The Dubious Gift of Dragon Blood

by J. Marshall Freeman

  “Sorry,” I said to whomever.

  “Grateful am I to see your shining countenance,” the Prime Prompter hissed into my ear with bonus saliva. And soon I was standing beside the bidahénas, Sur’s shadow falling across me. With three thousand people watching, I awaited my next order (“Dance the merengue covered in peanut butter!”), but then five people in some kind of ceremonial robes climbed up the steps and kneeled in unison.

  The guy in the front of the group held up an amazing, translucent yellow rock the size of an ostrich egg. His hands were shaking as he said, “The people of Sur House dedicate this stone to our patron, to commemorate this wonderful day. Please take it as a token of our love and devotion.”

  One of the bidahénas took the stone from the man in its clawed hands. Sur raised her chest like she was about to receive a medal, and that was more or less what happened. The bidahéna placed the stone in a blank spot on her chest, amid the red, blue, and green stones that seemed to be embedded in her scaly skin. The stone began to glow as soon as it touched her, and smoke rose from the scales around it. The bidahéna let go of the stone, and it sank slowly until it was half-buried in Sur’s chest. The dragon’s eyes were closed, and she seemed to be humming in her bones-deep voice as the smoke cleared.

  Sur said, “THE BOND IS TRUE/THE HOUSE ENDURES.”

  The Interpreter translated for the delegation from Sur House, most of them weeping freely. “Sur proclaims that your offering strengthens her bond with you, and that she will forever protect your house.”

  The bidahéna dismissed the delegation, and they moved down to the bottom of the steps.

  “AND NOW THE UNBRACEABLE SHALL BE BOUND/SUR IS NOT DOMESTIC/YET SHE WILL BEAR/BRING FORTH THE RIDER’S SEAT.”

  The bidahénas looked at each other, and then turned as one toward Grav’nan-dahé. He made a sour face and said to the Interpreter, “The meaning?”

  The little guy was so nervous, he was tapping the ground with his foot like a rabbit in heat. Maybe this was his first time translating for an actual dragon. “Well, the—the subtleties are numerous. There are the multiple meanings of ‘bound,’ as in ‘bound for a destination’ or ‘fated.’ So, I suppose—I mean, I believe—Sur tells us that though she must leave, she will not forget—”

  “Sorry,” I said, loud enough to catch the attention of everyone on the stage. “Uh, I’m not an expert or anything, but is she asking you to put a…a saddle on her?”

  All the mixed beings stared at me, then closed themselves into a group and began arguing. The head of the Sur House delegation climbed back up to the stage, bowing low with every step.

  “Honourable beings, great masters,” he said. “The Copper Guest reminds us that there is, indeed, such a holy apparatus in Etnep House.”

  Grav’nan-dahé straightened and called out, “Where is the Curator of Sites Historic? He must bring forth the relic!” This led to another minute of confusion, and from what I could figure out, it was really surprising and really bad the Curator guy was missing this whole party.

  Grav’nan-dahé said to the man from Sur House, “Inquire of the Etnep House Porter. She will have the keys to the reliquary.” While the delegation ran past us and through the gates, someone with a beautiful tenor voice started singing another hymn, and the crowd picked it up. Sur seemed to be infinitely patient through all this.

  In the meantime, I was busy scanning the crowd for a particular set of eyes, a certain distinctive nose, a smile that was hard to coax, but worth the effort. Where was Davix? Despite being in the centre of a revival meeting for dragon fanatics, a large part of my brain was worried about how I had talked to him up in the Atmospherics Tower. I had questioned his religion, told him the DragonLaw wasn’t so impressive—he probably hated me. The thought burned like acid.

  The gates banged open again, and the delegation from Sur House emerged, carrying a complicated contraption of leather and wood with ornate copper fittings.

  With a hot blast of breath and a gut-churning “HURUMPHHH,” Sur fell forward to crouch on all fours. Her folded wings separated, and she tilted to one side. Have you ever watched a family on a camping trip trying to set up their tent as the last bit of sunlight is leaving the sky and the kids are already screaming for supper? That’s sort of what the delegates and the mixed beings looked like putting the saddle on Sur. I stood well back.

  But let me ask you, how dumb am I? Why hadn’t I guessed who was going to be sitting in that saddle, which was probably seeing the light of day for the first time in centuries? Why was I surprised when Sur said, “DRAGON GROOM/THE FIVE PREPARE A WELCOME/COLLATION, CREATION, POETRY, BALANCE, AND TRANSFORMATION”?

