DragonLight (34 page)

“How does he know what was down there?”

“He doesn’t. The men shook with fear as they walked into the tunnel. The men left behind still chanted, but with difficulty. Tears and suppressed sobs interrupted the litany as they intoned the half-words.

“Pat gave me glimpses of the surroundings. Someone had drawn a hideous dragon on the wall of one side of the cave. On the other side was a painting of great beauty. Pat noticed the men avoided looking at either picture. They kept their heads down, staring at the floor, or gazed down the passage into the mountain.

“Then a swarm of those black dragons came out of the same tunnel the men had gone down. They flew directly out of the cave. Pat was able to break away from the enchantment of the song when he realized I might be in danger. But the dragons soared over the forest and disappeared in the opposite direction of the village.”

“South,” whispered Bardon. “They are going south.” He focused on Kale’s face. “Do you think the meech are worshiping whatever is deep in the mountain?”

“Pat thought so.”

Kale leaned into Bardon, and he responded as she hoped he would. He held her in his strong arms.

They didn’t talk for a while. Through the bond, Kale knew her husband was logically sorting through what she had said, what the implications might be, and what course of action might be taken. Even when he contemplated the possibility that Mot Angra lived in the meech ceremonial cave, she did not give way to panic. Her racing pulse calmed under the influence of the steady beat of his heart. His unemotional stream of thoughts counteracted the chaos of her own.

“We must inform Paladin,” he said. “I’ll discuss this with Regidor and Seezle in the morning.”

He got out of bed, took the sleeping Pat from her hand, and placed him in the pile of cushions.

“What is this?” He indicated her clutched fingers as he sat beside her. “The egg.” She opened her hand.

A crack ran from the small end of the egg to the broader end. Smaller fracture lines extended to the sides. A chink had fallen out.

Kale caressed the egg in her open palm. “I feel kind of guilty.”

“Did you drop it?”

“No, the dragon is hatching. These breaks mean it will be only minutes before we meet him face to face.”

“If you didn’t damage the egg, then why do you feel guilt?”

“I’ve ignored this new life. I’ve forgotten it for days on end. I don’t feel the usual attachment. Even now, when I can feel the thumps of the baby dragon pushing against the shell, I don’t feel excited.”

The egg twitched in her hand, and another piece of the shell fell out. The gap widened, and a tiny claw stuck out. A nose appeared in the break, followed by an eye peering out. A few more kicks and pushes, and the dragon rolled out of the shell into Kale’s palm.

“He’s a pretty shade of blue,” said Bardon. “What’s his name?”

“I think it’s a her, and I don’t know her name.”

Bardon frowned. “Has that ever happened before?”

“No, never.”

Kale carefully picked up the bits of shell and moved them away. When she had the area cleared, with plenty of room for the baby to stretch, rub, and roll, she curved a finger to stroke her. The tiny dragon twisted away and hissed.

“This is wrong, Bardon. Everything seems to be wrong. Our lights don’t work, Gilda acts demented, we can’t tell if the meech are good or bad, black dragons swarm out of the ground, and a baby dragon rejects the Dragon Keeper.”

The dragon slinked across Kale’s stomach, found the gap in her nightgown, and disappeared inside.

Kale brushed at the soot mark Pat had left on her nightgown. “This is wrong too. I’ve tried to clean this. It’s a very simple wizardry task, but no, the dirt is stubborn and won’t let loose.”

The bulge under her gown showed where the new dragon had settled.

“She’s found the scarf her egg rested in. She’s probably seeking security,” Kale said, knowing she could only guess at the motives of a dragon she felt no connection with.

“Home and security don’t sound so bad,” said Bardon.

“We’re not home, and there is no security in this world.” Kale placed her hand over the baby in her womb. She could feel it push against her palm. She took Bardon’s hand and placed it in the same spot. “Our baby wants out.”

“I don’t suppose he or she is going to wait until this Daddy can purge evil from the world and set up a kingdom of peace and security.”

Kale rested her forehead against her husband’s. “No, but we didn’t come into a perfect world, either.”

“We’ll do our best to be parents who stay by their child.”

“Our parents wanted that and couldn’t have it.”

“Look around, Kale. What do you see?”

Halfheartedly, she scanned the room. “You, the dragons, furniture, a broken shell.”

“And sunlight.”

Her eyes lifted to the window. Soft morning light eased away the gloom. She smiled.

Bardon kissed her. “Night always ends. The sun always rises. It’s a promise.”

She touched his chin, feeling the stubble he would shave away. She knew the principle he referred to. “A promise from Wulder.”

         
44
         

C
ONFRONTATION

A knock on the door woke Kale. Someone had opened the window in the bedroom, and several of her dragons sat on the sill. She assumed the others were out eating a breakfast of bugs and small rodents. Bardon’s side of the bed was disheveled and empty. The knock sounded again.

Kale forced herself up on one elbow and pushed unruly locks out of her face. Her haircut still didn’t look right. Some of the sections burned during the dragon attack were long enough to blend with the others, but she still looked spotty.

