The Dubious Gift of Dragon Blood

by J. Marshall Freeman

  “Wind speeds are not dull,” he said. “And we weren’t abducted!”

  My mouth was just dropping open to argue more when I realized what an idiot I was. Why the hell was I offending Davix with all these questions about his religion? Why wasn’t I making amusing small talk and finding a place to drop in lines like, Just so you know, I’m also exclusively attracted to males. Davix closed the book and returned to sit behind his desk.

  “Don’t you believe in anything, X’risp’hin?” he asked after a painfully silent minute.

  “You mean, like God or something? I tried once.” I sat down on the cool stone floor beside his chair, my arms around my knees. “There was this kid—Timothy—at school when I was thirteen, and I liked him. And I think he liked me, too, but he was one of the Jesus kids.”

  “Jesus?” Davix asked.

  “A god on Earth. One of the popular ones. Anyway, the closer we got, the more Timothy talked about Jesus. One day, I think we were really close to kissing for the first time, but he pulled away and told me, ‘If you pray, you won’t be confused anymore.’”

  Telling the story was kind of shaking me up, making me feel the uncertainty and guilt of that time all over again. I wished I hadn’t started. But Davix was looking down at me with those big, warm eyes, so I continued.

  “Every night for a week, I kneeled on the floor beside my bed and tried to find Jesus in my heart. That’s where Timothy said he hung out. But I never did find him. And when it felt too stupid and my knees started to hurt, I just got up and played video games instead.”

  “Did you ever kiss Timothy?”

  “No. My friends all laughed at the Jesus kids, and the Jesus kids didn’t talk to us either, so we drifted apart.”

  “Sometimes my friends laugh at me for my devotion,” Davix said. “I wasn’t always so devout. When we chose our disciplines, only the mysteries of Atmospherics interested me. I was determined to grow up into the best forecaster in the Realm. Then, when my friends and I reached our sixth cycle and began preparing for our Consolidation ceremony, the beauty of the DragonLaw opened before me like a flower, full of answers for those who took the time to look.” He was smiling now, like he could see the beauty in front of him.

  “I understand your friend Timothy, X’risp’hin. I too have no taste for confusion. The balance and certainty of the DragonLaw offers light in the darkness when we feel lost.” He straightened the pens on his desk and rotated the ink bottle nervously. “I know you don’t feel welcomed by Grav’nan-dahé, but he is a great man, believe me. Pious and dedicated. After my Consolidation ceremony, I decided to model my devotion on his. I pulled back from my studies in Atmospherics, and the Prime Magistrate took me on as his special pupil.”

  “And that’s why Tix-etnep-thon-dahé made Rinby Lead Apprentice instead of you,” I said, and his smile went flat. Way to go, Crispin.

  “We make decisions,” he answered. “They have consequences.”

  I tried to figure out how to climb out of this hole. “So, you’re not confused anymore? That’s good.”

  “I wasn’t for a long time. Living in the clarity of the DragonLaw gave me peace. But since Rinby died…” He started straightening a pile of already straight notebooks, and I wanted to grab his hands and hold them against me. “For the first time in cycles, X’risp’hin, I am filled with doubts. The bidahénas say her death was an accident, but that doesn’t make sense. Grav’nan-dahé has forbidden me to investigate, and I feel so much anger!”

  “Trust me, I get it,” I said. “Your hero is being a jerk to me, too.”

  But what I thought was solidarity just made him angrier. “He doesn’t want you disturbing the balance of the Realm, like you did when you disrupted the classroom!”

  “Look, I didn’t ask for this copper blood. They told me I had to come here and be your Dragon Queen’s stud horse. And what’s my thanks? Some cranky priest makes a laughingstock of me.”

  “But prophecy is not supported by scripture.”

  “And I don’t care about your stupid scripture,” I shot back, exasperated.

  Davix’s eyes locked onto mine, full of rage, but I also thought he might start to cry, and maybe if we had been seated at the same level, I would have leaned in right then and kissed him. But the idea of hiking myself up awkwardly off the floor to get into position shot me full of hot, red, self-consciousness. I looked away, into the shadows under his desk. And that’s when I noticed something weird.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “What?” He pushed his chair back and joined me on the floor.

