill as she imagined tracing that scaling with her fingertips. She had turned from him, heart thumping.

She smoothed the sleek copper fabric over her thighs. This was her second day of wearing it. It felt both cool and warm to her, soothing the myriad tiny blisters that her river immersion had inflicted on her skin. She knew the garment clung to her more closely than was seemly. Even staid Swarge had given her an admiring glance as she passed him on the deck. It had made her feel girlish and giddy. She was almost relieved that Sedric still kept to his bed. She was certain he would not approve of her wearing it.

The door banged as Leftrin came in from the deck. “Still writing? You amaze me, woman! I can’t hold a pen in my paw for more than half a dozen lines before feeling a cramp. What are you recording there?”

“Oh, what a story! I’ve seen all the notes you take and the sketches you make of the river. You’re as much a documentarian as I am. As for what I’m writing, I’m filling in the detail on a conversation that I had with Ranculos last night. Without Sedric to help me, I’m forced to take my own notes as I go along and then fill in afterward. Finally, finally, the dragons have begun to share some of their memories with me. Not many, and some are disjointed, but every bit of information is useful. It all adds up to a very exciting whole.” She patted her leather-bound journal. It and her portfolio case had been new and gleaming when she left Bingtown. Now both looked battered and scarred, the leather darkening with scuffs. She smiled. They looked like an adventurer’s companions rather than the diary of a dotty matron.

“So, read me a bit of what you’ve written, then,” he requested. He moved efficiently about the small galley as he spoke. Lifting the heavy pot off the small cookstove, he poured himself a cup of thick coffee before taking a seat across from her.

She suddenly felt as shy as a child. She did not want to read her scholarly embellished treatise aloud. She feared it would sound ponderous and vain. “Let me summarize it,” she offered hastily. “Ranculos was speaking of the blisters on my hands and face. He told me that if they were scales, I would be truly lovely. I asked if that was because it would be more like dragon skin, and he told me ‘Of course. For nothing can be lovelier than dragon skin.’ And then he told me, well, he implied, that the more a human was around dragons, the greater the chance that she or he might begin the changes to become an Elderling. He hinted that in ancient times, a dragon could choose to hasten those changes for a worthy human. He did not say how. But from his words, I deduced that there were ordinary humans as well as Elderlings inhabiting the ancient cities. He admitted this was so, but said that humans had their own quarters on the outskirts of the city. Some of the farmers and tradesmen lived across the river, away from both dragons and Elderlings.”

“And that’s important to know?” he asked.

She smiled. “Every small fact I gather is important, Captain.”

He tapped her thick portfolio. “And what’s this, then? I see
you write in your journal all the time, but this you just seem to lug about.”

“Oh, that’s my treasure, sir! It’s all my gleaned knowledge from my years of study. I’ve been very fortunate to have had access to a number of rare scrolls, tapestries, and even maps from the Elderling era.” She laughed as she made her announcement, fearful of sounding self-aggrandizing.

Leftrin raised his bushy eyebrows. It was ridiculously endearing. “And you’ve brought them all with you, in there?”

“Oh, of course not! Many are too fragile, and all are too valuable to subject them to travel. No, these are only my copies and translations. And my notes, of course. My conjectures on what missing parts might have said, my tentative translations of unknown characters. All of that.” She patted the bulging leather case affectionately.

“May I see?”

She was surprised he’d ask. “Of course. Though I wonder if you’ll be able to read my chicken-scratch writing.” She unbuckled the wide leather straps from the sturdy brass buckles and opened the portfolio. As always, it gave her a small thrill of pleasure to open it and see the thick stack of creamy pages. Leftrin leaned over her shoulder, looking curiously as she turned over leaf after leaf of transcription. His warm breath near her ear was a shivery distraction, one she treasured.

Here was her painstaking copy of the Trehaug Level Seven scroll. She had traced each Elderling character meticulously, and reproduced, as well as she was able, the mysterious spidery drawings that had framed it. The next sheet, on excellent paper and in good black ink, was her copy of the Klimer translations of six Elderling scrolls. In red ink she had marked her own additions and corrections. In deep blue she had inserted notes and references to other scrolls.

“It’s very detailed,” her captain exclaimed with an awe that warmed her.

“It is the work of years,” she replied demurely. She turned a handful of pages to reveal her copy of an Elderling wall hanging. Decorative leaves, shells, and fish framed an abstract work done
in blues and greens. “This one, well, no one quite understands. Perhaps it was damaged or is unfinished in some way.”

His brows arched again. “Well, it seems clear enough to me. It’s an anchorage chart for a river mouth.” He touched it carefully, tracing it with a scaled forefinger. “See, here’s the best channel. It has different blues to show high and low tidelines. And this black might be the channel for deep-hulled ships. Or an indication of a strong current or tide rip.”

She peered down at it, and then looked up at him in surprise. “Yes, I see it now. Do you recognize this place?” Excitement coursed through her.

“No. It’s nowhere I’ve ever been. But it’s a river chart, one that focuses all on water and ignores land details. On that, I’d wager.”

“Will you sit with me and explain it?” Alise invited him. “What might these wavy lines here be?”

He shook his head regretfully. “Not now, I’m afraid. I only came in for a quick cup of coffee and to be out of the wind and rain for a time. It’s getting dark outside, but the dragons show no signs of settling for the night. I’d best be out there. Can’t have too many eyes on the river if you must run at night.”

“Do you still fear white water then?”

