Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4

by Adolfo Garza Jr.

  “Alright,” Elizabeth said, “but what do you mean by frequency?”

  “One way to know when a particular signal ends is to have a standard as to the space between waves, the timing of them. Say, one wave per second. That way, you can be on the shore of the pond, counting the waves that arrive as each second ticks. If you get a tick with no wave, you know that a signal is complete. In actuality, the frequency is much higher and the signal a bit more complicated, but that’s how it works in a nutshell. You could also use the height of the waves as your baseline, too, rather than their frequency, or even use a combination of the two.”

  “So,” Chanté said, “when the appropriate trigger is detected, what happens?”

  “The third circuit is activated.”

  Aeron grunted. “And what does it do?”

  Quillan glanced at Elizabeth and Chanté, then back to him. “It pulls in some wire.”

  Aeron blinked. “Pulls in some wire?”

  Quillan chuckled. “I have no idea why it does so, but after pulling in the wire it activates the last circuit.”

  “And what does the last circuit do?” Chanté asked.

  “That . . . I’m still working on. There are some physical aspects to that circuit, too, and very few of its foci are the same as the others, so I’m guessing it does something interesting and completely different.”

  “And,” Chanté said, “as there aren’t many overlapping foci that have already been translated, you’ll still have a lot of substitution to go through to find something that makes sense.”

  Quillan glanced at him and sighed. “Exactly.”

  “Well,” Elizabeth said, “at least you are making progress. I’m stuck doing nothing while my leg heals.”

  “You could go over your notes with Fillion,” Quillan said, “to make sure he understands everything.”

  “Hmm, that’s true. And mayhap we can meet now and again to talk over anything new they learn, too.” She scowled down at the cast. “I’ll have plenty of time to think about new clues.”

  Quillan grunted. “How much longer will you be wearing that thing, anyway?”

  As they seemed to have moved on to a new conversation, Aeron took a sip of cider and looked around the balcony. He liked that everyone seemed to be getting along.

  Renata and Jessip were speaking quietly at the handrail. Fillion, sitting across the balcony on the other bench, nodded occasionally as he listened to something Gregor was explaining. Over by the den, Terry burst out laughing at something Korrie said. Aeron was glad he’d brought the boy to apply at the guild. It was good to keep one’s promises.

  And speaking of promises, he needed to visit his father soon. So much had been happening that he’d not had time to think of much else. But, like Quillan, at least he was making progress, of a sort.

  His idea had kept the guild from outright selling off parts of the desert branch and letting all those people go. As far as dragonlinked numbers, another worry of his, interest in the guild was high, so that probably wouldn’t be an issue. And depending on what they learned when they met with the Departed again, there would soon be an influx of dragons, too.

  Adept Komako and Adept Oran were extremely interested in the Departed. The technical paper they were writing concerning dragons was another of the things Aeron was concerned with. It was a project beyond their normal duties that they decided to work on together a few months ago.

  When they were assigned to audit the progress of the newly formed Dragon Craft Guild, neither auditor had actually believed his assertion that dragons were more than animals, that they were people, but after interviewing a few dragons, both bonded and unbonded, after hearing them speak, they understood that Aeron was right. Even so, anything about dragons that was out of his control made him nervous, especially something like what they were doing. The technical paper about dragon sentience would likely have an enormous influence on how the amazing beings were perceived.

  “Oh my goodness! Look! Glowflies!” Renata was pointing excitedly over the end of the ledge.

  Aeron stood and made his way with everyone else to the handrail. Well, almost everyone. Sharrah remained seated at the bench. She stared at those standing along the rail, a wistful look on her face. Wary of heights, her training to fly on Citlali was going to be interesting.

  Multitudes of the tiny insects floated around below, glowing and flickering between the trees. Their numbers were greater along a tiny spring-fed stream that eventually led to the lake.

  “Amazing.” Chanté’s quiet voice held surprise and wonder.

  “I’ve never seen so many.” Renata stared down at them.

  “They need water to thrive,” Sharrah said from behind, “so I’m not surprised.”

  Aeron glanced from her to those along the handrail and smiled. All those faces watched the beautiful scene below.

  This. This was perfect. All his friends together having fun. He’d do what he could to keep this.

  What will be, will be.

  Recalling Renny’s words made his lips twist into a grimace. No one could control everything. All Aeron could do was try his best and take things as they came. Though, he would like it better if he could address things beforehand as opposed to reacting after the fact.

  Like that dragon Matlal had mentioned. Was the secretive observer from House Yaot? From another House? The Departed didn’t know either. But regardless of where the mysterious dragon was from, a question remained. Why was the dragon watching them? If Aeron knew, he could prepare for . . . whatever, in advance.

  + + + + +

  “And you don’t think the night patrols by dragons will be an issue?” Councilor Fiske had a sour expression on his face. He held his hands in front of him, fingers spread and their tips touching.

  Coffee cup in hand, Lord Koen stared at the ferret-faced man and kept the frown from his lips. One worked with what one had. “Not at all,” he said. “What are they going to do, flap their wings really hard? Besides, there’s nothing that can be done about them. They’re beyond any city’s purview at the moment.”

