by Alan Carr
I thought of my parents, of my perennially sick mother. They’d lived frugally, they probably had enough saved up from my Stone Soul stipends that they would be okay, right? I thought of Boe. I would never see him again. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. He wouldn’t have joined me if I’d begged him to, so maybe it was better like this. Maybe without me around him he’d realize that he didn’t stand a chance against a dragon and then he’d find a way to flee too. So maybe we would see each other again. Outsiders, yes, but alive. Except I knew he wouldn’t run away. I knew that his mother spent every bit of his stipend as quickly as it arrived, and that she’d probably put her family in debt on top of that. Things would be different for Boe’s family than they would be for mine, and Boe wouldn’t do that to them. And what about Daija? She was Boe’s family too. I wouldn’t want Boe to do that to her.
Why did it all have to be so complicated? Why did we have to be Stone Souls, why did our parents do that to us? Why did we feel any responsibility to them for something we hadn’t even asked for and didn’t even truly want? Except I knew the answer. This really was what Boe wanted. At some point it was what I’d wanted, too. I tried to remember when I first came to the academy, how proud I’d felt. I could vaguely remember those emotions. At the last Stoneflame festival, hadn’t I lorded over my old friends, shown off my skills and bragged about how I would be a Dragon Master? I realized that even if my mother had been well and my family had come to the festival, it was unlikely that any of those old long forgotten friends would have been persuaded to accompany them this time around.
I couldn’t run away. I’d be disappointing too many people. I’d even be disappointing myself, though I hated to admit it. There was only one thing to do. I had to train harder, get better. I had to make sure that when the time came, I would be as ready as I could be to accept my fate. If I was a Dragon Master, then I’d be ready for the responsibility. If I was going to end up a dead man, it wouldn’t be through any fault of my own. I’d make everyone proud of me, either through my life or through my death.
I crumpled the prize voucher in my hand and shoved it into a small flap on the waist of my training clothes. I took one last long look up at the tapestry taunting me from high up in the pile of sacks, and then hung my head and began slowly walking back to the Valora’s cottage.
By the time I arrived, they were already gone.
CHAPTER FIVE
Study Hall
Two days passed and we started to settle back into the training routine after our glorious month off for the festival. Today was scheduled to be our first study hall day since the festival, and I felt eager to spend time in the great keep. For the first eight years of my training, study hall meant learning about things like reading, writing, Dragonlore, and a bunch of stuff that didn’t seem like it would be very useful to either a Stone Soul or a Dragon Master. But I liked our teacher, Magnilda. She was always very patient with us and would answer any of our questions—except that she did seem to enjoy answering our questions with more questions. A little over a year ago, though, Magnilda’s husband disappeared, probably wandered into the forest and gotten killed by a bandit or wild animal. Our teacher did not take it well. Soon after her husband’s disappearance, she stopped showing up for classes altogether. My class was still required to attend study hall, but this became something of a free period for us. At first, some of us tried to actually pull books off shelves and learn things, but by now nobody really bothered with that stuff in study hall, except for the ever eager Boe.
We filed into the study and everyone was already talking noisily with each other, planning out their days. I overheard talk of a card game, and two of the Stone Souls were whispering something about sneaking into the keep to find the wife that they’d been assigned to Watch during the Stoneflame ceremony. I realized then that I hadn’t given any more thought to Kamelia since the log ride. Normally just the thought of her would make me have to hide a smile, but thinking of her now just made me remember how she’d called me a boy. It still stung, even though she’d followed it up by wishing me luck against a dragon. Still, what else would she say? I hope you die? But she’d been kind about it. Sweet, even. She’d smiled at me. She did have a great smile. But it wasn’t Daija’s smile. Daija. Thinking of her now put a smile on my own face, one that I couldn’t hide. I knew then what my plan for study hall would be. I was going to write a letter to Daija. Or I would die in the attempt.
