The Dubious Gift of Dragon Blood

by J. Marshall Freeman

  Grav’nan-dahé, standing behind her, knit his brow and leaned a little closer to listen in. Maybe he didn’t like me asking questions. But Korda didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

  “Certainly,” she said.

  “What do you defend the realm from? Are there terrorists? Or swamp monsters? Or what?”

  “Monsters? Well, we do sometimes venture into the mountains to cull the population of accidentals—bears mostly. But our main duty is protecting the Realm of Fire from invaders that cross from other realms. From Air, from Water. Potentially from Earth, though that’s never happened.”

  I looked down at the heavy sword on her wide leather belt. “Are there a lot of invasions?”

  “Hasn’t been one in more than four hundred cycles,” she answered. “The strands connecting us to both Air and Water were damaged in battles long ago.”

  “He probably doesn’t know what a cycle is,” said an old man, as grey as Korda but much more frail, leaning on a walking stick as he made his way to us. The old man beat me to the bow, but I bowed right back, which I then vaguely remembered might be an insult.

  He said, “There are approximately 2.3 Earth years to each of our cycles. For instance, my apprentice Davix, whom I believe you’ve met, is just over seven cycles old. Around sixteen and half Earth years.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Same as me.”

  He ignored this and continued. “But what confuses matters is that time passes differently and unpredictably between the realms, making historical comparisons highly complex.” He leaned on his cane and studied the ceiling as if running the calculation. “I would say the last war—it was between ourselves and the Realm of Air—happened around the time of the founding of the Delhi Sultanate on Earth.” I gave him a blank look. He tried again. “The crowning of the first Swedish King?”

  “Sorry, not sure…”

  He grabbed hold of my sleeve, giving me a disbelieving look. “It was just before the Children’s Crusade set off for Jerusalem. For heaven’s sake, do they teach you nothing in your schools?”

  Grav’nan-dahé interrupted the old man. “As you can see, Copper Guest, Tix-etnep-thon-dahé is a devoted student of your realm’s history.”

  “Oh, right,” I said, recognizing the name. “Davix mentioned you. You should tell him to dance at Sarensikar. Everybody wants him to, but he says…”

  I trailed off. Tix-etnep-thon-dahé, still holding my sleeve, was obviously not listening. He was staring me in the face, looking deep into my eyes like he might find a clue to some buried treasure. He gave a quick sideways glance at Grav’nan-dahé and then said, “Yes, well, tell Davix to bring you to the Atmospherics Tower tomorrow morning. There are many instruments and formulae that might interest you. Our estimates for the dispersal of the fog, for instance. Yes…” And now he was the one who trailed off, turning and wandering away, tapping his cane against the stone floor.

  “How old is he?” I asked, and then hoped I hadn’t said it too loud.

  An octona who had been following the conversation said, “He has amassed sixty-five cycles.”

  “Oh,” I said and then did the math. “Wait! Isn’t that like a hundred and fifty years old?”

  “A great age, indeed, and the knowledge and wisdom he has accumulated is vast.”

  We were soon herded toward the dining room. Tiqokh ruffled the feathers of the Convenor guy, Zishun, by insisting he be seated next to me at the end of the table. I was glad to have someone familiar beside me, but Zishun looked put out. The blue jewel in the corner of his leather book blinked furiously as he redrew the seating plan.

  “Are you going to that dragon convention thing?” I asked him as we lowered ourselves onto our cushions in front of the low table, which was decked out with glass dishes and little glowing stones in fancy metal holders.

  “The colloquy of mixed beings, you mean? Sadly, I missed it. I have the impression it was a significant gathering.”

  “Too bad.”

  Servers were coming around, bending over us to refill our cups with more of the sparkly drink. I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to do the refusing thing yet, but no one else was, so I shut up. To the left of the table, a woman was standing behind a lectern. I thought she was there to make a speech, but in fact, she was writing in yet another big leather book. Next to us, Davix’s master, Tix-etnep-thon-dahé, sat examining his utensils like he was the quality control manager.

  Grav’nan-dahé rose and touched a hanging mobile of tiny bells above his head, producing a cascade of new age music. Everyone shut up and closed their eyes, listening intently until the sound faded.