  “Um, oh yeah?” I said, feeling light-headed. I must have looked at everyone onstage, begging for a way out, but only Grav’nan-dahé responded, gesturing me toward the dragon with foul impatience plastered across his face.

  I moved slowly forward, like my pants were full of crap, and Sur called, “THE SKIES ARE LONELY/THEY WRITE YOUR NAME IN FOG/YOU WILL RIDE ME, RIDE ME/THOUGH NOT AS LAVA-BLOODED GROOM.”

  I stopped. “Wait, did you just make a sex joke?” Someone placed a big cape on my shoulders, and someone else handed me a cloth sack, pointing out the provisions inside, the food and drink I would need during the journey. And then, still holding my beltless pants up with one hand, I was helped up into the saddle, which was more like one of those riding baskets they put on elephants in India.

  The helpers scrambled back down Sur’s flanks, retreating to a safe distance like you do before a helicopter takes off, and I think I called out, “Hey, wait…” But destiny doesn’t wait, at least not for someone as insignificant as Crispin Haugen. Sur’s wings snapped open, and their wind made my hair rise and fall. We lurched backward, my feet rising in the air, and then forward. I grabbed the edge of the basket, just saving me from slamming my face into its ornate woodwork. And we were airborne.

  Sur made a sharp turn above the square at a terrifying angle, and below me, every face was turned upward in awe. The wind in my ears was loud, the ground retreating, but I leaned over the side of the basket and saw Davix at the back of the square, sitting on Tix-etnep-thon-dahé’s grey mule. He was waving at me, the smile on his face visible even from that distance. Daring to let go one of my clutching hands, I waved back. And there was a connection between us, as real as the strands that linked the Realm of Fire to the Earth. Sur gained altitude, and we disappeared into the ceiling of fog. I prayed wherever I was being taken, the thread tying me to that peculiar, beautiful boy would stay strong.

  PART III

  High in the Mountains, Deep in the Fog

  Chapter 18: Farad’hil

  Sometimes I have this image of myself as a wimp who’s afraid of everything. But I’m not afraid of heights. In fact, the ride on Sur’s back was totally kick-ass.

  We began by flying low over the fields outside Cliffside, the landscape of the Realm of Fire playing hide-and-seek beneath us under the shifting layer of fog. Farmers, hammering at fence posts, pulling weeds, and otherwise getting ready for planting season, dropped their tools and gaped as Sur passed overhead. With two days of nonstop amazement behind me, it was hard to remember that seeing a dragon was a rare, red-letter day for the People. Beyond the farmlands, we passed over hilly meadows dotted with wildflowers and small gatherings of trees. Fog patches drifted by, revealing deer munching on the daisies. A fox chased a rabbit through the low bushes, and I cheered when the little bunny got away.

  Abruptly, the greenbelt ended, and we were flying over bare rock, grey and pitted. This terrain was empty and lifeless as the moon. Dry heat rose around us, and Sur caught the thermals like a hawk and circled higher into the sky.

  “That’s a depressing view,” I muttered to myself, and what with being up on her back with the wind howling by us, I didn’t think she would hear me. I was wrong.

  “WE PLANT OUR LITTLE GARDEN, DRAGON GROOM/CHERISH ALL FROM WHEAT STALK TO KINGSOLVER/ONE DAY, THE LIVING WORLD WILL BE COMPLETE.�
�

  I felt a hot flush of embarrassment. “Sorry, didn’t mean to disrespect the, uh, realm. Can I ask you a question, ma’am…I mean Dragon-dahé…”

  “WHY USE ANY NAME BUT ‘SUR’/WHEN ‘SUR’ ENCOMPASSES/ALL MY GREATNESS?”

  “Okay, Sur, awesome. And you can skip the whole Dragon Groom thing and call me Crispin.”

  “KHARIS’PAR’IH’IN,” she repeated, which meant something like, “That itch on your back you can’t quite reach.”

  “Um, close enough,” I said, giving up on anyone in the realm getting my name right. “Where are we going exactly?”

  “FARAD’HIL CALLS TO US/AND TO ITS HALLS WE FLY.”

  “How far is that?”

  “NO MATTER HOW FAR/FARAD’HIL IS AS CLOSE AS/THE BEAT OF YOUR PULSE.”