I found a stack of parchment paper and some quill pens with writing ink, gathered them up and carried them to a desk at the end of a long row of books. I would need my privacy, after all. Of course, I’d have to get rid of Boe first, and he seemed too curious about what I was doing to scamper off and start reading whatever books he’d normally be reading during study hall.
“What’s all that for?”
“I’m going to forge a sick note from the royal apothecary,” I said. Affecting a terrible impression of the man, I continued: “Caedan Jade, the strongest Stone Soul and our last hope for this academy to ever produce another Dragon Master has fallen ill. I will be assigning him to be personally waited upon hand and foot by no fewer than six of the Master’s wives until he recovers, which I expect to happen precisely the morning of graduation. Carry on all training duties to the best of your ability in his absence.”
“Right,” Boe laughed. “Good luck with that.” He walked off, shaking his head in amusement. I watched him until he turned down another row of books before giving my attention to the blank parchment in front of me.
I prepared the quill, and dipped it in ink, then set it to paper so that I could begin to write. My hand wavered, ink began to well on the quill and spread onto the parchment. I had no idea how to say what I wanted to say. I had no idea what I wanted to say. I started drawing. I was no artist, but I figured I should do something while I figured out what to write, and the parchment was already ruined by my false start. I drew great curved lines, and thought that they kind of resembled the tail of the shooting star. I tried to draw a star at the end of the lines, but it wasn’t working out so I began drawing a spiral instead. I got caught up in my abstract work of art and forgot that I was supposed to be thinking about what I would write to Daija. Soon the page was oozing with black ink and I had to lift it carefully so that the ink didn’t spill off the page and stain the desk. I set a new piece of parchment in front of me.
This time I wiped and cleaned the quill and decided not to dip it in ink until I had a plan. Nothing was coming to mind. I stared at the blank parchment, trying to imagine the words that I would write there. All I could picture were Magnilda’s writing exercises, pages of nonsense phrases designed to teach us proper penmanship. I decided that I probably could use a refresher in penmanship so that when I wrote the letter it would look regal and impressive. I dipped the quill and began to write from memory,
“Dragon born a’rage bewith,
Twice o’eachery year fifth,
Twice nine beajoined a’foreknown,
Bestrucketh benixt fiery Stone.
***
“Curse’d horror split realms awar,
Dragonwhelp Lævena fettswore,
Curse’d Master o’Stonedragon Flame,
Unhemmed ruination bepent aim.
***
“Silver a’Jade befix Asworn,
O’nine by nine a’Dragonborn,
Twelve a’one bevoke benixt Blood Tear,
Speaker beswamp a’Seer besear.”
***
This page had stuck with me because it contained my last name, Jade. When we first learned it, I had spent several weeks in conversation with Boe trying to unravel the poem and figure out what it meant for me. “Silver a’Jade befix Asworn?” Boe wasn’t very helpful. When I tried to ask Magnilda about it she just asked me what it meant to me, which was even less helpful than Boe had been. I eventually decided it probably didn’t mean anything. Most of the words were complete nonsense words a
nyway, though Boe claimed that they were just archaic Lævenish.
When I finished writing, I examined my work, then wrinkled my brow at it. It looked terrible. Maybe I could recruit Boe to write the actual letter for me, and I could just tell him what I wanted it to say? No, I wasn’t going to get Boe involved in this, no matter what. Daija was his twin sister and, as much as he used to tease me about her, he’d seemed now to want to avoid the subject whenever anything even slightly related was brought up. He didn’t even want to talk about the Stoneflame festival or what happened the morning I ran off and left him to make up excuses for me. I didn’t even know what excuses he’d made up. It didn’t matter, I’d explain for myself.
That was what I had to write, or at least part of what I had to write. I would tell Daija that I was sorry I wasn’t there to say goodbye, and that I tried to get her the tapestry but that I was too late. Or maybe I shouldn’t tell her about the tapestry, maybe I should just surprise her in five years, earn another one and give it to her then? If I was even still alive in five years. So then all I would say was that I was sorry I didn’t say goodbye and not explain myself? Argh.
