Silver Batal and the Water Dragon Races

by K. D. Halbrook

  Her father didn’t say anything more until they’d reached the upper levels of Jaspaton, where the yarnsladies’ tents afforded views far and wide.

  “Sit in here,” he said. “And don’t leave. Not once. I don’t care if the greatest sandstorm in history rises up.” His words were clipped, but as he turned to leave, his mouth softened. His eyes did, too, in a way that hurt Silver. She’d rather have her father’s anger than this disappointment.

  Silver dropped her gaze to the ground and didn’t look up until she heard Rami leave. She set her jaw. Someday, he would see her for who she really was.

  Trying to ignore the pain of the burn, she picked her way through the yarnsladies and the goods scattered about. Baskets, clothing, and scarves for the approaching winter season were the basics, but there were also luxurious rugs threaded with silver and gold; blankets made from the finest fur from the herd animals’ underbellies; and felted coats with fluffy collars. Instead of the usual organization of the silk tent, the place was chaotic as the women prepared for the queen’s arrival.

  “Do you think these buttons will suit the queen’s tastes?” one yarnslady asked another, showing some hammered-gold rounds.

  “It appeals to my tastes,” the second woman said.

  All the ladies laughed, but Silver suppressed a groan. Hammered gold was the last thing she wanted to see.

  “She’s a high-mountains goat,” a third yarnslady said, following Silver with her eyes. “Untamable.”

  “Wild,” another said.

  “Smelly,” said a tiny ele-yarnslady, sticking her five-year-old nose in the air.

  Silver ignored them until she saw a familiar face. She plopped down on a rug. “I don’t smell.”

  “You smell, all right,” said Nebekker. “But not bad. A bit salty. I don’t mind.”

  Silver squinted at the old lady. For a yarnslady, her hands were surprisingly rough and scarred. And she kept her hair cropped short, unlike the waist-length waves all the other women had. The project in Nebekker’s hands wasn’t like the others’ work, either. The patterns weren’t symmetrical or ordered, as was Jaspaton’s tradition. Even the five-year-old ele-yarnslady knew how many lines of red wool to weave before adding turquoise and then an almost imperceptibly thin line of amethyst. But Nebekker’s patterns swirled and tumbled.

  The other yarnsladies went back to their gossip, working their wool in time to their laughter. Silver scooted closer to Nebekker.

  “I couldn’t come this morning,” Silver said. “Not after getting in trouble last night. But now I have time to finish my suit. Do you have my scales?”

  Nebekker leaned forward to collect one of her baskets. As she did, a pendant fell out of her caftan, swaying in the light for a moment before slipping back under the clothes again. Silver had never known the old woman to wear any jewelry. From that glimpse of the pendant, she couldn’t make out what kind of stone was encased in the swirl of silver wire. It was blue, but not deep and rich like sapphire. Clear, though, unlike turquoise. Perhaps topaz or aquamarine, except Silver had never seen violet slash through the blue in those stones the way it did through Nebekker’s.

  Nebekker dumped a pile of wool in Silver’s lap. Silver smiled as she quickly got to work, the fight with her father fading into nothingness.

  “My father wanted to punish me by sending me here, but it’s the best thing he could’ve done. He’s practically escorting me off to Calidia.”

  Nebekker gave her a sidelong glance.

  “Silver, you’ve hurt yourself.” Sersha Batal came up behind her daughter and took her arm to inspect the burn. She rubbed cool cream on the wound. “Does it hurt?”

  The cream felt delicious on her skin. “Not anymore,” Silver said. She hastily stuffed her scales back into Nebekker’s basket with her other hand.

  “You must be patient with your father.” Sersha sat cross-legged next to Silver. “I know you’re frustrated, but your father is trying to do what he thinks is best.”

  Frustration heated Silver’s chest. “Best for him!”

  “Best for us. You have a rich future here in Jaspaton, if you’ll only develop some discipline. You are loved here. That’s not a thing to toss dust at.”

