SpringFire (18 page)

For a short way, I followed the path, then stepped off into the trees. I didn’t want anyone to find me for awhile. Too much had happened to me too quickly, and I wanted to be alone. Not totally alone in a forever sort of way, but alone on my own terms.

I hadn’t gone far from the path when I came across a fallen log that seemed to beckon. I sat on it. And moped.

Grey had looked as vital and as handsome as ever, especially when he smiled. The image of him played in my mind over and over until I couldn’t help but break down in tears.

It had been stupid to like him—stupid, and childish, and fanciful even to imagine he could like me back. And that was before Shandry turned up. My mind almost spat out her name. Of course he’d fall for her, with her mysterious dark skin and her beautiful eyes and her adult ways. I was just a dumb kid compared to her. And this mark on my face, that just made it all worse. Grey would think I was a freak now; so would everyone else. I wiped away my tears, only for them to be replaced with fresh ones. The dark grew deeper and my mood blacker.

Now shall be unlocked a mystery, a secret thing, a hidden thing. And it is simply this: the danse is perfect spirituality wed to perfect physicality.

What is there more beautiful than the human body moving in rhythm and harmony with the spirit state? To watch is to taste and smell of the union; to danse is to partake fully, body and spirit, until one’s soul is satiated.

O taste and smell. O eat and drink your fill. Join in the danse of eternity, that you may be satisfied and that your soul may grow and thrive.

~from
The Esoterica of Mysteries

Long after my tears stopped, I still sat on the fallen log. The trees all around seemed to sense my misery, and with the new life of Spring flowing in them, they turned some of it toward me, strengthening my spirit and bringing me a crumb of comfort.

I felt someone before I heard my name called. Jinna.

My first impulse was to run away, to try to hide. But common sense took over, and I remained seated. Perhaps she would just keep following the path and pass me by entirely.

But no. Soon footsteps approached, their maker not making the least effort to hide them. A moment later, Jinna appeared, shoving her way through a tangle of underbrush.

“Oh, here you are,” she said in relief. A wisp of magic wafted past as she sat next to me on the log.

I wiped my eyes, hoping she wouldn’t guess I’d been crying.

“This is a nice spot,” she said.

“Huh?”

“The trees here are old and wise.” And somehow, though she didn’t say anything about it, I knew that she knew what I’d been doing before she interrupted me … and why.

I played along with the evasion. “Oh, right. It’s a pleasant enough place to sit and think, I guess.”

She nodded, then chattered on about the arrangements being make for Xyla’s care. There were many caves in the area, but only a few big enough to house dragons. Six would stay, on a rotating basis. A large number of sages, though, were settling in. If things went as Botellin hoped, Xyla would be able to fly before long, and with luck, soon after that she would be strong enough to make the transfer back to Hedra.

Somehow, Jinna’s monologue soothed my raw heart and helped me get a better perspective on things.

Then she changed the subject, and I got the distinct impression that everything she’d said before was meant to lead up to this. “Actually, I’d hoped to speak with you about something.”

“Yes?”

She opened a belt pouch and took something out. “I brought this for you. For when you’re ready.” She held out her hand on which was a thick, disc-shaped object. I picked it up and found it was a small looking glass, no bigger than the palm of my hand. I gasped. Mirrors were hard to make and therefore rare in my world.

“Oh. Um, thank you,” I whispered.

Jinna stood up. “I hope it helps. Are you coming for supper?”

“I’ll be along in a bit.”

She gave me a satisfied smile. “Good.” And she left.

When her footsteps had died away, I examined the mirror, at first trying not to see my own reflection in the process.

It was by far the finest one I’d ever seen. The glass was perfectly clear, with no flaws or bubbles in it. I couldn’t even imagine what kind of material the backing was made of for the image to be so clear. Certainly something more effective than the coating of silvery paint used by most people back home. I could see my own eyes as clearly as if I were looking into someone else’s.

Finally, my glance slid to my left cheek. I examined the mark, pretending that it wasn’t something carved into my own face but was an actual object of fine craftsmanship. And that much it certainly was. The lines of the knot were as uniform as if they had been made from silver wire so fine that a breath of air might break it. Coiling in perfect circles and spirals, the design had a depth that seemed almost three-dimensional.

Soola had been right: it was beautiful.

But that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

I sighed, slipped the mirror into a pocket, and returned to the others.

In the cave, Traz and Shandry were sitting near the fire tending to several pots. Grey sat nearby honing one of his knives. Botellin stood near Xyla, one hand on her flank while the other was raised into the air, palm facing upward as if to receive something from above. Breyard wasn’t in the cave at all.

I walked past the fire without saying anything. Traz looked up at me, giving me a wink and a grin. I returned a small smile but carried on walking to Xyla’s side.

I put a hand on her. She still felt cold—unbelievably cold, almost like stone—but her heart beat slow and strong.

Botellin’s eyes opened, and when they met mine, he smiled. “You’re back, youngling. Very good. I think supper is almost ready, and then it will be time for you to go to bed. You need lots of good, wholesome food and rest.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

He put a hand on my shoulder and steered me toward the fire. “You are strong and able to withstand much. But I have promised Halla to take care of you, or she shall have my skin.”

