The Dragon's Legacy

by Deborah A. Wolf

  The wind howled now, and though she still could not feel it on her face it caused her to sway back and forth like a toy held up to tease an infant. The wind mocked her struggles.

  Your father will be so disappointed, it said.

  You almost had it! You were almost there! The fox stood on her hind legs, and pressed her cold nose against Sulema’s forehead. This close, Sulema could see the slit pupils of her eyes and her white, white teeth. Her breath smelled, oddly enough, of cardamom. You need to free yourself now. There is no more time.

  Sulema twisted her hands behind her back, straining at the silken bonds till it felt as if her shoulders would pop loose. “I cannot!”

  Not like that, the fox snapped. Stupid two-legs. To break your bonds, you must first accept them.

  Sulema could feel the Thing drawing nearer, could feel the web shudder under its weight and smell the carrion stink of its intent. She bucked and struggled wildly as panic rose in her throat. “I cannot!”

  No? The fox sat and curled the soft brush of her tail daintily about her paws. If you cannot accept those things that bind you in life, then you surely must accept your death.

  Sulema stopped struggling and hung still for a moment, suspended at the heart of all things. “I do not understand.”

  A cub could understand. Life, or death? Life, or death? Why is this so difficult for you? It is time for you to choose.

  The air rippled and parted like a tent flap, and a shadowy figure stepped through. The cat-faced being that was—and was not—her mother crouched close and she gagged at the carrion stink of its breath. In its hand the monster held a wicked-looking black knife. Sulema could not help but think it wished to taste her flesh. The blade flashed once, twice, three times. Sulema jerked against the web, trying to escape the knife, but the cuts had not been meant for her. Some of the strands that had bound her floated away into the night.

  “Help me,” Sulema begged. “Please.”

  The cat-thing sat back on its haunches, it looked at her through her mother’s eyes, spoke to her with her mother’s voice.

  “I can do no more,” it growled. “You will have to free yourself.” And it faded away.

  The web shimmered, its strands crackling and shrieking in protest as more of her bonds fell away and the Thing began its final descent. She could hear it now, the thin, high voice gibbering in anticipation of her blood, the rasp of its legs against the silken strands that bound her.

  “I do not know how!” she wailed.

  The fox lunged forward and nipped Sulema sharply on the nose.

  There is no time, she barked, and Sulema could hear the Thing shrieking with glee, could feel the web sag under its weight. The little silvery globes shimmered in the dark, and they rang with the sound of a thousand thousand voices.

  Then she understood, in a moment so clear and sharp it cut her heart. The globes were worlds, they were all the worlds… the world of Man, Shehannam, even the Twilight Lands, worlds without number, lives without end. Every creature was bound to the web of life, every sound in every world was a perfect note in one great song.

  Sulema stopped struggling and stared into the fox’s bright eyes. The Thing did not matter, the web did not matter. There was only this one choice, and Sulema had made her decision long ago. She smiled. The fox smiled back.

  “Life,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and relaxed against the silken strands that held her fast. “I choose life.” As easy as that, she was free.

  * * *

  The sun warmed her face. Sulema opened her eyes to find herself once more in the Zeera.

  I know this place, she thought. I could make it home by dark. But a storm was rising in the west, and another was blowing in from the north. Sandstorms, killing-storms.

  Follow me if you wish to live, the fox cried, as it ran on ahead.

  Sulema dug her heels into Atemi’s sides and took after the fox in a hard gallop, flying over the desert as lightly as a stone skipping across the river. The little creature kicked up puffs of sand as she ran, the brush of her tail daring them to catch her, but no matter how Sulema urged her mare on they could not quite seem to close the distance between them.

  “Jinchua!” she called. “Jinchua!”

  Catch me if you can, laughed the fox.

  As she rode, the world on either side of them fell away, the world behind them fell away, the world beneath them fell away. Sulema leaned into Atemi’s neck, her mare’s sweat-slick hide hot against her cheek and lather flying into her face as they tried to outrun the howling wind. When she glanced down, Sulema could see the land laid out beneath them like a painting, like one of Leviathus’s maps—rivers of blue ink and gold foil sand, the tourmaline splotch of an oasis, the tiny sketched figures of her people struggling to maintain their foothold in a hostile world.