  With a big public speaking voice, he said, “In harmony, in peace and balance, we gather tonight to welcome the Copper Guest to the Realm of Fire. This is a page in the DragonLaw that generations to come will visit time and time again.”

  The woman at the lectern was clearly writing all of this down. The yellow jewel in the corner of her book blinked enthusiastically as she transcribed his words. He started into some long sermon about the “Courtly Days” when the strands were strong and visits from Earth frequent. I lost the thread of his talk and leaned over to whisper a question to Tiqokh.

  “What’s this DragonLaw he keeps talking about?”

  Tiqokh’s version of a whisper was more like a low vibration that rumbled somewhere deep in your ear. “It is the book of laws and history by which we live our lives.”

  “You mean, like the Bible or the Quran on Earth?”

  Old Tix-etnep-thon-dahé leaned toward us, tipping over his cup, which his neighbour caught just in time. “Yes, lad, like the Bible, but still in progress.”

  I looked at the woman scribbling away behind the lectern and realized what he meant. “So this is all going into the Bible? I mean, the DragonLaw? I’m going to be mentioned in the DragonLaw?”

  A loud noise made us look up. Grav’nan-dahé banged his cup again on the table, leaving a cloud of fizzy spray hanging in the air, and gave us a dirty look. I blushed, but Tix-etnep-thon-dahé went back to examining his cutlery with a mischievous smile on his face.

  Grav’nan-dahé kept his gaze focussed on me as he continued, as if I might cause more trouble. I shifted uneasily on my cushion.

  “And so, we trust the days the Copper Guest spends here will be enriching for him and a pleasant diversion in our lives of service—a reminder of the time when the realms were one. Soon, though, he will return home, and we will be left with only the memories. Pleasant memories.”

  I looked around the table for reactions. Did no one believe in the prophecy, or my groom mission? I mean, he made it sound like the Greyhound broke down at the local gas station, and I was just stranded here until the mechanic showed up.

  My thighs were starting to complain from sitting cross-legged so long, and I was just wondering if I could maybe stretch them out when Grav’nan-dahé abruptly said, “If you would please address the masters, Copper Guest.”

  “Me?” I replied, in a stunning show of basic comprehension. “Oh, um…Peace and balance, everyone. Thanks for…uh, this drink. It’s really growing on me.” I took a sip and gave a thumbs-up.

  “You should stand when you address the company, Copper Guest,” Grav’nan-dahé said with a cold smile.

  “Oh, right.” I almost fell backward off the fat cushion before managing to scramble to my feet, worried my junk might fall out of the crotch of my toga.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. Everyone was staring, and I had no clue what they expected me to say. Why hadn’t stupid Davix prepared me for this? “Um, I like your castle. Especially that mosaic when you walk in. It reminds me of the logo of this metal band my friend Edwin used to make me listen to. He said they were—”

  The woman at the lectern was writing furiously, and I realized every lame word I said was going into the freaking DragonLaw! I tried to up my game.

  “I’m grateful for your, uh, thy hospitality, and if…if thou canst, uh, give me a clue how I can…may…be of service while I’m h
ere…” Like banging a dragon for instance, I thought. “I hope thou wonst hesitate to—”

  “For a start,” Grav’nan-dahé interrupted me, “I would suggest that while you are with us, you respect our customs.” His voice had hardened without warning.

  “Of course,” I replied carefully, my danger radar suddenly pinging. I began to lower myself back to my cushion. “I want to learn all about the realm and how—”

  “Remain on your feet,” he demanded, and I got back up. “Copper Guest, during your brief stay, you will be introduced to many situations you may not be familiar with, as you were in the classroom in Vixtet House today.”

  “The classroom…?”

  “Teacher S’arnen is a highly respected member of that house, and knows his work well.”

  I realized I’d been set up. This old idiot was trying to humiliate me in front of everyone, like I’d been caught texting during an exam. I tried to explain. “Look, I didn’t mean to cause any harm. He and I worked it out.”

  “It is not a matter of what you worked out. It is a matter of respect.” Every word stung. “S’arnen has spent many decades shaping young minds—”

  “Yeah, shaping them with a stick,” I muttered, but loud enough to be heard. I forced myself to look him in the eye, even though I could feel my face burning.