  “See? It’s a piece of wood under the drawer in your desk. It’s probably supposed to be there, right? I’m dumb.”

  “No, it’s not,” he said, reaching up to take hold of it. The square of thin wood was cut to the same size as the drawer, but it was a hack job, held in place with a few bent nails. Sliding the wood back, Davix found a small stack of papers.

  We stood, and he spread the sheets out on the desk. They looked like the notes in the apprentice’s notebook, only messier, hastily scrawled rows and columns without the neat table enclosing them.

  “What is this?” I asked. “A rough draft?”

  “No, we write directly into the notebooks. This is Rinby’s handwriting!” he said, distressed. “I-I don’t understand what we’re looking at. Why would she have these?”

  “And why was she hiding them?”

  I’m not sure what he was going to say, but he never had the chance. From eight stories down, we heard Stakrat shouting.

  “Davix! Klar’s Blood, Davix, come to the window!”

  We both ran over and saw her below, at the base of the tower.

  “What is it?” he called back.

  She was actually jumping up and down in place, her outstretched finger moving as it tracked something crossing the sky. From our vantage point inside the tower, we couldn’t see it at first, but then a great creature of green and copper wheeled into view, flying with slow, mighty beats of its wings, a mane of leathery strips trailing back from its head and neck.

  It was a dragon.

  Chapter 16: The Intruder and the Curator

  The Curator of Sites Historic was in his workshop in the Citadel. It was the quietest place in Cliffside, and he appreciated its peace. But the time he spent cocooned in silence made him acutely aware of changes in the background hum of the city. Sensing a charge, an air of excitement, he left his work to investigate.

  He crossed the courtyard and climbed up the steps to the top of the Citadel’s walls. The sight of the dragon caught him off guard, and he had to steady himself on one of the flagpoles lest he topple to the rocks below. How magnificent. How unexpected. Why was the dragon here, days before Sarensikar? Why this dragon in particular? He knew his services would be required, and he would have to work quickly. Did the dragon require a throne be brought forth? A dining table sufficient to her status laid out in Etnep House? Were the crowns and other emblems of majesty all in good repair?

  Focussed as he was on his inventories and task lists, he was unaware of the Intruder’s stealthy approach. He tried to grab for the retaining wall as he tumbled forward, but he had been hurled too far into space. The jagged stone below came at him too fast. This was death. How unexpected.

  Chapter 17: Sur

  I was excited that a dragon was coming to Cliffside. Who wouldn’t be? But I had no idea what kind of freaking insanity I was about to witness.

  We hurried out into the stairwell. Davix said, “Wait here!” and ran up the stairs. I could hear him shouting to the other apprentices, hear their chairs clattering to the floor as they ran to the window. Then Davix was racing past me, yelling, “Follow!”

  We took the spiral stairs so fast, I was dizzy by the time we reached Tix-etnep-thon-dahé’s office.

  “Master-da!” Davix yelled, but the old man was already at the window with Flak on his shoulder. Both were staring out, both nodding.

  “It is Sur,” The Atmospherics Maste
r said. “She is here for the Copper Guest. Go! I see the Defence apprentice already has the mare saddled.”

  Davix hurried me out into the fog-streaked sunshine. I wanted to take a minute and catch my breath, but the chestnut horse appeared out of the fog and almost ran us down.

  Stakrat brought it to a halt, shouting, “Climb up, X’risp’hin! I have to get you to Cliffside.”

  “How exactly do I get up there?” I said, looking for a ladder or a forklift or something. I had zero experience with equestrian shenanigans. Davix squatted and cupped his hands for me to step into, and somehow between him and Stakrat, I climbed into the saddle behind her.

  “I’ll follow directly,” Davix said, running off in the direction of Tix-etnep-thon-dahé’s hut.

  “Hang on tight,” Stakrat called, and we were off. Stakrat reached back and handed me a brass bell on a short stick. “Ring this every few seconds when we’re in fog.”

  And right away we were, so I began ringing loudly and nonstop, terrified of a sudden collision.

  “Not that much ringing,” she shouted.

  We broke through the fog as we rounded a corner, almost immediately catching sight of the dragon flying in circles over the city. As we climbed through the streets, more and more people poured out of every building, blocking our way.