  Fiske smiled. “At the moment.”

  “What of the emergency response plans?”

  Turning his hands palms up, Fiske said, “Fire brigades, ambulances, and the police have all begun using the revised response plans you had me usher through city council approval.” He brought his hands together. “The changeover to the new plans was completed last week.”

  “Excellent. All is proceeding perfectly, then. I’ll see you at the performance, then?” Lord Koen lifted the coffee cup to his lips and took a sip.

  “I cannot wait. Oh, and I wanted to thank you again. The private performance for my sister’s birthing day, even though via ’mirror, was very well received by everyone in attendance.”

  Lord Koen smiled. “Of course. It was a pleasure.”

  “Until then.” Fiske bowed his head.

  Lord Koen glanced at Cadoc, who touched the appropriate places on the ether mirror, ending the session. The looking glass merely reflected the room, now.

  Setting the cup down, Lord Koen stood. “What a boorish man. Unfortunately, of the heads of the Tigridia Consortium, Sutter is too temperamental and Ina too smart. That left him.”

  “He’s served us well.”

  “If they weren’t so easy to influence with their greed, I’d have searched for other avenues to the city council.” He shook his head. “At any rate, let’s see how Tobin has done with the guise for the seventh package.”

  “Ah, let’s not call it that when we get to your office, sir.”

  “I’m not a fool, Cadoc.”

  “Of course not, sir.”

  When he walked in the office, Lord Koen was less than pleased. “Tobin. What is this?”

  “Sample clothing trunks, sir, for your costumes.”

  Four large trunks sat on their ends, opened to display their inner compartments. A man stood next to each trunk, and behind each man sat a handcart. The trunks, however, were nothing like w
hat he expected.

  “Not costumes,” he said as he walked to the nearest trunk. “The suits are performance attire. But that’s immaterial right now. I specified leather, not cloth-covered. These aren’t even in the color I requested. They will not do at all. What were you thinking? And why are there only four?”

  Something that looked like anger flashed briefly in Tobin’s eyes. “Unfortunately, sir, they didn’t have five trunks in leather dyed the color you wanted. If you could reduce the number of sets of, ah, performance attire that you wish to take, then we wouldn’t need as many—”

  “Impossible.” Cadoc shook his head.

  Lord Koen glanced at him, then looked at Tobin. “Exactly. Cadoc is correct. I don’t know how many encores will be requested. I need to be able to select from a number of suits of various style and color, depending on what piece I decide to perform for each encore. And of course, there is the suit I will wear, afterward.”

  Tobin’s expression was blank, but there was still . . . something in his gaze. “As you say, sir. They tell me that, once ordered, it will take them a week to prepare five custom trunks. I brought these as samples so that you could examine the insides of the different styles they offer. I will order five trunks, in leather dyed the color you specified, in whichever of these styles you approve.”

  Lord Koen stared at him a moment. “I see. Very well, then. But how different can the styles be?”

  He spent a few minutes examining the compartments, drawers, and hang-bars within the large trunks. His inspection was purely for show, however. He pointed to one. “That style of trunk is fine. But I want to see a sample in the leather I specified before I approve the final order, understand? I won’t be seen arriving with cheap valises.”

  “Of course, sir. They actually have a trunk of that style in the leather you want. I’ll have it brought tomorrow for you to examine.”

  “Good. And thank you.”

  Tobin gestured to the four others who then closed and placed the trunks on pushcarts. He followed the men into the hallway, and once outside, turned and shut the office door.

  Lord Koen grunted. “You’re going to have to keep your eye on him until the performance.”

  “It would seem so.”

  + + + + +

  An enormous smile split Preeti’s face as she ate the sweet biscuit, a rare treat for them. Tobin couldn’t help but smile himself as he watched. The girl was incredibly strong. Even after all she’d been through, a smile was never far from her lips. She worked hard, too, and never complained about anything.

  Tobin laughed. “Slow down, kiddo. You don’t want to choke, do you?”

  “It’s just so good.” Preeti licked the crumbs from her fingers. “You make the best desserts, Aunt Elke.”

  His wife smiled. “It’s not much,” she said, “certainly not like what Tobin has had at Lord Koen’s, I’m sure, but they are tasty, aren’t they?”

  “Now sweetheart,” he said, “I only eat there when I’ve worked well past the dinner hour, and it’s with the servants in the kitchen. I’ve never eaten a meal with that man. And you know what? Your meals are filled with love and care, the tastiest of all seasonings.”

  Her quiet laugh was beautiful. “You are such a charmer.”

  That smile had stolen his heart all those years ago. The happiness in her eyes was a joy to behold. Everything about her made him happy, even the way her delicate fingers held the biscuit.

  The memory of Koen complaining about that slice of cake returned. Tobin had to struggle to keep the anger from his face. He’d actually sneaked a taste of the cake back in the kitchen. It had been incredibly good, and yet, Koen had complained about it.