Leftrin scratched his beard, then shook his head. “I think the danger has passed. It’s hard to say. The rain is dirty and smells sooty. It’s black when it hits the deck. So, somewhere, something is happening. I’ve only seen a true white flood happen twice in my life, and each time it was only a day or so after the quake. It’s common enough to have the acid in the river vary. But my feeling is that if we were going to be hit with white water, it would have happened by now.”

“Well. That’s a relief then.” She groped for something more to say, words that would keep him in the galley, talking to her. But she knew he had his work, and she closed her mouth on such silliness.

“I’d best be about my work,” he said reluctantly, and with a girlish lurch of her heart, she was abruptly certain that he, too, wished he could stay. Such knowledge made it easier to let him go.

“Yes. Tarman needs you.”

“Well, some days I’m not sure Tarman needs any of us. But I’d best get out there and put my eyes on the river.” He paused and daringly added, “Though I’d just as soon be keeping them on you.”

She ducked her head, flustered by his compliment, and he laughed. Then he was out of the door, and the river wind banged it shut behind him. She sighed, and then smiled at how foolish she had become about him.

She went to dip her pen, then decided she needed the blue ink if she were to make a note on the page of Leftrin’s interpretation. Yes, she decided, she wanted blue, and she’d credit him for the theory as well. It pleased her to think that scores of years hence, scholars would read his name and know that a common river captain had deduced what had eluded others. She found the small ink bottle, uncorked it, and dipped her pen. It came up dry.

She held the bottle to the light. Had she written that much on her journey? She supposed she had. She’d seen so much that had given her ideas or made her revise old thoughts. She thought of adding water to the pigment that remained and scowled. No. That would be her last resort. Sedric, she recalled, had plenty of ink in his portable desk. And she hadn’t visited him since morning. It was as good an excuse to check on him as any.

S
EDRIC CAME AWAKE,
not suddenly, but as if he were surfacing from a deep dive into black water. Sleep sleeked away from his mind like water draining from his hair and skin. He opened his eyes to the familiar dimness of his cabin. But it was different. The air was slightly cooler and fresher. Someone had recently opened the door. And entered.

He became aware of a figure hunched on the deck by his pallet. He heard the stealthy pawing of thieving hands on his wardrobe chest. Moving by tiny increments, he shifted so he could peer over the edge of his bed. The compartment was dim. Outside the light was fading and he had not lit a lamp. The only
illumination came from the small “windows” that also ventilated his room.

Yet the creature on the floor beside his bed gleamed a warm copper and seemed to cast back light that had not struck it. As he watched, it shifted and brilliance ran over a scaled back. She scrabbled at the wardrobe chest, seeking for the hidden drawer that held the vials of her stolen blood.

Terror flooded him and he nearly wet himself. “I’m sorry!” he cried aloud. “I’m so, so sorry. I did not know what you were. Please. Please, just let me be. Let go of my mind. Please.”

“Sedric?” The copper dragon reared up and abruptly took Alise’s shape. “Sedric! Are you all right? Do you have a fever or are you dreaming?” She put a warm hand on his damp brow. He pulled back from her touch convulsively. It was Alise. It was only Alise.

“Why are you wearing a dragon’s skin? And why are you rummaging through my possessions?” Shock made him both indignant and accusing.

“I’m…a dragon’s skin? Oh, no, it’s a robe. Captain Leftrin loaned it to me. It’s of Elderling make and completely lovely. And it doesn’t irritate my skin. Here. Feel the sleeve.” She offered her arm to him.

He didn’t try to touch the shimmering fabric. Elderling made. Dragon stuff. “That still doesn’t explain why you’ve sneaked into my room to dig through my things,” he complained petulantly.

“I haven’t! I didn’t ‘sneak’! I tapped on your door and when you didn’t answer, I let myself in. The door wasn’t latched. You were asleep. You’ve looked so weary lately that I didn’t want to wake you. That’s all. The only thing I want from you is some ink, some blue ink. Don’t you keep it in your little lap desk? Ah. Here it is. I’ll take some and leave you in peace.”

“No! Don’t open that! Give it to me!”

She froze in the act of working the catch. Stonily silent, she handed the lap desk to him. He tried not to snatch it from her, but his relief at keeping it out of her clutches was too evident. He swung it onto the bed beside him so he could conceal it
with his body. She didn’t say a word as he opened it and slid his hand in to grope for the ink bottles. Fortune favored him. He pulled out a blue one. As he offered it to her, he ventured a halfhearted apology. “I was asleep when you came in. And I am out of sorts.”

“Indeed you are,” she replied coolly. “This is all I need from you. Thank you.” She snatched it from his hand. As she went out the door, she muttered for him to hear, “Sneaked, indeed!”

“I’m sorry!” he called, but she shut the door on his words.

The moment she was gone, he rolled from his bed to latch the door tight, then dropped to his knees beside the hidden drawer. “It was just Alise,” he said to himself. Yes, but who knew what the copper dragon might have told her? He worked it open clumsily, the drawer jamming, then forced himself to calm as he carefully lifted the flask of the copper dragon’s blood. It was safe. He still had it.

And she still had him.

He’d lost count of how many days had passed since he’d tasted the dragon’s blood. His dual awareness came and went like double vision after a blow to the head. He’d be almost himself; morose and despondent, but Sedric. Then that overlay of physical sensation and confused memory would wash through him as her baffled impressions mingled with his thoughts. Sometimes he tried to make sense of the world for her.
You are wading through water, not flying. Sometimes the water lifts you almost off your feet, but this is not flying. Your wings are too weak to fly
.