  Silver looked away. Her mother was never angry with her; Sersha simply fell back on her unwavering belief in her daughter. Silver felt both warmed and suffocated by it.

  “You and your father are so much alike. Driven in a way that makes you a touch narrow-sighted,” her mother said, squeezing Silver close. “Keep heart, my girl. My wild desert fox. You’ll find your place soon enough.”

  After her mother left, Silver looked at the injury on the inside of her wrist for the first time. She gasped. The burn was a raw and angry red that was already beginning to blister. There was a shimmer, though, as if it were gold, not the fire itself that had popped and was embedded in her skin.

  But the most interesting thing about the injury—the thing that solidified Silver’s knowledge that she was neither meant for the jeweler’s workshop nor the yarnsladies’ tent—was the shape of the burn.

  In the right light, it looked like a coiled water dragon.

  * * *

  WHEN NIGHT FELL, all of the town’s work ended. Silver stacked the wool in her bag with a renewed sense of determination. Her glance continually flickered to the water dragon–shaped burn, and she smiled.

  “The scales are finished,” she told Nebekker. “I only need your help joining them. Tomorrow morning I’ll have a suit, and then tomorrow evening I’ll ride away from Jaspaton in Sagittaria’s very own cart. See you before first light.”

  Before Nebekker could answer, Silver rushed to follow the yarnsladies out of the tent. As they left the shadows, the ladies draped colorful scarves over their heads and dipped their hands into a bucket of cream to keep their skin soft. They crowded the door so that Silver had to shove to get through.

  “Rude,” that little ele-yarnslady said, rubbing her hands together slowly.

  “Silver!” Sersha Batal caught up to her daughter. “I’m staying late. There’s still so much to get ready for tomorrow. And your father expects to be in his workshop all night.”

  “Oh.” Silver tried to keep her voice steady, but excitement thumped in her veins. With everyone so busy, no one would notice her finishing her riding suit. She glanced around for Nebekker, but the old woman had slipped away. Good. Nebekker would be waiting for her at her home.

  “Go to your aunt and uncle’s if you need anything.”

  “I will.”

  “And, Silver?” Sersha laced her fingers with her daughter’s. “Look at the things these women have accomplished together. Look at the honor we will bring our city when the queen arrives. I am proud of the work I do. So is your father. I want you to be proud of your work, too.”

  Silver nodded and took her hand back, then left the tents.

  If her racing-suit reveal went as planned, she would be proud of her work.

  And Sagittaria Wonder would be amazed.

  SEVEN

  Silver wrapped herself in layers of brown and white scarves and slipped into the night.

  Her cross-body sack, filled with riding-suit scales, slapped against her belly, stuffed full after an evening meal with Brajon’s family.

  She snuck down the stairs and roads. Pebbles pushed into her soft boots as she darted to Nebekker’s house at mid-cliff level. The windows were dark. She raised her hand and knocked quietly.

  No answer. The wind shifted, brushing Silver’s scarf from her face. She knocked again, shuffling her boots on the dusty stoop. Where was the old woman? Silver looked up and down the road, but all activity was near the workshops and the yarnsladies’ tents.

  Maybe Nebekker had gone to help the yarnsladies. Maybe she was sleeping. But Silver needed to finish her suit. So where was she?

  Silver tapped on the door a little louder and then, finally, banged with the side of her fist.

  “Where are you?” Silver whispered. She reached for the d
oor handle, looking over her shoulder and gnawing her bottom lip. One did not enter a home without permission.

  She swallowed and turned. The door opened.

  Silver slipped in and shut the door behind her. Nebekker’s house was still. No sound and no light.

  “Nebekker?”

  No answer. It felt wrong to snoop. But what if Nebekker was injured—or worse? It wasn’t even just about the scales. Silver’s heart hurt to think something could be wrong with the old woman … with her friend. She tiptoed around, peering into every dark corner, hoping to find Nebekker peacefully snoring away. But the house was empty.

