Dragon of the Prairie

by Sarah J. Stone

  In language classes, they trained her to speak first in her mother tongue, and then try to pick up the accent or language of the person she was speaking to. Years of training as a witch had brought Sienna almost fluency in Basic, but when she was working in translation, she switched to Jeffroian. She knew that Desmond usually didn't approve of her trying to work in a language that wasn't universal, but today, he didn't say a word when she started the conversation.

  “I'm looking for coils, part number 324343,” she said, to the shop keeper, who turned to glare at her. She had clearly interrupted his meal. How he could eat in this snowstorm was beyond her, but as a transparent alien creature, with large eyes and long fingers, she wondered if the cold just went right through him.

  “What?”

  She recognized his root language quickly, and switched to Herian, a language she had learned a few years ago.

  “Coils,” she said, taking the tablet from Desmond. “Do you have them?”

  “Do you have money?”

  “Yes,” she said, although Desmond had not made her aware of what amount of money they had. Witches often operated without currency, used to trading their services for peace.

  “What's a pretty girl like you want such advanced ship parts for?”

  “Uh…” she wasn't prepared to answer that question, but luckily, the shop keeper didn't expect her to. He went to the back of his pile of stuff, and started digging through it.

  “Does he have them?” Desmond asked, in basic, and she jumped.

  “Don't know,” she said. “But he thought I was pretty.”

  “Did he now?” Desmond's gaze shifted to the alien like a protective father. “Don't let him talk to you as any less than you are.”

  “I'm hardly in danger of falling in love,” she replied, as the alien turned back.

  “What else you need?”

  “Do you have them?” she repeated.

  “Parts like that are hard to find. Try somewhere else. What else you need?”

  It seemed to be the theme of the day. Every stall they went to, shivering in the cold, they would find the same story. Everyone would ask them, look interested, look for the parts, try to drag them in with a discount on other parts, and then not have the essential items.

  By the time they reached the end of the market line up, Sienna felt like she was going to drop from the cold. She was shivering uncontrollably, and feeling disappointed by the lack of progress.

  “I don't know that we are going to find it,” she said to Desmond. “Either that or they don't trust us enough to sell their parts to us.”

  “Do you think that's the case?” he said, and she thought hard about the expressions she had seen.

  “Some, maybe. Others truly don't have the product, which means we could be stuck here until they gain our trust.”

  “And?” he asked, causing her to try and recall basically every lesson she had learned. “How do you gain the trust of locals?”

  “Aside from moving in and living like a local for months?” she asked. “We could…we would need to gain the trust of one, who hopefully can influence the others.”

  She shivered then, as a particularly cold wind blew up her back, and arched her shoulders. Desmond sympathized with her in that moment, his face softening She was trying as hard as she could, but she wasn't used to the kind of exertion a quest like this required. They both had pampered her, and only now could he see the damage it had done.

  An alarm went off, on top the buildings, and crackling through the radios on in the stalls. Sienna jumped, her head whipping around.

  There was a flurry of activity, as the shop keepers struggled to cover their items. They began to pull down the thick metal sheet walls that each stall had, trying items to the ground

  “Desmond?” When Sienna had magic, she could read minds at a faster rate than almost any witch. An alarm like that would provide her information through hundreds of panicked thoughts before anyone was even aware they were thinking them. Now, she relied on Desmond, who searched the minds of those around them.

  “It's a storm alarm,” he said. “It means it will be unbearable to be outside shortly. We need to take shelter.”

  “Can we get back to the ship?”

  “I doubt we have time,” he said. “Most of them are thinking that this is going to be a long one, and how glad they are to make a profit before it came. So I suspect that wherever we find shelter will trap us for the night.”

  “But…” she started and he turned to her, his ever-calming gaze present.

  “Sienna, it will be fine,” he assured her. Nathaniel was usually her main contact at night, should anything arise. It had been so long since she reached out for Desmond's help when she couldn't breathe, or when the sickness overtook her. “But we need to find shelter. Did you see any place on our way in?”

  “There's an inn,” she said. “A few feet from where we entered town. It looked pretty run down…but do you think we will be here the night?”

  “I think so,” he said. “Can you make it back?”

  “I'm so cold,” she admitted and he took off his cape, wrapping it around her.

  “Maestro—”

  “The magic will keep me warm, Sienna,” he said, making sure it was chained under her chin. He didn't need to point out the fact that she didn't have magic to do so herself. “Come, before we end up permanent snow statues”

  She drew his cloak closer, fighting against the wind that was picking up.

  Could this be her life, leading the negotiations, learning how to work around the problems that arose, without an ounce of magic?

  Aside from the fact that she was worried about hypothermia, it wouldn't be so bad. She had a euphoric feeling from figuring out a possible solution and she was eager to get warm so that they could go over the situation again. She had been hesitant to come on this trip, but now she saw it might be a blessing in disguise

  Chapter 8

  “I have one room,” the innkeeper said when they finally broke into the door. The wind was picking up and Sienna was starting to wonder whether she would be blown away before they made it in. “I'm afraid it's going to be a bit loud, but beggars can't be choosers in the storm.”

