Through the Whirlpool (8 page)

“
I really outdid myself this time, eh?”

But the other two wer
e in no mood for jokes.

“
What I should have done already is to report it to Wild Watch. I’ll give Mr. Jackson a call after lunch,” Joan decided.

Wild Watch was the local environmental group. M
r. Jackson, one of their neighbors, its president.

“
But where could it have come from?” she continued, “We’re not close to any shipping lanes.”

“
Don’t forget the tides, or the prevailing wind. Every bit of flotsam on the ocean gets blown in here when the tide’s right.”

Joan looked doubtful:
“There’s something we’re missing.”

After lunch, Patrick went in and sat with Kyle while Joan went into her study and got on the phone. Jade
left the house.

A
lesser dragon, or eh-gawg-bhaanj. Its sharp beak was nonetheless the length of Kreh-ursh’s forearm, its feet armed with claws as long as his hand. It held itself still, wings draped limply across the rocks to either side. An odd scrap of flame puffed, defiant, from its gullet, but now Kreh-ursh dodged its blasts easily, keeping a safe distance. He could see it was at the end of its strength. Unless he made some foolish movement, it would not attack. It was crippled: The normally cream and pink leathery quills of its wings, each longer than he was high, were plastered with dark sludge that weighed them down, making them useless for flight. Its body glistened in the same heavy mud. Only its head—vivid magenta crowned with a sapphire-blue crest—remained clean. But its long beak was caked with more of the filth.

He sheathed his knife. Although unsure how the majestic creature had got like that, the
life code demanded he act. He edged carefully back toward the sleeping ledge, the reptile following his every move suspiciously. Yet it did not attack—nor retreat. It just looked exhausted.

Kreh-ursh dropped his belongings to the ground to lighten his load then, r
aising a cautious foot, stepped up onto the sleeping ledge. From there he reached toward the lip of the hollow, never taking his eyes from the dragon. The beast kept glaring. Once his hands had found their grip, he eased himself up the wall, out of the hollow. The lesser dragon, once it saw him retreat, lowered its head onto a muddy claw. It continued to track his movements with its baleful yellow eyes.

Free,
the boy studied the tapestry of vegetation looming out over the shore. Above his camp, he saw a path leading up into the rainforest. For a moment, he felt odd, a feeling of being watched that made him hesitate. Unsheathing his knife once again, he clambered up the rocks, following that tenuous path into the jungle’s gloom.

Under the trees another world flourished. Similar to his first vision of the night before, creepers hung wide from bough to branch
, and thick-trunked ferns reached high above his head. Yet the light here was green-gray, an early morning haze of mist tendrils entwining trunks, a clear contrast to the gold-green sunlight-streaked forest of his vision. The trees were smaller: mainly palms, the only species capable of rooting into the thin topsoil and leaf mold covering the volcanic rock and coral so close to shore. The path twisted and turned up the back of a gradual rise, heading in the direction of the cone above, but Kreh-ursh stayed close to the shore, examining the nearby trees.

When he spied what he needed, he walked straight to the trunk... But flying in a dream was one thing; shimmying up that tree... He
untied his belt from around his waist and retied it to form a loop, which he slipped halfway over both feet, positioning them on either side of the tree bole. Then he placed his hands around the trunk... and began to climb. His breath began to come in short gasps. He felt dizzy, his chest constricted. He worked his way slowly up: first his feet in their loop gripping the trunk on either side, then his hands reaching up and pulling his body higher, hugging the trunk so he could reposition his feet farther up. Looking up, he saw a bunch of bright purple berries close above. That meant he was now high... higher than he could imagine... Visions of his body thudding to earth threatened to paralyze him. Blood pounded through his veins as he tried to control his fear... If anyone else had been there... one of his mates... Kaar-oh loved climbing trees, but for Kreh-ursh it was always the same, this fear, the sweating, his blood pumping... Just get it over with. Carefully he reached out and plucked. The berries were growing on a plant that was itself wrapped around a vine. He put half a dozen in his pouch. Done. Now he could... What was that? He froze—something had definitely moved.