I still wasn’t ready to write anything, bad penmanship or not. I cleaned the quill, then I set my crazed drawing on top of the penmanship exercise and then moved both off to one side, pulling another blank parchment from the dwindling pile.
I needed to step away from the desk and clear my head, maybe think about what I wanted to write without the pressure of the blank parchment in front of me. I began to pace in my row of books, then started wandering aimlessly through the book stacks when I got bored of pacing in the same place. The study was larger than I’d ever known. I’d always stayed in the front room of the study, where class had been held, or else I’d dodge into the rows of books near the front room if I wanted to hide out, as I was doing today. But there were more rooms deeper in the study, and I saw that each of these was also filled with rows and rows of books. I saw giant tomes, wrapped in leather bindings heavily coated with dust and grime. I saw rickety wooden ladders propped up in stacks against a stone wall. Beside those lay a pile of crudely dipped candles, partially melted together, their blackened wicks poking out in many directions. None of this was helping me figure out what to write to Daija. I retraced my steps and returned to my desk, trying to keep focused by constantly repeating in my head, “Daija, Daija, Daija,” though that just made me picture her, laughing as she hovered upside down beside me. Shyly smiling when my hand had covered her hand. Waving goodbye.
When I got to my desk, I saw the blank parchment paper, the quill pen and uncapped ink well, the small stack of extra blank parchment pages. My writing exercise and drawing, though, weren’t there. I felt a prick of alarm at the back of my neck. I spun around, looking to see if I could catch whoever had taken the pages. Nobody was there. I decided that I was far too creeped out to try writing a letter to Daija now, and walked briskly back into the front room to see if someone there had my pages. There was nothing incriminating on the pages, sure, but I still wanted to solve the mystery and maybe that would calm my suddenly jumpy nerves.
Everything was as I expected it to be in the front room. Stone Souls were talking loudly, playing games, laughing, and roughhousing. Boe wasn’t there, but he rarely stayed in the front room. I tried to account for the rest of the class but everyone was moving around and I couldn’t keep track. Nobody seemed to have my pages. I started to feel very worried and even a little nauseated. I walked back toward my desk to make sure that I wasn’t mistaken, that my pages weren’t actually there somewhere on the desk, or maybe fallen to the ground somewhere. But as I reached the aisle where the desk was, I felt a lurch in my stomach and fell to my knees. I tried to cry out in alarm, but no sound came out.
I hit the stone floor of the study, face first, and Flame danced in my head for an instant. Then I saw and felt nothing.
***
When I woke up, I didn’t recognize my surroundings. Even the sound of the calling birds and the smell of—was that celeryroot?—wafting through the room was unexpected. I sat up as best I could but everything ached and creaked and happened in tiny, slow fits. I recognized the room I was in, but I could not place it. It felt like home for some reason. I had been laying back in a sturdy tiger-maple reclining chair, and that was sitting on an ugly brown frayed rug. There were windows in all directions, and bright sunlight came through them, blinding me as my eyes struggled to adjust from the perfect dark of sleep. My mother came in through a door and only then did I realize that not only did my surroundings feel like home, they were home. Or rather, they were the home I had known as a toddler, the only other place I’d ever lived aside from the bunks of the training grounds.
What was I doing here?
My mother stood quietly in the doorway and watched me, as if unsure whether she was dreaming.
I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming. I wasn’t sure of anything.
My mother spoke. “Are you awake?” It was a strange question to ask, I thought, and it seemed to be a genuine inquiry and not a strange rhetorical statement.