  “Loud?” Sienna asked, leaning against the counter, confused. She was tired, and she didn't care whether they provided her a blanket in the hallway. They had slept in worse conditions.

  “The workhouse got blown in earlier. A few of the workers are being put up here.”

  “That's kind of you,” Desmond said, as he counted out the coins they needed for the room.

  “Kind?” the innkeeper arched an eyebrow. “They are paying me.”

  “Of course,” Desmond replied, only calm. “Keeping in touch with the community is still something to be desired.”

  “They're children,” the innkeeper shoved a key across the desk. “Don't bring trouble here.”

  “Just a couple of beds,” Desmond assured her. “We are only here on business.”

  “Business?” the innkeeper looked between the two of them, confused. She clearly saw the age gap and thought the worst, but decided it wasn't worth losing the business. “Just keep it down.”

  “You wouldn't know…” Sienna remembered Desmond's lesson. “Where we could get some parts? For a ship? We tried the market.”

  “Guess they don't have them,” she said and went into the backroom, leaving them standing there. Sienna turned to Desmond.

  “I tried,” she said.

  “You did,” he agreed as he navigated the dark flickering hallway. The storm lights were already on, and the wind howled outside. Witches were trained to survive almost any climate, and forge on, no matter what. But a storm like this meant even Desmond gave up for the night. “But we'll find another way, if we are meant to.”

  “How long do they think the storm is going to last?” Sienna asked. Desmond found their room, inserting the key and after twisting it for a moment, heard a click.

  “A day or two,” he sai
d. “Hopefully, Nathaniel has figured out how to get the basics of the ship working. We can check in with him in a moment.”

  “We—” Sienna wrinkled her nose as they stepped into the room. There were two single beds that looked like they hadn't seen the light of day in weeks. They were dingy and the corners were untucked. The bathroom had dirt on the tiles, and the light was flickering. The window was cracked, and it was cold, even with most of the glass intact. “Ew.”

  Desmond chuckled at that, shaking his head.

  “We've had so much worse,” he said. “Do you remember, in Largo? Sleeping in the alleyway?”

  “I do,” she said. “I also remember five-star accommodation when we worked on royal negotiation missions, and Eliza's palace.”

  “If that is what you desire,” he replied, “hopefully, you will have the rest of your life in them.”

  “That's an odd thing to say,” she said, as she sank onto one of the beds. He was about to rectify it when a knock came at the door. Puzzled, he signaled for her to be on her guard, just in case.

  It was simply the innkeeper. The scowling woman certainly didn't belong on this planet humanoid in, but Sienna had a feeling no one really belonged here. They just ended up here.

  “We serve food,” she said, looking from Desmond to Sienna. “Downstairs. Thirty minutes.”

  “Thank you,” Desmond said. “But we're—”

  “You have to feed her,” the woman said. “You can't starve her, not on my watch.”

  Desmond was about to protest again, knowing that whatever they served wouldn't be suitable for her. But Sienna stood up in one graceful movement, remembering his lesson on getting the locals to trust them.

  “Thank you,” she said. “We'll be down then.”

  “Good.” The woman turned and left, the door slamming behind her.

  Desmond watched Sienna as she dug into her rut sack, pulling out the com link to reach back to the ship. There was a time when she would shed tears over the fear of food she couldn't have, of not being included. But now she seemed calm, at peace with it.

  “I'm going to scan the perimeter,” he said. “Something about this building feels odd. Stay here and give Nathaniel a full update.”

  “Of course,” she said, leaning against the wall.

  Desmond made sure the door was shut behind him before heading down the hallway. He thought he sensed magic floating in the halls, but he wasn't entirely sure. If there was magic, it was weak, untrained, normally found in young children. And in a hotel surrounded by a storm and full of workhouse workers, that didn't make any sense.

  Until he rounded the corner into the stairway and nearly tripped over 4 children playing with jacks on the floor. Then, everything made sense.

  Jacks was an old game that he remembered playing only vaguely He also remembered it being played exactly the way they were playing it, with magic to guide the ball and swoop up the metal bits.

  They looked up at him in shock. Various races and species, they couldn't have been older than 4 or 5 years old. Tiny hands, tiny faces, and tiny jets of magic, all in one dark stairway.

  “Hello,” he said, cautiously “I'm sorry if I startled you.”

  They looked between each other, and Desmond was worried they didn't understand Basic. He had a few other languages up his sleeve, but certainty not as many as Sienna. Luckily, for him, one of them answered him after a moment.

  “It's okay,” he said. “You want to play?”

  “Hmm,” he crouched down, trying not to invade their space. “Sure.”

  He wanted to observe their magic to see if there was any chance they were Tiros. He had a feeling they weren't, and he certainly didn't know any other quests here. They wouldn't have reacted to him in such a way if they had begun training and they were incredibly young to be away from the school. There was no quest he knew of that would send this many teams out, so young.

  “That's wonderful, what you can do,” he said. “Where did you learn it?”

  “We always could do it, mister,” one said. “Everybody can.”

  “Everybody can?” Desmond raised an eyebrow. “I'm not so sure about that.”

  “Everybody we work with can.”

