In the Time of Dragon Moon

by Janet Lee Carey

The ship creaked like old bones as I struggled down the gangplank with the trunk and took my place at the end of the procession walking two-by-two down the long curved quay for shore.

  An enormous dragon twice the size of the ones who’d escorted us in swooped down and landed by the welcoming party, folding his wings and shaking himself a little as a seabird will do when it alights on the beach.

  “Welcome to Dragon’s Keep, Your Majesties,” he hissed, his voice like rough rocks tumbling down a ravine. King Arden gave him a hurried nod and whisked his wife up the beach toward the waiting horses.

  I rested the Adan’s trunk at my feet. The dragon’s spicy breath loosened the hair at my temples, warmed my body. Closing my eyes, I was home, bathing in the steaming pools in the hills far below Mount Uther’s volcanic rim. I could almost smell the slight sulfurous scent, mixed with the delicious odors of the lush green forest.

  When I opened them again, I saw I had stayed too long. The king’s men had stepped past the great dragon and we were left alone.

  “I am Lord Kahlil. Welcome to Dragon’s Keep.” His low, rumbling voice greeted me in Euit. I was surprised. Dragons are masters of many languages, but our tribe is small now. I thought only the reds still bothered to learn our tongue.

  I’d learned to guard my speech among the English, but just this once I let my words sing. “Thank you, Lord Kahlil. I am the queen’s physician, Uma Quarteney. I am full in being here,” I said in formal Euit before reverencing him with a bow and a hand on his scaly foot. The scales were leathery and warm.

  Lord Kahlil gave a low, smoky sigh. Mother had told me stories about this dragonlord. He’d been a friend to the Pendragons for generations. Jagged scars ran down his long neck. A few teeth were missing, but the rest of his fangs looked sharp enough to eat his prey, bones and all. I hitched up my skirts and lifted Father’s trunk.

  “You carry a great weight,” he said.

  “I guard the queen’s medicines.”

  “I do not mean the trunk.”

  A shiver raced up my spine. Great dragons like Lord Kahlil, who lived a thousand years or more, had a long view. They saw patterns far beyond what we could see. Did he see “a great weight” in my past, the losses I carried since the English came, since Father died, or was he speaking about the future? My future.

  I was working up the nerve to ask Lord Kahlil, when he turned and began to walk up the long beach toward the castle.

  Suddenly the dark shore felt vast, like the waters I’d just crossed.

  I stood in the darkness with nothing but the summer’s night wind surrounding me, until a ring of torchlight encircled me, and a man’s strong hand reached for Father’s trunk. He’d sneaked up from behind.

  I started, turned, and came face-to-face with Jackrun Pendragon. “Let me help you with that,” he said.

  I held the trunk firm. “I can manage.”

  His hand was still out. I caught the scent of sweat, the peppery aroma of dragons coming off his skin. “The beach is tricky in the dark. Driftwood lies everywhere like a giant’s bones. You’ll need a hand and my torchlight if you don’t want to fall.”

  Our eyes locked. He seemed to read my hesitation, note my tight grip on the trunk.

  “You’ve nothing to fear,” he said. “Let me introduce myself.”

  “I know who you are,” I said. His face was much leaner than his cousin’s, but he had the same well-shaped nose over full lips. Traces of his Persian heritage showed in his gold-brown skin, and dark curls. Fiery rings surrounded the dark pupils in his green eyes.

  A swirling gust, swift and hot, stirred us both. Lord Kahlil wheeled overhead, coming closer with each spiral, his great wings outstretched like sails, the night clouds deep red above him. Jackrun’s black cloak and my gray one slapped against each other like battle flags.

  My hair ribbon flew off, and Jackrun chased after it, returning just as the beast winged out to sea.

  “What was that?” I asked, still watching the retreating dragon. “Was he angry with me or—”

  “Not angry, I’m guessing. I think he sees you have the help you need.” He reached again for the trunk.

  I paused. It was heavy. “Just carry your end.”

  He cocked a smile. “As you wish.”

