The Book of Earth

by Marjorie B. Kellogg

  Outside, the mule came alert with a snort and a single loud kick against the wall of the barn. Hal sped to the door and barred it as the sudden racket of men and horses invaded the courtyard. Erde woke the dragon from his nap.

  “Five, six, eight, damn!” Hal counted, squinting through the crack between the doors. “Two searching the sheds, two heading this way, three at the fire questioning Ralf . . . no!” He spun around, reaching for his sword. “Cowards! Beating a defenseless old man!”

  Erde ran for him, snatched at his arm. Outside, the soldiers slapped the mule away from the doors and threw their weight against the bar. Quickly, the blade of a sword was shoved through the crack to pry the bar loose. Erde pulled Hal toward the dragon. In a dizzying split-second, they were back on the rooftop overlooking the square. Hal looked momentarily dazed and frustrated, then got his bearings and clapped Erde on the back manfully. “Good thinking!”

  Ducking, he sheathed the sword still naked in his hand and scrambled toward the parapet. Erde stayed to praise the dragon for his quick response and share his palpable excitement. To him, this spiriting around town was like a game of hide and seek. His confidence bloomed with each successful trip, and with it, his pride. It didn’t matter that he was clumsy on the ground. He was no longer a useless, wingless burden. He was the secret weapon.

  But there was also a nagging worry. After the first time, escaping from the soldiers in the forest, he’d noticed that he was hungry, but he’d been recently so well fed that it hardly mattered. But after the second and third, he found himself growing steadily ravenous. This most recent trip had left him famished and weak, so much that he was unsure if he had the strength to transport anyone anywhere without refueling. Finally, hiding out on the burned-out rooftop, he laid out his predicament with irrefutable clarity.

  —But can you get us out of here?

  Earth thought he could, but as his weakness increased, so did his concern. Being able to think of nothing but his hunger was distracting. He worried about maintaining the concentration necessary to transport accurately.

  Erde’s own mind was crowding already with the dragon’s thoughts of food. Now that he’d begun to awaken to his true power, she found it increasingly difficult to keep his images from dominating her brain, difficult even to separate her own thoughts from his. She didn’t really know whose idea it had been to return to the rooftop. Earth did not consider this a problem. To him, our thought was a perfectly acceptable alternative to yours or mine. Perhaps even a superior one. Erde was not sure.

  “It isn’t a sight fit for a lady,” hissed Hal from the parapet, “but you ought to take a look at this anyway.”

  Erde joined him at the edge. Brother Guillemo’s white-robes, with their short thick swords now in full view, had blocked off all the streets leading out of the square. The townsfolk had been herded against the grandstand on the cathedral steps, and Josef von Alte’s horsemen stood guard over them as if they were criminals. The wailing of children was blown upward by a biting wind thickening with huge wet flakes of snow. Men stamped and hugged their arms, having given their cloaks to the women to wrap themselves and the babies in. Hal touched Erde’s arm and nodded toward the western end of the square, where the barrier of white-robes had parted to admit a stumbling group of elderly citizens, driven faster than they could walk by several of Baron Köthen’s horsemen.

  “Now it’s the sick and the infirm!” Hal exclaimed. “Not enough he’s hauled the poor nursing mothers away from their hearths in this churlish weather! This is Fra Guill’s order, not Köthen’s, surely. That priest’ll have the whole town dead of ague before he’s satisfied.” Now he pointed toward the empty scaffold, crowned by its tall stake and unlit pyre. Beside the steps, so freshly built that the wood still leaked its sap, Josef von Alte stood barking questions at a young man pinned roughly against the stair by two von Alte foot-soldiers. The sight of him sent a surge of memory coursing through Erde’s head, too quick and elusive to hold on to. Something about her father and the priest and . . . what? She wanted to look away and could not. On the scaffold, Brother Guillemo was now prostrate, flat on his face in prayer, watched over by a stout quartet of his brethren.

  Köthen sat to one side, receiving the reports of the search from a velvet cushioned chair. A brazier burned nearby. His men came and went briskly. Köthen listened carefully, rubbed his hands in the heat of the flame, and every now and then, glanced at the sky, palming snowflakes from his brow.

