The Book of Fire (45 page)

A bit of sheltering rock, an open space among the pines, some handy and concealing shrubbery. The hiding place had not been hard to find, and it only needed to be free of prying eyes while the dragon transported himself and Lady Water there safely. Once they were settled, Brenda herself could stroll right by without spotting anything unusual.
Both dragons were becoming expert at hiding in plain sight.

They were restless when they arrived, materializing like two giant shadows out of the gathering dusk. Erde had hoped for time to curl up next to the dragon for a while, soaking up comfort before she must return for the evening meal, and a long night in a dank and cheerless cell. But Earth would not settle. Like an old dog unable to find a comfortable spot, he nosed around and around the little clearing, sat down, shifted about, got up and lumbered around a bit more. Lady Water stood to one side, rubbing her velvet-blue hide against a tree trunk. Her swim in the river, she said, had left her itchy all over.

IT’S YOUR MIND THAT’S ITCHY, SISTER
.

Perhaps. But even breathing the air here is like swimming in filth.

Erde gave up chasing after the dragon and sat down on a convenient rock to listen in. She noticed that her throat did feel rather raw, like when there was green wood burning in the castle hearths.

THE SUMMONER’S CALL IS FADING AS WE TRAVEL INLAND
.

Not fading, brother. Being interfered with.

WE DO NOT KNOW FOR SURE
 . . .

I think we do know. I think he is deliberately blocking the signal.

Erde guessed it was Lord Fire they were squabbling about. In the way of dragons, they might go on exploring the fine points of this debate until halfway to dawn. Perhaps she could hurry it along.

HE KNOWS WE ARE COMING, THEN?

He knows we will come, sooner or later. Each step he takes to deflect our approach brings us closer by calling attention to his actions. I wonder if he has considered this inevitability.

Earth rumbled disconsolately, got up, moved two paces, and lay down again.

WE MUST CONFRONT HIM. THEN WE WILL KNOW THE TRUTH
.

YOU KNOW WHERE HE IS, THEN?

THESE GOOD PEOPLE WILL LEAD US TO HIM
.

THEY WILL? HOW?

LISTEN CAREFULLY IN THE CAMP. THE CLUES WILL APPEAR. HE DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO LIVE QUIETLY
.

Erde got up from her rock and went to lean against him.

CAN’T N’DOCH LISTEN? I’D RATHER STAY HERE WITH YOU. WHAT IF THESE PEOPLE INTEND TO MURDER US IN OUR BEDS AND STEAL ALL OUR WORLDLY GOODS
 . . .?

Such as they are.

WELL, I KNOW IT’S NOT MUCH, BUT THEY DO SEEM VERY OCCUPIED WITH
 . . . 
THINGS.

CHILD, THEY LIVE AS THEY MUST, AS SCAVENGERS OFF THE CORPSE OF THE LAND
.

Lady Water ceased rubbing against her tree and came to join them.

There’s one more bit of bad news they have ahead of them.

Both girl and dragon looked her way.

Their precious stream is dying, along with everything else.

OH! HOW CAN THAT BE?

The deep source that feeds the spring is drying up. There is another aquifer below, but it is blocked.

YOU CAN FEEL THE WATER THROUGH THE GROUND?

I always know where the water is. In three dimensions, downward through the earth, upward into the sky.

YOUR PARDON, MY LADY. I DIDN’T KNOW.

Did you ever ask?

SISTER, YOU ARE IRRITABLE
.

No kidding.

The blue dragon turned and pranced away, her tail lashing.

IT’S HIS FAULT, YOU SEE. SHE’S TOO MUCH IN THE WORLD OF HER ANTAGONIST OPPOSITE
.

LORD FIRE, YOU MEAN? IS HE HER OPPOSITE?

FIRE AND WATER
?
WOULD HE NOT BE
?
IS SHE FORGIVEN
?

OF COURSE SHE IS.

Earth had finally settled, it seemed. He put his great horned head down and got very still and quiet. Erde snuggled against him happily, until suddenly he spoke up again.

PERHAPS I COULD UNBLOCK IT
.

It was a while before Erde understood that he was talking about the underground water.

OH, DRAGON, COULD YOU TRY?

THE SLIGHT SHIFTING OF A FISSURE, PERHAPS. A DEGRADATION OF THE BLOCKAGE. THE APPROACH WILL HAVE TO BE
CAREFULLY CONSIDERED. I WOULD NOT WISH TO CAUSE ITS FINAL DESTRUCTION INSTEAD
.

YOU ARE THE CLEVEREST OF DRAGONS! YOU WILL NOT FAIL!

Though the dying stream was terribly unfortunate, Erde was delighted that the dragon would have a useful project to soothe his restless mind. Just pondering it now, he was calmer.

The sun had nearly set. She must return to the camp, but now she did so with a lighter heart.

DRAGONS! I’M OFF TO LISTEN—VERY CAREFULLY—AND I WILL REPORT TO YOU EVERYTHING I HEAR!

NOT EVERYTHING, I HOPE. HOW WILL WE GET ANY WORK DONE HERE
?

W
hen Son Luco knocks on her door two hours after dinner, so much later than the priest has ever come visiting before, Paia knows it isn’t a social call. Not that Luco is often given to such civilities, but it’s the lingering startlement in his blue eyes that puts her on alert, and his comfortable civilian clothes underneath the gold Temple robe tossed on so hastily, its complex fastenings only half done up. He leaves the big door open when she invites him in, as if to head off any possible suspicion—on the part of the righteous Honor Guard in the hall, she supposes—of improper behavior within the Temple’s highest authorities.