“Come in,” she called.

Mistress Tulanny’s head appeared as she peeked into the room. “Sorry to wake you, Kale, but you’re needed. Your little girl is sick.”

Kale tossed the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to rake the shaggy mess into a semblance of tidiness. As she rushed to the door, the material of her nightgown thickened, changed form, and became a loose-fitting morning dress with a proper collar and a tie in the back.

“Oh my,” said Tulanny. “I bet that comes in handy. That was wizardry, wasn’t it? You know we don’t have a single wizard left in the colony. Plenty of smart folks, but you know it takes Wulder’s touch to make a clever person a wizard.”

Kale looked down in surprise at her transformed clothing. “I’ve been having some trouble with my wizardry. Where’s Toopka?”

“She spent the night with Sachael Relk and family. They have a dozen children of all ages, and Mistress Relk said the little doneel had a fine time with her brood last night, but this morning she won’t get out of bed.”

“Please, show me the way.”

They stepped out into the sunshine. Kale called for Gymn with her mind, and he soon joined them.

Kale’s heart raced as fast as Tulanny’s mouth as she followed her through the street of Bility. Kale didn’t care to hear the history of the town or who lived in which house. Tulanny’s chatter did help Kale to block some of the more extreme conjectures she came up with to explain Toopka’s illness.

They finally reached a house that looked very much like the one she’d just left. Most of the houses looked the same with few variants. This one, however, was less tidy. Toys and children cluttered the front room. The only plump meech Kale had seen answered the door.

“Come in, come in,” said Mistress Relk. “She was moaning earlier, but now she’s fast asleep.”

Sittiponder sat beside a fireplace, looking forlorn.

“Do you know what’s wrong, Sittiponder?” Kale asked.

The boy shrugged. “She won’t talk to me.”

Mistress Relk ushered them to a room filled with bunk beds. The jumble of blankets on each small bed testified to the number of children who slept here. But only one curled up under the covers now. In one of the bottom bunks, the tips of Toopka’s brown ears showed over the edge of a blanket.

Gymn flew to Toopka and slipped under the covers. Kale knelt beside the bed. “Toopka?”

When there was no response, she gently pulled back the blanket to expose Toopka’s face. The child’s eyes remained closed.

Kale stroked her cheeks. “Toopka, wake up.”

The doneel’s eyelids fluttered.

“That’s my girl. Open your eyes. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Though she didn’t open her eyes, Toopka answered in a mumble. “I’m not sick, Kale. I’m tired. I wanna sleep.”

Kale moved the covers back some more and revealed Gymn curled on Toopka’s chest. He looked up at Kale with sad eyes.

You don’t know what it is, Gymn?

The healing dragon relayed his findings. Other than the growth, Toopka was fine. The growth, however, had solidified completely and separated from the normal tissue surrounding it.

Do you think we should take it out?
Kale swallowed. She’d never cut someone open to remove something. She pulled splinters, and on occasion she’d used a knife to open the surface of the skin in order to grasp the sliver of wood. Relief flooded through her when Gymn said he didn’t think cutting the growth out was a good idea.

You still don’t think that thing is harmful?

Gymn’s “no” puzzled Kale, but she didn’t press it. When he advised letting the child sleep, Kale kissed Toopka on the forehead. “Sleep tight then, little one, and I will check on you later.”

Gymn stayed with Toopka, and after thanking the meech woman for keeping an eye on the doneel, Kale went to search for Bardon. She had not gone far when she saw him coming from the opposite direction. The colorful dragons flew about him as he walked. Children trailed behind Bardon, skipping to keep up with his quick pace.

“Good morning,” Bardon said, but his gruff greeting did more to say it was not a good morning than his words.

“What’s wrong?” asked Kale.

“We are invited to a special council meeting.” He took her hand and turned down the next street.

The children still followed, but now they were engaged in making up a story-song about the beautiful, small dragons.

Kale smiled at them, then turned back to Bardon. “You’ve been up early, gathering information.”

“Exactly.” Bardon hustled them down another side street. “And I believe that is why we are being called to this little get-together.”

“They certainly aren’t used to visitors, but I didn’t think they were hostile.”

“Here we are.” Bardon gestured to a round building of white stone.

Before Kale could react to the similarity to the Followers’ headquarters, the ground shook beneath their feet. The children dropped onto their knees, curled forward, and covered their heads.

The tremor lasted only a few seconds, then ceased. The children got up and started to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Kale asked.

One little male meech turned back to say, “Home. We have to tell our families that we’re all right. We do it after every shake.”

“Do you ever have a big shake?” asked Bardon.

“No sir,” the boy said. “My father says the main tremor follows a fault line. The energy releases to the south of us.”

“Do you know what that means?” Bardon asked.

The boy grinned. “It means we’re safe right now.” He waved his hand, then trotted away.

Several men scurried around the corner and almost ran Kale down.

“Sorry,” one said. “Oh, you’re one of the visitors. I’m Anyeld. This is Ellyk and Laire.”