I didn’t trust my voice just yet, so I grimaced and nodded my head, just a little. She took in a deep, sudden breath before stepping backward to disappear back into the next room. The kitchen, I remembered. The smell of celeryroot was growing stronger and I was starting to pick out other smells as well, smells long forgotten, smells of gingercorn and baswella. My mother reentered the room, gently carrying a large stone bowl with two hands. It was filled to its rim with broth, but my mother’s steady grip ensured that no drops spilled out of it. She held the bowl up to my lips and the full intensity of the mixture’s aroma caused my head to throb and my eyes to water. After a moment, I felt all of my muscles relaxing, like settling into a warm bath after a complete day of hard training. I reveled in the sensation for a full minute before taking a sip of the brew. It was neither warm nor cool, but the taste of it ran bitter through me. My lips puckered involuntarily and my mother used the opportunity to tip the bowl slightly and pour more down my throat. She was still watching me silently. Then she held out the bowl and waited for me to take it before starting back out of the room.
“Mom,” I said, and she stopped without turning to face me. “Thank you.” A part of me wanted to start asking questions, and I knew I had a hundred or more to ask her, but none of them felt very important at that moment and I was suddenly craving more of the mixture. I brought the bowl to my mouth and drank deeply as my mother quietly stepped out of the room.
***
After half an hour, I’d finished the brew and was feeling much more limber, but I still didn’t trust myself to rise out of the recliner. I felt indentations on my skin and figured that I’d been laying in that recliner for a long time. Days, even, or maybe more. I didn’t want to upset my stomach and upchuck all that I’d drank, soiling my mother’s rug, so I just sat back and tried to figure out what had happened. I remembered the festival, the magic log ride, Daija. I remembered the tapestry and the old woman, and training, and study hall, and then … what had happened next? I’d been exploring the study. No, I’d come back to the desk. The parchment was gone. Then I felt sick and I fell. And now I was home? None of it made any sense.
I tried calling for my mother, and then my father. The only reply I got was from a songbird, perched outside a window. The small green bird’s radiant feathers were giving off a silver glimmer in the light of late afternoon. Beyond, I saw golden buds beginning to sprout on vines that were wrapped around plain cedar trellises in my mother’s garden. So it was Late Stone then, or even Coming Flame. I did some math in my head and realized that meant I must have been out cold for at least five or six weeks. Five or six weeks! I was going to be so behind in my training. I wondered if that was why I was at home, and not cooped up with the apothecary in the great keep. Had I been expelled from the academy because I’d missed too much?
I never imagined a situation where I’d just be allowed
to return home. A failed Stone Soul, but without having to go into battle with a dragon at all. I could live a normal life, I could learn a profession, maybe woodworking from my father. Hang up my sword forever and let the likes of Walker and Bayrd shoulder that burden. But now that wasn’t what I wanted. I was finally ready to face my destiny, to train hard and have the best shot I could have when facing a dragon, and I’d missed out on all this time. Could I really just walk away from it all? I could find Daija, ask her to start a new life with me. That was something. If she’d even have me.
I thought about Boe, and wondered if he’d written to me. I wondered what he’d written to Daija, if she was worried about me. I thought that maybe she might even be traveling here to help watch over me, or could maybe already be here in the house unaware that I was awake. I called out, “Daija!” and then I heard a door swing open and then rapid, heavy footsteps approaching. I smiled and sat upright, not wanting to give the impression of an invalid, no longer worrying about keeping the brew down. It was a mistake, I didn’t keep the brew down. I was hunched forward, spitting dry tendrils of celeryroot onto my mother’s rug when the footsteps entered the room. I wiped my mouth and looked up, slowly.
It was my father. He took a look at me, then looked down at the rug. He didn’t say anything at first, just walked over to me and lifted me from the recliner, wrapping his thick arms around me in an enveloping embrace.
“My son,” he said.
I pushed free of the hug and smiled humbly up at him. I found that I could keep my balance as long as I concentrated on staying upright. I tried to think of a way to ask my father what would happen next, what was expected of me. It was difficult to put together the words.
“We need to get you back to your training.”
That answered that.
CHAPTER SIX
Walker