  I tucked the ribbon into my mother’s woven belt, watching Jackrun out of the corner of my eye as we walked up the dark beach toward his father’s castle, the trunk swinging to and fro between us.

  Jackrun slowed his pace as we skirted a large driftwood log. “My dragon, Babak, startled the queen. I saw you bring her a potion. You calmed her. Are you her lady’s maid? Tell me your name so I can thank you properly.”

  Jackrun Pendragon had waited on the beach to thank me? “I am no lady’s maid. I’m Uma Quarteney, the queen’s physician.”

  He stopped. “You must be a very gifted healer to have risen so high in your profession at such a young age.”

  I gaped at him. A fluttering sensation passed along my chest as if my secret fox mark moved below my collarbone. No one had ever called me a gifted healer.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  I tightened my grip on the trunk. He knew nothing about me.

  He kicked up the sand as we walked on. “What ails the queen that she needs to bring her personal physician with her?”

  Infertility. Madness. “Weak stomach,” I said, landing on a half-truth. She had lost her appetite at sea. I wasn’t about to discuss her real maladies with her nephew.

  “Well, thank you for what you did back there, Uma Quarteney.”

  We climbed the wooden stairs up from the beach to the grassy bluff, then stopped three stones’ throw from the castle to rest and catch our breath.

  Jackrun jammed the torch handle in the grass and got on his knees. Running his fingers along the dragon carvings encircling the Adan’s trunk, he said, “Very fine workmanship. Matches the pattern in your belt. Who made it?”

  “A woodcrafter carved it for my father down in Devil’s Boot.”

  “Where is your father now?”

  I couldn’t speak past the ache in my chest.

  “I’m sorry,” said Jackrun. “I did not mean to—”

  I fingered the silky places on my belt where Mother had woven her red hair into one of the dragons. She didn’t know what had happened to Father, unless Vazan had flown home to Devil’s Boot and told her. My hands went clammy.

  Jackrun stood again. “I’d like to see Devil’s Boot someday.”

  “It’s a lush and dangerous place,” I said with pride.

  “Yes, with a living volcano, so I’ve heard.”

  That living volcano had saved us when I was small. I had terrible memories of the English army burning our village, marching us south, closer to the mountain. When we reached the foothills, Mount Uther had rumbled, and spewed smoke and molten lava. The English army fled. We celebrated that year and every year after that with our explosive volcano dance. The only dance the red dragons admired, aside from the one we did on Dragon Moon.

  Jackrun said, “I plan to explore all of Wilde Island.”

  “You’ve never seen it?”

  “We’ve kept clear of it.”

  “Why?”

  “It is a long story, Uma Quarteney.”

  “Because you are the Son of the Prophecy?” I asked.

  He looked surprised. “Some call me that. The firstborn with dragon, human, and fairy blood was supposed to be king, able to rule everyone, every race fairly. My mother married the wrong brother for that.”

  I rubbed the long scar on my palm. “Rule every race fairly? Even the Euit people? My people?”

  “Of course. Your people deserve respect like anyone else,” he said.

  Not if you ask Prince Desmond, I thought. “That would be very different than it has ever been before.”

  “I
t was all a dream anyway. My mother made her own choice. She infuriated the fairies, especially my grandfather. My parents fled Wilde Island to escape his vengeful magic, and took sanctuary here before I was born.”

  “And you’ve been safe here on Dragon’s Keep?”

  “It depends what you mean by safe. We haven’t gone unpunished.” He hefted my father’s trunk.

  I blocked him. “I will take one end.”

  He shook his head. “You guide us up to the road with the torch while I carry it for you, Uma Quarteney.” I surprised myself, letting him. He carried it along the bluff toward the castle with ease.

  “It’s a long way from Devil’s Boot to Pendragon Castle. I envy your journey. You must have seen the whole east coast of Wilde Island along the way.”

  He looked wistful, imagining a pleasant journey on horseback, not at all like the one I’d taken locked in Prince Desmond’s jail cart. As soon as Mother sees you and your boy here, she’ll realize you’re a fraud. Healing infertile women. Ha. That’s a joke. I bet you used your prick, old man.