  If anything, my attitude made Grav’nan-dahé grow calmer and more confident. “We are all subject to the words of the DragonLaw, Copper Guest. The teacher, the child, the apprentice, the master…even I myself. When the obedience of the least of us slackens, the whole world suffers.” His words were a slow, steady kick in the head. “We presume, Copper Guest, you have not come to our realm to disrupt the peace and balance.” He smiled at me. Smiled! Like we were all good friends and he hadn’t just ripped me a new one in front everyone.

  The whole table was looking at me, waiting to see whether I’d grovel or tell the asshole where he could stick his speeches, or maybe run out of the room crying like a dumb kid. But I was frozen and might have stayed that way if Tiqokh hadn’t saved me.

  “Sit down, Crispin,” he said, in his low-rumble voice.

  Hearing my name shook me out of my paralysis. As I sat, Tiqokh unfolded his legs and rose smoothly to his full and considerable height.

  “Prime Magistrate,” he said, addressing Grav’nan-dahé with what sounded like high formality. “I would like to ask you now, in front of the masters of Cliffside, why you have stripped the Dragon Groom of his title?” I heard a couple of gasps, and otherwise dead silence. A small blue bird flew in one of the tall windows, chasing an insect around one of the glowing rocks, and then exited back into the night.

  Grav’nan-dahé stood straight and still as a stone monolith. “Because, Tiqokh, prophecy is heresy.”

  “Prophecy has a long and revered history in the lives of the gracious Dragon Lords.”

  “And gracious is the world they have built us,” muttered several of the masters.

  “And yet it is not DragonLaw,” the Prime Magistrate replied.

  Tiqokh didn’t look intimidated, although I’m not sure what an intimidated quadrana would look like. “The Council of Earth trusts the prophetic acumen of Glei’hak and Arjee. And with the prophecy delivered, they deemed it essential to seek out and send the Dragon Groom. Surely, even you see the wisdom of such action.”

  And suddenly, Grav’nan-dahé wasn’t quiet anymore. His voice rose, like a TV minister getting to the part about evil gay people and upping your monthly donations. “Superstitions!” he shouted. “Lies!” He banged the table. “The Fire Revealed, with its heresies and idolatries, infects the spirit of the People. On market days, more and more fetishes are quietly sold, more false talismans slipped under garments. Farmer and stonecutter alike stand before their secret kitchen shrines and whisper profane prayers that insult and enrage the Dragon Lords.”

  The old guy was practically hyperventilating. He pulled away from the table and began circling the dining room with his hands in the air. “Oh, great Etnep! Oh, Vixtet and Inby! You granted us salvation when you brought us to your bountiful realm! Renrit, Sur, do not forsake us, though we spit in your faces with our childish profanities!”

  Returning to the table, eyes red, he stared into the faces of the dinner guests one by one. “Mark my words, masters of Cliffside, I have long been patient with the People’s private heretical worship, but my patience grows thin. I began my rule with the banishment of the so-called seers, Glei’hak and Arjee. But I also did away with exile to the Badlands and the offering of the flesh. Heed me! If called to, I will again pull taut the reins and forego my many cycles of leniency.”

  The masters’ reactions ran the gamut. Some nodded, some looked down at the table embarrassed, and some shook their heads at Grav’nan-dahé like they didn’t think much of this speech. Korda’s back was straight, her face neutral—a soldier awaiting orders.

  I glanced sideways and noticed the woman transcribing the speech had stopped writing. Did she get a signal to cease and desist? Or maybe fights didn’t make it into the pages of the DragonLaw, like the way a family edits out the nasty parts of its history. I looked at Tiqokh, wondering if he would respond, or maybe challenge the Prime Magistrate to a sword fight right in front of us.

  In fact, they both just sat down, as if by unspoken mutual agreement. To go with my family metaphor, it was like a Thanksgiving dinner where the daughter announces during the salad course that she’s pregnant by her heroin dealer, but Grandma still trundles out of the kitchen with the mashed potatoes, right on schedule.

  Chapter 12: An Unexpected Visit

  After my public humiliation and the Prime Douchebag’s epic meltdown, I didn’t think I would have any appetite, but it’s actually pretty hard to make my stomach go on strike, and the food was surprisingly good. Beef with pickled vegetables, crusty bread, tiny boiled eggs, peeled and served in a dark, tangy sauce. I remembered to refuse each course once before accepting. Tiqokh and the other quadrana didn’t eat.