  “There’s the only sensible man among them,” observed Hal. “But he’s at a loss, for once. He’s thinking it can’t get any damn darker for just after noon. He’s thinking maybe the priest is right after all, something devilish is going on, and here he’d signed on just to take advantage of a power grab.”

  Erde wondered why Hal thought he could speak so assuredly of what was in Baron Köthen’s mind. She pulled her slate out from under her jerkin. LIKE MY FATHER?

  “Surely. Except Köthen’s smarter and abler than your father, if you’ll pardon my saying so, milady.” He grinned at her crookedly. “D’you think intelligence is like twins . . . it skips a generation?”

  She showed him her slate again. EARTH NEEDS TO EAT.

  “What, again?”

  Painstakingly, she explained how the transporting process was draining the dragon’s strength.

  “How much more can he manage without eating?”

  HE DOESN’T KNOW.

  Hal chewed his lip. “Suddenly I don’t feel so glib about this anymore.”

  Erde nodded a tense agreement.

  “Can he get us back to the barn?”

  HE THINKS SO.

  “Then he’d better do it now. Köthen’s men should be done turning the place inside out. Then you’ll wait there in case Margit and the wonder lad show up, and I’ll go search up something for himself to eat. There must be some hog or lamb left about that the soldiers haven’t yet confiscated.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Hello, what now?”

  A dead hush had settled upon the square again, as heavy and soft as the snow that was blanketing the paving stones. Stirring at last from his prayer trance on the scaffold, Brother Guillemo rose to his feet with his arms still outstretched, as if drawn up by an invisible wire. Strange sounds spewed from his gaping mouth, deep animal growls and yelps that coalesced finally into harsh but human syllables and then into words. His astonished brothers deserted their guard duty to gather at the foot of the scaffold and kneel in awe. Guillemo’s words became exotic names, names that Erde recalled from her Bible studies.

  “Oh Hamaliel and Auriel! Ah! Ah! Raphael! Come, Asmodel and Zedekiel!”

  Hal listened with alert suspicion. “He’s calling on the angels, and not all of them from the official Word. That’s a little close to the edge for a man of the Church.”

  “Ah, Gabriel! Come, Khamael! Come with your swords of light and your flaming brows! Descend and protect us from what is nigh! See how the sky darkens and the sun is taken from us! Come, Melchidael! Descend to us now! Save us from the coming of dragons! Oh great archangel Michael, hear our cries! Take pity on us as you would on little children!”

  “How dare he ask for pity,” growled Hal. “He who’s never shown any in his life!”

  “Come, holy ones, holiest of holies! Dragons befoul the land and today, this very day, we have seen Satan himself take human form to appear among us and snatch his hand-maiden from our righteous grasp!”

  The priest’s ranting was familiar, playing through the full range of vocal possibilities. But beneath the pyrotechnics, Erde heard something new, some hint of genuine terror, some faint loss of control.

  Hal heard it, too. “It’s really gotten to him, having Margit stolen out from under his nose so spectacularly. He hadn’t planned on that, and he doesn’t like one bit what it implies about his precious prophecies. If ever he gets his hands on her again, he’ll exact the worst revenge he can think of. Though what could be worse than being burned alive, I can’t imagine.”

&n
bsp; BUT HE CAN, Erde scrawled.

  Hal’s mouth tightened. “You’re right. Enough of this poison. Let’s see if our steed has the strength to bring us home again.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The trip back to the brickyard was momentarily terrifying. For Erde, it was a nightmare of drowning, a struggle in darkness with limbs too heavy, a desperate longing for the surface and for breath. Then for the split-second that she was conscious enough to think about it, she was suspended in a void without hope of escape. The arrival was like being flung down from a height. Erde gasped for air and wondered if she’d broken a rib.

  Hal staggered to his feet, his chest heaving. “Christ Almighty! Don’t want to do that again until he’s eaten!”

  The big double doors of the barn had been pushed open. The beam that had barred them lay askew on the floor. Past the dark rectangle of the opening, the snow-covered yard was scarred with muddy footprints and the signs of a fight. A man lay by the firepit, the thick white flakes dusting him like ash. From around the corner of the barn came the squeals of the mule and the bleating of the goat.