  Jackrun must have heard me moan. I hadn’t meant to make a sound. “You’re tired after the long voyage,” he said. “I’ll take you to your room. Then I’ll have to leave you and dress for dinner. My mother has planned an elaborate feast. The Great Hall will be crammed with islanders to welcome the king.”

  “But no dragons?”

  He laughed. “I would love to squeeze them in, but our Great Hall is not that great.”

  “The queen will be relieved.”

  “And you? Will you be relieved?” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

  “I won’t be there.”

  “Why? You must be hungry after the voyage.”

  “I have work to do.”

  The wind followed us through the open double doors, troubling my torch and the ones in the wall sconces. Servants hurrying down the hall with food trays stopped to bow to Jackrun before going on.

  We mounted the spiral stairs in one of the four castle towers. “Tell me about the red dragons who live down south near your volcano,” Jackrun said. “I’ve never seen one.”

  “They are fiercely independent.”

  “Like you?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had to fight to carry this heavy trunk for you,” he said, setting it on the third-floor landing. “Reds are too independent to take refuge in Dragonswood, I’ve heard.” He opened the door. “Your room, my lady.”

  Inside, he lit the torches on the wall, the candles on the table. I sneezed from the thick dust, and looked around. Splintered chairs were stacked in one corner by a coverless bed. The worktable I would need to prepare my medicines was slanted. The rickety wardrobe door hung askew. A storage room for castle cast-offs.

  “I’m sorry about this, Uma.” Jackrun grabbed some rushes from the floor and waved them around at the thick cobwebs. “I’ll send a servant upstairs to clean your chamber right away.”

  I grabbed some rushes and did what he was doing, both of us waving our arms as if we were greeting an exuberant crowd. We worked until our rushes were thickly matted. Evicted spiders scuttled along the walls heading for refuge in the piled chairs and behind the wardrobe. The room reeked of rat piss. I missed my small, friendly hut back home with its bed of fresh reeds, with the scent of the mountainside that could not be kept out. No amount of cleaning would change the intense confinement of these thick stone walls.

  But I didn’t feel completely lost in the tower room until Jackrun bowed and took his leave.

  Chapter Seven

  Pendragon Summer Castle, Dragon’s Keep

  Egret Moon

  August 1210

  I PULLED FATHER’S belt from the trunk. The red dragon’s wings seemed to move as it slowly uncoiled. His belt was longer and thicker than mine. Made for a man. I rubbed my thumb across the horned owl engraving on the buckle, Father’s Path Animal.

  Jackrun complimented me on the beach. You must be a very gifted healer to have risen so high in your profession. He didn’t know my story. I was doing a forbidden thing. I was an untried female. I’d never been allowed to mix cures or treat the sick while Father was alive.

  I looped the Adan’s belt above my own, cinched it in to feel the pressure of it against my waist. Mother wove the red dragons with love; Father had worn them when he followed the visions the Holy Ones gave him to the places where the healing plants grew. He’d worn this belt when we harvested the herbs for his greatest remedy, Kuyawan—beloved child.

  But what powers did I have? The Holy Ones hadn’t blessed me with visions. My Path Animal had never guided me to healing herbs.

  I locked the trunk. A servant came in and dropped the bedding on my straw mattress. She eyed me warily, and stayed just long enough to flit the dust cloth around here and there before she bolted for the door.

  “Wait,” I said, putting out my hand. “Give me the room key, please. I need it.”

  The girl screwed up her face. “I weren’t told to do that, miss,” she said, and flew down the stairs, probably frightened by the sight of the first Euit woman she had ever seen.

  Sir Geoffrey had offered help: If you should need anything . . . But he would have no authority to get me a room key. I would have to work it out somehow if I did not want to sit up with my back pressed against the door, knife in hand all night long, waiting for Prince Desmond.

  They’d left me no firewood to seethe the queen’s morning tonic. I would fetch my own wood; breathe fresh air before I was forced to stay inside for the night.