Bardon stepped closer. “I’m Sir Bardon. This is my wife, Lady Kale Allerion.”

“So glad to meet you,” said Ellyk.

Laire hastily opened the door to the round building. “Please, come in.”

Two more gentlemen waited for them in a room sparsely furnished with a large table and chairs. Regidor and Seezle sat in silence in two of the big chairs.

Kale recognized one of the meech gentlemen as the one who had come forward to greet them when they entered the colony. She struggled to remember his name.

He gestured toward empty chairs. “My name is Seslie. Please, be seated.”

Bardon shook his hand. “I remember from yesterday.”

Kale smiled to herself. At times, Bardon’s early training as a diplomat showed up, while her years of living in The Bogs offered her no social graces.

Seslie nodded to Bardon and indicated the other man. “Of course, and this is Karnott.”

Bardon dipped his head. “And we met the others just outside the door.”

“Then, shall we be seated?” asked Seslie. “We have a lot to cover.”

Bardon pulled out a chair next to Regidor for Kale.

“How is Gilda this morning?” she asked.

“Calm,” answered Regidor. “For that I am grateful.”

All but Seslie sat. When the room was silent, he began.

“Bardon has asked what is in the cave, who do we worship, and why we live in fear.”

The men from the meech colony nodded soberly but kept their heads down, their eyes on their folded hands.

“We”—Seslie gestured to the meech at the table—“have decided to answer your questions. First, what is in the cave?”

Laire stood. “The answer to that question is quite simple. Mot Angra. But do you have an inkling of what that means?”

Regidor lifted one eyebrow. “A horrendous, dark dragon whose scales turn into small dragons when they are shed.”

Laire sat down again and sighed. “That is all of the legend that remains?”

Bardon, Kale, and Regidor nodded.

“It is not enough to explain the horror of this creature. His size is terrifying. When we escaped our world, Mot Angra followed us.”

Regidor held up his hand. “We know nothing of the other world. Would you be kind enough to explain the exodus? We have no records of that event.”

“I shall take that task,” said Anyeld. “On our world, we had been privileged to know Wulder. We had a special class who studied to know Him and His ways. These were the meech dragons. They passed their insights on to the general public. None of your high races existed on our world, which we called Blaime. Our population consisted of dragons of many forms and minnekens of one form.”

Ellyk broke in. “Through gross negligence on our part, Mot Angra was born. We were horrified and quickly subdued the beast. His birth served to bring the people of Blaime to be more attentive to Wulder and his Tomes.”

Laire took the story back. “That lasted many centuries, and then…the people became lax again. Mot Angra awoke. During the time of his restraint, he had grown in size. At the time of his second rampage, he was as big as a half dozen of our homes put together. He ravaged the countryside, eating crops, livestock, and the dragons. Each time, after he’d gone berserk, he would sit on a hill, gloating over the devastation. He’d pick his teeth with a claw and belch. He sang songs of his own significance and his exploits.”

“He can speak?” asked Kale.

“As well as you or me,” answered Laire.

“He’s cunning, sly, and devious,” said Anyeld.

“Powerful,” added Seslie.

“I gather,” said Regidor, “that for some reason you are losing control over Mot Angra.”

Silence greeted Regidor’s comment.

The meech named Karnott stood. This dragon was obviously the oldest of the men there. His wrinkled face bore an expression of deep sadness. “It is our responsibility to keep him under control. It is our fault that he was able to enter your world. Blaime had disintegrated both in its ability to produce food, fuel, and shelter, and in the people’s moral commitment to one another. Evil ruled the land. Wulder provided a gateway for those who vowed to turn from wickedness and to honor Him as our Creator. All of the minnekens lined up to enter this new world. Dragons of all sizes followed the smallest of Wulder’s thinking races. The meech were last in line, and several of us wished to take the Old Woman of Wust with us. She was the second of Wulder’s creation and still lived, choosing to dwell in a peaceful garden hidden by Wulder Himself. From time to time, a representative of those dedicated to knowing more would make the journey to seek her insight. We revered her wisdom and could not see a future without her guidance.

“A young meech named Bellum journeyed to Wust to bring her. His petition to enter the garden was answered, and the hidden entry opened.

“Meanwhile, our people went through the gateway with a handful holding back, waiting for the Old Woman of Wust to come. When Bellum arrived with the woman on his back, she was furious.”

Again a heavy, formidable silence filled the room. Karnott sank into his chair as if his part in telling the tale had exhausted him.

Laire spoke up. “The Old Woman of Wust said she was of the old, and Wulder had offered us the new. It would be disastrous to drag part of the old into the new. But the meech argued and pleaded and wasted time.”

“Yes, wasted time,” echoed several of the gathering.

“Finally, the Old Woman said she refused to go,” Laire continued. “And she died. Our men left her body and turned to the gateway. But we had given Mot Angra enough time to find us. We pushed through the portal from our world to yours and watched as the gateway changed in appearance, knowing that Wulder had designed the contraption to collapse in upon itself as soon as the last of us were safely through.”

He stopped speaking.