  Hal made sure Erde was standing. “Check for our packs!” He prodded her toward the feed bin, then drew his sword and bolted for the yard. Erde ran to the bin and found their possessions still intact. She let the heavy lid drop and raced after Hal.

  The searchers were gone from the courtyard but had left one of their own behind to confiscate the animals. He had tied the she-goat to a post and was fighting for control of the mule. The hapless man was thin and young, and the mule was lashing out with teeth and hooves, showing him little mercy. Hal showed him even less. He sprinted up behind the man, slashing the rope that held the goat as he passed. He wrapped his arm around the man’s throat and yanked him back hard. The man flailed and went limp. Hal dropped him like a stone. Without a second glance, he ran over to the fallen man at the firepit and eased him over onto his back.

  Erde met him there, her eyes full of what she had just seen him do. The man on the ground was old Ralf, unconscious and bleeding from a gash across his cheek and from others as well, judging from the amount of red staining the snow. The knight glared about the yard. He seemed to Erde a dangerous stranger, not at all the kindly elder gentleman she had been traveling with. His movements were hard and clean and fast, and he’d disposed of the would-be mule thief with such unthinking despatch that it left her breathless. She knew she should feel safer in his company, but mostly it unnerved her to see him transformed so suddenly and so entirely. She kept her distance, eyeing him warily.

  But he was gentleness itself as he drew the old man’s head and shoulders into his lap. “Still breathing, but he’s lost a lot of blood. Ah. Here it is. Stab wound in the back. Cowards! Bring the wineskin, milady, from the pack.”

  Erde ran back to the feed bin and struggled the heavy packs out onto the floor. By the time she’d freed the wineskin, Hal was at the door with the old man in his arms, looking for a soft spot to lay him down. The mule and the she-goat followed close behind. Erde hurriedly gathered up loose straw to make a bed. Seeing the she-goat so nimble on her feet reminded her of what the dragon had done the night of the cat attack. She grabbed her slate.

  EARTH CAN HEAL HIM.

  Hal’s scowl eased. “Right you are, girl! Quickly, close the doors!”

  The dragon was curled up at the back of the barn, in the very darkest corner. Hal carried the old man over and settled him on his side in front of the great horned head. He looked to Erde. “You’ll ask him?”

  She did. Earth’s response was sluggish. Erde hoped an attempt at healing would not exhaust him further. Yet he must try. He opened one slow eye, then tilted his head ponderously to sniff at the old man’s injuries. Three long swipes of his huge tongue cleaned the stab wound and staunched the flow of blood. Earth sighed and went back to sleep.

  Hal sat back on his heels. “Amazing.” Gently, he hauled the old man’s unconscious weight to the hay mound Erde had gathered. He swabbed blood from the gashed cheek with a snow-dampened rag. “Good, this one’s shallow. The rest, mostly bruises. He was knocked fairly senseless, but look! He’s coming around already!” He raised the old man’s head and put the spout of the wineskin to his lips. “Never knew you to refuse a sip, Ralf. Can you take a little now?”

  Ralf coughed and sputtered, but managed a gulp.

  “Good man.” Hal patted his shoulder and propped his head up for another swallow. He was careful to place his own body between the old man and the dragon. “How do you feel?”

  “Dizzy,” the old man muttered.

  “Well, this was my fault and I’m sorry for it, but grateful just the same.”

  “Glad to see you . . . in one piece, my lord. They were . . . Köthen’s men were . . .” Ralf paused to cough again, and take another sip of wine. “. . . very surprised to find the barn empty.”

  “But you were right to try to prevent them, Ralf.”

  Ralf’s grin was crooked, as if from an old injury. Erde thought it made him look sly but could see that Hal trusted him implicitly. “If they’d known it was you, they’d have sure feared for sorcery.”

  “Still that old canard? I swear, a false reputation’s the hardest kind to lose.”

  Again, the sly grin. “I never thought you did much to discourage it, my lord. Never hurts to put that extra fear into them, eh?”