  “Stand aside! Let the Copper Guest through,” Stakrat yelled in her best soldier voice as the crowd pinned us on all sides. Walking would have been faster, but I didn’t want to be down there. Everyone had a kind of desperate longing on their faces, like when middle-school me and a thousand girls lined up for autographs from boy bands. I was impressed with the horse’s chill demeanour as we picked slowly through the throng. Stakrat, on the other hand, looked ready to pull out her knife and start hacking us a path. Somewhere in the distance, I heard the sound of hundreds of voices singing.

  Suddenly! A deep thumping whoosh, and the sky above us darkened. The dragon, Sur, flew directly overhead, close enough that I could see big, coloured jewels pressed into the scales on her chest. A wave of gasps and shouts washed from street to street as she flew over, and finally a resounding cheer and redoubling of the song. The minute we were free of the narrow street, Stakrat urged the horse into a gallop. I rang the bell to get people out of the way, almost falling off as we took a tight corner. And there we were, back at the Retreat of Tarn.

  “Holy crap,” was my summation of what lay ahead of me. Stakrat and I climbed off the horse onto the raised base of a statue where we could watch the action. Every one of Cliffside’s residents was either present or just arriving, filling the Retreat of Tarn all the way to the stage in front of the gates of Etnep House. As one, they sang their rousing hymn:

  You, the Five, who saved us from calamity

  You who built this haven for the People

  You the dragons whom we love

  Accept this song as our token

  Sur, sitting serenely on the stage, was huge, at least six metres from head to tail. The long leathery strips on the back of her neck were swept elegantly to one side, like a shawl, and the sun glittered off the jewels on her chest. From her broad shoulders to her heavy tail, she radiated power. Yet she was also graceful as she surveyed the crowd with her hooded, red eyes. People were coming forward to lay down presents on the steps. Even the fog seemed to be showing its respect, hanging above the square without touching down.

  “Isn’t she wonderful, X’risp’hin?” asked a voice behind me. I turned and found that Grentz had joined us on the statue base, tears spilling from his eyes.

  “She really is, yeah,” I said, moved by his big, wet display of emotion.

  “My full name is Agren-sur-dez. You understand?”

  “You mean you’re part of Sur House? She’s your dragon?”

  Nodding like a bobble-toy, he said, “This is a day without parallel!” and pulled me into a smothery hug.

  Extricating myself from him as politely as I could, I asked Stakrat, “I know they do flyovers, but when was the last time a dragon actually landed in town?”

  She grinned at me, so wide-eyed, she looked stoned. “Not for generations, X’risp’hin. The last one was Queen Etnep herself, receiving blessings from the People before she retreated to the Matrimonial Tunnels. That was when she laid Sur’s egg. And Sur is now one hundred and eighty cycles old!” Even though she was shouting in my ear, the rising crowd noise almost drowned her out.

  Up on the stage, an official-looking group emerged through the gates of Etnep House, walking with measured steps in precise formation. Grav’nan-dahé and some other humans were in the lead, all dressed in fancy-ass robes with glittery bits. They were followed by a bunch of mixed beings including the bidahénas Kror and Throd I’d met the night before. Bringing up the rear was the little interpreter in orange. He squeezed his way to the front, standing close, but not too close, to Sur. The songs continued, and the gifts piled up on the steps. For next few minutes, the group of officials did elaborate bows and prayers, until Sur raised a hand, silencing them. The crowd shut up, too, the cacophony dropping to a low, excited hum.

  Sur began scanning the crowd, her search coming to an abrupt halt when she turned my way. Coincidence, I hoped. But then she spoke, and the others on the stage followed her gaze. The interpreter walked to the front of the stage. He was shouting something into the crowd, and everyone in the crowd turned my way, picking up the call.

  “Copper Guest! Copper Guest!”

  “What am I supposed to do?” I said, leaning close to Stakrat.

  “You have to get up there.”

  “Shit,” I murmured, feeling sick.

  “Copper Guest!” called a man in front of me. “Let us lift you over the square.” He raised his hands toward me.