  Silver wiped her sweaty hands on her trousers and returned to the main room. She went to the shelf where her racing-suit plans were tucked into a pot, and she stuffed them in her bag. Silver looked around the room one last time, as though she could have missed Nebekker in a tiny crack in the wall. She stepped into the road and closed the door behind her.

  If she had any hope of finishing her suit by tomorrow morning, she would have to hole up in her bedroom and work nonstop. She’d just have to figure out her own way to attach the scale pieces together.

  * * *

  SILVER RUBBED HER eyes for the hundredth time and looked out the window. It was still deep-mine black outside, but daybreak would come all too soon. Hours of weaving and hooking and knotting, and the scales were still scattered around her floor. Some had partially unraveled after her joining experiments had left them looking tired and limp. Others were still connected but with haphazard knots.

  “Flying desert dust, Nebekker! Where are you when I need you?”

  She considered going to Nebekker’s house again, to see if the old woman had returned in the night, but she couldn’t force her legs to move. She was too tired. Her eyes betrayed her. Images of wool were mixing in a fog with huge shadowy blobs that looked like water dragons.

  When her curtains shushed open, she didn’t even have the energy to hide the scales. Let her father find out. At least then she would be free from this torturous work.

  But it was her cousin. Brajon clomped into the room and closed the curtains behind him.

  “I was getting a snack and looked up to see lantern light in your window. What are you doing?” He squinted at Silver’s mess of yarn.

  Silver couldn’t hold the emotions back any longer. A hot tear rolled down her cheek. “Look at this! Nebekker was supposed to show me how to join the scales together, but she’s missing.”

  “Then figure it out.”

  “I’m trying! Do you think I’ve just been sitting here all night wasting this lantern oil?” Silver glared at her cousin. He watched her carefully for a moment, then went to the window and stared at the night.

  “Look at this,” he said.

  Silver heaved her heavy limbs up and joined him, and Brajon bumped her shoulder gently.

  “How many times have we watched our deep-desert sky together?” he said. “As dark as ink. Except over there, where it’s purple, like deep amethyst. Soon, that’ll turn blue, then orange. Then we’ll have brilliant light. Do you think they have the same skies in Calidia?”

  Silver gazed up at her cousin. Even if the skies were exactly the same, the company would be different, and that made her ache inside.

  “Do you never want to go somewhere?” she asked. “Never want to have adventure? Those colors on the horizon—don’t you want to be able to touch them?” She sighed and gingerly felt the wound on her wrist. “There’s so much more out there than I can find here.”

  Brajon shrugged. “Jaspaton’s my home.”

  Silver made a low sound in her throat and shoved her wrist under Brajon’s nose. “Look at this.”

  “That looks painful.”

  “That’s not the point. The shape proves I’m meant for water dragons!”

  “I know,” Brajon said softly. “I don’t need a burn to tell me that.”

  A silence fell over the cousins. It was comfortable, as all their moments together were, but there was something new around the edges. Something that hinted at a change to come. Silver both thirsted for it and mourned it at the same time.

  “Look.” She pointed to a spot in the sky that was starless.

  “Must be a sandstorm out there,” Brajon said.

  “Maybe.” But sandstorms usually blacked out the whole night. This was more like just a strip of stars was missing. Except that the strip was moving, winking out stars across the sky. Silver shivered. “Strange.”

  “Our desert sky is full of mysteries. How could you want to leave it for the royal city?” Brajon said.

  Silver knew he was asking How could you want to leave me?—but when she didn’t answer, his shoulders slumped.

  “Cousin,” he said, “I don’t know anything about wool working, but I can do lots of different kinds of knots. You could just…” He grabbed two scales, lined up the flat sides, and knotted a length of yarn between them. He held up the finished product. “Okay, so it’s not perfect. But at least they’re holding together without a gap. And you can hardly see the knots.”

  “Hardly? The only thing bulkier than your knots is your head.” Silver laughed and took the knotted scales to examine them. “But they’ll have to do. Sagittaria will understand that this is just a prototype.”