W
as there somebody down there? Kreh-ursh waited, listening, not daring to look down. It was silent. But he waited longer. Slowly the bush lost its hush. The birds resumed their racket. Whatever it was must have continued on its way. He began to ease his way down. It took forever. Then finally came that relief as his feet hit solid ground. His heart rate slowly returned to normal.

After retying
his belt, he crept soft-footed on through the undergrowth. This time he kept his eyes lowered, studying the roots on the bush floor. Before long he found what he was looking for and gathered two large handfuls of a spongy red fungus growing around the base of a rotting stump. He moved stealthily on his way back to the shore. No sense alerting predators, or frightening the dragon. Yet that sense of being watched continued... He kept scanning the undergrowth. Nothing.

At the hollow he slid cautiously back down the wall. The bhaanj was still lying where he left it, one eye closed, the other lid raised barely enough to register his presence. From his bundle
of belongings, he took a small wooden bowl and pounded the berries he had collected into a mush. He’d need at least five for this creature. He poured in a tiny amount of fresh water from the flask at his belt. When the mixture was evenly sloppy, he crumbled his remaining meer-zjhur in and kept blending it till it was a smooth paste. He scooped this fishy mixture out and tossed it carefully within the creature’s reach, not wanting to risk getting back in range of its angry flames or threatening beak. He retreated to sit on the sleeping ledge and waited in stillness.

The
dragon opened both eyes and studied the splatters of paste before it on the ground. For a long while it did nothing, not willing to trust the human-smelling mixture. Yet hunger got the better of it. Stretching out its head, it began to peck at the fish paste. Soon, the feathered reptile lay prone, struggling to keep its eyes open, aware it had been tricked off its guard, was now at the human’s mercy. A last puff of flame and smoke erupted from its gullet. Its head crashed to the ground.

When he was sure the creature was really out cold, not just feigning to catch him off
guard, Kreh-ursh approached. He poked it once with his toe, but it didn’t budge. So he shouldered its bulk as best he could. Though as large as a taag—one of the sure-footed prairie beasts that the Taagaag-ee nomads rode in the south—it weighed no more than a child; this was a creature of the air, hollow bones supporting extended gaseous intestines, making it virtually weightless in flight. It smelled disgusting: its foul breath, the gases it burped and wheezed from its gullet, plus another unknown stink—heavy, acrid, like charcoal—the oozing mud that caked its body.

He hauled
the dragon from the hollow and found a rock pool near the sea where he lay it down. It was truly awesome being so close to such a beast. Its feathered cape felt smooth, yet when he brushed his hand backward toward its crest, the quills bristled and its hide was rough like gravel. Easing its mouth open, he saw the rows of inwardly curving teeth and, right at the back, close to its jowl pouch—where it collected the gas it produced—two jagged, flint-like canines it gnashed together for sparks to ignite its blasts.

He dipped
the fungus he had collected in seawater and rubbed it between his hands until it formed a soapy lather. He applied this to the creature’s feathers, and the suds helped to wash off the mud. Yet cleaning the beast was difficult. He was not sure how long the sedative would last. The scum was tough to remove, sticking like glue to both the quills and his own hands.

He lost track of how long he worked, aware only of every muscle beginning to ache, of his arms feeling like they wanted to fall from his body. All the time, that sense of being watched... he could
not shake it... Yet the bush canopy revealed nothing. Reaching out, his mind encountered nobody nearby. Could it be Taashou? If anybody was there, they were hiding themselves well.