  “Uh, that’s, um, nice of you…no, I-I can walk…”

  But then everyone around him was raising their hands, and I realized I was supposed to crowd surf.

  “Do it, X’risp’hin,” Stakrat said. “They won’t drop you.”

  “No, no way, forget this,” I said, trying to climb higher on the statue, but time had smoothed the stone until there was no foothold, and right away I slipped.

  Screaming, I fell into a sea of hands, soft but firm, that lifted me into the hazy sunshine and carried me over the square. At first, I was terrified, passed hand to hand, face turned up to the foggy sky, moving inexorably to my rendezvous with the giant lizard. The voices from below were ecstatic, calling up, “Bless our realm, Dragon Groom,” and “You are the peace, you are the balance,” so I tried to let go of my fear and get into it. I was the mighty Copper Guest and this was a big day. But then the whole religious experience tilted into the creepy. The crowd, growing more feverish as I got closer to the stage, began to snatch souvenirs off me. I felt the belt being pulled loose from my pants, then felt a tugging and tearing at the decorative hem of my shirt. A few hands took liberties they should not have on my bum and environs.

  “Stop that!” I shouted, as the gentle sea of hands grew turbulent. They yanked my hair and pinched my flesh. One of my shoes began to come loose in someone’s hand, and I kicked until the sneak thief yelped in pain. I felt like I was fighting for my life. But suddenly, all the grabby hands were wrenched loose and replaced by a single pair. Before I knew it, I was being flipped upright to sit on Tiqokh’s knobby shoulders.

  He pushed through the crowd like his arms were scythes and he was cutting a path through a cornfield.

  “Wow, am I glad to see you!” I said, balancing myself with a hand on his scaly head.

  He answered in his cool, thoughtful way. “The psychodynamics of human crowds is an area not well enough understood here in the Realm of Fire, but I recognize it from Earth.”

  “Yeah, this is a total hockey crowd.” I ran a hand through my messed-up hair and refastened the buttons on my tunic. One button had been torn right off. We were approaching the stage; everyone was looking my way. Including the dragon.

  “Hey, Tiqokh,” I said quietly into his ear. �
��I don’t suppose we could go anywhere other than up there, could we?”

  “There is no point, Crispin, in delaying what must be.”

  “I know, I know. Once you break Mom’s favourite porcelain, it’s only a matter of time before she notices it’s missing.”

  Tiqokh lifted me off his shoulders and deposited me on the steps among the flowers and statues and cakes wrapped in coloured paper, like I was one of the presents. I had an epic wedgie, and the only non-gross way to fix it was to jump up and down until my underwear settled, holding up the beltless pants so they wouldn’t fall down in front of everyone. My jumping seemed to excite the crowd, who roared in approval.

  And then Sur spoke.

  “DRAGON GROOM,” she said. The voice wasn’t just deep. It was like the world had built me a private earthquake with its epicentre in my bowels. And there was more to it—something not vocal or vibrational at all, but like the message had been beamed right up my nose and into my brain.

  “THE CRACKED FRACTALS OF DESTINY/THE THREADS OF HISTORY, SPUN AND SPINNING/TANGLED IN YOU, YOU IN US, WE IN ALL/BRING YOU HERE.”

  I recognized her speech as ancient dragon, but it also sounded like poetry—the modern kind without the rhymes. I dared a look at Sur, who was examining me with her head tilted to one side. I could feel the hot breath she exhaled from her nose and hear the EDM bass thud of her enormous heart. When her tail swished to the side, the hiss across the marble was like the world’s biggest librarian shushing the reading room.

  “Join us,” said a bidahéna, clicking its long claws at me in a way that didn’t exactly put a spring in my step.

  “Tiqokh…?” I muttered, turning and finding him gone.

  Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard murmurs in my ear. “Climb the steps. Bow with each step. Repeat after me.” It was Grav’nan-dahé. And it’s funny how even your worst enemy can be an ally when the situation is this weird. “Oh, Great Sur…”

  “Oh, Great Sur,” I repeated, full-voiced as Gravy-man fed me the lines in a whisper. “Far have I travelled and grateful am I…” My toe hit a gift—a little metal statue of five dragon heads in a circle, and it toppled over and clanged all too audibly down the steps.