  Downstairs, I used my Euit training to move unseen through the torchlit halls, whispering the chant, havuela—become—to help me blend in with my surroundings. I found it much harder to blend indoors than out, but I’d been forced to learn how among the English who lived their lives in stone boxes. That and silent feet took me beyond the courtyard gate, out into the clean-scented summer night.

  I circled the corner of the castle and crossed the dirt road to walk in the long grass, the sea to my right, the harbor to my back, the woods two hundred yards or so ahead. I was in no hurry. I felt myself expanding under the scattered stars. It was good to be outside. I was reveling in my stolen freedom, when the sound of distant pounding feet made me turn.

  A man in courtier’s clothing raced from the castle, flying across the road and down the steps to the beach. Not wanting to be caught out alone, I stood very still as he ran along the sand. He stopped suddenly, thirty strides or so downhill from me, leaned toward the brambles, and roared fire.

  We should all balance the four sacred elements of earth, wind, water, and fire in our being. But no man breathes fire. Yet my eyes did not lie. His flames lit the brambles, the ignited wood burst into a brilliant golden blaze. I watched transfixed, saw his face in the glowing light.

  Jackrun. My fingers curled to fists as he shouted flames in sharp, bright javelins. I heard the rage in his roar. Terror blazed through me. And something else. Exhilaration at his unleashed power.

  A few birds flew upward, crying out, to escape. One slower than the rest caught fire and beat its flaming wings before it fell.

  Sparks popped and flew up like tossed jewels over Jackrun’s dark head. He hurled hunks of sand to put the fire out and kicked up more with his boots, moving like a fighting man who’d thrown off his weapons in favor of his hands and feet. It was then he looked up toward the bluff and saw me.

  I could have become a part of the blowing grass tickling my arms, night’s darkness, but I didn’t. I clung to a slender stalk of pampas grass as he made his way up the bluff with long forceful strides.

  “What are you doing here, Uma?” he demanded. Smoke puffed from his nose and mouth.

  “You breathe fire,” I said, still only half believing what I’d seen.

  He wiped his brow. His eyes were the colors of green earth and flame.r />
  “Listen.” He grabbed my shoulders, shook me once, then dropped his hands again. “You cannot tell anyone what you saw.” His face was all passion and anger. Heat wafted off his skin. He’d been kind when he helped me carry Father’s trunk. Now I wondered who he was.

  “Surely others know?”

  Silence.

  “Your family?”

  He stood very still, his arms crossed, but the silent yes I saw in him made him grip his upper arms tighter.

  “Your uncle, the king, and his wife, the queen?”

  “No,” he said, firmly, “not them.”

  His eyes fell on my double-belted waist. I’d put on Father’s belt—missing Mother, missing Father, feeling alone on this strange new island full of English—and forgotten to take it off. “If you have been given this power,” I said, “why hide it?”

  Jackrun began pacing the bluff, keeping his path small, as if the grass caged him. “Just give me your promise.”

  Never trust the English, Father said. I could not make promises so easily anymore. I needed to gather information as sure coin to use if I needed it. “I know some warriors in my tribe who would love to have such power.”

  He barked a short, bitter laugh. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Uma.” His feet moved, his arms, his hands. “I have to get back,” he added, glancing toward the castle.

  “And I have firewood to gather,” I said. You are the fox. They are the hounds. You must learn to survive.

  “I’ll give you a hand,” he said. We headed down the hill. Summer stars winked above, a treasury of diamonds. On the beach I slipped off my shoes and felt the sand between my toes as Jackrun rolled up his sleeves, fell to his knees, and dug a hole with his bare hands to bury the dead bird he’d burned. When he was done, he patted the small mound with care as if he were tucking in a child.

  He stood tall again, brushing off his hands. Green dragon scales covered his right forearm, each diamond-shaped scale the size of a coin.

  “I nearly burned Desmond tonight over that,” he said, looking down at his scaly arm. “Not my scales, but my sister’s. He insulted Tabitha. He called her neck scales repulsive in the middle of the feast, loud enough for everyone to hear. She ran from the table in tears.” He swiped a hand through his hair, a swift, hard pass as a man skins an animal with a sharp blade. “He’s the same callous bastard he’s always been.”