  Tobin ate the last of his biscuit. It wasn’t that cake, but it fantastic, nonetheless. You didn’t have to spend a week’s wages on dessert for it to be delicious.

  “I only wish we could have desserts more often.”

  He shrugged at Elke. “Yours are so good, it makes no difference.”

  “That’s right.” Preeti nodded. “And the time between only builds the excitement. I don’t know that I’ve ever had a tastier”—her expression darkened briefly—“dessert.”

  Was she thinking about her father? Stabbing guilt made Tobin shut his eyes. No! Open them and smile, you bastard. You don’t get the luxury of showing any emotion other than happiness.

  He forced a smile and stood. “Alright, then, I’m going to get our fliers ready for the morning. Before you head to your room, Preeti, help your aunt with the dishes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  By the time he had the pamphlets sorted, divided, and stacked on the handcart, Hemet, the merest sliver from full, had risen high in the sky. Her sister, Duvin, would make an appearance a little later. The stars, not quite as bright as they were in the countryside, were still impressive in their twinkling glory. Staring up at them, he took a deep breath and let it out.

  What was he doing? Things that had seemed so important only a few months ago, now seemed trivial. He’d wronged people and made mistakes. Could he make up for them?

  He looked at their home, at the soft glow of light in the window, and drew his brows together.

  Preeti’s room was very small. It had been intended for a baby, but that never happened.

  Tobin stood in the hallway just outside the open door. “Preeti, do you have a moment?”

  The girl looked up. “Sure.”

  His niece was sitting on the side of the bed, one of her books open in her lap. Tobin couldn’t afford to provide more of that expensive past-time right now. Those books were among the few things brought from her old home.

  Preeti raised her brows. “Did you need help with the fliers?”

  “No, thank you. I, ah, wondered if we could talk for a bit about your father.”

  Worry, fear, and perhaps pain flickered across the girl’s face. “O–Of course.”

  They’d never spoken about Astin, about what had happened. Tobin wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it, but he knew it was time to speak of his brother and of a great many things.

  He sat next to Preeti. “Your father and I used to compete fiercely. Who was the tallest? Who could catch the most frogs? Who was the fastest runner? Who would reach puberty first? Any and everything was a competition for us. From what I’ve heard, many twins work together, see absolutely eye to eye. Perhaps it was because we were fraternal twins that we delighted in trying to outdo each other.”

  Preeti closed the book and held it in her lap with both hands.

  “We loved each other, though. Well, I know that I loved your dad, and I’m pretty sure he loved me. We always used to support each other, and even when he bested me in one of our competitions, I was never jealous of anything your father did or had. Not until—”

  He swallowed. Barbs and pissing blades. It still hurt.

  “Uncle?”

  Tobin shook his head and took a moment to collect himself. “As you know, Elke and I do not have children. It’s not that we don’t want them, we do. But after months and months of no success, we went to a Healing Craft specialist. By some terrible roll of Ulthis’s dice, we both have conditions that, together, make conception for us nearly impossible. A child, it turned out, was something we would likely never have.”

  “Could you adopt?”

  Preeti’s helpful nature only made this more difficult. Tobin took a breath. “Elke recovered from the horrible news first. About a year after, she did suggest adoption. I wasn’t ready to think about that yet, however, so I rejected the idea a few days later. Months passed, and she brought it up again. I’d had time to think about it since she first mentioned it and had finally seen that perhaps the idea wasn’t as bad as I had first thought, but before I could agree to it, your mom and dad announced that they were going to have a baby.”

  He sighed. “My competitive nature got the better of me and I again told Elke no. I just couldn’t accept a child like that. Astin would have his own baby, while I would get a hand-me-down?”
>
  Preeti’s intake of breath was loud in the near-silence.

  He couldn’t look her in the face. Instead, he stared down at his hands. “I know. I was a fool. You living with us even this short time has only pointed out to me what a complete idiot I was. And that’s not even the worst part.”

  He braved a glance at Preeti. “When you were born, you were such a little thing—incredibly alive, and happy, and beautiful. The expression on your mother’s face and on your father’s when they looked at you was painful for me to see.” He looked down. “I was so jealous. Then I got angry. I would never have such a beautiful child of my own. Tiny little fingers like yours would never grasp at mine. I hated your father and your mother, and I hated myself for hating them.”

  He let out a short breath. It felt good to finally say these things. “Years later, when your mother died, I realized that some of my anger had faded. And at the warehouse, when I found out your dad had been killed, I felt relief.”

  Another gasp. “What?”

  He turned to Preeti, hands raised in apology. “Not that he died! Gods, please don’t think that.” He lowered his hands. “No, I was relieved because it hurt. I felt the loss. To be honest, I was also relieved about other things, but . . . I didn’t hate your father anymore.”

  He lowered his gaze. “At the funeral, I mourned twice. Once for Astin’s death, and once because of the distance that had been between us.” His voice did break this time. “A–All those years wasted on pointless jealousy and anger.”

  He wiped his cheek, took a breath, and looked up at Preeti. “You’re all I have left of him. And as Garathel is my witness, I will do right by you.”