  She saw the wild vash’ai ranged about Aish Kalumm in a wide crescent as if they were herding the people into the river to drown. She saw her sword-sister Hannei, the shadows of two swords laid across her back like a curse, drinking from a golden cup. She saw the thick black snake of a funeral procession winding its slow, sad way toward the river, and watched as Tammas laid flowers upon a pyre. Paraja and Dairuz stood by his side. The vash’ai turned their heads to watch as Sulema and her mare raced past.

  She flew over the camp of the Ja’Sajani, busy keeping the people’s lives in order. She saw Ismai and his pretty vash’ai queen racing and tumbling after one another along a line of tall dunes, like cubs at play, and she smiled to see him happy.

  Sulema flew past Istaza Ani astride her big red stallion, riding north away from the people. The youthmistress wore a look of grief and granite, and her eyes were red from weeping. A wild vash’ai stalked the pair, ranging now behind and now to the side, and though Sulema could feel his regard he spared not a glance as she and Atemi thundered past.

  She swept east over the slow blue waters of the Dibris. A lonely ship sailed against the wind, a dragon-faced ship with gold-striped sails. All the crew lay bloated and blackened in death. At the helm stood a shrouded ghost with a metal face and eyes that burned.

  I know him, Sulema realized, and his face began to turn toward her as if he sniffed out the thought. I know that ship.

  Come away from there, barked the fox. Come away now, you are not ready for that yet.

  Sulema passed the vessel with its dead crew, soared across the Dibris, and skimmed along the burned red ground of the Seared Lands before turning north, as the fox flew, north toward the sea, and Atualon… and her father.

  A beautiful woman slept beside the sea, a blue-skinned woman in silk and jewels wearing a white-gold crown. The waves danced and sang about her skirts, begging playfully for her attention, and all along the shore flowers bloomed for the love of her. Her face was peaceful, and soft dark curls were held back from her face with a web of starlight. Lashes black as soot brushed her pale cheeks, and her breast rose and fell as she slept.

  The winds fell away behind them. Sulema brought Atemi to a halt, and dismounted.

  She stood upon a beach in the light of the moons, and watched the lady sleep.

  “What is this?” she wondered aloud. “What is this?”

  This is Sajani, the Sleeping Dragon, the fox explained. She is the reason you are here.

  “I do not understand.”

  Do you not see the danger? Open your eyes. Let go of those things that bind you, and open your eyes.

  Sulema closed her eyes, and opened her eyes, and saw.

  An intricate tangle of twisted black wires stretched from horizon to horizon, the first strands of a web that would capture the world. A thousand shining spiders danced about, spinning and weaving, spinning and weaving, weaving a cocoon of death around the shining lady who dreamed on, oblivious to the danger.

  Sulema started forward. “We must wake her!”

  Wake her? the fox barked. Wake the Dragon, and you die. She stood and shook herself. We all die.

  “What do I do?”

 
Why are you asking me? I am only a fox. Why do you need to do anything at all? Stay here, if you like. There is game, there is food and water. You have your horse, and your bow, and the company of a lovely fennec. What more could you ask? Do nothing, become a warrior, return to the Zeera and ride with the Ja’Akari. Is this not what you want?

  Sulema realized that, indeed, she held her bow. It seemed to her that she had but to turn around, and she would be back in the Zeera. She could hear her sword-sisters laughing, so close, could smell cooking meat and sweet mead. There was nothing to keep her from joining them…

  She gestured helplessly to the sleeping lady and the spiders, busy with their webs. “If I do nothing, she will die!”

  Is this not a good day to die?

  Sulema threw her bow to the ground. “It is a good day to live!” she yelled at the fox. “Stop trying to trick me.”

  The only trickster here is you, silly girl. Is your choice made, then? Do you choose life, pain and all?

  “Yes.”

  Then pick up your bow.