  “Where?” he asked.

  “At the workhouse. All our friends can.”

  “Are you…paid at this workhouse?” he asked.

  “Yes, we have proper jobs,” one who couldn't be older than five said. Desmond knew that in some cultures this was perfectly acceptable. And he realized it was similar to what they did in the academy, starting that at such a young age. In some alien cultures, five years old was mature. Still, it was shocking to see it out of a humanoid. “Have to.”

  “Why do you have to?” Desmond asked.

  “Because we don't have families.”

  “Oh,” Desmond replied. “And how did you find out about this…job?”

  “Pedro told me,” said another voice.

  “Whose Pedro?”

  “He's the boss.”

  “Of course.” Desmond straightened up. He trusted magic, absolutely, and now he was starting to realize that there was a reason they were stranded here. The magic had wanted them to find this place. He had to find out more about these children, this workhouse.

  He had a feeling they were being paid low wages, as orphans, to magically enhance productivity. Machines could do a lot, but they couldn't do what magic could.

  “Are you going to dinner?” he asked.

  “Of course!” they echoed, as if that was the silliest thing in the world. He didn't want to invade their space for too long, so he bid them goodbye, leaving them to keep playing.

  He had never heard of this before. The school did such a good job of identifying those who had magical ability. No one was forced to train, of course, but they usually did. Having one or two with stray magic in a place would be one thing. But in this situation, it seems that they were sought out, and perhaps taught that there were no other options.

  He wanted to meet this Pedro, and find out more. But he had a feeling the way to any information was going to be through the children.

  He headed back down the hallway, prepared to tell Sienna what he had found. He expected her to be ready to go, perhaps unpacking, as she usually did in a new place.

  He was not prepared to find her curled up on the bed, tears sliding down her face.

  “What's happened?” he asked, in shock. He reached out with his magic to Nathaniel on the ship, but could feel that his former Tiro was perfectly safe.

  She shook her head, wiping her tears away.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “Obviously, something has happened,” Desmond said, as he shut the door. “You don't have to hide, little one.”

  “I—“ She sucked in a deep breath. “I'm afraid, to go to dinner. I don't want to be sick. I was doing so well.”

  Fear was an emotion that witches weren't supposed to feel. Desmond sat carefully on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out how he had left her accepting the dinner invitation without any balking to now sobbing into her hands.

  “You are doing very well,” he said. “And accepting the invitation, despite your limitations has gained us some trust, which we need to find these parts.”

  “But—”

  “There is always something you can have, isn't there?” Desmond asked. “Even if it's small? This is not the type of place that has fresh food, Sienna. Everything will come from a package, I assure you.”

  She met his eyes, sniffling, and nodded.

  “All right,” he said. “Go and take a shower, relax, and when we go down, we will be calm, won't we?”

  She nodded, taking a deep breath, and then got off the bed. “But—”

  “You will find a way,” he said. “This won't be the first time you will have anxiety about accepting an invitation. If it is necessary, there will always be a way. Go.”

  She knew there was no point in arguing, and so she slunk into the bathroom, shutting the door. He could
n't imagine any shower in this bathroom was going to be relaxing, but the very act of doing so might be enough to calm her.

  As soon as the door was shut, he picked up the com-link she had discarded. When he heard the water running, he called Nathaniel back.

  “Sienna?” Nathaniel answered, and Desmond realized what had happened.

  “What did you say to her?”

  “Maestro?” Nathaniel changed gears. “Sorry, I thought you were—”

  “Yes, I know,” Desmond replied. “What did you say to her just now?”

  “Nothing,” Nathaniel said, surprised “She was upset about the food, that was all. I reminded her that she was different, and she needed to be careful, but that you would take care of her.”

  Desmond sighed. “Nathaniel,” he got up, drifting away from the bathroom. “She was fine when I left. She was the one who accepted the invitation and who knew it was a good idea to get the locals to trust us so we could find these damned parts. She was content and then she talks to you and she turns into a quivering child again. You can't do that to her. She's got to learn to take care of herself.”

  “Sorry?” Nathaniel said. “You know how sick she is—”

  “I know how sick she was,” Desmond replied. “And I know that we made decisions that made her illness very bearable. She doesn't know how to take care of herself, because you…”

  “Because of me?” Nathaniel answered. “Because I'm focused on training a Tiro, rather than abandoning one?”

  “Nathaniel,” Desmond's voice had a growl in it. “Your current task is the ship. Mine is our Tiro.”

  “For how much longer?” Nathaniel asked, and the line went dead.

  Desmond shook his head in shock. Nathaniel had never in his life ended a call like that. Had he still been a Tiro, he would have been reprimanded beyond belief for such behavior. When they had entered into this agreement, he had hoped it would be in peace. There was enough war in the galaxy without going into battle with Nathaniel.

  Chapter 9

  Nathaniel felt like he was going to throw the com link across the room. He had been working tirelessly throughout the day, pushing his magic to the limits and wincing every time a gust of air so much as flicked his wrist, to get the heat back on and the basics of the ship running. There was no one else on board that could help him with the fine work, although Eliza had been through his side through every moment, holding tools and offering conversation.