At least, Paia notes wearily, he’s left his entourage in the corridor.

“Mother Paia,” he says formally, then flounders to a halt. His startled eyes seem to be warning her, not just to behave, which he always does, but of some graver danger. He’s had a shock, she decides, and she’s sure she can guess the source of it. “Mother Paia,” he begins again, “I have come to inform you that you are to be graced by the God’s Decree with a Special Presentation of the Suitors in the Hall of Audiences, first thing tomorrow after the morning Call to Prayer. The God himself will honor us with his Presence.”

Paia is practiced by now at looking delighted when she isn’t. Certainly Luco can’t believe that her bland and welcoming smile, maintained just now with such effort, reflects her true response to this news. But why make him suffer any further for her own transgressions? “The God honors me indeed.” She tries to draw Luco farther into the room, away from listening ears, by offering him the only chair in
the room. But of course, in public, he would never sit down in the presence of the High Priestess. “Did he bring this wonderful news himself?”

“He just now left me.”

Does she detect a singeing of Luco’s brows, or of his shining locks of hair? Paia lowers her voice as well as her glance. “Poor Luco. Was he in an awful rage?”

“He was . . . terrifying.”

“Yes.” She turns away, to the comfort of her window, and twitches the drapes aside to gaze out in the red dusk. The sun goes down so very late at this time of year, she muses. “Well, Luco. Extremely short notice for you to be organizing such an event. I hope it will not prove too taxing for you and your staff.”

“What the God wills . . .” Luco replies mechanically.

She is so used to the fear now, she barely registers it. “What the God wills. Thank you, First Son. I will see you, then, in the morning.”

Because she has already reconsidered the uses to which she can put the right Suitor, Paia goes to bed charged with purpose and resolve. If this is how the God seeks to punish her, so be it. But now she must charm and soothe him sufficiently to preserve some power of choice in the matter. She falls asleep planning how she will dress, so carefully—for him. She doesn’t care what the Suitors see or think. They will want her anyway, no matter how she presents herself. There is probably no higher goal among the Faithful than the High Priestess’s bed. Paia can only pity them.

At some point later, she comes suddenly awake. She’s sure she has heard someone call out her name. Lying still and listening, she can almost feel the echoes fade away, like receding ripples in the darkness. But she hears nothing.

She reaches under her pillows for the God’s little gun, then lets it lie there. The call—probably not a call at all, just the tail of a forgotten dream—it seemed to her like a summons. But not the God’s familiar and irresistible command. A softer appeal. Almost an invitation. Paia holds the vanished moment in her memory, probing it carefully. The voice was like a breath of wind, and it came wrapped in blue. In blue.

In the darkness of her bed, Paia smiles. How absurd dreams often are.

But the notion of summoning now takes up residence in her brain, and will not be ignored.
A True Recipe for Raising Dragons.
Fully awake until her adrenaline rush subsides, she stretches out long in her cool and silken sheets and tries to imagine how she would accomplish such a thing.

When the God calls her, it’s a compulsion. She cannot deny, only answer. She can’t for a moment consider compelling the God in return. But perhaps something else might bring him. If she was in danger, or in need, and if there was no one around to aid her, would he hear her then, as she hears him, like a ringing in her soul? Or would he come if she . . . begged him?

She contemplates the voice that just woke her, how it vibrated through the air like something physical, not just a sound but a force. Then her own summons should be like that, a line of force reaching out to the God where he lies sleeping in the heated perpetual night of his Sanctum. Let it fasten itself to him, twining like a young vine, up around his shining ivory claw, to pull itself taut, taut with her imperative.

The darkness around her shudders. Like tinder bursting into flame, he appears in an explosion of light, bellowing as he materializes, as if unable to contain his fury but even less able, within the bounds of this smaller room, to express it satisfactorily.

“What are you doing?” He is glowing like blown embers. “Are you mad?
What are you doing?
”

Paia is too stunned to produce sound, never mind a coherent word. She has done it. She called him, and he came. But he is not happy about it.

“Ignorant woman! You meddle with forces you know nothing of!”

If she could ever believe that he slept in his man-form, she’d swear he’s been dragged straight out of a very human bed. His hair is wild and the clothing he’s snatched at for this hasty manifestation is disheveled and minimal. His chest is bare past his navel and glitters with hard, golden scales, as if he couldn’t be bothered to effect a full transformation.

Nevertheless, she is thrilled by her success. The first words she manages are not an apology. “If I am ignorant, my lord, it is you who have kept me that way.”

“Yes! For your own good! And mine, which is all that matters!” He is moving faster than any human could, practically spinning in outraged frustration. “How dare you summon me? HOW DARE YOU? I am the God here! What are you thinking? With your clumsiness, they’ll hear you for sure! You’ll give us away entirely!”

“Hear what?” Paia remembers this implication from before, that she is somehow a danger to him. “Hear my thoughts?”

“Well, I do!” He whirls past her, and heat settles around her like a toxic cloud. “Do I not?”

“But . . .” Paia knows she’s meant to cower, but she’s too amazed and curious. “Who are ‘they’?”