  Sulema bent to retrieve her bow, but as soon as her fingers curled around the wood she knew something was not right. In her hands she held now not a bow, but a staff of blackthorn nearly as long as she was tall, and big around as her wrist. It was not unlike her mother’s dreamshifting staff, though this one was topped with the carven head of a fennec, and tiny foxes chased one another up and down its length.

  Heavy, she thought, raising the staff up before her eyes. I never knew it was so heavy.

  She was alone. The sleeping lady was gone, and the fox, even the sound and smell of the warriors’ camp had disappeared. She stood bereft and abandoned in a clearing of grass ringed by rocks and trees.

  “Jinchua!” she called. “Jinchua!”

  Wake up, you silly girl. You chose to live, now you must live with your choice.

  “You cannot leave me here like this! Jinchua!”

  Wake up…

  “But I am awake,” she protested, and the sound of her own voice startled her so that her eyes flew open.

  “She is awake! Sulema is awake!”

  “Hush, you, stand back and give her some air.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Let me through!” This last voice, more of a roar really, was her mother’s. As Sulema’s eyes adjusted to the interior of her mother’s tent she was shocked to find it full of people. The crowd parted as her mother pushed through them all, using her staff as a club to move those who did not get out of her way quickly enough. Sulema saw tears in her mother’s golden eyes as she dropped to her knees.

  “Sulema. Oh, my daughter.” Sulema was shocked again as her mother drew her close and nearly squeezed the life back out of her in a warm, if bony, embrace.

  She patted her mother’s back feebly, not sure how she should respond.

  “Water,” she said, and was dismayed to hear her voice so weak. “Please.”

  Hafsa Azeina turned to snap at a young Ja’Akari. “Girl… Saskia! Bring water. The rest of you, out! Sulema, what is this?”

  “Oh.” Sulema sighed, and shifted the blackthorn staff that had begun to dig into her side. “Oh, this.” She sighed and ran one finger along the line of laughing, running foxes. “It was not a dream, after all.”

  Hafsa Azeina looked away with a grimace.

  “Mother?” Sulema hated how her voice cracked. After all these years, one would think she would be used to rejection.

  When her mother looked at her again, she seemed older. “I had hoped for an easier path for you. An easier life than I have led.” Hafsa Azeina laid a hand on Sulema’s forehead, touched her as she had not in years beyond counting. She looked at the staff, really looked at it, and her mouth quirked in a reluctant smile. “A fennec?”

  “A fennec,” Sulema agreed. She relaxed into the cushions, wincing as her body’s pains began to make themselves known. “Her name is Jinchua.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Hafsa Azeina and Sulema had been gone for a moons’ turn when First Mother Nurati came waddling out to Ani in the bachelors’ pasture, carrying Ani’s sword and bow and trailing a sullen-faced Hannei. It was not right that a woman so close to her in years, and so close to giving birth for the sixth time—the sixth!—should look so beautiful. But there it was.

  “We have a problem,” Umm Nurati said without preamble. “That lionsnake Sulema killed was female.”

  Paraja padded over to sit near Nurati. She curled her thick tail about her feet and went still as only a large predator can. Ani glanced uneasily at the vash’ai, and then at the lovely and eternally expectant Umm Nurati, and knew she was not going to enjoy the rest of this conversation.

  “Oh, for the love of rain. And nobody noticed before now?”

  “Apparently not. The outlanders skinned the beast and salted the hide, and it was not before I unrolled it that anyone thought to look. Her underbelly was yellow as buttersweet.”

  “Za fik,” Ani swore. “She had a nest, then.”

  “And eggs set to hatch, if they have not already. I need you and Hannei to find that nest and destroy it, either way.”

  Ani stared. “The two of us, kill a clutch of lionsnake whelps? You do know the little fuckers can kill, right? Is this girl even healed enough yet to ride? Spare me a warrior or three, at least.”

  “Would that I could. Many of my Ja’Akari are out hunting to replenish our stores—those outlanders eat like greedy children— and the Ja’Sajani are out debating and marking the prides’ territories. With the slavers as active as they have been, I need every warrior I can get my hands on to defend Aish Kalumm. Hannei is the best of those who remain, and all I have to spare. She swears by Akari that she is well enough to ride, and this one will not swear the sky is blue unless she has painted it herself.”