  “Like, should I ration my food or can I eat my sandwich?” I asked with a hopeful lilt. Sur didn’t answer, so I pulled the food from the cloth sack. I held off on drinking, because I wasn’t sure how I’d ask the dragon to pull into a rest stop if I had to pee. We were way up high now, flying parallel to a distant range of jagged mountains covered in thick forest, the tallest of them with bare snowy peaks.

  “What’re those?” I asked her.

  “THE CHEND’TH’NIF MOUNTAINS/THE SPINE OF THE REALM/A GREEN WALL BETWEEN US AND THE BADLANDS.”

  “Badlands?”

  “A DESPERATE INFERNO WHERE NO CREATURE WALKS/BUT THEY WISH THEIR HOURS SHORTER./THE TRAVELLER’S SKIN ERUPTS LIKE THE GROUND/THEIR TEARS DRY IN BLISTERED SOCKETS.”

  “Yeah, let’s give the Badlands a miss, then.”

  I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep until I found myself tumbling sideways. I peeked over the edge of the basket. Sur was banking sharply into the Chend’th’nif Mountains. Snowy peaks rose high over our heads, and forested valleys slid by beneath our feet. Up ahead, something glittered in the sunlight, dazzling my eyes. It was a huge dome made up of triangular glass panes, the only thing in the mountains that wasn’t, you know, nature. I didn’t have much time to wonder about it before Sur went into a sudden dive, and I had to grab the basket rim for support. We plunged into a long canyon, narrow as a bowling alley, zooming straight at a sheer rock face. Before I had time to scream, Sur made a last-minute upward climb, spread her wings wide, and landed with a stomach-lurching deceleration.

  We were on a wide ledge of rock, like a balcony halfway up the mountainside. In the big stone wall of the mountain stood a massive and intimidating gate made of criss-crossing beams of copper and steel. Sur sat placidly as seven mixed beings ran out through a small door in the gate. Three octonas began undoing the saddle, while a quadrana lifted me out of the basket like I was a Pomeranian. Unlike Tiqokh, this quadrana had an impressive set of leathery wings. Still dizzy from the ride, I was happy to just sit on the ground, taking in the scene.

  One of the freaky bidahénas was up front, wiping Sur’s head and shoulders with a large damp cloth, while a second quadrana ran his clawed hand through the leathery cords of her mane. This busy crew reminded me of hair and makeup, touching up the movie star between shots. Everyone was wearing shimmery tunics, like the costume designer had been given the direction “glamalicious Bible epic.”

  “Welcome, Dragon Groom,” said an octona in a long green robe with a matching big-shoulder jacket. “I am X’raftik, the Chief Valet of Farad’hil.” She reached out a hand and pulled me to my feet like I weighed nothing. Immediately, my beltless pants fell to my ankles. Never say I don’t know how to make an entrance.

  “Do not be distressed,” X’raftik said as I pulled up my pants, blushing. “We have new vestments for you, more appropriate to the dragons’ domain.” She clapped her hands twice, and two of the octonas came forward, carrying a folded set of the shimmery clothing—imperial purple, shot through with threads of silver and copper. The pair were young, maybe college age, and I realized all the mixed beings I’d seen so far were adults. Was Farad’hil where the mixed beings grew up?

  “Please change into these garments, Dragon Groom,” said one.

  “Change? Out here?” I watched a hawk sweep through canyon, eyeing our party suspiciously.

  The other young octona said, “You may not pass through the gate dressed as you are. Do not worry. We will take care of your clothing during your stay.”

  So I stripped down to my dragon boxers right there under the foggy sky. I guess I was starting to get over my body shyness. But as I stood in my skivvies with the chill wind whipping around my skinny legs, I made an awful discovery.

  “My necklace. It’s gone!” It had to have been one of those grabby souvenir hounds when I was crowd surfing. They probably had the little wolf’s head hanging from their showerhead by now, praying to it so they could get some mating action.

  X’raftik made a tutting sound. “I’m sure all will be restored when we return you to Cliffside. But now, let us not keep Great Sur waiting.” She shoved one of the young octonas forward with my new clothes.

  The outfit felt all kinds of rich and yummy, and I hoped there would be a full-length mirror in my near future. I did a fashion model spin and came back around to find Sur looking me up and down through her big slitted eyes. She nodded solemnly.

  “YOU SHINE LIKE THE GREAT ABODE ITSELF/KHARIS’PAR’IH’IN/NOW ENTER FARAD’HIL/AND BE AMAZED!”