Suddenly
, the sleeping beast snorted, showering him in a disgusting cloud of ash. His time was up. He looked at his handiwork. Most of the slime was gone from the beast’s wing feathers and beak, but a faint dark ring still clung to its body. He did not dare sit beside it any longer. As if to confirm his fears, the dragon reared its head, staring directly at him. Kreh-ursh mind-punched, hurling himself back even as flame surged from between the creature’s jaws. As he flew through the air, he was aware of another mind alongside his own, also punching at the dragon’s brain, forcing its flaming maw aside. Kreh-ursh scrambled back just in time. He was barely a few paces distant when the dazed creature turned its head again, focusing its fiery eyes, and spat another blast of flame. As Kreh-ursh and the other being mind-punched together again, to deter its aim, the boy rolled farther back. The flame seared a patch of lichen on the rocks he had just left, crisping it instantly. He dashed into the hollow, grabbed his belongings, and raced up into the trees.

Hidden under ferns, he watched as the reptile slowly
continued to wake. That other presence hovered, familiar. The dragon looked his way as it began to struggle to its feet, but woozy from the sedative, it overbalanced and fell. Only on the third attempt could it stand shakily. After staring toward the forest for a moment, head on one side, it began to clean the remaining fungus-soap from its feathers. Standing, it was a magnificent creature, as tall as Kreh-ursh himself. When it spread its wings, they arched up to almost twice its height. Kreh-ursh withdrew farther into the tree cover… That was when he saw her. He scrambled through ferns, ripping creepers from his path:

“
Geh-meer!”

But she was gone. He called with his mind. No answer. She had broken the
rite. Candidates must not help each other. Each was alone to succeed or fail. Yet without her, he might now be dragon food. Turning, he got a last glimpse through the trees of the majestic beast perched on the ridge of the hollow, stretching and flapping its wide wings mightily. Then with a great leap, it threw itself into the air and began to rise, circling. He watched it negotiate the breeze, find an updraft, and soar up, away behind the island, a pink, sun-bright sail planing sideways across the blue morning sky. He sighed. The sight of such a wondrous reptile… that was what gave meaning to the life code.

T
he boy headed inland along the track he had found earlier, the vegetation gradually changing as he climbed higher along the ridge. Although the slope was not steep, he was soon panting from the effort. His thoughts continued to dwell on the eh-gawg-bhaanj. Lesser dragons often fished the lagoons and wider ocean, but they always returned to their nesting ground among the volcanoes. Kreh-ursh had never seen one up close. What was that stuff on its wings? He had seen nothing like it, no mud that stuck like that, heavy enough to keep a powerful creature like the dragon out of the skies. It must have come from somewhere on Zjhuud-geh, which was the only land close by.

Soon, he saw through a gap in the trees that he had climbed high above the lagoon. The water below was a clear turquoise
, stretching to the white halo of the surrounding reef. Schools of fish flitted to and fro above the sandy bottom like cloud shadows. Occasionally, a larger fish, cruising hawk-like, circled around, a gray presence gliding, somber, through the shallows. Ocean breakers crashed violently against the reef, and far out the sea was deep blue flecked with puffs of white where wind clipped the tops off the highest waves. Shoals of kree-eh created mauve and green ribbons through the deep water. The sun was now high in the sky and filtered down through the trees to where he rested, providing a gentle warmth that set the vegetation steaming.

Abruptly, he sat up, eyes narrowed against the glare off the sun-bright sea, straining to see out. In the distance, almost at the horizon, was an indefinite smudge. Too dark, too large, for a school of fish, too hazy for a canoe—he was puzzled. Almost imperceptibly, as he watched, the shadow on the water drifted
farther off until he could no longer make it out.

He turned his thoughts back to sea-nomad-becoming. This was what he must crack, what he was here for. He decided to consult his vision. Squatting on the track, he
began to undo the bag hanging from his neck, but the drawstring momentarily snarled with Kaar-oh’s. He took the scarlet bag from around his neck and held Kaar-oh’s carved talisman in his palm for a moment.

Then he was back there, living through the accident again—Kaar-oh falling
toward the green water, that same crimson bag swinging against his brown skin… white tunic… stained red… and scarlet clouds mushrooming out through the shallows.