  “Za fik,” Ani swore again, but without conviction. Then she sighed. “Might as well die today as tomorrow, I suppose.”

  “As well die tomorrow as today.” Nurati smiled grimly. “I have seen you do more with less. Did Theotara herself not train you? Were you not champion in your day? Youthmistress, I would not ask this of you were there another choice.”

  “I know.” She sighed again and turned to her horse. “Talieso, it seems we will be riding today after all. We will take the southmost way.”

  Nurati frowned. “That way is much longer. The eggs…”

  Ani cut her off. “The eggs are likely hatched already. I will not follow such a large party as was bound for Atualon so soon—their leavings will have attracted a swarm of predators by now. We will take the southmost way. It should take us—” she pursed her lips and stared up into the sky, thinking “—three full days of riding each way, one day to kill the little beasties, one more for luck. Give us a halfmoon or so before you send someone out to look for our bones.”

  “Have it your way, Youthmistress.” Nurati bowed.

  “Hah. If I had my way, I would be lounging by the river with Askander Ja’Sajani fetching me coffee and sweets, not chasing off to the Bones of Eth after a clutch of lionsnake whelps.” She shot a mild glance at Hannei. “Why are you still here? Do I need to write your name in the sand, girl? Go get your horse.” She snorted as the young Ja’Akari bowed and trudged away, shoulders hunched. “I see that one is still sulking about being left behind.”

  “She blames herself for her sword-sister’s misfortune. In her mind, two girls doing a stupid thing together is better than one girl being stupid on her own.”

  “Sulema will be fine. That one is as tough as her mother.” She reached out to take her bow and sword. “And far too stubborn to die.”

  Nurati handed the weapons over without meeting her eyes. “I know you are fond of the girl.”

  “I am fond of all my girls.”

  “Of course,” Nurati agreed, face smooth as river stones, and she bowed.

  “I have been meaning to speak with you about this year’s crop of younglings…”

  “Perhaps we will speak on this when you return, Ani.
Right now, you need to go clean out a lionsnake hatching and I need to get to the kitchens and deal with the latest emergency.”

  “What emergency would that be?” Ani checked her bowstring. It was a bit worn… she would take two spares.

  “I have no idea. There is always an emergency in the kitchen. Two days ago, one of the cubs hid a russet ridgeback in one of the big pots—”

  “Gah!” Ani shuddered. “Spiders! Forget I asked.”

  “Do you remember Istaza Theotara and the time we put ridgeback eggs in her bedroll?”

  “Remember? Ehuani, my backside still hurts from the thrashing she gave us.” Ani laughed. “If I ever find out who told on us…”

  “You never knew?” Nurati gave her a strange look. “Your face gave us away.”

  “My face?”

  The First Mother shook her head and stretched, rubbing her lower back with a grimace. “Your face always gave us away. You are a terrible liar, Istaza Ani.” With that, she bowed again and waddled off.

  Ani sighed and leaned her forehead against her stallion’s copper-red shoulder. Talieso shifted his weight from one side to the other and curved his neck around to nose her. He stood with one hind leg cocked, content to doze in the sunlight while the younger stallions sparred and pranced. She realized with a pang that her stallion’s face had started to gray, just a touch about the eyes and above his soft nose.

  “Do not go getting old on me, sweet boy.” She kissed his cheek and he nudged her again, hoping to shake a treat loose. “We are too young to be going gray.” She put her hand on his crest and gave it a little shake. “Look at that neck, you lazy thing, going all to fat. Just as I am going all to bone and gristle. When did this happen? Did we blink?” She reached deep in her pockets for the treat he knew would be there. “Look at us, old and lazy in the sunlight, and another batch of cubs sent off like seeds on the wind, to take root where they may. The girl, Talieso, our girl is gone, did you know? Her mother has taken her away from us after all.” She buried her face in his neck and breathed in the deep scent of her horse as he nodded his head, sucking on the sweet and making funny faces.