  The ground shook as the big gate began to open up, the horizontal and vertical elements pulling apart, like a shredded wheat unweaving.

  Okay, I’ll admit it. Despite having dragon blood myself, I was still making assumptions about my scaly cousins. I expected Farad’hil to be stony and primitive—dank, dark caves, maybe stinking of dragon guano. Stereotypes, I know! I’m a dragophobe. In point of fact, the place was better than a Vegas hotel. The walls of the curving entrance tunnel started as rough rock but soon gave way to a smooth pattern of long waves that sparkled in a dozen shades of fuchsia. The waves led us around the corner to a wider hall with crystal statues three times my height. There were realistic subjects like birds and flowers, but also wild abstracts. Moving lights glinted through the crystal so they seemed to be dancing.

  The corridor took a last turn, and we arrived at the enormous central cavern. I looked up and down at what seemed to be a city in an open-pit mine. A wide and winding road hugged the walls of the cavern, spiralling round from top to bottom. The cavern was narrow at the bottom and widened as it ascended, like the inside of a big ice cream cone. And up at the top was the glass dome I’d seen from the air, the mid-afternoon light pouring through, lighting up the whole of Farad’hil.

  The design theme was natural versus artificial. Stands of trees planted along sections of the road were interspersed with pillars of polished stone. Shiny metal sculptures of birds hung from the high ceiling, and flying among them were live storks who landed in perfect pools set in outcroppings on the terraced wall. A narrow waterfall across from us fell with a bright splash from the top of Farad’hil to a small lake at the bottom.

  Despite the size of the place, it didn’t appear to have much of a population. I saw maybe a dozen mixed beings moving around. Some were pulling small wagons or carrying bundles of lumber and cloth. Others wrote in grace books as they walked the roadway. A pair of winged quadranas flew up from the depths, circling once when they saw Sur and calling out, “The city throbs with pleasure as you enter, great Sur.” I won’t comment.

  I felt hot breath on the back of my neck, and Sur said, “OH, FARAD’HIL/YOUR GOLDEN HALLS GIVE BIRTH TO DREAMS/YOUR LIGHT ILLUMINATES THE REALM.”

  “And I haven’t even seen the food court,” I murmured, unnerved by her looming presence behind me. Maybe the joy of coming home was making her playful, because she suddenly ducked her head and hooked me on one of her rounded horns, lifting me off the ground and flipping me onto her wide back.

  Before I had time to lodge a protest, she said, “TAKE HOLD OF MY MANE/OR PLUMMET TO ECSTATIC DEATH/IN THE ABODE OF DREAMS.”

  She leaped from the roadway into space, and I chose the ho
lding-on option, doing a roller-coaster scream to show I was a good sport. Or maybe I was just petrified. She circled the great cavern, swooping low over the lake and then climbing again. Sur landed on the spiral roadway not too far from the cavern floor, in front of a high triangular cave mouth cut in the wall of the chamber.

  “HERE THE DRAGONLAW COMES HOME/ASHES AND SMOKE RUNNING BACK IN TIME TO MAKE AGAIN THE TREE.”

  I slid off Sur’s back and approached the opening curiously. The dragon followed me inside. The rocky chamber was dim, with a ceiling high enough that dragons wouldn’t have to worry about bumping their heads. What lights there were came from a series of…I guess they were workstations, maybe twenty-five of them packed tightly like a call centre. Each desk was occupied by an octona, flipping the pages of grace books, making notations in green ink. Small torchstones cast just enough light to illuminate the open books.

  I was looking over one of their shoulders when he suddenly called out, “Proofed entries from Textiles on the rise.”

  He swept his hand across the page from the bottom to top, and the text vanished. The blue light in the corner of the grace book flashed. It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw the letters swirling into the air, like a swarm of translucent bees, rising through a big hole in the ceiling that led to an upper level.

  From that second level, a deep, flat voice responded. “Entries from Textiles received.” I followed Sur up a wide ramp to this second level, keeping far enough behind so I didn’t get flattened by her swinging tail. Upstairs, there were only three desks, but much bigger than the ones below. At every desk, a quadrana sat, poring over texts in the four or five grace books arranged in front of them. Eyes inches from the page, they ran clawed fingers across each line, calling out requests for reference books. Octonas scrambled up ladders to fetch the dusty old volumes from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that lined the walls. There was a chilly draft running through the room, and I looked up into a huge airshaft over our heads, so high and dim, I couldn’t see where it ended.