  Maybe the fight did have an effect on the assembled masters, because everyone got all polite and fake with me. Were they giving me space to lick my wounds, or did they agree with Grav’nan-dahé that I was some rude little foreigner who wouldn’t be missed when he was gone? In any case, I felt like I had shit the bed in the Realm of Fire.

  By the end of dinner, I was tired and cranky, and I hoped there weren’t any more surprises in store for me. Like, “Hey, Crispin, every guest of honour has to fight the noxious pit monster. Naked!” But, in fact, I was dismissed early while the masters stuck around for some meeting. Much as I wanted to get away from Grav’nan-dahé, I resented being treated like a kid—sent to bed before the grown-ups got out the joints and cranked the 80s music.

  “Please follow, Copper Guest,” said a guy not much older than me. “I will show you to your quarters.” He was dressed in the usual brown shirt and pants, but with a kind of silky cape around his shoulders. I figured him for the bellboy of the guest quarters. There actually were little bells dangling off the end of his cape, making faint tinkling sounds as we headed for the exit.

  Just before I left the hall, I turned around and hissed, “Tiqokh!” and gestured for him to follow us into the corridor. The bellboy stood discreetly to the side, pretending not to listen. He was holding a lantern like some old-fashioned sailor, but one of those glowing rocks was inside instead of a candle. It was the only light in the corridor.

  “Dragon Groom?” Tiqokh asked.

  “Don’t call me that! I’m supposed to be the Copper Guest. Are you trying to get me in more trouble?”

  “You are not in trouble, Crispin. The argument between myself and Grav’nan-dahé is purely a point of religious interpretation.”

  “Easy for you to say. That guy’s got it in for me. If looks could breathe fire…”

  “You would be wise not to do anything else to disrupt the normal proceedings of the Realm.”

  “That wasn’t my fault,” I insisted. “Look, I’m just
scared he’s going to make me, you know, disappear in the middle of the night. And blame it on trolls.”

  “There are no trolls here.”

  “Metaphor! Literary freaking allusion! God, you’re part dragon, and I bet you’ve never read a fantasy novel in your life.” My mind was racing. “Could Davix and Stakrat maybe stay with me tonight? I trust them.”

  “Neither belongs to Etnep House. They would not be allowed in the living quarters.”

  “Don’t you guys ever have, you know, sleepovers? Dorm parties or whatever?”

  “I will watch over you.”

  I looked up at him, surprised. As usual, his face betrayed no emotion.

  “You will?” I asked, incredibly relieved.

  “You won’t see me, but I will guard you against peril.”

  “Because I am in peril?”

  He paused, turning so his face disappeared in shadow. The pause gave me shivers. “I do not know. I have been away from the Realm of Fire for several cycles. Something has changed.”

  “Like what?”

  “I will not speculate. I have said too much already.”

  “Yeah, if you call almost nothing ‘too much.’”

  “I must return to the dining room and listen to the discussion. Do not fear. I will keep you safe.”

  My guest room, at the top of a series of narrow staircases, was a small chamber in a corner tower—just a single bed, a wooden chair, and a small table. On the table stood a pitcher of water, a mug, and a big bowl. It was pretty stuffy, and the bellboy opened the shutters on the window above the bed to let in a cool breeze. When he showed me the chamber pot under the bed, I tried to act cool, despite my sudden and horrified realization there was no en suite bathroom with normal plumbing. I wanted to ask questions, like whether you only pee in the pot or crap, too, and who was responsible for emptying it in the morning, but I chose the coward’s strategy of just nodding, like I was a chamber pot pro.

  The bellboy left the lantern with me. The glowing rock inside was apparently called a torchstone and never went out. He showed me how to baffle the lantern when I went to sleep. Then, wishing me a peaceful night, he closed the door and went downstairs, his little bells eventually falling out of earshot. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the guest tower, and the silence was eerie. I looked out the window. Could I use it for escape if someone attacked me? Sure. I could leap right out, fall five stories, and crash on the stones below. What kind of lame safety protocols did this world have? I wondered. What if there was a fire?