  “I’ll help with the rest. Even though you’re as ungrateful as that desert fox you saved.” Brajon grinned as Silver stuck her tongue out at him. “We have to hurry if you want this done before sunrise,” he said.

  Silver tugged the suit-design sketch from under her leg and set it in between herself and her cousin. They both got to work. Silver’s energy returned. Her fingers flew.

  “Thank you for helping me,” she said. Her smile couldn’t be contained.

  “I’ll do anything if it means I get rid of you for good,” Brajon said. But just as quickly as his smile had appeared, it fled.

  “You’ll always be my number one reason for coming back to visit,” Silver said, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.

  It was dawn when they finally finished connecting the scales. Silver watched her cousin sweep past the curtain to the hallway, then she began packing her suit into her bag with a heavy heart.

  EIGHT

  Silver woke with a snort. She wiped a trail of slobber off her chin and sat up. The sun streamed through her window. There was so much noise it sounded like a parade was marching by outside. Running. Shouting. Traditional festival drums pounding.

  “Silver!” Brajon barreled in, leaping over her to look out the window. “The Calidia group has been spotted. Sagittaria Wonder will be here any minute.”

  Sagittaria Wonder! Gifting boring old Jaspaton with her glorious presence. The day had finally arrived, and Silver had almost slept through it.

  She ran to the window, but there was so much dust being kicked up she couldn’t see the arriving travelers. She grabbed Brajon’s arm and pushed him out of her room. “Go. I have to get ready.”

  “I was just leaving. I have to be out there greeting really important people.”

  “Ugh!” With one last shove, Silver sent Brajon into the hallway. She pulled off her dirty clothes from the day before and wiggled into the riding suit. The softness was incredible. So was the heat. She tugged at the collar.

  She heard voices in the hallway and quickly dove behind some cushions.

  “What are you doing out here?” Silver heard her mother say to Brajon.

  “Waiting for Silver. She’s getting dressed. And taking too long.”

  “Perfect timing, then. I have something for her to wear.”

  Silver heard Brajon’s huge feet shuffle.

  “Uh, you can’t go in there,” he said. “She wants to surprise you. She’s doing her own hair.”

  In the beat of silence that followed, Silver began to sweat. Everyone knew she couldn’t do more than the simplest plait.

  “Oh, that’s…” Sersha’s voice trembled. Was she crying? Sersha cleared her throat. “That’s new for her.” She gave
a little laugh. “Silver?” she called.

  “I’m almost done,” Silver yelled, struggling to untangle her hair. “I wanted to look my best for the queen’s visit.”

  “I can help with that. I’m going to push something under your curtain.”

  A square of fabric appeared. Silver walked over and unfolded a beautiful ruby-red caftan, embroidered with golden birds. She drew her finger over the gold threads slowly. “It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Your grandparents brought it back from Calidia for me the very first time they visited the royal city,” her mother said. “You’re taller than I was back then. But hopefully, this will fit you.”

  With the riding suit beneath, the caftan squeezed Silver’s skin. Once she added her scarves, the heat would be unbearable. But the red silk was so lovely and her mother’s voice was so eager that Silver lied and said it fit perfectly.

  “Are you ready? Come out so I can see,” her mother said.

  Silver licked her lips. Her nerves sizzled like desert lightning. Would her mother notice the extra bulk beneath the caftan?

  Silver pulled the curtain aside.

  Sersha’s eyes widened and grew misty. Then she saw Silver’s hair. “Hmm. We’ll keep working on that.”

  Her mother worked Silver’s thick hair into two reverse braids and secured them with silk ribbon. She pushed gold combs into the tops of the braids. Then she took Silver’s hands in hers.

  “The world’s waiting for you, Silver Batal. I don’t know if it’s quite ready, but when is it ever ready for a storm? The winds come anyway.”

  There was a soft pressure on the top of Silver’s head as her mother pressed a kiss to it. “I have to go present my wares. Your father is expecting you in his workshop. Scamper over.”

  Silver took a deep breath. Brajon nodded to her. She took one step. Then another. Then she bolted for the road.