  Hal scratched his beard. “Well, thing is, Ralf, sometimes a man stumbles on magic without even trying. Do you believe that?”

  Ralf shrugged but his eyes narrowed a bit. He tried to sit up. Hal caught him and eased him up against a stack of bricks.

  “What I mean is, I guess, are you feeling strong enough to meet what you were protecting?”

  Erde tried to stop him. She was sure he shouldn’t be so free about revealing Earth’s existence. But she’d purposely moved away when Ralf awoke, and couldn’t get to him in time. She had to watch helplessly as the knight stood and removed himself from the line of sight between the old man and the dragon. Old Ralf’s head may have been spinning but his eyes were sharp. He let out a sharp yowl and tried to crab sideways toward the door on his hands and feet.

  Hal knelt at his side, his hands soothing. “Easy, old man, easy. Don’t be afraid.”

  “But my lord baron . . . !”

  “You’re safe, I promise you.”

  Ralf quieted, but it was more like obedience than true calm. He stared hard into the shadows, his jaw dropping open like a door on a rusted hinge. He blinked several times, then shook his head and crossed himself hastily. “Was it the blow to my brain?”

  “No, you’re seeing truly.”

  “But is it . . . no . . . is it . . . a dragon?”

  “A dragon it is indeed,” replied Hal gladly.

  “Angels defend us!” Ralf cringed behind Hal in a new surge of terror.

  “There’s no cause for fear. He’s been working hard and he’s tired. Right now, he’s asleep. Besides, this dragon saved your life.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You’d a bad wound in your back. His healing gift kept you from bleeding to death. I promise you, my friend—this is none of Fra Guill’s devil’s spawn. This is a King’s Dragon.”

  But the King’s Dragon was not just tired. He was unwell. Erde realized that her head had been strangely vacant since the rough return from the rooftop. She sent him images of concern and got no answer. She cursed herself for letting mere events distract her, and ran to him. He lay inert. His hide was dull again, faded to the same color of windblown dust that it had been when she’d first met him, ravenous from his long sleep. There was no handy bear now for him to devour. The rise and fall of his breath was so slow and shallow as to be imperceptible. Appalled, Erde dropped to her knees and laid her head against his neck.

  “What is it?” Hal called from the front of the barn.

  Erde rocked back and forth in panic.

  The knight left Ralf to recover from his shock, and joined her at the dragon’s side. “I
s he all right?”

  Erde shook her head helplessly.

  Hal dropped beside her, his face ashen. “What’s wrong with him?”

  NEEDS FOOD. FUEL. She underlined the last word several times.

  “Then he shall have it.” Hal placed a palm gravely on the dragon’s snout. “Your pardon, my lord. I didn’t understand that this weakness could threaten you so suddenly.”

  IT’S THE EFFORT OF THE TRAVEL, Erde reminded him. AND THEN THE HEALING.

  “Yes, yes, I understand. I’ll go immediately.” He rose, and found the old man on his knees, still gawking and shaky but willing to crawl a few brave inches nearer.

  “Saved my life, did he?” He touched the livid bruise on his face as though it was his real cause for concern.

  “Yes.”

  “Awful quiet. Don’t a dragon snore when he sleeps?”

  “He’s . . . unwell. Usually he’s very sociable.”

  Ralf gazed slowly from dragon to knight and back again. “If you say so, my lord. But now he’s sick?”

  “Starving. Needs a meal very badly.”

  Still on his knees, the old man backed up a step. “You’ll find naught left in Erfurt to feed a dragon. The soldiers have seen to that.”

  “Oh, come now, Ralf. You have an eye for these things. No one you can think of likely to have one or two stashed away somewhere?”

  Ralf peered back at him oddly. Erde thought he suddenly did not look so respectful. “I hardly think, milord, that you should ask a man to give up his children, King’s Dragon or no.”

  “His children? Sweet Jesus, man, what is it you think he eats?”

  “He, is it? Ah.” Ralf watched as the she-goat approached the dragon and lay down deliberately between ivory claws the length and breadth of a strong man’s arm. “Well, milord, isn’t it young virgins a dragons makes his meal on?”