All through the evening, the mirror seemed to burn in my pocket. Try as I might not to think of it, my mind kept returning to the memory of what it showed me.

The stew was delicious. Traz had really outdone himself, no doubt with some help from Shandry’s stores of herbs and spices. An awkward silence, however, reigned at our meal. A few times, Traz tried to start up a conversation, but each attempt fell flat. I didn’t want to say anything in the company of Shandry and Grey, a feeling they seemed to share. Twice I caught Grey looking at me sidelong, and both times he looked away as soon as my eye caught his. Fine. He could stare at my face some other time, preferably when I didn’t know he was doing it.

After the meal, Botellin gave me two heavy blankets and insisted I get some sleep. I decided to bed down near Xyla. Wrapped in the blankets, I lay awake for a long time, thoughts and memories chasing each other in my head like cats chasing mice.

Eventually, though, I dropped off. Into a storm of dreams filled with pain, silver scars, and Rennirt’s emerald eyes. I woke up in a cold sweat of terror. Voices still rumbled softly, low enough that I couldn’t hear the words. If people were still talking, it couldn’t be very late yet. After fitfully dozing for awhile, I fell asleep again, this time to dream of being immobile, unable to do anything for myself, able only to do another’s bidding.

And so the night went, sleeping, dreaming, and waking. When morning came, I felt more tired than I had the night before.

The herb tea Botellin handed me when I got up was unfamiliar and had a bitter aftertaste. He chuckled when I made a face.

“I know, but sweetening will dilute the healing power. Drink it quickly. Faster down, sooner over.”

I did as he said, shuddering as the last bit of it went down my throat. “So what’s it for?” I asked, putting the cup down. I was glad that he didn’t refill it.

“It will help bring some order to your thoughts.” He held up a hand when I opened my mouth to object to such a suggestion. “When your thoughts are ordered, they will be easier for you to control and will not keep you up half the night.” My mouth snapped shut. “I prescribe three doses per day, morning, noon, and night, until your sleep returns to normal.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows at me in a questioning sort of way. I nodded in acquiescence. A good night’s sleep would be welcome.

He handed me a bowl of steaming porridge. I took it with a nod of thanks and went back to my blankets to eat. From there, I watched the activity in the cave without actually participating.

Traz arose and got his breakfast from Botellin. The two of them chatted easily, Traz asking questions in an eager tone that carried to me even if the words didn’t, and Botellin answering in great detail. They must be talking about danse. After a little while, Breyard joined them.

Grey and Shandry approached the fire from opposite sides of the cave. This observation brought me little satisfaction. They ate hurriedly, then gathered their hunting gear and left.

Before long, Lini entered the cave. After she had a cup of tea with Traz, Botellin, and Breyard, she and Traz left, presumably to further his studies while they could.

Botellin cleared the breakfast things, then made two more cups of tea and came over to me, offering me one while he drank from the other.

I took the cup and sipped carefully, glad to find it was nothing more than a mild-flavored herb blend.

Botellin gestured to the floor. “Mind if I sit? I think it is time for you to tell me your story. If you are willing.”

I nodded, and he sat next to me. He leaned back against the wall of the cave.

“Strictly speaking, we don’t need your friends to hunt anymore. The other dragons will be able to bring food for Xyla and all of us. But I thought perhaps you’d welcome their absence, and I encouraged them to go.”

Was the state of my heart so obvious, I wondered. I needed to stop dwelling on Grey and Shandry. Then my spirits rose a little, as I thought of something that hadn’t occurred to me before: they didn’t really have much time together anyway; once Xyla was well enough to take us home, they’d have to part company. I smiled. A truly genuine one.

“Ah, so you
can
smile,” Botellin said. “How do you feel this morning?”

“Tired.” How did he expect me to feel?

“As well you should. You will have time to rest, to heal, to recuperate now, while we all look after Xyla.”

“And it’s that simple, is it? I just sit around and after awhile, everything will be back to the way it was?” My words and tone were bitter, and I didn’t care.

Botellin sipped his tea before speaking. “No,” he said, “things will not go back to the way they were. That cannot be. I do, however,” and here he turned his head to look at me, “expect for you to come to terms with what has happened. I will help. We all will. But in the end, it is something you must find within yourself to do.”

Tears rose to my eyes. Why couldn’t, for once, someone else just make everything right again? Why did it always have to be me?

When Botellin spoke again, his voice was gentle. “Perhaps it would be easiest to start by talking about it.”

The words came choppy at first, in fits and starts like a fire being made from damp wood. But Botellin turned out to be a sympathetic listener, neither interrupting with questions nor hurrying me along when I stopped to gather my thoughts.

I told him everything that had happened from the time Rennirt entered the way station until he and the other sages rescued me. Botellin made more tea when our cups ran out, and still I spoke on. At some point early in my narrative, I became aware that Xyla was listening, too.

When I finished, Botellin, speaking softly, said nothing at first beyond, “Thank you, Donavah, for your trust.”

I leaned back against the cave wall, forcing myself to relax. The muscles in my back and shoulders were tied up into knots, although I hadn’t noticed it until now. It was as if telling the story was like releasing a poison that had, until now, been coursing through me and that, without realizing it, I’d been resisting.